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lyallblacklupin · 4 years ago

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Don’t miss the Yule Ball.

Sirius was already battling with their post break-up situation. He hasn’t moved on, but maybe Remus has, after the Incident with Snape. He has been forgiven by all of the Marauders, but he still doesn’t feel like going to the Yule Ball because he loves dancing a little too much, and to watch Remus dancing with someone who isn’t him is something he won’t be able to cope. He rather he will stay in than go and deal with another heartbreak. However, Remus encourages him to go to the Yule Ball. Is he giving Sirius a chance to improve their ties?

Tags: Post-Incident with Severus Snape, Angst with Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Trust Issues.

Chapter 1

The distress was like a cold molten lava, spreading in Sirius’ chest to deepen the void that was already created inside of him. He could feel it. The hollowness around his heart, but simultaneously there was something heavy. Like a boulder, sitting at the top of his chest. There was exhaustion in his veins, plummeting his blood pressure that made him unlike the person he used to be: steady, hyperactive, and energetic. He didn’t know what he wanted, so he let life go through him. He thought he may never live, might as well survive because he was not ready to die yet. There was still hope. A newly aroused hope of getting his friends back in his life after the two and a half month of shutting out in consequential to the Incident with Severus Snape.

Three days ago, James and Peter had asked Sirius to come in the dorm when he had been sitting in the common room, literally, doing nothing but staring at the fire grates before him. All of the Marauders, including Remus, had gathered in the dorm awkwardly.

“Look, Sirius,” James had been the one to break the silence, and Sirius’ perplexity, “Whatever we have with you is just too real and close that—we cannot just see you being so…”

“Different.” Peter had said.

“Yes, different!” Sirius had never seen James so nervous, “And we know how sorry you are for what you did.” Sirius could distinctly recall that he had flinched at those words.

“So…” Remus had begun, not meeting Sirius’ eyes, “We would like to give you a chance.”

Sirius had expected himself to smile or laugh in happiness that finally his friends had decided to forgive him, but he didn’t—more like, he couldn’t. James and Peter had been staring at him with funny looks on their faces, while Remus had a tired look as if he had been forcefully asked to forgive him. Sirius didn’t even internally blame him for that, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much this all means to me.” Sirius had said. He knew that time was the only key to slip into normalcy, so he went with the flow.

This time of the year, Hogwarts was illuminating with more candles, and stardust in every corridor. The lavatory sections had more irises and lilies, and the Library was filled with color-changing lanterns hanging in the mid-air. All of this was because of the Triwizard Tournament was being held, and the awaited guests from other wizarding schools were welcomed to avail the chance of becoming the lucky participant in the Tournament. The students from Drumstrang, and Beauxbatons were roaming around the decorated Hogwarts.

“They should see the real face of Hogwarts, dull and old-fashioned. Not the flowery one. That’s called deception.” Marlene commented, making everyone snigger around her. She never failed to catch attention.

“That’s called hospitality, Marls. Try to be positive.” Dorcas flung her arm around her to pull her closer so she kissed her cheek. Sirius tried not to look because it painfully reminded him of his rock solid relationship with Remus Lupin, before it crashed brutally after one reckless mistake. He rubbed his eyes because he felt tried. Again. He was tired all the time, but he didn’t like being in bed in odd hours. It made him feel useless.

“So, that means I get to take you as my date for the Yule Ball?” Sirius’ ears stood alerted at Marlene’s muffled voice in the crowd.

Of course, the Yule Ball. He loved going to the balls, and waltzing with the music. If there was anything the Black family had taught and he had loved, were the dancing lessons. He had always imagined holding a certain someone close to him, and waltz with them peacefully. This was his secret. He had never displayed it. After he had realized that he had a crush on Remus, he had always pictured him in his dreams, slowly swaying through the soft music. His hand holding Remus’ while his other one on his waist, leading him. He had never enjoyed dancing with girls. They were too small and delicate to hold, except Marlene who was tall and broad.

The night befell, and everyone filed to their dormitories from the Great Hall after the dinner. Sirius was quietly walking with the Marauders, highly tensed because he was in pace with Remus who hadn’t utter a single word to him since the forgiveness. James was loudly speaking as usual, his arm around Peter’s shoulder, while craning his neck in every angle to find a certain fiery red head in the flood of students.

“Evans! You and me to the Yule Ball, how does that sounds?” He called out once he had spotted her.

“Nauseating.” She replied, causing an eruption of laughter from the sea of student around them.

“Oh come on! You won’t regret!” He continued his show of stupidity but suddenly Sirius’ hand brushed the neighboring one, accidently. He and Remus responded at the same time by flinching away their hands.

“Sorry.”

Remus was scarlet in the face, and Sirius felt liked he had touched something electric. He could still feel the burning on his fingers. They walked in their respectful distance, and Sirius started to feel the same process of hollowness in his chest. He was sad. Very sad. They were never supposed to be like this. He missed Remus, but it all seemed like he had lost him forever. Remus had forgiven him, but not by his heart. And it was nothing but heart-breaking. Sirius felt a strong surge of emotion as if he was going to have breakdown in the middle of the staircase. He held the railing of the stairs, widening the distance between him and Remus. Sirius stopped there to breathe out, hoping his friends wouldn’t notice. However, his friends were nor heedless neither heartless. Specifically, Remus wasn’t.

“Sirius? Are you okay?” Remus retreated from the crowd to stand beside him. Sirius felt heated up, and not because he had any rage reserved in the corners of his heart or mind.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He tried to act nonchalant, “You go ahead. I just need a break from the walking.”

“No, it is okay, I’ll stay with you until you are good to go.” Remus’ voice was very soft, and Sirius wished that he never leave him, even as a friend. Remus was too precious to lose. Sirius stayed silent. He kept breathing in and out, until his heartbeat became normal. Suddenly, he realized that the staircase was changing with a thud, signifying that all of the students were vanished and gone to their dorms, leaving Remus and Sirius alone.

“How are you feeling?” Remus’ wide amber eyes looked into the dull grey ones, probably for the first time in a longest while. Sirius smiled at the question. How was he feeling? He was feeling sad, useless, pathetic, sick, disappointed, and hopeless and so much that wasn’t easy to name or comprehend.

“I’m feeling better now.” He answered instead.

“Well, looks like it going to be a long detour since the staircase is leading to the third floor. Four floors away.” Remus’ mouth quirked up in an uneasy smile. Sirius smiled back at him as they both began to climb the stairs.

There was silence hanging between them. Surprisingly, it wasn’t uncomfortable to Sirius because he had nothing to say which made his mind a little less chaotic. He had tried saying everything to Remus; the fact how much he regretted his mistake, how much sorry he felt, how much he valued his relationship with Remus, how much unconditionally he was in love with him. All explanations had gone into vain. He decided he had nothing to say.

“Here,” Sirius looked to his side to see that Remus was offering him a goblet of water.

“What is that?” He asked.

“Just water. You need it.” Sirius wanted to slap himself. Of course, he knew it was water, then why asked?

“Thanks.” He took the goblet from his hand. His finger brushed with his that sent tingling feelings to his body.

“So, what are you planning for day after tomorrow?” Remus asked sheepishly, smiling half-heartedly, trying to make a conversation.

“What is on day after tomorrow?”

There is sudden pause, and Sirius had to look at Remus who seemed slightly taken aback.

“I thought you knew,” He mumbled under his breath, “I meant—the Ball. The Yule Ball. Are you going?”

An ugly feeling suddenly jabbed him in the stomach.

“Oh—that. I forgot, to be honest.”

Remus chuckled awkwardly.

“But—umm…” Sirius hesitated, “No, I don’t think I’ll be going.”

“Oh.” Remus became silent then.

They were now on the fifth floor corridor, chasing the giant staircase to lead them to the seventh floor.

“Any particular reason?” Remus piped up, and Sirius felt his lung was lacking air.

“I don’t like dancing.” He lied. And SHIT! He lied to the wrong person. Remus stared at him for a little longer as if he was scanning him.

“You don’t like dancing.” Remus said than asked.

“I don’t like dancing.” Sirius repeated, hoping that saying it again and again would become a truth.

“You don’t like dancing.” Remus repeated too, under his breath but Sirius had heard him. He knew that Remus had spotted the lie, and now Sirius Black was surely labelled as a liar.

“What about you?” Sirius asked to erase the discomfort in the air. They were still chasing the staircase.

“Yeah, I think I will.” Remus replied. Sirius nodded, repressing his sad loneliness, but Remus continued, “I think you should go too. The ball is just not about dancing. You don’t have to dance, just have some fun.”

Sirius smiled at him because Remus’ voice is cheerful and encouraging. Maybe he could go. Maybe this was the chance to heal things in their relationship. Maybe Remus was giving him.

He kept thinking, quietly until they were on the seventh floor. The portrait of Gryffindor Tower was before them.

“Just think about it, you know,” Remus said gently, “Banana Fritters.”

The portrait door opened, and the common room was empty. They climbed to the dormitory when Remus slowed his pace to stop before the door.

“After everything, all of us deserve some fun,” Remus spoke tenderly again, his eyes softening and a hint of smile on his lips. Sirius returned the smile, but it was painful. He couldn’t get a word out of him. They stood there facing each other before Remus came close, and gathered him in his embrace.

Sirius felt like he became numb, all of a sudden. He was there, under Remus’ arms. Wide-eyed, his body paralyzed, and his blood racing abnormally. Trying to process how, where, why and what just happened.

Suddenly, hot tears obscured his vision before they began streaming endlessly. Sirius didn’t remember if he brought his hands up to hug him back but he was able to feel Remus tightening his embrace. He sobbed into his shoulder, and Remus let him. That was enough. It had never felt so comforting.

Chapter 2

#wolfstar #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #Wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar angst #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #remus x sirius #Sirius x Remus #James Potter #marlene mckinnon #Lily Evans #peter pettigrew #hp marauders #Harry Potter #post prank #hogwarts #angst with happy ending

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accioromione · 5 years ago

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okay im a Romione shipper but I always had this question..you know how harry + hermione are like brother and sister, why is it that although Ron and Hermione met and grew up with each-other during the same time, they developed feelings, why did this never happen for Harry or Hermione?

Ouuu you got yourself an analysis. I did feel lazy to write...but I’m going into essay mode now. Literally I can make a video on this lol.

Okay so obviously for there to be mutual attraction- both parties have to like each-other. So I will explain why they both don’t like each-other like that individually.

Let’s start with Mr. Harry Potter.

Now we know he doesn’t think she’s ugly. But if you read the books, even in Hermione’s Yule Ball scene, he never has a physical reaction to her. When he described her looking pretty it was just that, ‘she looked pretty.’ With Cho and Ginny however, we see that he describes their looks alongside a physical reaction he has to them, when he see’s cho there’s a ‘jolt in his stomach’ and later Ginny, ‘a raging monster in his chest,’ he never experiences this with Hermione. So although he doesn't think she��s unattractive, he himself, is personally not physically attracted to her in a way that renders a reaction.

Next, remember that Ron and Hermione are Harry’s FIRST friends. He did not grow up with a sister, and the only relative his age is Dudley, who bullies and abuses Harry. He’s mentioned as having no friends in school, and he’s been isolated his whole life. It makes sense that he would develop a family like connection with the first people in his life to show him affection. Look at how attached he got to Hagrid, because Hagrid was the first adult figure in his life who helped him. After Ron and Hermione, he has two friends, it makes sense that he would not be as attached to the next people he meets from then on.

Hermione’s personality is not one that Harry is attracted to romantically. As a friend, yes. But romantically, she is quite the opposite. The reason he loses attraction for Cho is because she becomes emotional after Cedric’s death. Harry hates this. Harry does not deal with emotion well at all. And this is a result of developing humour as a defence mechanism for abuse and trauma. Harry wants someone he can joke with, someone he can escape his trauma with. He simply is uncomfortable around highly emotional people. Hermione is a highly emotional person, she cries a lot, and is very passionate about things. Harry wants a ‘chill’ girl a ‘go with the flow’ girl and Hermione is anything but. He does not want to play the comforter, he is so uncomfortable around emotions that people have speculated that was due to he Voldemort inside him. However, I think it’s because after years of trauma, abuse, being an orphan, losing so many loved ones, he turned off his emotions, rather than deal with the tragic reality that was his life. If he wasn’t able to do this, he would not have been able to defeat Voldemort in the first place. Ginny is perfect with Harry here, because she grew up with six brothers, she is essentially the ‘chill’ girl Harry is looking for.

Hermione questions him. One of Harry’s flaws, that also kind of makes him a hero in the process, is that he is confident in his plans and abilities. He does not like being questioned. Hermione does not blindly listen to Harry, she questions him and does it often. Much to Harry’s annoyance. In OOTP when she questions him, and says he has a saving people thing, he gets so angry with the fact that she could even think he’s wrong, and does not consider for a second that he just might be. Hermione’s always the first to nag Harry about what he does, and Harry despises this. Example, when Hermione lectures Harry about the Prince’s book because of what Harry did to Malfoy.

“I won’t say ‘I told you so,’ ” said Hermione, an hour later in the common room. “Leave it, Hermione,” said Ron angrily.

Harry had never made it to dinner; he had no appetite at all. He had just finished telling Ron, Hermione, and Ginny what had happened, not that there seemed to have been much need (…)

“I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person,” Hermione said, evidently unable to stop herself. “And I was right, wasn’t I?” “No, I don’t think you were,” said Harry stubbornly. He was having a bad enough time without Hermione lecturing him; the looks on the Gryffindor team’s faces when he had told them he would not be able to play on Saturday had been the worst punishment of all.

Give it a rest, Hermione!” said Ginny, and Harry was so amazed, so grateful, he looked up. “By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!”

“Well, of course I’m glad Harry wasn’t cursed!” said Hermione, clearly stung. “But you can’t call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it’s landed him! And I’d have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match —”

“Oh, don’t start acting as though you understand Quidditch,” snapped Ginny, “you’ll only embarrass yourself.

See the difference between the two? Even Ron gets Harry...Hermione just doesn't have that stop button. She doesn't really care about how a person feels, if they’re wrong, well, they’re wrong. She doesn’t just do this with Harry. But for someone like Harry, who already thinks the world is against him, this is a big deal. He needs someone like Ginny who will defend him, not someone like Hermione who will question him.

She’s not fun enough for Harry. Harry likes adventure, Harry likes humour, but Harry can’t do it alone. He vibes off of the people he’s around. It makes sense, Harry deep down, is a very sad person. When he’s left with someone who isn’t lightening the mood, he can easily be dulled out. As we see in GOF,

"You miss him!" Hermione said impatiently. "And I know he misses you -"

"Miss him?" said Harry. "I don't miss him. . .

But this was a downright lie. Harry liked Hermione very much, but she just wasn't the same as Ron. There was much less laughter and a lot more hanging around in the library when Hermione was your best friend.

Ron and Harry are different in that Ron does not have the trauma Harry has. Ron doesn’t NEED to be filled with positive people all the time. He can simply BE the positive person. Hermione’s lack of humour in situations or seriousness, doesn’t impact Ron, because, well he can deal with it. He can make jokes on his own, just like Ginny can. Harry and Hermione are incapable of doing this, especially later on in the books. They need to be surrounded by people that bring out this side in them. Ron can stay silent for two hours with Hermione in the library and not think about Voldemort, Harry can’t, he needs a distraction, he needs people that are the ‘lives of the party.’

Hermione is too passionate about things for Harry. Harry- I have it worse Potter, cannot be bothered to debate about things like SPEW or care enough about Hermione’s school schedule. He simply has bigger things going on. He needs someone that understands this, that doesn’t add extra burden or stress into his already stressful life.

Now for Hermione,

Hermione is naturally a perfectionist and a worrier. This is not because she enjoys worrying, she simply cannot help it. Having someone like Harry, is a worrisome thing, she is CONSTANTLY worried about him. This is not something you would want on your significant other, with Ron, she’s more at ease, yes he has his problems, but, they’re simply not as excessive as Harry’s. She can avoid worrying as much when it comes to Ron, and simply enjoy her moments with him, this is something that brings her peace.

Hermione needs someone who values her opinions. Ron is that person. They are always fighting because Ron is actually listening to what Hermione has o say, he actually pays attention to her passions and interests. He doesn’t agree with them all the time, where as Harry I have worse potter, zones her out. In third year, Ron is wondering where she is all the time, he is confused about her schedule, Harry doesn’t care, the man who betrayed his parents escaped Azkaban, whats a few more extra classes? Hermione, as passionate as she is, needs that, she needs someone who cares about what she does and why she does them.

Hermione needs someone who isn’t high-stress. Harry may not be high-stress with school, but he is high-stress in general. Hermione is the queen of being high-stress, she needs someone to reduce that anxiety, not elevate it. And Ron is just that person.

Hermione needs someone who can take her criticism. When she tells Harry he’s wrong or has the wrong idea, Harry is furious with her. Where as although Ron gets mad, he takes it better than Harry, or he challenges her in a way that tells her to explain why she thinks that instead of just being upset with her thinking it in the first place. Harry is simply more prideful than Ron, which is perfectly okay. Ron is able to put things aside, but Harry dwells. Hermione has easily been way more critical to Ron, but he gets over it. Ron having 5 older brothers who tease him, is more lenient towards critical remarks from Hermione. Harry is not. And Hermione simply cannot contain these remarks, she just can’t. Harry will not say anything and simply be like ‘Hermione is the worst’ Ron will be like ‘why are you saying that?’ Example with Scabbers, Hermione refuses to apologize, Ron TELLS her he just wants an apology. With Harry, he wouldn’t ask, he would just expect one. Ron is also able to get over it without an apology.

Ron is more emotional/ deals with emotions better. Hermione needs someone who can understand her emotions, because well, she’s an emotional person. Harry shuts out emotion, Ron, who has lived in a loving family, filled with hugs and Christmas and kisses, is used to showing emotion. He can handle her tears, he won’t run away at her crying. Every-time Hermione cries in the book Harry describes himself as being uncomfortable, where as Ron is either comforting her or approaching her in a way that shows the readers he isn’t scared of this. Hermione needs that in a significant other.

There are a bit more points to make as well, but I think that covers the jist- otherwise I can go on for hours. Because it is really amazing to me in just how obvious Ron and Hermione’s relationship differ from Harry and Hermione’s and just why that is

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mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years ago

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Hello! I hope you're doing okay over there. Are your requests open? If so, could you do a Din x reader with the reader sketching him (the child and their special moments together) when she thinks he isn't looking, but one day he finds the sketchbook? If they're closed just ignore the request but hold on tight to the wishes of good furtune and health ♥ Stay safe!

I’m hanging in there sweet anon and I hope you’re doing okay too (okay but this is so cute omg).

Warnings: It’s really just two dorks and good ole fluff. Some of this is unedited as well

*Reminder that the forum for my taglist is still up and pinned!

__________________________________________

If he would turn slightly to the left, you’d be able to get the perfect angle you need to finish the sketch.

The helmet reflects the glare of the stars, illuminating a bright shine around the top of the beskar and stinging your eyes just a little when you look up at it. You can’t help but do it anyway. The Child is asleep, a day of actually getting to use those little feet of his wore him out - you love the little one, but you and Din have exhausted yourselves keeping up with finding him his home and protecting him at the same time; this peace and quiet right now is highly overdue.

The pencil glides easily against the paper, connecting every line to another, creating another favorite of yours; the perfect piece of art that’s sitting in front of you, unaware of the stacks of sketches that you’ve drawn silently in the whatever corner you can lurk in. To be honest, with as attentive as he is, you’re surprised he hasn’t caught on to you yet.

You’re so lost in finishing the shades that you don’t notice the Mandalorian turning slightly towards you in his seat. He watches your brows furrow in deep concentration, the light scratching in the air a comfort to him since the months of hearing it. He’s never actually seen any of your drawings, however, and he knows that one day the curiosity will get the better of him and he’ll ask... eventually.

Truth is he’s not all the sure on why he hasn’t asked you yet, despite the growing and gnawing interest with teeth that grows sharper and longer as more time goes on. And it’s not like you’ve ever brought it up, either. It’s been this unspoken thing between the two of you - a dance that’s familiar in any language; of scared love and child-like curiosity that seeps into something deeper.

That’s exactly what he’s afraid of.

It’s in this moment of sensing a pair of eyes on you - the pair of eyes you can’t see, but imagine they must be green, or brown more than anything. For a moment, you’re almost afraid to find out.

With a small intake of air you will your head to tilt up. The visor spins away so quick that it’s almost comical, and you bite your lip to suppress the giggle bubbling in your chest.

“Din,” you call his name teasingly. “Is there something you wanted?”

It’s almost too hard to hide the laughter when his helmet jolts towards you, like he’s surprised that you called him out on it.

“I -” You think you hear a gulp through the statics of the vocoder. “- I was... I was just wondering what you were drawing. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity of his apology, and the fact that he was watching you, which has you wondering if this is a reoccurrence you’ve been blind to this entire time.

“It doesn’t,” you voice croaks. “It’s-it’s nothing really. Just the ship, whatever I see throughout the day.” You sit up, still clutching the book to your chest. “I’m going to check on the kid. Call for me if you need anything.”

When the hell did the air get so thick like this? You feel bad, so bad, and a part of you wants to desperately show him this simple thing that he just wants to look at, but... but he’ll know. One look and he’ll know.

“Okay,” the modulator cracks - you wonder what it’s masking right now, what you can’t hear through the robotic statics. “You can rest too while you’re at it. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

You nod and awkwardly wave your departure, climbing down on wobbly legs to the hull and the cot the Child is asleep on; you’re relieved to see that he’s still bundled in his blanket, a peaceful expression gracing his features.

It’s here you feel the fatigue settling on your shoulders. The dull beating You sigh and settle inside the small space, careful of your weight and making yourself as comfortable as you can get. With the book and pencil still in hand, you decide to finish the little details of his belt.

***

Mando sighs as thoughts of you plague his mind once more.

That, and the fact that he needs to sleep at least an hour before the landing at the next destination.

He keens his ears for any sings of movements down in the hull, but when he hears nothing he climbs down to ladder in quiet, graceful strokes.

The dim light does absolute injustice to your features in his opinion. It’s the first thing he notices, not the Child is gurgling over your open sketchbook that’s sprawled out on your lap as you sleep.

“Kriff,” he curses under his breath and rushes as quietly as he can towards the bunk. He tries to keep his eyes averted of the drawings, but he can’t help it, especially when the Child pouts and slaps against the page when his hand clasps around it.

It’s... well, it’s him. He’s leaning against the wall of what he can tell is the Razor Crest based off the small details you made sure to put in - he really admires that. Down at his feet is the little one, grinning up at him. Beneath the helmet that’s shielded him from the rest of the world for almost all his life, he smiles back; orange caresses the rough paper, imagining that he can actually feel it through the lead and gloves.

The next page is of a planet he cannot name off the top of his head, but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s of home.

Each page is filled with memories; past and present etched and filled with the kind of skill and warmth that can never be replaced; promises of mystery tied in like a piece of string. Most of them towards the end are of him and the Child. Small moments, mostly, like when he fell asleep with the kid secured to his armored-less chest, and moments when it’s him, sitting in the pilot’s seat or his cape flowing behind him as he walks away to a new bounty or clue to the Child’s powers.

He recognizes them with a deep fondness that makes his head swirl with all types of emotions. Din knows what they mean, but it’s the fear. Yet each drawing - he’s on the one from hours ago - scolds each inch of doubt within him, and in this he finds a type of bravery he’s hasn’t faced much before; it makes it more terrifying to him.

“I like to draw what makes me happy.”

Your voice startles him from his thoughts. He’s never frozen up like this before - at least long ago - but now it feels like your stare alone is the only thing keeping him grounded to this spot. The doe like expression on your face the guilt that started to creep within his chest dissipates.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he still feels that he needs to apologize. “The kid had it and I... he likes the one where he found that flower.”

You smile widely at that, looking down at the child in question as you sit up. Din silently watches you climb out from the bunk and takes a few steps back to let you lean against the cold interior.

“That’s one of my favorites, too,” you say; proudly, Din thinks. “And the one where you fell asleep in the pilot’s chair... you were so tired that day and I kept trying to get you to rest and let me take over, but you can be so stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

His chuckle radiates the room, and fuck it, it could radiate the entire galaxy. Yours join in with ease, but it quickly dies down, though not awkwardly or uncomfortably; it feels natural among the countless other laughs you’ve shared over the years.

“I um - “ you clear your throat nervously, battling with the endless fluttering of butterflies in your stomach and the shakiness in your voice. “- I guess this is a good time to say that I really like you, Din. And I’ve been drawing these sketches of as many of these moments as I can because they’re so precious to me.” You take a deep breath. “Just like the Child is. Just like you are.”

You finish with a light scoff. It’s quiet, you have to pee, and you hope to the Maker above that this isn’t how your journey with Din ends; you should really open your eyes and at least do something if he’s just going to keep standing there.

“I like you, too.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when those words reach your ears. It feels like your heart just stopped beating, your body frozen, and your thoughts bouncing wildly around like a blaster; that crackled laugh (that you know somehow is soft) brings you back to your body, back to the man standing closer to you know and slowly reaching his hand out.

You glance at it before tracing your eyes over the worn out boots that’s seen better days, the scratched and scraped armor that you have shared more than enough time cleaning and polishing, the signet that the Mandalorian never fails to honor proudly, even in his own quiet ways; and now the helmet, the t-shaped visor that shields him.

In this you find no fear. The weight of his hand in yours settles you and the soft link of his pinky with yours brings a stinging to your eyes.

“I can’t do this alone,” he says. “And I want this to work. The Creed -”

“I know,” you interject quietly. “It’s not always going to be easy. But we got this, just like always, don’t we?”

“At least one of us has to.”

His heart warms when the loudest snort he’s ever heard you make jolts the Child from his sleep, blinking those big eyes wearily as your muffled laugher continues against your fingers. “You should get some sleep now,” you tell him. “I got this one.”

It feels very natural to lean down and pick the Child up and smile at Din with assurance; he feels the air in his lungs draw out of him until he literally starts to feel breathless, and his lips stretch in a smile - it’s small and shy; hopeful.

After he makes sure that the hull is closed off and lays his helmet by the plates of his armor (one of the rare times he actually can), settling onto the unforgiving but familiar cot, he imagines you’ll make a fuss about the scar on his nose with a pencil and book in your hands.

Tags: @talesfromtheguild, @absurdthirst, @chews-erotically, @hiwelcometochillys, @legally-a-bastard, @bluengrayfox, @pascaliprincess, @oloreaa, @thisis-theway, @jaynoellef, @ben-is-a-hoe, @hayley-the-comet, @pascalisthepunkest, @kenedyybrooklin, @garrshep, @paintmekala, @marian, @fit-fierce-gamer, @altersw, @hoodedbirdie

#this was so sweet i can't #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #fanfic #request #pedro pascal #anon #i have a little cold and finished this a little loopy *jazz music plays in the background*#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you

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jiikyu · 4 years ago

Text

Taste of Marigolds In Bloom

Herb of the Sun — Or Marigold was often used during the Middle Ages as a love charm. Carrying one of these brightly colored flowers was thought to bring love. Though be warned for they are also poisonous. Chapter V. It’s becoming painfully clear you find comfort in the wrong things. Like the smell of the ocean. A smile that’s far too blinding. In the way calloused hands always seem to find their way back to you. Despite everything — Can you really be blamed for falling? ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ All characters are 18+ Yandere!Mirio x Fem!Reader(AΩβ) Y/N = Your Name F/N = Your Full Name E/C = Eye Color H/C = Hair Color Warnings: Yandere / Unhealthy Behavior / Delusions / Angst / Possessiveness / Manipulation / Breaking & Entering, tho we don’t really elaborate on it this chapter? First Chapter Here❦ Previous Chapter Here❦ Next Chapter In Progress... Taglist. @missyredbean @yandere-romanticism

∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ You’re fading or — At least that’s what you’re starting to suspect. Time seemingly has escaped you. Who knows how much time has passed with you holding of the bathrooms door handle. The metal resting loosely against your skin is now warm from the shared contact and it’s beyond disappointing because — It’s the farthest you’ve been able to will yourself. Motionless you find yourself stuck at standstill. You hate it. You hate the invisible thing stopping you from opening the door, like you would have if it were any other day. It’s not the dry clothes that stick uncomfortably to your skin or the wet droplets coldly clinging to you. Something familiar yet foreign. Settled in the pit of your being, it claws and begs you not to abandon the shelter these thin walls provide. You know what’s taken hold of you and god, does that make it so much worse. You just want it gone. But, how do you kill fear? There is no reason for your hands to be clammy or for the hairs on the back of your neck to stand raised. All you’re doing is making the situation worse, for yourself and — For Mirio. He’s probably worried. Plus, it’s not like you can stay locked away forever. Right? Only when you’re able finally gulp down the passing mania and turn the handle do you realize that you’re alone. Light pours from behind you, spilling into the empty hall. Your E/C eyes take a moment to adjust but it’s clear that Mirio is nowhere in sight. How long had it been? The stillness is broken by the familiar ding of your microwave from the kitchen. “Just in time Y/N!” And just like that the shame eating away at you disappears as quickly as it appeared, lulled into submission by the voice calling out to you. It should probably frighten you. How fast your troubles seem to melt away with the sound of his voice. Leaving the bathroom you forget the jacket still hanging from the tubs edge. Your footsteps are muffled by the carpet underneath, it’s then that you notice the sweet scent dusting the air. You follow the faintest hints of sugar and — milk? Rounding the corner you spot the familiar silhouette standing under fluorescent white light. And it’s hard to miss just how comfortable he appears to be in your kitchen. The jug of milk has been removed from the fridge, garnished with paper towels littering the back counter and a lone spoon sitting forgotten... Oh and one of the cupboard doors has been left hanging wide open. You’re really not sure what he’s done to cause such chaos. The last thing you notice are the two steaming cups, filled to the brim. It’s so faint but, you swear it smells like honey — “Sweetheart I don’t know how you do it!” And suddenly all the thoughts buzzing around your head just stop. A total short-circuit. He just called you Sweetheart. And the bastard doesn’t even bat an eyelash, he just lets it slip past his teeth without any repercussions. Though, if you’re being honest — You’re not even sure Mirio realizes he’s said it. It’s fine, really, it’s not that big of a deal. There are plenty of people around the world that use nicknames. Something as simple as a title of endearment shouldn’t have your heart doing backflips and cartwheels. But it does. You’re absolutely screwed. “There’s barely enough room in here for one person!” His words have you more than a little confused. To demonstrate what exactly he means he lifts his arms in the air. From one hand to the other he practically touches the walls that represent the beginning and end of the kitchen. “See, it’s no good!” Huh. You suppose Mirio’s right in some sense of the word. But it’s him that makes the space feel small. “Well...” You can’t help but chuckle between words at the man T posing in your kitchen. “I guess for you it might be a bit much.” “Nah I think I’m onto something. You’ll just have to move in with me!” It’s hard to tell sometimes when Mirios joking because he always wears a wide grin. But there’s no way it’s a serious offer. Maybe your missing the point, but you don’t see the problem at hand. Sure your dorm might not be as uh — spacious — as the ones meant for rising star heros. But you’re nothing if not appreciative, the space had came with all the basic necessities and for that you couldn’t be more grateful. You’re lucky enough to even have the opportunity of sleeping under the roof of your dream school. “Now you’re pushing it.” Your tone is lighthearted. “My place isn’t that bad.” Though your smile brings warmth to his little heart the moment is soured. He cannot help but stare at the puffiness just under your eyes, from where tears had fallen and stained. A reminder that has the blond to biting into the meat of his cheek. Mirio would be lying if he said felt comfortable with your living situation. It’s far too small — Let alone for the both of you. But most importantly, he couldn’t help but notice the lack of heavy bolts on the front door. He doesn’t like it one bit. Maybe it’s just the itch of anxiety from what happened but he’d much rather see you someplace safer. Somewhere you weren’t forced to be alone, preferably someplace he could stay by your side. Like his dorm. “What’d you make?” Freed from his thoughts it takes Mirio a second to process the question, his eyes follow your stare — The two cups cooling on the counter, the steam vanishing as it rises. He’d almost forgotten! “Oh! It’s honey milk.” Suddenly one of the cups is pushed across the smooth counter surface, till it sits within your reach. “My dad used to make it for me when I was a kid, usually when I was upset or had a bad day.” His smiles softens when he ends with. “I thought you might like it.” What he can’t tell you is that he made it in desperation. A distraction from what he’d done. “Thank you.” Blue eyes watch your fingers wrap around the heated smooth surface of the ceramic. “Really, it means a lot.” He can’t help but stare as your lips part to take the first sip. “Anything for you.” Those words are your wake up call. You’d got caught up in his antics... Are you really that weak around him? Because, now you understand there’s a deeper promise there. One you almost wish had remained in the dark. Almost. “If you want we can watch a movie, or —“ “I think.” You stare into the swirl of milk and honey before continuing. “Maybe we should sit and... Talk about what happened.” Your words always seem to have an effect on him because his pulse begins to race. It’s fear. “Yeah.” ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ You’re in trouble. Even with the suppressants dulling your senses they’re not strong enough to block the scent of seashore and sandalwood now permeating the walls. Not strong enough to hide the fact that your dorm is already starting to smell like Mirio. If people knew you allowed an Alpha into your home, let alone an unmated one, you’re reputation would tarnished. You know this, it’s been drilled into your head since presenting as an Omega, but... It’s Mirio Togata that’s seated next to you in your kitchen. The one exception — Or at least that’s what you hope. The cheap material of the barstool digs into your back and there’s a constant drumming of fingers against the laminate countertop, a harmony of tension. The thing that held you captive in the bathroom is back and whispering in your ear. It doesn’t use words, no, instead you’re haunted by awful unintelligible garble. Of blood filled lungs struggling for air. This is a bad idea. You can already feel your mouth becoming dry, but there’s no going back — “What happened during the fight?” It’s the one question that could’ve caught Mirio off guard, and his smile falters, if only for a split second. “Oh you mean —“ A hand rubs the skin of his neck sheepishly, as if you caught him redhanded in the cookie jar. “I guess I did go a little overboard on that guy, didn’t I?” He says half jokingly, he wants so badly to be able to sweep the whole thing under the rug. A little overboard? “But don’t worry! From here on out I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you.” Even without his quirk, he’ll manage. “I promise.” Even if it means he has to get his hands dirty. He reaches an arm to wrap around your shoulder, so you know your hero will always be there for you and — You flinch at the touch. ... Mirio blinks a few times because he’s not sure what happened. You hadn’t meant to flinch. You really hadn’t meant it. But it’s too late. It’s clear as day, he sees it in your eyes. And you know it when his smile begins to fall, it’s plummeting. There’s fear in your eyes. Somewhere in your subconscious you must’ve been praying. Stupid, so incredibly stupid. Praying that you were strong enough to hide it from him. And it makes what comes next all the worse. “Wait you’re —“ Blond brows knit together, still grasping the change in atmosphere. “You’re not afraid of me... Are you?” There it is. The air is suddenly tens times heavier, like breathing through a straw. Your throats so dry you’re not even sure you have the ability to speak. When Mirios only answer is deafening silence does he become hyper aware of the situation. You literally see the moment it clicks. It’s in the way his mouth opens and closes in disbelief, in the way his blue eyes widen in realization. It’s like watching an incoming car crash in slow motion , you know it’s going to be horrible but there’s nothing to stop it. You have to tear your eyes away before the inevitable collision and when you do... Mirios panic truly sets in. He had been afraid of you to thinking less of him. But never in a million years did he think that you might see him as a potential threat. This is a nightmare. He’s sweating bullets. “Sunshine I know — I know I messed up.” Another nickname. “I never meant to scare you. I’m sorry — I don’t know what took over, you know I never would have let it go that far but the guy, he —“ Each word more unsteady than the last, more desperate, because you won’t even look at him. And it’s killing him. He can’t take it anymore. Mirios scarred hands find your shoulders, slowly — Like you might crumble away from the touch but this time you don’t recoil from the fingers pressing into the material of your shirt. “Will you please look at me Darling?” Having averted your eyes you don’t bare witness to the pain carving his face but god, do you hear it. It’s absolutely heart wrenching. And despite it all, despite having watched him beat a man within an inch of his life, the last thing you want is to hurt Mirio. So you give in. And you look up to see a man on the edge. It’s worse than you imagined. You see the wild storm of blue, one that could easily ravage everything within its reach. “This is all some sort of misunderstanding right? I was just protecting you that’s all, you know I would never hurt you.” One of his hands has left your shoulder to snake its way to cup your face, thumb stroking languidly over the cherub of your cheek. Desperate for contact, for anything he can get from you. “Please just — Say that you’ll forgive me.” Everything.

From the way Mirios voices wobbles weakly to the way he looks at you with desperation. It’s enough to crush every last bit of reason within you.

You break. This is the man that little voice inside your head screamed and begged you to stay away from? The man who lost everything to save a little girl from some madman? The man who rescued you and is now pleading for forgiveness in your kitchen? That man? Life is cruel. You’re finally able to find your voice. “Mirio. What you did was horrible —“ His heart just about stops beating right there. It hurts. Having his name associated with something so terrible in your eyes, even if to him it was something he’d done out of devotion... It’s a stab to the gut. “And despite everything.” Is this how it ends? You’re going to break up with him. “I — I can’t find it in myself to be upset with you.” Those words leave your lips and Mirio can finally breath. The blond hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath till now, the lack of oxygen straining his lungs. But you’re not done yet — “I’ve never met a person quite like you. You are the sweetest, definitely a little dense.” By the end your lips have started to curl upwards, it just comes naturally. “What I’m trying to say is that — I still care about you, and this isn’t the end —“ It’s like the worlds gone silent, your words are going in one ear and out the other. All he knows is that. You’re here. You’re smiling. And you’re not leaving him. It’s all Mirio needs to understand. The swell of emotions is just too much for him. It just sort of bursts out. “Though, you’re —“ “I love you.” ... The last — What? Six hours of your life have been nothing but a rollercoaster, one you’d like to get off of now. You don’t need a mirror to know you’re wearing the most wide-eyed expression of your entire life. But you couldn’t care less, because you’re far too busy replaying those magic words over and over in your head. You’re not sure you heard right. Maybe your skull was smashed against the pavement at some point during the fight and this is all some weird fever dream. That’s right. You’re probably in some hospital with IVs hooked to you. “Mirio —“ Pinching your inner arm before continuing, it’s almost concerning when the tinge of pain feels real. Very real... And you’ll be damned if you can’t find the reason for the sudden lack of common sense in the room. “Did you hit your head?” “I — What no? Y/N I’m being completely serious here.” “Are you sure? M-maybe you should you lie down, just incase?” You’re starting to panic because — Dear god, what if he needs medical attention and he’s here because of your own problems? As if reading your mind he understands. His heart skips and stutters because it’s him you’re worried about. He hasn’t lost you yet. And as much as he would love to tease you about how cute you are — He’s having none of it, because he just admitted his true feelings and your too worried about a stupid concussion! Suddenly he’s no longer seated next to you but standing and... He’s taking a few steps back? Once far enough away he outstretches his arms forward so that his thumbs mirror each other. “Could someone with a concussion do this?” In one swift motion his hands are planted to the floor with both legs kicked to a point in the air. A handstand. “One, two, three —“ Of course, nothing can be easy when it comes to Mirio. Show off. “— Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen and twenty!” Twenty seconds. Your jaw would’ve hit the floor if it were physically possible. It’s impressive. More than that. “I can go longer if you want.” When he hops back to stand on his own two feet the floor trembles. “But, I’m not sure you want to watch me do a handstand all night.” He’s smiling and laughing. It makes you feel small and irrational, that you’ve been overthinking everything. That you’ve made something out of nothing. The panic starts to settle, like a layer of soot waiting for its next opportunity to suffocate. But you gotta ask one last time. For your own sanity. “So... You’re really okay?” If he’s fine then that would mean — “Never been better! Because — Here, let me say it again.“ He says stepping closer, like there’s a magnet between the two of you, he closes the gap. Before you know it large hands find yours, with the outmost care. You can only describe it as being bathed in sunlight, warm and glowing, your digits are dwarfed in Mirios own. It’s slower this time, softer. “I love you.” Has your heart ever flown this high before? “It doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not but, you’re the only person that’s made me feel this way — The only one for me.” You know there’s no way for you to come down unscathed. “I was being serious earlier you know? That... We could move in together.” His thumb maps the tiny hills of your knuckles. “So, won’t you please consider moving in with me?” Really now, it’s got to be one of the most ridiculous things you’ve be asked in a while. Hadn’t you only just admitted your feelings a few hours ago? Doesn’t he care what others will think? Why are you even entertaining the idea? Even as the list continues to grow, reasons on it’s unrealistic, why — Sitting perched atop the stool your feet dangle, support-less. You’re helpless because those blue irises are looking down upon you like your the only one in the world. It’s too much. “I —“ Why won’t the butterflies stop swarming you? “I need to sleep on this Mirio — This. It’s just a lot.” You’re certain now, now more than ever before. You’re in far deeper than you ever could have bargained for. Because you still haven’t said no yet. “Of course!” Voice soft and lighthearted, Mirios hands give yours a squeeze. Whether in reassurance or in fear of letting go he doesn’t know anymore. “Take all the time you need.” ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ The night ends with you helping bandage-up Mirios knuckles. Rubbing alcohol, cotton balls and Hello Kitty bandaids. The ugly futon you found at a garage sale and a few spare blankets are included in the five star Hotel experience. The springs groan back to life when Mirio unfolds the furniture. You don’t know how long you stand in the doorframe of your bedroom, there’s just so much — Why’d he have to pile everything on you at once! You just need time, that’s all. Time to think. Once you get your head out of the clouds you’ll be able to let him down gently, because it’s a childish idea after all. One you’d never agree too. Right? And maybe if you hadn’t succumbed to a night of stress you wouldn’t have failed to notice the bottle of pills missing from your nightstand. ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ At some point sleep overtook you in your exhaustion, because your phone now reads 10:12AM. After laying in bed for an extra twenty minutes you finally sit up and only when your feet touch floor are you startled fully awake. Something touched your left foot, and it rattled at you. Your eyes adjust enough for you to see the culprit, it’s your bottle of suppressants. They must have rolled off your nightstand while you were out. It’s quiet. If you didn’t know any better you would say it felt like any other regular morning, besides the lingering fatigue. That’s why when you open your bedroom door it takes you by surprise, the lumpy, vaguely looking human shape on the futon. Mirios sleeping form barely fits the ancient pullout. One of his arms hangs off the side with his fingers resting against the floor. Only with the glow of the television are you able to make out his sleeping face. Whatever miraculous hair gel he buys no longer keeps the mess of blond together, bangs of gold hang over his soft features. A normal persons heart probably wouldn’t flutter at something so simple. From under the blanket peeks the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for at least a day now. The same one you cried into. In a few days the scent of calming sea waves and citrus will fade. And you’ll be all that’s left behind. It’s a realization that leaves you feeling, empty. You find the more time spent mulling over the situation the blurrier everything becomes. It doesn’t matter how hard you try to convince yourself, no matter how many hours you spend staring at your ceiling in the dark of your bedroom — It won’t change the way your heart beats wildly whenever you’re around him. You can’t help but wonder. Is it really such a bad idea?

And you know you’re a terrible person because the curve of your lips is real as you gently place your hand on his shoulder. There are roots that have already taken hold of you long ago.

#mirio x reader #yandere mirio #bnha mirio #yandere bnha #mywriting #remember when i said this would be ready by thursday????????#sorry im slow :'(#pls forgive me ya'll #hopefully u guys like it tho! I dont know how many chapters are left

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lindwyrmrelinquished · 3 years ago

Note

So....what are some of your headcanons for Ranbutler?

OHHHHHHHHHH BUDDY, YOU ARE OPENING YOURSELF TO A WHOLE NEW CAN'O'BEANS HERE

OKAY SO FIRST OF ALL-

(everything else under the cut because there is a L O T )

Butler's human form is predominant(which unfortunately means he does not have a tail :(), but he can make Ender noises/speak Galactic. He's got a bunch of stims and tics, and making the Ender noises is one of them! He often makes them to fill the silence, or in times of high emotion(positive or negative. just imagine a Butler bouncing on his toes while excited Ender chirps keep coming out of his mouth, or he's rambling about something and half of it is layered with Galactic). Following from that, Butler has something that Billiam calls the "monochrome form". If he's under high levels of stress, whatever dark tint of color is in his right side will start spiking into the left side, making his skin darker(and, if he has enough color in his skin from NOT FUCKING OVERWORKING HIMSELF, it can get dark enough to blend into shadows) and spreading from the little black scales on his neck and cheeks and hands(which are already claws, that's why he wears gloves), and if he's really stressed/pissed, little horns are gonna start poking out of his skull and he's gonna be completely gray/black, his teeth are already deadly but they're gonna get sharper and if you look him in the eyes he will s c r e a m and very likely tear you apart if Billiam isn't there to hold him back/calm him down.

Speaking of! Butler very much dislikes eye contact. It makes them extremely uncomfortable and the Ender part is gonna start screaming to attack attack attack and the pupil-slit thing is gonna happen. Unfortunately, he's frozen by the eye contact and cannot move of his own free will, it's all going to be instinct to either get away or attack, if he moves at all. And the moment the eye contact is broken, he starts to calm down and all the screaming in his head starts to dissipate, so he doesn't really get the chance to consciously act on the Ender side's instinct.

NEXT OF ALL, throwing canon out the window and saying BILLIAM AND BUTLER ARE FOUND-FAMILY. The way they acted in the episode is just that, an act. In reality, they actually Care each other Very Very Much and have adopted each other into their respective hybrid groups(i.e Endermen have their hauntings, Piglins have their sounders{that part's not canon to mc but i yoinked it from a fic}). Hubert jokes about how Billiam accidentally adopted Bu as his son, but both Bu and Bi deny this. Hubert also got Liaria and James in on the joke and now these two are being constantly triple-teamed.

ON THAT NOTE Liaria and James know about the Egg. It happened at the tail end of Bu's first masquerade when they started accusing Billiam of committing all the murders, and Bu kind of panicked and outed himself as the killer, he pulled out the knife and everything. Billiam admitted that he knew about this, and showed them the Egg as explanation. Now Liaria and James willingly give up their bought lives to the Egg on the regular(we might get into the lives thing later{it was also something i yoinked from a fic, and then I gave it more explanation}) to keep Billiam and his family alive, but they're not all that affected by it due to not even being near it half the time.

AND ON THAT NOTE, let's talk about Butler's relationship with the Egg! Bad. It's bad. Absolutely terrible, the two despise each other immensely. I like to say they're the closest thing to caliginous that a teenaged hybrid that lived off spite and an ancient crimson demon can be. The Egg's hurt Bu a lot, and honestly that's part of the reason his contempt and fear for it is so high. But that's also part of the reason why Billiam was pulled out of its influence despite living right above it. Because he cares for Bu, a literal child that's suffered severe mental and physical trauma at the hands(well, vines) of the Egg. Honestly? Billiam wouldn't be the way he is now if he didn't have to take trips to the Nether. Short explanation, too much time away from their home realm gets hybrids really really sick. So, about a few months or so after Bu arrived, he had to yeet back there for a week and just told Butler and Hubert to take care of the mansion. And you know what Hubert did, that bitch? He took advantage of both Billiam's absence and Butler's skill and pampered himself while throwing the entire load onto the child. And then like halfway through the week, he got the idea to introduce said child to the Egg, who before then has had no idea it ever existed aside from the crimson red aura around the mansion(it's a whole thing about Endermen and magic but again, another thing I might get into later). He hadn't even attended a party before then. So, yeah, Hubert just left him down in one of the old cells for three days. Didn't even check on him, that bitch. And then when Billiam game back, suffice to say he was PISSED. He may be a rich bastard who causes murders biweekly, but even he has standards, and hurting a damn 7-8 year old child that bad was not one of them. he can't be held responsible for child labor, bu followed him home by his own choice. again, another whole backstory thing

Bu's genderfluid! He usually switches between he/him and they/them, and the direction he nods is a little indicator of which one(up for gender, down for no), but sometimes he uses she/her. Adding on that, due to Weird Enderman Genetics, he can manipulate his hair to grow real fast and likes to experiment with it in the mornings for Maximum Gender Euphoria This means that one day his hair could be barely touching his neck, and the next it's all the way down to his waist. It's a fun little anomaly and sometimes Billiam likes to play with it when it gets longer :3 travelling on the lgbt train, Bu is also ace/aro! This doesn't have much impact story-wise(usually), but it's just a fun little tidbit :3 On other, more Ender notes, he has pretty much all the traits an Enderman does, even if he looks fully human aside from being 6 inches taller than Sir Billiam himself. With the eye-contact thing, I've got a headcanon that Endermen can kind of read minds to an extent if they look into another entity's eyes, but it gets loud and borderline painful if anything but another Enderman does the same. Meanwhile, Bu's about the perfect mix of an Enderman and a Human(later called Players and Villagers depending on their capabilities) to be able to take at least a few seconds of eye contact. He can also teleport! To about the same extent as Endermen, if not a little less. Unfortunately, spending too much time in the void between teleportations(i.e a few hours for him, though an hour in the void is a minute in reality. It's why teleporting happens in the blink of an eye to anyone but the user) has some adverse effects. Bu's either glitched, gotten some sort of void-sickness like a flu but worse, and/or lost large chunks of memory each of the separate times he stuck himself in there for too long. Pure-blooded Endermen have a longer tolerance, but even they can succumb to the void with enough time.

Bu's also hurt by water, and the first time Billiam really figured this out is when he dragged him to the roof because it was raining and for some reason, Bi really likes the rain. Bu, on the other hand, was hospitalized for a day once Billiam actually realized, "oh, he's burning" Unfortunately, Bu can still produce tears, so he's got some scars on his cheeks and hands from those, Luckily, though! Billiam got him some gloves and a facemask reminiscent of cc!Ranboo to hide those scars because bu's. really self-conscious about them :,D

But also he's got TOE BEANS,

[ahem] So Endermen are basically giant block-holding teleporting cats and no one can convince me very much otherwise. So on the one hand, they have giant hands shaped for holding blocks. On the other hand, T O E B E A N S

So Bu's got beans on the pads of his fingers and feet(which also end in claws with a black gradient because Peak Character Design <3). Billiam likes to hold his hands on the rare occasion he doesn't wear his gloves because mans likes to stim with those toe beans. Meanwhile Billiam himself has nicely-textured hands because of his Piglin hooves and Bu also likes to stim with them, so just. them holding each others hands for mutual stimmage

[ahem] anyway

Bu stims!! He flaps his hands and does thing really rapidly and harshly when he's really high-strung, which doesn't happen often, at least in front of people. Boy's got anxiety so he's had his fair share of panic attacks :,D he just knows how to disguise them so people don't see, but Billiam knows the signs at this point. But he also has a lot of vocal stims/tics, mainly lots of Enderman noises, some popping and a little screechy thing here and there. Sometimes he picks up a sound and then repeats it a whole bunch because it feels nice on the tongue :] there's also these poofs of particles that happen when he's happy, they look like mini purple fireworks and they're like an expulsion of magic, he can feel when they happen and it feels nice :]

(cw for self-harm in this paragraph and the followed copy-pasted convo)

[ahemhemhem] So y'know how Butler's an Ender-hybrid? His hands and feet reflect that(along with the ears, the eyes, the height, the abilities, but we're talking about about the hands here). Part of why he keeps those gloves on almost 24/7 is to dull his claws, which are not so much an intentional danger to others rather than an unintentional danger to himself. He's got tics and stims and is very neurodivergent and has anxiety(me projecting? noooo /hj), so he gets very nervous very easily. And one of his nervous habits rather than wringing his hands, fidgeting, and (if really bad)a heightened amount of tics, he tends to scratch at his arms. His claws can tear through the fabric easily, and more than one or two suits have been sent back to the tailors for repairs to the sleeves. However, having both padded sleeves and padded gloves nullifies that, so he always wears them special-made. If he didn't have that habit, he likely wouldn't have the gloves on as often as he does.

Friend Hey good headcanons 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 Also ohhhh my god Billiam fussing over him and his gloves until he gets them to be the right amount of padded where Bu can still do things but also not hurt himself

Me gbfhdgbhgsfhbgsfdhdf He keeps examining them every time the tailors try but it doesn't feel right until That Specific Try so he just plops the gloves back on the counter and says "Do it again"

Friend They spend an entire day doing nothing but making gloves while Billiam & Hubert take turns watching Butler to make sure he stays safe

Me Absolutely Problem is Butler can feel eyes on him. And eyes make him nervous :,) so when he gets nervous. he starts to scratch at his arms again and anxiety is too much for him to ask them to stop watching him

Friend It ends up with them just having to hold his hands, looking at random things (they can go sit on the balcony or something so they have something pretty to look at)

Me That hold on actually that's adorable-

Friend Fhhdjdjdjsjsj they're friends your honor

Me Absolutely Even Hubert contributes to keeping him safe. And Hubert's afraid of even being near Butler

Friend And then we get bonding via the oh no Billiam is busy and Hubert has to take care of Bu for the next 3 hours

Me GHDSFGSHFGS THAT IS A GREAT IDEA Butler insists he can do everything himself, nothing's different about the routine, and then he has a mental breakdown when he tries to make food without anyone else in the kitchen- Cause usually Hubert's there, even if he's making something else. There's at least another presence, and that's the sort of thing that's calming for Bu. But Hubert's off setting up the table for lunch/dinner or something and Butler makes One minor slip-up and spirals from there until he's struggling even handling spice mixing The same thing happened with cookies one time, and both times Hubert found him borderline unable to function because he panicked too much and helped him out of it.

Friend Butler is just curled up in the kitchen, trying to have a quiet panic attack because he can't cause the others any more trouble than he already is, and Hubert is very quietly upset about helping him because he was doing so good at avoiding Bu but here he is again being the only thing that's letting this kid breathe

Me Absolutely

Friend Do you think Bu passes out on him? Like Hubert (probably reluctantly) gives Butler a hug cause those help, and Bu was just supposed to stay there until he felt better, but panic attacks are exhausting and he fell asleep at some point-

Me Oh my gods he would though, especially with the amount of sleep he gets He'd have to try so hard to even stay conscious, much less do things in the manner he usually does, and Hubert just quietly tells him that it's okay to sleep; he'll take care of everything. Hu never forgets that of course Bu's always in danger around him - he has fleeting thoughts and quite often knows how to act on them - but he stands up holding an exhausted child and takes him to his room so he can rest. Butler may want him to stay; Endermen usually want someone around when sleeping. It's the security of having someone watch for nightmares, but Hubert doesn't stay. He has to go back to the kitchen and finish that meal Bu was making. But if he's still asleep by the time Hu's done with everything, he might linger outside his door, listening in for anything bad.

(Okay the cw is over now, you may now go back to your regularly scheduled content :,D)

Also, one last thing: Billiam gives Butler a bunch of gold things(including the masquerade mask) because that's what Piglins do with their sounders, they cover them in gold to show they care. And after Bu finding out the reason why Billiam's been handing off a bunch of gold things to him he does not cry, because that would hurt his face, but he does feel quite a lot of things that make him want to because holy shit Billiam feels the same

Butler is Billiam's sounder and Billiam is Butler's haunting, they are family your honor

#mod note #mod post #ask #anon #tftsmp billiam #tftsmp butler #tftsmp hubert #this is a. R E A L L Y . long post #THANK GOD FOR POST CUTS HUH #good god there is SO MUCH content in here #i just copy-pasted all my rambles from my dms-#my friends must suffer and now you will too <3

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itsnsfwalways · 4 years ago

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Canyon Moon

A/N: WELCOME TO THE CANYON MOON FIC ! The chapters have to be split up and cut a lot shorter bc of sizing limits but I’m hoping you guys will still like it.

FIC MASTERLIST

WARNINGS FOR CHP. 1: swearing, mild drug use (weed)

CHAPTER ONE: the world’s happy waiting

The ocean has always been a calming place for you. Any body of water, really. The lapping of thewaves, the smell of salt, the course feeling of sand between your toes. It felt like home. So when you moved to Malibu, you found yourself lying on the beach until 4 am most nights, sometimes sleeping, but more often than not listening to music and writing.

Working as a songwriter for mostly just your friends, or as a fill in whenever someone wasn’t there, you were constantly writing. It was a lot easier to get deeper that way for you, not having to worry about sharing your secrets, and being able to mask it in other people’s voices. That being said, you had journals upon journals of your own songs. They were just for you, and occasionally your best friends, but it was something you were really proud of. After writing for the past 6 years, you’d like to think they were pretty good.

You’d gotten to your little spot around an hour ago, parking your pride and joy, an orange and yellow remodeled VW bus, which also functioned as your room most nights when you wanted to be out here, next to the sand.

The vibrant sunset had since dulled into a deep purple color, but it was still fairly light out. A small bonfire was lit in front of your blanket, keeping you a little extra warm even though it was still 70°.

Strumming your guitar, you moved away from the rock you were leaning against, a car’s headlights snapping you out of the haze you always got when you were out here. And also those two joints you had smoked already.

You raise your eyebrows at the fucking bright yellow Ferrari, hoping they were just stopping for a second.

Your prayers were ignored as a guy stepped out, a hoodie pulled over his head.

Shrugging your shoulders, you continue to play mindlessly, making up different melodies before creating a new one on top it.

Mr. Ferrari starts making his way over to you, which sends a flutter through your chest.

“Hey, just so you know, if you’re going to kill me, I’ve always wanted to die listening to Landslide by Fleetwood Mac,” you yell, grabbing your phone from your bag just in case.

The guy stops for a second and lets out a laugh.

“Definitely not trying to kill you,” he chuckles, and, oh, he’s British.

He comes closer and you come face to face with one of the prettiest people you’ve ever seen. Wearing a black hoodie with the words “Treat People With Kindness” embroidered on it, that’s cute, a pair of grey slacks, which you wouldn’t necessarily think of for beach attire, but he makes up for it by completing the look with no shoes.

“Do y’have a lighter I could borrow? Damn thing ran out and the gas station is just far away enough for it to be annoying.”

You laugh at that and nod, tossing him a random one from your bag.

“I feel that. I’m Y/N. Where you from?” You bluntly ask, because hey, he’s cute.

“Manchester, originally. Live near here now. You mind?” He asks, and you nod, scooting over to let him sit.

You’re hit with the smell of vanilla, leather, and just rich as he plops himself down, leaning against a rock a few feet away from you.

He points to your guitar, lips curled around the joint for a second before he inhales and asks,

“How long you been playing? Liked what you were doing earlier.”

You blush at this, barely remembering what you were doing.

“I have no fuckin clue. 14 years? Got my first guitar at 8 and fell in love.” You over exaggerated hugging your guitar, getting another laugh out of him, before you spit out,

“Oh, and thank you! I don’t really remember what I was doing to be honest. Just get in the zone sometimes. Do you play?”

He looks surprised at this, looking at you closely for a second.

“Uh, yeah, little bit. Been trying to learn more recently and kind of get my skills up.”

“Good for you! If you ever wanna play together, I’m literally always here. You sharing?” You smile, looking at his face in the orange light. His cheekbones are illuminated perfectly and you feel your throat go dry.

He nods and hands it to you, watching as you press the filter to your lips.

“What did you say your name was again?” You rack your brain and cannot remember him introducing himself.

“Didn’t. Harry, sorry that was a bit rude,” He mumbles, and you look at him funny.

“Are you like an FBI agent, Harry? Why so secret? And harassing young girls on the beach at night? With a fucking Ferrari? Come on, man, what’s your secret?” You tease, bumping your elbow into his side.

He laughs, shoving you with his shoulder lightly.

“Only harassing that’s going on is you interrogating me. But if I’m making you uncomfortable, I’ll leave right now. I should probably go, actually.” He rants, suddenly moving to get up. You turn your body quickly and lay your legs in his lap so he can’t move.

“You’re dumb. Secret, please?” You smile, blinking up at him.

He scoffs, shaking his head with a small smile, and pauses to run a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath in before saying,

“I’m a musician, so that’s where the car and secret beach trips come in. I’m actually just starting to write for my next album, and I’m hitting a rut.”

“Oh shit, that’s what’s up! You’ll have to show me your stuff sometime. Sorry that I don’t know you, I’ve been living on the road for awhile so I listen to a lot of oldies. Plus, with hippie parents you don’t hear a lot of new music,” You explain, gesturing to your van.

He looks at you for a second before shaking his head, smiling to himself.

“What?” You grin, shoving his knee with your foot.

“You’re something else, s’all.”

“So I’ve been told.” A giggle falls from your lips as you lay down on the blanket, legs still in his lap, guitar now discarded to the side.

Looking up at the stars starting to form, you feel his gaze on you. Trying to figure out who this chick was, what stories she had, what witty remark was just past her lips.

“Question.” You say, propping your head up. Your hand finds it’s way on the back of your skull and you feel the blanket shift slightly underneath your elbow.

“Answer,” He responds with the same tone, tapping your knees with his fingertips.

“Would you wanna come with me so I can get a tattoo?”

He stops for a second and stares at you.

“Like, right now? You got an appointment?”

You grin and move off of him, ruffling his hair.

“Even better. I got cool friends.”

He takes his time packing up all your stuff, being as cautious enough to remind you not to cover the fire with sand in case someone stepped on it.

“This is my beach, Ferrari. No one comes here. Except handsome British guys, apparently.”

He looks up from the ground, where he’s stuffing your towel into your bag, and throws you a smirk.

“Thanks, baby. You’re gorgeous as well,”

“Blegh. Let me come introduce you to Sunflower,” you fake shudder at the pet name and he grins, pinching your side so he can laugh at your little jump.

You lead him over to your van, opening up the side door to show off your renovated home.

The entire thing was orange with white trim, big yellow sunflowers painted on the sides. The ceiling inside was painted a dark blue, the walls painted yellow.

A meditation rug was lying on the floor, a light brown wood flooring that matched the cabinets attached to the ceiling.

Your bed was all the way in the back, a simple white comforter on it. A mirror hung next to it, attached to the bathroom door. There was a small kitchen counter complete with a sink and a stovetop next to it. A small table folded out behind the drivers seat where a lounge area was located, orange cushions and fairy lights decorating the little couch.

All in all, it was a tiny fucking house in a car and you treated it like your baby.

“This is fucking sick,” he says, looking at the different artwork, posters, and decorations hanging all over the walls and cabinets.

“Thanks! Did it myself. Spent all summer working on it a few years back, I’m damn proud of it.”

There’s a pause for a second, trying to figure out how to best work this out.

“I’m cool to just leave my car here if you’re down to drive me. We’re going to one of my guy friends’ studio about thirty minutes from here,” you suggest, having a feeling Harry wouldn’t be down to leave his car here, no matter how secluded it was.

“Uh, okay. Should I be worried? Who knows what scoundrels you hang out with?” He teases, watching you go into the van to grab some things.

You glance back at him, laughing, before your breath catches in your throat. He’s since removed his hoodie and is left in a white tank top with small black print on the rib cage. Making a mental note to figure out what it says later, your eyes can’t help but drift to his arms. Illuminated in the car light, his biceps bulge as he rests his hands on the roof, leaning forward slightly into the car.

His tongue traces along his teeth, landing itself in his cheek as he watches you check him out.

“See something you like?” He asks, raising his eyebrows like he’s genuinely curious.

Your eyes flick back to his smirking face and you blink for a second, before responding with,

“Yeah, was trying to figure out what asshole uses a word like ‘scoundrel’ in 2018, what the fuck, Harry?”

He barks out a laugh and brings his fist up to his mouth to cover it, the other one coming down to hold his stomach.

“When you are done appreciating my humor, I need to change real quick. Spin around, please,” You come up from your squat and pull off your sweatshirt, not waiting for him to do that.

“Jesus, Y/N,” He exhales, spinning around and looking up at the sky.

“What? I gave you a warning,” you giggle, sliding your sweatpants down to slip into a pair of black volleyball shorts.

“By about half a second!” Harry exclaims. “You’re killing me.”

“Sorry, superstar, nobody is exempt from special treatment here.” You roll your eyes at yourself, what the fuck are you even saying.

“Mkay, you’re good.”

Harry spins around, eyes taking in your new outfit.

On top of your shorts was a giant Stevie Nicks shirt, one from her White Winged Dove tour.

“Shit, you might be a bigger Stevie fan than I am, and that’s saying a lot.”

“Fuck, you have no idea. My dad went to the fucking final show of this tour and met my mom in the crowd during Dreams. My mom made him play it when I was born because she swore Stevie brought me to them.”

You catch him staring at you and turn your head away, cheeks burning because you’re rambling and need to shut the fuck up.

He clears his throat and takes a breath before starting.

“Promise not to kill me when I tell you this?”

Holding your hand to your burning cheeks, you murmur,

“No.”

“Y/N!” Harry exclaims, finally coming in the van to tickle you.

“Okay, okay, I promise not to kill you,” You mock, waving your hands around.

“I was lucky enough to sing one of my songs with her along with Landslide and Leather and Lace.”

You drop your bag onto the ground as your jaw drops.

“Shut up. I don’t believe you.” You cross your arms over chest. “I don’t know if I’d be angrier if you’re lying or if it actually happened. Holy shit am I jealous.”

“Oh, I was crying onstage, losing my shit. She is, everything. Dreams was the first song I learned the words to, yknow? She truly is a magical being.”

“God. I’m definitely looking you up later because who the fuck sings one of THEIR songs with Stevie Nicks.” You sigh, leaning over to grab your bag and Doc Martens.

“Oh god.” Harry laughs, running a hand through his hair again, looking at you really intensely for a second.

“Not to sound like a dick, but do you really not know who I am?”

“I mean if you need your ego boosted I can lie?” You offer, before dropping the witty responses.

“But no, sorry. Like I said, I just.... don’t really listen to new music, and if I do it’s always my friends or some indie shit with an overused beat.” Harry laughs at that and you smile, yes, he’s not weirded out.

“Don’t apologize, please. I just, can’t be too sure, yknow? People like to use you, especially here. And you’re just a little too perfect to be true,” he sighs, pulling you closer to him by your waist.

Placing you hands on his chest, you look at him for a second before leaning forward and whisper in his ear,

“My tattoo awaits me, baby. Let’s go.”

He groans and leans his head on your shoulder, before letting you go and grabbing your bag for you.

Such a gentleman, you think to yourself, locking up Sunflower.

“Does your car have a cool name?” You ask, after buckling you, fingertips appreciating the rich black leather seat.

“Nope, but I’m good at nicknames. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say normal terms of endearment aren’t your thing?” He asks, making eye contact with you for a quick second as he puts his arm behind your seat before stretching slightly to look behind him as he pulls puts the car in reverse.

Looking up for a quick second, you remind yourself to breathe.

“You would be correct. Gotta use your brain if you wanna get me all jittery,” you tease, fanning yourself over exaggeratedly.

He gives you a side eye and smirks at you, popping a piece of gum in his mouth and raising his eyebrows, as if to say, game on.

“So where am I going?” He asks, starting to drive away from your special spot.

“Let us ask the oracle!” You hold out your phone like a trophy, before laughing to yourself and bringing up Google Maps.

Propping your phone up in the cupholder, you sit cross legged in just your socks in his seat, fidgeting with your hands for a second.

“I’m kind of intrigued on who you are now. What’s your story?” You ask, turning your head to look at him.

Harry glances over at you, eyes drifting to your bare legs for a second.

“Well, the short version, I guess, is I grew up in a little town in England with my mum and my sister, applied to X-Factor when I was 16, got put into a band called One Direction with four other lads, released couple albums with them until end of 2015. Then did a movie called Dunkirk, wrote and released my first solo album, and toured it. Just got back from tour about a month ago, actually.”

You look at him blankly for a second, and he shifts in his seat, removing one of his hands from the wheel to place it on the armrest.

“Holy SHIT am I unaccomplished,” you exclaim, hitting him in the chest.

“Hey!” he yells, but you cut him off.

“How many fucking albums is a couple? And how old are you, my god. That is impressive.”

“I’m 24, that probably should’ve been said before we’re alone in a car together. And 5 albums, in 5 years. Nearly killed us.”

“I’m 22. Damn, dude, that’s insane. It sounds like they horribly overworked you and I am hoping you were generously compensated and had a bit of musical freedom. I know how the music industry can be with boy bands.”

He nods for a second, licking his lips slightly, trying to figure out how to phrase his response.

“I’m not going to lie, there are some definite perks and I am so incredibly lucky to just be able to do what I love as my job.” His fingers find their way to his bottom lip, pinching it slightly. “It was fun, I mean, you throw a bunch of teenagers together and give them celebrity status? We were insane, and I enjoyed it. But.... it felt like I wasn’t a person anymore. I was just ‘Harry Styles from the boyband One Direction’.”

“I don’t necessarily understand but I think the fact that you came out this respectful and real says something. You seem to have your shit properly together, and, even if you don’t, you got back from tour two months ago! You deserve some relaxation. The world’s happy to wait for you to find yourself a little.”

Pausing for a second, you place your hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly before swearing,

“I hope you know I’m being genuine about not knowing you and latching on for fame. I’ll let your parents know my intentions with their son are all very pure.”

He laughs at that, glancing at you again,

“I appreciate you saying that. This life is wonderful, like I said, but it’s very stressful and puts pressure on every relationship. There’s always going to be stories or photos and rumors spread like wildfire.”

You shift in your seat, understanding that this was a very serious issue for him.

“Listen, I’ll let you know up front that that doesn’t bother me. I’ve dated musicians and know the life, I get it. I think you’re cool and that we could have a fun time experiencing real life together. But before we do that, you need to have fun and let everything the fuck GO. I’ll promise you right now, if you let me stick around, you’ll experience what life is. No fame or pining for success bullshit, no offense, but there’s no need for it. If you’re happy doing what you’re doing, no one can tell you you’re not successful.” Harry stops the car at a red light and fully turns to look at you.

He exhales harshly before grinning. “You are a breath of fresh fucking air, Y/N. I think you’re going to change my life, if I’m being honest here.”

“Here’s hoping,” you grin.

A/N: THE OFFICIAL FIRST CHAPTER IS UP !!! I’m hoping you guys will come to love this fic as much as I do. I’ll try to find a writing schedule that works with you guys and my work schedule, so sorry if chapters take a little bit to come up. This is going to be a looooong fic, so buckle up, turn that old lover’s hippie music on, and enjoy !!

- lana <3

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fic #canyon moon #sunflower vol 6 #multi chapter fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #dom harry styles

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pocket-void · 5 years ago

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Table for Two

A/N: Hi! This the first fanfic I’ve written for literally anything! (I’m an on and off writer in general tho) I’m hoping to write a collection of unconnected short stories currently called Smaller Sides to Life, that focuses on small/short moments in time during specific events. I’d be so grateful for any comment or feedback, but honestly I just hope you enjoy it first and foremost! >///<

Pairing: Logicality Words: 2468 Content: Human AU? A lot of descriptions of anxious waiting, so I guess it’s got a lil angst. Happy ending! (Please tell me if I need to mention anything I am very unfamiliar with how this works ;///;) Summary: Logan grows ever more anxious as he waits for his date, who, at this point, he isn’t even sure is coming.

If you wanna read my google doc for this instead you’re free to. (I like Cambria font u///u) I have an Ao3 but I am currently not using it.

Logan was alone, sitting comfortably at a table for two in the back of a halfway decent food establishment, silently watching as the ice cubes in his water shifted and tapped against the glass while they melted with each passing second. Well, “comfortably” was a lie, of course. There was absolutely nothing comforting about being in such a place on his own, with only the dim flickering candles on the table to keep him company. He didn’t really know what the worst part of the whole thing even was. Was it the ever encroaching chatter that surrounded him? The sickeningly sweet music that played in the background? The blank, unflinching cold stone wall in front of him? Or perhaps, it was the still empty seat that sat mockingly at the other side of the table.

Indeed, Logan was unhappy, uncomfortable, and alone.

The nervous tapping of his foot was practically synonymous with the pattering rain against the windows. The typically majestic city view now nothing more than an amorphous glob of glowing lights amidst the water droplets and fog. He couldn’t help but repeatedly switch between checking his watch and frantically clicking his pen, occasionally scribbling down a loose nonsensical thought or two onto his little notepad. The action barely made a difference in soothing his racing mind, but he had to do something to distract himself. He’d do practically anything to ease the agony that was continuously settling in his heart with each passing minute. The absolute dread hanging over him like an impending guillotine.

This was foolish. Logan sighed. Surely he was overreacting. There must’ve been a reason. He thought to himself, but it was no use. Not a single thing he told himself could possibly make the immensely slow sinking weight forming at the pit of his stomach go away. Not. A single. Thing. For someone who typically prided himself on being able to, and rather efficiently mind you, keep his calm in the most stressful of situations, this was quite distressing to say the least.

He’s simply running late. He reasons to himself. It happens. You know that. Well, of course he did. There were practically an infinite amount of possibilities that could’ve delayed the arrival of the person he was waiting for, and most of them were not inherently related to Logan’s personal character. That was the most logical conclusion, anyway. Did that thought comfort him any though? No.

It’s been an hour, Logan. You must be joking if you still think he’s coming. Another thought tore through his mind. Well, he may not have been joking, but he was well aware of how ridiculous it must’ve seemed. Just him, sitting alone at a table for two, growing ever more and more desperate by the second. To hold on to even a sliver of hope must’ve seemed utterly utterly foolish. Every pitying glance by the passing waiter refilling his cup only served to make him feel even more miserable. He wished desperately, in that moment, that he could just disappear; he hoped he could shrink down in size so small that he wouldn’t have to be seen anymore. He wanted to completely collapse in on himself and crumple up like the pathetic scraps of paper he’d been unconsciously tearing out of his notes. He wanted the world to just fade to black, and for him to simply drift away into an endless void, away from everything. Away from this. Maybe then he’d be free from the dreaded weight that sat heavily upon his shoulders. He didn’t think his heart could even beat this fast, but there it was, hammering in his chest like a hyperactive hummingbird.

He hated it.

He’s not coming, Logan. That thought instantly sank itself into the depths of his soul. He felt a lump begin to form in the back of his throat; it was almost nauseating. He’s not coming because he doesn’t want to see you. Another thought that dug itself into his mind. He felt his teeth harshly grind against each other as his jaws clenched, begging himself to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He didn’t even give you a call. The world suddenly seemed to freeze. A quiet realization sent an absolutely disparaging chill down his spine. You didn’t even get the courtesy of knowing you’ve been rejected. He let out a weak shaky breath before finally lowering his face into his hands, completely defeated. This was beyond pathetic, honestly. How unbecoming of him to be this way. He wasn’t coming. He already fully knew how illogical it was to remain in his seat. Yet, a part of himself still refused to let him throw what remained of that practically shattered hope away.

And so, the clock kept ticking still...

Logan wasn’t really sure how long it’s been at this point. Everything had begun to slowly meld together in his mind. Beyond the disappointment and despair was just the dull aching pain of rejection in his chest, not to mention the utterly dry and bitter taste in his mouth. He berated himself for being this pathetic about the whole thing, and a coward who couldn’t even muster up enough courage to stand up and go home. It was frustrating, because he knew better than this. It was both impractical and nonsensical to keep waiting. But he felt weak, and his two feet remained firmly stuck to the floor as if they were made of solid, immovable lead. The waiters have collectively decided to leave him alone at this point, which he had considered a small blessing. He didn’t want to bother pretending to smile or claim that everything was ok anymore; the energy was long depleted by now.

Logan let out yet another shaky breath, wrapping his arms around him and hugging himself tight, trying as he might to figuratively and literally “get a grip” on reality. What was he even waiting for? Why had he been so eagerly anticipating sitting at this table just a few hours before leaving work? What was the point? What was he doing? He still had tasks to do! There were still piles upon piles of work that had to be done at his desk but no, he was here. He was here, sitting alone, and doing nothing. Logan glanced down at his watch yet again, but its face was unreadable. His eyes blurry and unclear even as he rubbed the tears away, adjusted his glasses, and squinted. The only message it managed to send was just how much time he was wasting away by remaining where he currently was. Nobody was coming. His grip tightened, nails practically clawing at the sleeves of his suit. Never in his life had he felt so betrayed by something that originally had a perfect and fitting place within his schedule. What had he done wrong? Where did he make a mistake?

The gentle laughter and casual chattering of the surrounding atmosphere were like needles in his back as he felt himself curl inwards. The sweet and decidedly romantic music that served as the loving backdrop for what was to be a pleasant evening for patrons was now mocking and decadent. It sounded almost like a distant echo, far far away. Something that he was always in the vicinity of, but will never truly be able to enjoy; a happiness he cannot obtain. He was trapped. He was trapped here, in a dim corner of a restaurant, with a lukewarm cup of water, weakly flickering candles, a cold unflinching wall, the pitter patter of rain, the incessant (and mildly imaginary) ticking of his watch, crumpled up scraps of note paper, sickening chatter, unappealing music, a dry bitter taste in his mouth, an unnerving feeling of cold sweat, a dizzying headache, a fast racing heart, a barely registering breath, a lump in his throat, and clearly watering eyes.

All at a half empty table for two.

He hated it.

He ended up sitting there for so long that he felt drained, empty. His eyes now only slightly stung when opened, but he kept them closed while he leaned against one arm against the table. By now he had, at the very least, managed to catch his breath. He felt so tired. Logan took a deep breath and glanced down at his watch yet again. It had only honestly been an hour and a half, not that much time at all in the grand scheme of things. And yet here he was, feeling like he had been stationary for several years. Perhaps it was finally time to go. He shifted his aching body to finally attempt to escape from this prison, but a hurried rush of footsteps instantly made him freeze up yet again.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

“Oh my goodness god, you’re still here!”

Logan jolted at the sound of the sweet, silvery voice that rang out, very obviously filled with concern. He turned towards the person who hastily ran up to him, the cold hands cupped around his face immediately snapping him awake from his previous haze.

“I can’t believe you waited for me for this long!! Have you been here the whole time?? I’m- Oh my god I’m so so sorry Logan I-”

He honestly couldn’t even process what he was seeing, much less feeling. A man stood in front of him now, frantically gesturing and apologizing, and absolutely soaked to the core. Logan could very much feel the gazes of dozens of patrons on them now, but it didn’t matter. All he could do was stare with wide eyes at his date, whose suit was completely muddied and shoes absolutely ruined by the rain. He blinked a few times as he tried to understand what the man was even saying as he kept pausing and stuttering while constantly sweeping his matted and wet light brown hair out of his eyes. Seeing him there, standing in front of him, was enough to make Logan feel his heart slowly begin to beat once again.

“God, Logan, I know you must be mad at me, I’m- How could I possibly ever make this up to you? Oh god, oh dear, I can’t believe I did this to you! I’m just so sor-”

“Patton…” Logan finally managed, taking one of Patton’s cold hands into his and finally stopping his rambling. He took a silent moment to just quietly immerse himself into the other’s sparkling and visibly apologetic blue eyes. A beautiful and comforting sight for his literally sore ones. He felt something start to bubble up inside of him, and it began to slowly rise in his chest. A warm, fluttering feeling that rose, higher and higher, until a soft laugh finally slips from his lips. Patton’s expression instantly lightens at the sound, and Logan could feel the once soul crushing weight that surrounded him finally melt away. He gives Patton’s hand a light squeeze, an absolutely relieved smile now upon his face. “Patton. It’s ok.”

There wasn’t a single moment’s hesitation when Patton sprang forwards to wrap Logan in the tightest hug he could possibly manage. Despite the water that slowly seeped into Logan’s own clothes, and the hug being admittedly cold on account of Patton being completely drenched, he had never felt his heart swell with so much warmth in his entire life. They stayed locked in each other's embrace until Patton remembered his current condition and quickly backed off with yet another series of apologetic bows.

“Dear lord, now look what I’ve done. I went ahead and ruined your clothes too!” He giggled, trying his best to wipe away the water with a napkin to barely any success.

Logan just couldn’t help but smile at the clumsy yet adorable gesture. “Don’t worry about it. It’s clearly not as bad as whatever happened to you.” He pointed out. “Say, whatever did happen to you anyways? You weren’t answering any of my calls and I...I thought you weren’t going to…” He paused for a moment before opting to take a long sip out of his cup instead before shrugging. “You know.” He murmured, his body unintentionally stiffening at the insinuation.

Patton looked crushed at the thought, which he was unfortunately terribly aware of. He embarrassingly rubbed at the back of his neck and lowered his head. “I-I know, and I really am so sorry Logan. I...I didn’t expect you to still be here either. And I couldn’t even tell you! Oh geez… After making you wait so long, you probably honestly should have just-”

“It’s ok, Patton.” Logan reassured with a nod, voice barely a whisper. He gently lifted one of Patton’s hands and brushed his lips against the man’s knuckles. “What’s important is that you’re here. That’s enough.” He felt a small bit of pride as he watched Patton’s face flush at the unexpected gesture.

The man quickly took the hand back with a laugh before settling down in the seat across from Logan. At last, filling the space that completed the whole picture.

“Still, the fact that I made you wait that long is terribly unreasonable. So just please let me-”

Logan chuckled, gesturing towards a leaf that was still stuck in his date’s hair, to which the other quickly pulled out with a flustered huff.

“Logan, I’m trying to apologize here!”

“You already have.” He stated, quickly dismissing the concern with a smile. The other clearly had no defense against him doing that, to which Logan was fully aware of. The smile then curled into a satisfied smirk upon his silence. “So, are you going to tell me?”

Patton blinked in response. “O-Oh! Right! You aren’t going to believe this, but-”

And as Patton energetically attempted to recall his unfortunate run-in with the storm while trying to rescue a cat from a tree, forgetting he’s allergic to them, slipping up and falling out of said tree, missing the bus, and losing his phone in the entire process, Logan simply sat comfortably across from him, fully content to listen to his story. It was ridiculous, it was nonsensical, and it was of course, entirely hilarious, but he enjoyed every word that came out of the mouth of the sweet and adorable man that now accompanied him. Patton’s rain stained glasses, half dried and now puffing up hair, and his freckled smile, completely lit up the once dim and lifeless corner of the restaurant they sat in. Nothing could have detracted from that moment in time. Not the rain, not the stares, and certainly not how the time just seemed to fly by, even during the comfortable silence that sat between them while they both enjoyed their meals. Logan wouldn’t have missed any of it for the world.

Here at this table for two.

#I did it!#I'm lowkey much more nervous about posting writing than I am posting art #But this was nice to write so I'm glad I finished it #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #mock writes #logan sanders #ts logan #patton sanders #ts patton #logicality #Smaller Sides to Life

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missmentelle · 4 years ago

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When I'm feeling anxious, I often start feeling sick. That results in not doing anything anymore, because I'm scared I will feel sicker. I'm also never sure if it's something physical or anxiety (i guess the second one). I really don't know how to deal with this. I need working out, going outside and seeing people to feel okay. Normally these things are helpfull to hold my anxiety under control, but when it's too much and I start feeling sick (often for long times) everything falls apart

Anxiety can definitely cause you to feel physically sick! It’s quite common for people with anxiety to have a lot of stomach and digestive problems like nausea, stomach pain, indigestion, and even diarrhea. Anxiety can also cause headaches, muscle pain, and insomnia. You might also notice that you’re more likely to catch colds or other common bugs. And the reason for this all stems from our bodies’ build-in “fight or flight” stress response. Imagine, for instance, that you’re walking through a forest and you suddenly come face-to-face with a bear. Immediately, your body goes into “oh fuck, that’s a bear” mode. All of your energy will get diverted into things that can help you escape or fight off the bear. That means:

Digestion gets shut down. Digestion takes a huuuuuge amount of energy, and it’s not helpful for escaping or fighting that bear. Better put that energy into something more useful, like your legs.

Breathing and heart rate get faster. You need more oxygen rushing around your veins if you’re going to get the most out of your muscles.

Immune system goes partially offline. If you’re face-to-face with a bear, catching a cold is the least of your problems, and the immune system uses a lot of energy. That energy is needed elsewhere.

Your pupils dilate. You need to take in as much light as possible in order to see your surroundings and figure out a response.

You stop processing audio information. We are overwhelmingly visual creatures, and when we’re in danger, the brain tunes out audio information so that it can focus on what it’s seeing. This is why people often won’t respond if you yell something at them in the heat of a crisis - they literally cannot hear you.

Pain response dulls. Pain is unhelpful in a crisis, and it will slow you down or prevent you from fighting back. The body blunts your experience of physical pain until the crisis has passed.

Muscles are on edge. You become very jumpy or twitchy, ready to move at a moment’s notice so you can respond quickly to anything that might happen.

Our fight-or-flight system works pretty well if you live in a world where almost everything threatening in your life can be punched or run from. You saw a bear, you had a stress response, you used the boost of energy to run away from the bear, and then your body went back to normal. Easy. Ten thousand years ago, this was basically a perfect system. The problem is, we now live in a world where the things that scare us and stress us out aren’t usually physical threats - you can’t outrun your student loans or punch an uncomfortable social situation. But our bodies haven’t really figured that out - they still respond to all forms of stress as if it’s an encounter with a bear in the woods.

When you have an anxiety disorder or an extended episode of anxiety, your body is in fight-or-flight mode a lot of the time - since your brain isn’t really anxious about a specific thing, your body has no idea when to shut off the response. So it doesn’t. It’s like walking around in a video game with the “final boss” music blaring and not seeing any enemies - there’s nothing to signal when you can let your guard down. And living in fight-or-flight mode for a long period of time can be extremely hard on your body. Since digestion is one of the first things that gets powered down during a stress response, it’s extremely common for people with anxiety to have gastrointestinal issues like nausea, indigestion, sour stomach and diarrhea. People with anxiety are also more likely to get colds, flus and infections because their immune systems are running on low power mode a lot of the time due to anxiety. Being anxious can be extremely exhausting and leave you feeling very ill, and it’s something that we don’t really talk about often enough when we talk about anxiety.

If you’re feeling sick as a result of anxiety, it’s okay to start by treating the symptoms. If you have diarrhea, take some Imodium and make sure you’re getting some electrolytes. If you get a lot of colds and flus, take whatever symptom relievers work for you and take extra precautions like hand-washing during flu season. Your symptoms are real, and it’s okay to seek relief in the short term.

Eventually, though, you do need to get a handle on the underlying issues that are causing you to have these symptoms all the time. You should definitely talk to your doctor as soon as you can; they can tell you if anxiety is likely to be the primary cause of your symptoms, or if there is another physical issue going on as well. It’s important to rule out other possible health issues that could be causing or worsening your symptoms. Start looking into treatment for your anxiety - get connected with a therapist, or look at joining online support groups and downloading free mental health apps if you can’t afford treatment right now. Finding ways to manage your anxiety is an essential part of feeling better, and in combination with short-term symptom management techniques, it can help to restore your quality of life. Best of luck to you! MM

#Anonymous

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tae-cup · 4 years ago

Text

Give Me Love | KNJ Oneshot

Inspired by: Ed Sheeran’s “Give Me Love”

Pairing: non idol!Kim Namjoon x Cupid!Reader

Summary: You spent your life, destined to be alone, putting two pieces together. Suddenly, you meet someone that just refuses to be struck by your arrow.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 3.3k Words

A/N: I’m sorry, I wrote this at like 1 am so it’s a little rushed. My brain just threw up onto the page and I couldn’t stop myself. Ahhhhhhh school is back and I’m dying. Pardon me for slow updates!

Other: Masterlist

Give me love like never before 'Cause lately I've been craving more And it's been a while but I still feel the same Maybe I should let you go

The string bends with ease despite the thousands of years you have used it. No one saw the golden light shimmering around you. In fact, most people passed you by without a second thought. No one paid a second of their time to watch the odd girl pulling back her arms like she were drawing an arrow back. You just felt it would be better if people thought you crazy instead of seeing your bow and think they were about to die. Die of love, maybe. You shot the arrow into the unsuspecting woman and then wrapped the red string from the previous arrow around the end of a new one. Once both were securely tied together, you pulled the string back and hit the front of a man walking in the other direction.

They met, fell in love, blah blah blah, the rest is history. You shouldered your arrows and continued on the way to work. You had to check in for a new assignment today. The goddess had proclaimed it was of the utmost importance.

You weren’t exactly the warmest person, but you weren’t cold. After all, your job was to make people fall in love with each other. You obviously had to love love. There were many cupids who could be content with this, you were one of them. Watching others fall in love should be a replacement for your own hole. That’s what the mentors had always said.

Well, you excelled at that. Despite the loneliness, at least you were immortal and at least you could live a somewhat normal life. The goddess of love herself gifted all her cupids expensive apartments and, despite being immortal, gave them unlimited spending money. What for? Who knew. However, she always looked kindly upon those who were frugal and modest. You somehow managed to convince her that you were one of those cupids. So, you could get away with quite a bit of rule breaking.

Such as procrastinating on assignments and sweeping them under the rug if you felt like it. As long as you got it done before the deadline, you were in the clear. You owned exactly half of Seoul. The other half was run by Jimin, an excitable cupid with high hopes.

Together, you two oversaw all love affairs in Seoul, Korea. Jimin dealt with the more northern side while you handled the more southern side. Which was why it was a shock to have the packet of a Mr. Kim Namjoon thrown in front of you. Not only was this a task better fitted for an experienced cupid, not that you didn’t have 45,000 years of experience, but it also took place on Jimin’s turf.

“Who is this and why?” You demanded.

“Read the file and you’ll learn about him. Now, I won’t tell you why, that would spoil the fun.” The goddess’ eyes twinkled. “However, I want you to remember your contract, Y/N.”

“You’re just teasing me now. I can’t fall in love. You don’t need to remind me.” You frowned, glancing at the paper. The man was handsome, you’d give him that. Whoever is his soulmate is a lucky person.

It was tricky, the whole cupid business. Mainly because soulmates are decided by the cupids. It’s an immediate draw. You just know. If a cupid messed up...well, that’s why there was divorce. Just two people who weren’t meant to be. Those cupids were always reprimanded and depending on the severity, maybe even fired. You had a squeaky clean track record and had learned to close yourself off rather quickly.

All new cupids go through a period of depression, hopelessness, longing. It was simply because they were born into a contract that prohibited the thing all beings so innately desire; love. A cupid cannot love and give love at the same time. It distracted from the job and made you blind.

Kim Namjoon is an odd fella. You thought to yourself as you observed him. You needed to know everything you could about him in order to correctly match him. Yes, you may get the sense, but cupids that solely used their sense had often been fired.

Eternity can be boring too, but you wanted to see what the world looked like in a thousand years, or even a hundred. That’s what kept you going. You had been watching Namjoon from a distance for the past month. He traveled around Seoul a lot, often for work, and you had yet to feel his soulmate’s presence. When you did get close, there was a pleasant tingle in your stomach that spread to the rest of your limbs. It disgusted you.

You had experienced love enough to know that feeling, but it was impossible. So you pushed it down, full well knowing it would never go away. Perhaps if you just matched him with another woman who had similar compatibility, you could get away with that. And even if they divorced, surely it would be okay to have just one strike on your record?

In all honesty, you were terrified of love. But as you observed him day after day, each one marching towards the deadline, you couldn’t help starting to like him. You noticed the little things.

Like how he always ordered his coffee; black with two creams and no sugar. The way he smiled with the smallest of dimples, the way his knee moved up and down when he was nervous. How he always leaned in and gave you his undivided attention. It was the little things that made this so hard. Could you even find someone who would notice them as you had?

It was much to your happiness, or dismay, when he ran into a nice looking girl at the coffee shop. You watched their interaction. The girl was obviously interested, pretty looking too, while she brushed a strand of hair out of her face. Perfect. You looked at your watch. You had two weeks and this had already taken too long. You needed two weeks to show that a match worked before it was approved by superiors. Y/N, you’ve got to do this now.

Your hands shook but you drew the arrow back. Despite the nerves, you never missed. You tied the end of a red string to your arrow and then the other end to another. With a deep breath you aimed eyes squinting against the sunlight’s glare as it hit the big windows of the coffee shop. Just as you were about to let fly, he turned and looked at you, surprise written across his face.

Impossible. But that wasn’t the first time you had used that word in correlation to Namjoon. You let fly, your hands not fidgeting, as you tried to shake off his gaze. It missed. It crashed into the wall before disintegrating entirely.

Your mouth went dry as you watched him turn to look at the wall and back to you. He didn’t seem scared and when his eyes met yours, you felt...calm. Namjoon mouthed something to the girl and exited the coffee shop. As quickly as you could, you shouldered your bag and ran. Your heart thumped wildly against your chest as you raced away. I’ll get him another day. It must have been a trick of the light. And yet you weren’t quite sure if the quickened pace of your heart was because of the running or you chance encounter with the man that could ruin your life.

You tried your best to remain a silent observer, but that was proving harder as the deadline drew closer. Every morning you would wake up with a splitting headache and the strong urge to find something missing. But there’s nothing that’s missing! You thought as you gathered your bow and arrows. At first, you just thought he was clumsy or that you were nervous. But it became apparent as the days stretched on that you just couldn’t hit him. It was frustrating, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to admit the truth or to match him with someone he so obviously wouldn’t be right for.

Namjoon was watching out his car window. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel in his parking space. He had felt the eyes of someone watching him for a long time. It made him paranoid. Then he saw..you. He didn’t know who you were or why you were watching him, but he needed to find out.

Somehow, he never felt uncomfortable under your gaze. You even relaxed him sometimes, a supporting presence from far away. Namjoon himself felt like a lost cause. Most of his nights were spent at a club, trying to fill the hole in his chest or drowning in his own bile while swallowing drink after drink. With your presence, he just didn’t feel the need to and if you were being forced to watch him, he didn’t think it was fair to drag you to that noisy place every night.

Yet, he just needed to meet you, talk to you. Every fiber of his being was calling out for you. It had been a dull ache, but now that he saw you, he couldn’t take his mind off it. The pain had a name, the pain had a face, the pain had a voice. And he wanted to know all of it. He wanted to devour the information, to get to know every inch of you.

It was so silly. Namjoon was an impulsive person, but he was never this stupid with his emotions. The ache didn’t go away, as much as he pushed it down. Sitting in his car, thinking, and watching the passing cars, made his mind up. He was going to figure out who the hell you were.

So here you were, quite literally an angel in the darkness. Slipping through the dense cluster of bodies on the technicolor dance floor and ignore the bass that pounded into your bones. You followed him, a man far too clumsy to be in such a place. He pushed into the crowd, and therefore you did as well. Your arrow was in hand. I surely cannot miss at such a close distance. You could feel yourself getting lost in the music.

You tried your best to pay attention solely to the man disappearing in front of you and the breathing in your own chest. Clubs always made you dizzy, like you were about to lose your goddamn mind. Your fingers splayed, reaching out to grasp his arm. Your hand found purchase on his shirt and you tugged, pulling him back towards you.

“It’s about time.” He smirked. You let your hand fall. You’re not supposed to directly interact with assignments, remember? Well, you had just fucked that up big time. You had been played.

“So who are you? Some angel? A soulmate? What’s with the arrow?” He shouted over the music. Ah, Namjoon, ever the curious one. If you spoke now, would you be able to take it back? But your mouth was moving faster than your brain.

“Well, technically, I’m a cupid.” You explained lamely. “I’m supposed to find your soulmate, but you refuse to be struck and-wait you can see this?” You held up the slim arrow in your hand.

“Uh, yeah.” He shrugged. “You’re holding a goddamn arrow.”

“Most people can’t.” You murmured inaudibly. The pulsing music made your head feel fuzzy, out of control, and though you wanted to pull away from him, he held onto your waist.

“So you’re a cupid? Tell me more.” Namjoon grinned, unbothered by the new information. He had a feeling you were something supernatural with the arrows, the presence, and watchful eyes.

“I make people fall in love.” You tried to be vague, but he made you want to open up about yourself. He made you want to pour out all your heartache, the pain of watching others but never having that joy for yourself. It was a curse you were blessed with, a certain pain that had been pushed down.

“So why haven’t I?”

“You’re...difficult.” You faltered in your words. “The arrow misses you every time.”

“Is that possible?”

“My aim has never been off. It must be the fates.”

“Am I destined to be loveless?”

“Join the club.” You smiled softly, your gaze long broken.

“Well, you’ll always have love in your life as a cupid, right?” His hand gripped your waist tightly. He leaned in, his lips dangerously close. You shouldn’t kiss him, you shouldn’t even be interacting, but here you were, unable to pull away.

“I’m not allowed to.” You turned away. There was only one way you could do this, and you weren’t sure if you wanted it to be that way. The goddess of love always allowed one night stands for her cupids, but nothing more. She was merciful. That’s what they always said.

“Then how about tonight, no strings attached?” But the look in his eyes said otherwise. You frowned. Did you want him for only one night, never to touch again? Yes.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You murmured, pulling away abruptly and rushing to the exit. The room was heating up, the music was too loud, the place was too crowded. You felt nauseous.

“Wait!” He shouted, chasing you out into the street. “What’s your name?”

You turned your head, pausing as you thought it over. It wouldn’t be too bad, right? After all, you knew everything about him and he knew nothing about you. Your hair whipped around in the breeze of the night.

“Y/N.” The cars passed by and you were gone.

You had never failed a mission so poorly. Your superior didn’t look very happy as she watched you shift uncomfortably.

“You could’ve had a one night, you know? But no, you made him a liability. You told him the name of a cupid. Your name, yes, but a name nonetheless. You need to find his soulmate, not meddle in his business.”

“I just...” You twiddled your thumbs awkwardly. “I just get this feeling that his business is my business.” You placed a hand over your heart. “There’s a pain, right here.”

“Ridiculous, Cupids don’t have soulmates. That’s how the goddess makes sure we are doing our jobs.” She scoffed and stood, pulling out his file. “Unless you want to leave behind your job as a cupid, you won’t be going anywhere any time soon.”

As she left the room, stating the rules plainly, you couldn’t help but wonder ‘Is the unknown future more important than my present?’ Death scared you shitless. You actually admired humans for this. They had death thrown at them at every angle and yet they lived on, oblivious. How foolish, humans were. Or maybe you were foolish for having one as your soulmate.

The future was bleak, but at least you could hope for a future. Your hands felt over your waist, caressed the spots he touched. His lips that were so tantalizingly close that night. You pressed two fingers over your mouth, wondering what it would feel like if he had just leaned in a little closer. But proximity was the biggest worry. You just needed to avoid him and it would all be fine.

Avoiding him proved harder than you thought. He was somehow always where you were. Most of the time it was easy to lose him in a crowd or walk right past him in the street, but there were certain times where that got a lot harder.

“Y/N? Y/N?” The barista called your name and set your drink down. Two people looked up. You. And Namjoon. With a sigh, you stood from your seat and grabbed your drink. When you turned around, he was standing right there.

“Did I do something wrong, cupid?” His smirk was not helping your racing heart.

“I can’t talk to you right now.” You said quickly, pretending like you had somewhere to be.

“Fine. But can I at least take you out for dinner sometime? I get it, you’re one of those girls who doesn’t do one night stands. It’s okay.” He rambled. “I’ve been getting better at that as well.”

“I’ve got to go.” You physically couldn’t bring yourself to say no. It was terrifying and...exhilarating. You wanted to go on that date, you wanted to get to know him better. The longing made your chest hurt. But alas, things just don’t work out sometimes. You pulled away once more, trying to ignore the ghost touches on your hands, your hips, your waist. His breath against your face, like a warm caress. You needed to distance yourself and once he was dead, it would all be over.

200 Years Later

Things were good. The hole in your heart was back, but at least you were seeing the future, you lived another day.

Do You believe in reincarnation? The words rung in your head. The goddess had asked you just yesterday, but now you knew what she meant. Your heart was aching, chest pounding. It was hard to breathe.

You turned from your spot in the coffee shop, breath halting. Those dimples, that smile, those eyes. The hands that touched you, once again far away. He turned, he saw you, he smiled.

You waved and he waved back with a confused look. It was him.

“Namjoon?” You walked towards him, the slightest of trembles in your voice. You couldn’t do this again. Last time, you avoided him successfully, but this time, you knew you wouldn’t be so lucky. The soulmate bond was back and it was bigger than ever. It felt like your heart might carve out of your chest if you didn’t do something.

“Do I know you?” His expression was of pain, a confusion you wished upon no one. Would he remember you? Of course not, but you could start again. If it wasn’t meant to be in that time, maybe now? But you were a cupid and he was a human.

“Yes, you do.” You said firmly. And you weren’t going to let him go so easily this time. You hesitantly reached out and laced your fingers together. “But I’d like to get to know you better.”

He wasn’t sure why he followed you, but he knew it was right. It was like all he ever wanted was laid out in front of him and he was left trailing like a lost puppy.

But last time isn’t this time. You smiled across from him at dinner. The restaurant was cozy, but the atmosphere was not.

“Wait so you’re a cupid and you’re breaking your contract...just to be with me?” He tilted his head. “Now that makes no sense. Soulmate or not, this just doesn’t seem like the right move for you.”

“I told you, I already met you, 200 years ago. You were a little different, but mostly the same.” You tried to explain. You just wanted to get through with this date and kiss him, but you had to remind yourself that you had 200 years to think and pine over him while he had about six hours.

“Okay...” He mulled it over, the pasta growing cold. “I think I know you, I can feel it.” He murmured. “But I’m going to have to think this over.”

“Of course, take all the time you need.” Just not too long. You watched him carefully. “Hey Namjoon?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna get out of here?”

One Year Later

Mortality was...endless. Death was a finality that forced you to live until you could no longer. Mortality brought you closer to him.

“Namjoon, wait up!” You shouted, racing across the street as he got out of his car.

“Y/N!” He lit up, waving at you as he grabbed his things. It was warm like a summer’s day, despite the season being winter. When you reached him, he swung you around, an arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you in.

Your lips touched, an explosion of galaxies. Moving against each other like waves lapping upon the beach. he’s here. And he’s with you. That’s all you could think of as you pulled away. Your cheeks were flushed as he smiled at you.

“Hi.” You said breathlessly.

“Hi.” He responded, in a similar state.

Your heart let out a kick, the butterflies gathered. Impossible. You had once thought it impossible for someone like you to feel it...love. Yet, impossible was a word you often associated with Namjoon. And you wanted more.

You tied a red string to the end of an arrow. The last two arrows your goddess gifted you. She claimed you had to use it for something ‘worth it’ As she said. You took out the arrow and pointed it at him.

“You ready?”

“Ready as ever.” He grinned, staring at the sharp tip. You nodded and shot him a gentle smile as you stepped forward, closing your lips around his once more as you plunged the arrow into him. He didn’t make a sound, it felt like a soft touch, not an arrow plunging into his skin. You tied the string to the end of the other arrow and pulled away. You placed the tip to your chest and his heart leapt at the image. The red string hummed with energy.

You took a deep breath and pressed the tip into your chest. The arrows disappeared and a red string glowed vibrantly in between you two before slowly fading. You wanted his love, wanted more of him. And you didn’t have to hide it anymore.

He stepped forward cautiously and then swept you up in his arms.

“It feels like I’ve been waiting years for that.” He said huskily.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve waited.”

Give a little time to me or burn this out We'll play hide and seek to turn this around All I want is the taste that your lips allow My, my, my, my, oh give me love My, my, my, my, oh give me love

#bts #bts x reader #Cupid #Give Me Love #Oneshot #tatafics #non idol au #namjoon #Kim Namjoon #Namjoon x reader #fluff #angst #I'm so sorry it's so messy #castlebangtan

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starstruck-thirst · 5 years ago

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i love anything you write about hisoka but that lake fic and the follow up... best x reader with with i have ever read. Will you perhaps continue it?

I had an idea for the scenario to follow for a while. And as I wrote it felt like the same reader to me? So I hope this helps scratch that itch for you, Anon!~*~*~

Hisoka Morow: Play Date

Warnings: None______________________

People always complained about the cold in winter, but honestly summer heat was much worse.

The fan next to you was on full blast, oscillating back and forth in a trivial attempt to cool the room. Its efforts yielding in only the slightest bit of sweat coating your body. Preferable to sweating out buckets, but only just so.

You pretended not to notice someone enter the room, eyes focused on the computer in front of you. The only thing that was helping to distract you from the heavy heat of the day was the dozens of web pages you were digging through for information.

Passively, you wondered how non- hunters got by. The license was worth a literal thousand times its weight in gold for all of the easy information you could pull up, if not more. Granted you also had to know where to look, but that just took some old fashioned luck and patience.

Patience that was starting to run out as your brow furrowed in frustration. Your fingers came especially hard down on the keys as you altered your search terms and replied to a forum post that was hunter exclusive.

“If this fucking idiot asks me this question one more time I swear I’ll break his fingers,” you mumbled, computer keys crying loudly as you abused them. “I’ll tear them off and stuff them into his-”

Your rant was cut off as the feeling of wet fabric crashed down over your head and the view of the computer was completely cut off by darkness. Startled, you yowled. On instinct your hands left the keyboard to grip at what felt like a wet, cold towel.

With a little struggle to find the edge you managed to peak out of the towel to shoot a glare at a giggling Hisoka who stood to your side. His enjoyment at watching your annoyed scramble only served to make you even more frustrated and you gripped the towel around your head like a scarf, pouting silently.

“It seemed like you needed to cool down,” he said, emphasizing the word ‘cool’ as a hand raised dramatically to his cheek.

“Maybe I’ll rip your fingers off instead,” you muttered. No way would you admit it to him- seeing as he was laughing at you- but the towel did feel nice.

His citrine eyes opened and looked at you with pinpoint accuracy. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, the lit in his tone dark with danger but sweet with excitement at the same time.

“Maybe,” you mumbled before turning back to the computer screen. Even if you had responded as if you were prepared to get into a fight with Hisoka, you didn’t particularly actually want one. It was far too warm to be getting physical like that.

Now that your concentration was broken you didn’t even want to look at the computer anymore. The screen felt like it was from another world as you disassociated into it. Idly you slid the towel from your head to your face as blank eyes continued to take in the glowing rectangle. Though you weren’t actually reading the screen you continued to stare at it blankly while blotting your face with the cool towel. You traced it down your neck, enjoying the feeling of the cool water wiping away some of the heavy sweat. As you brought it to your chest, you sighed at the relief that slowly swept through your hot skin.

Something must have struck Hisoka, because suddenly he gripped your shoulder and twisted your chair to look at him. He was bent at the waist, eyes level with yours as he grinned like a cat with a mouse. A low chuckle came just before he asked, “Honey, do you love me?”

A second passed.

Maybe another one.

All at once you felt hot again and you tried to push the chair back away from him, scrambling to create distance from this abrupt and uncomfortable situation. But Hisoka’s hand on your chair was firm, his muscular arms wouldn't’ allow you to slide back even a millimeter. “What the hell?!” you asked at last, holding the towel to your chest with both hands like a shield.

Hisoka laughed. He was obviously amused at your reaction. “Have you never heard of that children’s game?”

You didn’t relax but you couldn’t help but to think, ‘Of course it is something like this.’

“No. What are you talking about?” you asked incredulously.

Hisoka stood straight again, releasing your chair to put a finger up matter-of-factually. “It’s a game in which one player asks the other ‘Honey do you love me?’ The person being asked must respond with ‘Honey, I love you but I just can’t smile.’ If the person being asked cannot do that without smiling, they win.”

How did he think of these things?

“So what happens if the responder can say it without smiling?”

His grin widened. He knew he had your attention. Mentally you scolded yourself, he already had one victory now. The success of your interest. “You can play a few ways. The questioner can ask one more time, making any contact they wish to get a result. Or the questioner loses that round, the game continues, and now the responder becomes the questioner.”

It made sense. To some extent. “Wait… then how is the game won?”

“You win by getting the questioner to slip up and smile.”

A corner of your mouth turned down in a contemplative gesture. “Doesn’t seem like much of a win.”

Hisoka’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “We could sweeten the deal then.”

A second victory for Hisoka. You huffed. “I didn’t say I would play. I am trying to work, you know. So we can get paid?”

Long fingers brushed your words away. “I’m bored of that. I think you should take a break. Unless you’re just scared of what I’ll make the reward for when I win.”

This was such an obvious trap. But one glance back to the computer was enough to make your brain shut down again and you knew that no matter how much you wanted to make this job move forward, you needed to look away from it.

Fuck.

“Fine. But if I win you have to go out and get dinner.”

“That’s all?” he asked.

“And a back massage,” you tacked on quickly.

Hisoka chuckled and rounded on you, moving to your side then to your back. “I agree. If I win you’ll do what I ask for one hour with no complaints.”

Your breath stopped as the tips of his fingers caressed the sides of your face. The self-preservation part of your mind couldn’t help but to imagine Hisoka simply ripping your head off. He probably could with ease if you dropped your guard. But the touches were gentle, fingers caressing your cheeks sweetly as he looked down on you from behind.

“Okay,” you responded against your better judgement.

“Excellent,” he hissed, satisfied. “But smiling alone seems too dull. Let’s change up that rule a bit, hmm?”

“Hisoka, you can’t just change the rules,” you complained.

His fingers arched up and slid into your hair, palms squishing your cheeks as he rubbed his fingers in and out of your hair line. “Come on now, y/n. Let’s make it more difficult. How about if the responder laughs, smiles, or fails to respond completely they lose?”

The suggestions were ominous. What was he planning on doing to win? But you had to admit that it would also help your odds. “No actively restricting the other’s ability to speak. Like covering their mouths,” you added.

Almost sounding hurt, Hisoka promptly responded, “Of course not.”

“Fine. Let’s start.”

“But you already lost. You didn’t respond, remember?” Hisoka teased, using his hands in your hair to tilt your face backwards to see his impish grin.

“I didn’t know it was a game then! That does not count, Hisoka!”

He sighed, face falling to a more neutral look as he slid his hands out of your hair. “Very well then. But I’ll still start.”

You swallowed, lowering your head to watch Hisoka come around to your front. This time his method was to remain standing, placing a hand delicately under your chin to help tip your gaze up to him. “Honey,” he started, voice as sweet as it could be, “do you love me?”

When you had agreed you had no idea your heart would hammer at hearing the words come from him a second time. Even if you were expecting it, they were just something you never in a million years would have expected from the magician. But, with a clenched hand against your knee you responded with a straight face, “Honey, I love you but I just can’t smile.”

Somewhat surprisingly your lips did tingle with the desire to smile. Probably from the absurdity of the situation.

Hisoka laughed. “Very well then,” he said, retracting his hand as his face went completely neutral. His seriousness was more frightening than his usual twisted joy. “Your turn.”

The way he was looking at you was making you even more nervous than you already were beginning to be, now that you were in control. You hadn’t gotten this far in your planning, so you had to act on impulse.

Standing you took the still slightly damp towel into both hands, threw it around Hisoka’s shoulders, and pulled him down to you, tilting your head cutely to the side. “Honey, do you love me?”

If Hisoka was tempted to smile or laugh it was impossible to tell. Turning the game back on you he leaned in closer, lips hovering over your own. “Honey,” each movement of his lips caused them to brush your own, “I love you but I just can’t smile.”

Consciously you had to remember to breathe as Hisoka stood there, looking at your face with focused eyes. “O-okay,” you responded a bit shakily, releasing the towel to step back. “Your turn.”

“You’re already blushing and we just started,” Hisoka pointed out, the joy in his voice not reaching his lips. He was playing so seriously that even when he was no longer the responder he wouldn’t smile. And it was unnerving.

“Just go,” you urged, crossing your arms subconsciously over your stomach. The heat in your face didn’t go away as the next round started.

This time Hisoka walked towards you, causing you to back away from him due to the slightly dark aura you were getting tastes of as he closed the distance between you with each step. As you clumsily bumped into the wall Hisoka put an arm onto the wall next to your head and leaned in slowly with purpose. Your head swam as Hisoka swooped down on you. Before you knew it he had the top of your ear between his teeth. Each hot breath out made you squirm against the wall.

“Honey, do you love me?” he asked in a low whisper before kissing your neck.

You had to swallow, putting both hands on the wall to literally steady yourself. Eyes squeezed tight you took a deep breath as his teeth grazed your skin. “Honey, I love you but I just can’t smile!” The words came out in a rush and all at once. It was either that or not at all and you would have lost right then and there.

Against your neck, Hisoka hmmed in disappointment. He pulled his face back, but made no other move to free you from your position. You waited for a moment, thinking he would eventually, but instead he just raised an eyebrow. “Are you giving up?” he asked, looking a bit annoyed at the thought.“No,” you replied firmly, his mere suggesting you were doing such a thing giving you some strength back.

What would make Hisoka laugh in times like this? You were trying to figure it out, seeing your time was running out as Hisoka’s look grew more and more irritated.

Remembering the towel it gave you an idea. Hisoka liked to laugh at you when he forced you out of your serious character. And right now you were being as serious as ever, even as he had you pinned against a wall.

You licked your lips, took in a shaky breath and readied yourself.

“Honey,” you began, making your voice a bit higher and cuter as you looked up at him through your lashes. Just to add to the effect you slid your hands along his waist and shifted your hips forward enough to be teasing. “Do you love me?”

Whatever Hisoka had been expecting, this wasn’t it. Before he had responded quickly and easily, but this time he paused for just a moment first. The tiniest hint of a muscle in his face showed he had to fight to keep from smiling this time as he responded, "Honey, I love you but I just can't smile."

Damn. You thought you had him that time.

"My turn. I hope you're ready to lose," he said, the sense of a hidden smile lingered though it still didn't reach his face. That feeling was so strange it made you shake a little as Hisoka's hands both went to your face.

One brushed your hair away from your eyes as he tilted his head each direction, really looking at you. The action was so simple, but it felt so intimate as his eyes scanned your face from your chin up to your eyes.

You could feel your heart tighten in your chest as his thumb rubbed your cheek. You told yourself you were steeled for anything, but when Hisoka gently laid his lips on yours something inside of you shifted.

The kiss was soft, the kind of kiss two people shared after a really excellent first date. And as Hisoka pushed his chest to yours, pressing you into the wall with just enough force to crush in a pleasing way, he moved one hand into your hair behind your head. With your head cradled so sweetly you felt a bit lost in the sensation.

He kissed you again, lips moving against yours and inciting you to kiss him back. A warm feeling filled your body as it fell into the moment. Feeling nothing but Hisoka’s lips moving against and his body slightly crushing yours.

When he pulled away you stayed where you were, feeling all the lingering emotions and sensations for a moment longer before you opened your eyes.

His face was still incredibly close, but it didn't feel as intrusive as it had before.

"Honey, do you love me?" he muttered, rubbing the thumb over your cheek again.

"Y-Yeah," you mumbled, still caught up in all the sensations in your head.

Hisoka laughed. Soft, rolling, and sinister.

"You lose.”

56 notes · View notes

arcadeghostadventurer · 5 years ago

Photo

that’s it, that’s the fic.

Untitled Goose Fic

x find on AO3 x

That wandering pillow stuffing on two flappy feet keeps stealing Tony's tools. Too bad the little shit is hiding them in Steve Rogers' garden because Steve definitely hates Tony.

He does, right?

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

“No! I will roast you for Thanksgiving! Hell, I will roast you for a completely insignificant mid-week lunch you-” Tony stands back up as the surprisingly agile goose makes it off with his screwdriver, ducking under the table as it runs away. For the third time that day.

“Geese don’t use screwdrivers!” Tony shouts after it, halfheartedly, “You don’t even have opposable thumbs!”

The goose doesn’t turn around. Naturally, since geese would never admit to understanding something as pathetic as spoken language.

He looks after the waddling white bum, slowly disappearing in the distance. Oh well, he has other screwdrivers.

It isn’t until Tony catches the fat feathery fury of hell making off with an entire bundle of fiber optic cable that he fully recognizes the extent of the crimes committed by this goose.

“No! No!! You rotund little shit! Come back- Ow!”

Unfortunately not only he is too late to realize the culprit, but he is also under a car. And so, before Tony can recover from bumping his head and free himself from under the chassis, the goose is gone. So is his brand new cable.

“Fuck you,” mutters Tony, looking after him once again. He rubs his forehead.

He lost about a hundred dollars worth of cable and gained one lump on his head. Now exactly a fair trade, if you ask him. ---

He’s had it. A goose is a glorified duck. Tony will not hear anything else on this matter. Also a goose definitely does not need one flat head and three Phillips head screwdrivers; two pliers, one needle nose and one grooved; a roll of blue painter’s tape, in mint condition; wire cutters; one putty knife; one medium sized hammer and two bananas.

All right, maybe he could let go of the bananas. The little dude, or dudette, has probably already demolished what was supposed to be Tony’s attempt at starting healthy eating habits three weeks ago.

But the other stuff? No way.

So, here is the plan.

The goose must be taking this stuff somewhere. This is almost a one-man organized crime at this point. The bird must have a stash and that stash must be somewhere in this little town.

Maybe Tony’s attempts at goose-proofing the garage haven’t been too successful; considering, as a mechanic, he has to wheel in and out cars, sometimes tractors and hefty motor blocks of farming equipment. Some part of the garage has to open up and that opening has to be big. But, there is nothing holding him from following the goose and finding the little offender’s stash of stolen goods.

He is surprised, really, that he hasn’t thought of this before. He’s a genius. Supposedly. Self-proclaimed but still... It’s just that, the monotone but deafeningly loud and repetitive honks of the creature are so damn disheartening that he just… Gave up. Before even trying.

Yeah, that really doesn’t sound like Tony Stark.

So, he will wait and he will follow. Because if there is one thing he knows, it’s that that goose cannot resist the sweet, sweet call of free knick-knacks that are absolutely of no use to it. ---

And Tony is right. The waddling bundle of doom approaches, honking and being a general nuisance. It doesn’t even try for stealth as it grabs a long strip of discarded chain and totters away.

Tony gets up, downs his coffee and follows.

He has made the calculations. Ran the numbers. The goose cannot be hiding its stolen goodies anywhere too far. First of all, it’s a goose. With short legs. And it has been seen stealing stuff that was too heavy for it to fly with. Second of all, it’s always around. So considering the time it would need to steal, leave, stash and come back; it’s probably hiding its stuff in some unseen but not unreachable and definitely not far away place.

Under a hedge, possibly. Or in a ditch.

Most likely it’s someone’s garden or barn.

And wouldn’t that be the best. He might not be exactly friendly with a lot of people but it is a small town and he is the only mechanic. So if the goose is hiding his stuff in someone’s garden, he’ll just knock on their door and retrieve his stuff. Done.

He strolls down the little path after the toddling white bum, listening to the sound of the chain rolling on the ground without paying much attention to where he’s actually going.

That is, until the jangling of the chain is dulled by grass and the white feathery bum disappears between someone’s broken garden fence. But not just anyone’s garden fence. Oh no. Because Tony Stark’s life cannot be without drama and complications once, even in a remote little town like this.

That little expressionless harbinger of doom, that pint sized behemoth, Tony’s peanut-brained personal devil choose Steve Rogers’ garden to stove away his embezzled tools.

Well, Tony is not going to be knocking on that door anytime soon. He knows for a fact that the guy hates his guts. Since day one. Not that there had been any other day apart from day one but… Well. Oh well.

He could… Sneak in?

Yeah, and just further establish the idea that he is a fucking creep in the man’s eyes.

He stands there for a couple minutes under fading daylight, with a defeated expression on his face before turning around and leaving for his garage. Maybe he should go back to his ideas for cutting-edge anti-goose technology. ---

Steve knows exactly how the high-end, diamond tipped cutter came into his house and from where. And the screwdrivers. And the pliers. And the tape.

The entire roll of unused cable that he has no idea how that goose ever dragged through his fence.

The problem is that he’s pretty sure he made the mechanic hate his guts the first time they met.

He got defensive and well… Some needlessly rude things had been said and assumptions had been made. By Steve. Because Steve is great at acting without thinking apparently.

Well. What happened had happened and Steve should have apologized when he had the chance. But now, after so much time, it would be weird to go to the guy’s house and apologize.

And it would also be weird to act like nothing happened. Which, at this moment, really doesn’t solve his problem of hoarding the man’s equipment in his own house.

He probably doesn’t even remember you, says a little voice in his head, he probably hasn’t even lingered on it like you do, forgot about it the moment you had left.

It’s just that, sometimes it’s still hard for Steve to remember he has grown, both literally and figuratively, and possibly more than doubled in weight. He’s… Well, decent looking now. Not a scrawny little kid. On the outside, at least. Inside is a whole another matter.

So in the end, it had taken his tired-to-the-bone-from-moving brain about three days to realize the mechanic hadn’t been making fun of him when they had been introduced but instead, had been kind of hitting on him. Possibly. Or he is just friendly like that. But Steve is ready to bet the guy had been flirting. With him. Maybe.

And now it’s too late to do anything about it, Steve thinks to himself ruefully. At least he doesn’t own anything that requires a mechanic, really. That, he thinks, had to have been enough to escape from the possible mortification of facing the guy again.

And frankly, when Steve had kind of adopted the town criminal, the goose, how could he have known that the animal would have… Done this! Out of all things a goose could ever do! This!!

“Honk! Hooonk!!”

“I heard you buddy, I’m on it,” Steve slowly rises from his chair and leaves his brooding aside to open his door.

There, stands the goose, with a chain hanging from its beak. It happily waddles inside once Steve steps aside and drops the chain onto its pile.

“Honk!”

“Stealing is bad, you know?” Steve looks at it accusingly.

Goose just honks again.

Steves checks out the frankly impressive pile of tools and knick-knacks the big bird carried into his house over the course of weeks. He sighs, he needs to do something about this. He needs to be brave. He can take his stuff to the guy. He can-

Or, maybe he can just mail it!

He slumps. The guy lives fifteen minutes away. He really couldn’t have come up with a more offensive way of returning the stuff and making the situation even more uncomfortable. He could even add a note. Hey remember how rudely I turned you down the first time we met? Well I still don’t want to see your face, just so you know.

Steve sighs and goes to set out some vegetable scraps for the little rascal. He looks at the goose as it gobbles down the carrot peels, “You started this mess and you fix it!”

And then he thinks, maybe, maybe it really could. Yup, this is definitely going to be the best way of testing the waters. Steve is a genius. ---

Tony is pacing his garage. He needs his 3mm plier that is somewhere in Steve Rogers’ garden. He cannot go there. He has ordered a new one but the two day shipping is… Well, two days away. And he just has nothing else to do but pace and think.

He’s about to go crazy. Just a little more pacing and thinking and he will be intellectually stunted forever, only being able to think about Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers the artist. The polite, kind, attractive, whose angelic aura enticed even that little white beast of hell and he’s just so-

Okay, no going down that road. He did it once already. And he’s still pacing. Tony’s feelings and opinions about Steve Rogers are not the answer to this dilemma.

He needs the opposite. Needs to think about what Rogers thinks of him. Which, from his reaction was when they met, isn’t really anything pleasant.

It’s just that Tony, being Tony, hadn't been able to say no to flirting with the handsome stranger. It’s not like they get new blood in this town that often. And definitely not of that caliber. Rogers had looked good, coming out of the little store with groceries, biceps swelling with the weight of the bags. Face open and hopeful. Tired, but hopeful.

And Tony is only human. And gay. So sue him.

Rogers hadn’t looked like a bigot then, and with all that he has heard about him, Tony doesn’t think he’s one either. Maybe he’s straight. A huge possibility. But that alone still doesn’t explain his hostility.

Tony wants to say maybe Rogers saw into him that day, somehow knew Tony’s track record. The short and failed relationships. The bad decisions and the mistakes. Just how Tony failed to make any partner happy, failed to be enough so that they would stay...

But that’s ridiculous. Right?

Right. So he paces, and thinks maybe he could ask his regulars to ask around and one of them is bound to know Rogers and they can be a middleman to-

“HONK!”

Tony jumps.,

“HOOONK!!”

“What now, you little- Oh!”

The goose is waddling around in the open areas of his garage, its little orange feet making cute flapping sounds on concrete. But weirdly enough, it doesn’t seem to be stealing anything. On the contrary, it’s just… Waddling. Around. Hmm...

Getting closer to the goose, Tony realizes there is a red ribbon tied in a neat bow around his neck. From this ribbon dangles a piece of paper.

To Tony Stark.

Tony looks to the left. Then to the right. Then for good measure, he pokes his head out of the garage and looks around. There is nobody.

He looks back at the goose. Well, somebody was able to tie that around its neck, so it must be safe to take it off, right?

“If you bite me, and I mean it, even if you just, peck me a little, I’m taking you right to the butcher’s shop.” ---

Steve comes back to his house and his incriminating balled up papers, hiding and evading the town people throughout the whole way. And he’s already having a freak-out about just how much he has overshared in what was supposed to be a tiny note saying “Hey, I have your things I think, would you like to pick them up or would you like me to bring them over.”

But no Steve had to go and be all hopelessly romantic and embarrassing and overshare. At least he didn’t outright say stuff like your eyes are beautiful or you’re really confident and I don’t know how to talk to you or… Yeah.

And obviously he wouldn’t be able to trust the dumb (however cute and waddly) bird to find its way directly to the mechanic’s garage so he had all but grabbed the goose and went over to the place himself. Had set the goose back on its feet from the side of the garage door and ran away like a kid. Well, there had been some peeking, but he couldn’t risk being caught.

All in all, he’d give himself 10/10 for planning, 10/10 for execution and like… 3/10 for the contents note itself. So it all averaged to something passable. Hopefully.

The worst thing is that Tony Stark was as intimidatingly and effortlessly handsome as he remembered. Steve hadn’t been able to stop peeking at him as he gingerly taking off the ribbon around the goose’s neck. He had been in a black tank top; his slightly tanned and toned arms flexing as he fiddled with the bow. He had wiped his hands on an already grease stained fabric before opening the note.

And then Steve had ran away.

Now, back in his house, Steve sits down and puts his face in his hands. He can literally feel just how blushed his cheeks are from the warmth. But, what’s done is done. He cannot really take it back now. The mechanic’s tools are in a paper bag by the door, in case he just, you know, wants to take them and leave. Steve wouldn’t want to make him wait.

And Steve hates to wait himself, but there is really nothing else left to do. ---

Tony wears a shirt and then realizes what he’s doing and takes it off. He’s not wearing a button up shirt to walk fifteen minutes,get his tools and come back. That’s a little too much. A little.

He does trim his beard though. Looking put together never hurt anybody. Definitely a plus, if you’re going to see the guy you’ve had a crush on for over a month. For the second time. After a total fucking disaster.

It’s been really hard. Moving. Leaving a big city like New York and coming to a small town. Wondering if it will work out, if you’ll be able to make it. Get used to it. But staying in Brooklyn had became harder and harder after I had lost my mother. But also I had never lived anywhere else before. All my life; the same neighbourhood, same faces, same places...

I had been tired and irritable, Steve had written. I owe you a very late apology, he had said. I have, what I assume is, all of your lost tools and I would like to return them if you’re not against seeing me again.

Tony is clearly very against the idea, seeing that he’s changing his t-shirt for the fourth time instead of just leaving his house like a normal person.

Also, Steve had called the goose, the town criminal, without specifying that he was talking about the bird, which will always be written as about 10 points in his corner. Even if this thing doesn’t work out. It

He’s stalling. He’s stalling so much.

He checks himself out in the mirror one last time. Fixes his hair and washes his hands once again. The grease under his nails will never be fully gone probably but he can try. Make an effort. Yeah.

When he makes it to the edge of Steve’s picket fence, the goose is already inside. Right at the door, sitting on the doormat with its face tucked under its wing, seemingly dead to the world. Once Tony opens the garden gate however, it starts screaming its little head off. And the door opens before Tony has any time to psych himself up.

Steve Rogers comes out shining golden under the late afternoon sun and complaining, “I just fed you!”

“Yeah, a microphone it seems like,” Tony cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. Yes Tony, amazing, insert your foot a little bit deeper into your mouth.

Steve startles and looks at him, clearly not expecting to see him, but then he laughs and it’s all Tony can do at that moment is not to slump in relief.

Steve clears his throat, “I will go get your, uh- Tools? Yes. Just a sec-” He disappears behind the door as the goose squeezes inside beside his leg.

Tony is left all by himself in front of the door, suddenly feeling disappointed. Well, what did he expect? ---

Once inside, Steve slumps against the door frame for two seconds, needing to regroup. This is harder than he thought it would be and Tony looks better than he has any right to with his perfect curl falling on his forehead and his perfect facial hair and- Well, at least he didn’t bring up the note, or the delivery method, Steve thinks, not that he gave him any time to speak.

Steve takes the hefty bag of tools into his hands. Takes a deep breath. Now or never, now or never, he repeats from inside, be brave for yourself for one second.

He opens the door again and Tony is there, standing a polite distance away from the steps. Steve extends the bag, “Here you go. This is all that I could find, though, if you have anything else missing-”

“Thank you, thank you. Well, yeah, I think I’ll be fine,” Tony looks at him with a clipped smile.

Now or never, now or never.

“Hey, you know, if you ever lose anything you can,” Steve can feel his blush rising, “well, call?” ---

“I don’t have a phone.” What? What?! If there was ever a good time for a meteor to fall onto me and just onto me, now is it, Tony thinks.

“Oh,” Steve deflates.

“No!” Tony shouts, making both of them flinch. Then schools his voice into something more appropriate, “I mean I didn’t,” he flails, pointing up the hill he came from, “my house is just over there so, I don’t know, I didn’t think I’d need it honestly. So I can’t really- I mean, your number- I can give you mine?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Just let me-” Steve disappears back into the house and comes back with his phone, gives a little nod, “Mhm?”

So Tony gives Steve his number. Steve sends him a text. After a polite goodbye he leaves, clutching his tools to his chest and all but runs back to his house. He throws the bag onto his work table on his way up and immediately goes searching for his phone.

He giggles as he reads the message, “Hi! This is Steve the goose-sitter.” ---

A Couple Of Months Later

“Steve!! If you don’t come pick up your live pillow stuffing, you’re going to see it under the cloche for tonight’s dinner.”

Steve laughs, honest to God laughs at him and his misery on the phone, “Like you know how to cook.”

Tony sputters, phone in hand and eyes locked onto the little criminal currently pat-pat-ing greasy footprints all over his beautiful and once clean car. With a harmonica in its beak.

Aimless chaos, that’s what it is.

He sighs, “That was cruel and you know it but I’ll let it go if you come here and give me a kiss.”

“Tony, I have one more lesson, just one more and then I’m home, okay babe?”

Tony grinns giddily. Okay, maybe he’s a little head over heels here but at least he knows he’s not the only one.

As Steve had predicted, the goose kept stealing his tools. And kept stashing them in Steve’s house. And Tony just kept… Going back to retrieve them. In time it became Steve coming over to drop off some things Tony had not yet realized gone missing and staying to chat for a bit. Or Tony realizing things were missing and going to Steve’s house for a coffee, waiting for the goose to come from parading his stolen goods around.

They talked about Steve’s moving adventures first. Then his reasons; his Ma’s illness, losing her at the hospital and his best friend overseas and looking around Brooklyn to see pain everywhere. And in turn Tony told his own story, about leaving a busy life with three cities in one day, shareholder’s meetings, inventing with strict deadlines on endless budget that got quite unfulfilling really quickly.

And then they talked about more personal details. Steve’s insecurities from when he was dealing with asthma and was as thin as a stick that never quite left. Tony’s inability to pay attention to anybody or anything but his craft for more than two seconds that drove all his ex-es away.

Steve had smiled at his berating, “You’ve been here for three hours now.”

“And? Should I- Oh.” Tony had blushed, “Well, yeah.”

Somewhere along the way, it had become this.

Tony knows Steve will come over after he’s done teaching kids how to draw and will give him as many kisses as he wants and then a little bit more. He will cook because Tony really cannot but helps by providing any ingredient Steve needs for his recipes, no matter how obscure. They will sit in Tony’s little kitchen and chat and eat and kiss a little bit more. And when Steve gets up to go home, his overgrown duck with itsy-bitsy razor teeth will follow him back home loyally.

But there is still an hour and then some until that can happen.

“I am not cleaning your weird misshapen dog though,” he sulks into his phone.

Steve chuckles, “That’s alright Tony, I have to go now, I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Yeah, okay, love you.”

“Love you too.”

#i really liked writing this fic so now yall get double fic #stony #stony fic #stony fanfic #tony stark #steve rogers #stony ficrec #ao3 #untitled goose game au #fic stuff #my fic #gimmi love

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sweet-nebulae · 6 years ago

Text

♡ Comforting them when they’re crying ♡

✿ Zen ✿

He has to be strong for his prince/ss!

But sometimes he is just so fucking exhausted that laying in bed with the love of his life seems more appealing than getting out of bed to do anything else

Your head on his chest, his arms around your waist, and your legs intertwined - yes please

It may be a low energy, low motivation day, but that doesn’t mean it’s not enjoyable

He has a tendency to get too introspective when you’re both so silent, but his sudden tears will still shock you both

He’ll laugh it off, rubbing at his eyes and tightening his grip on you

“I’m fine jagi, really! I don’t know what happened”

Feel free to make a big deal out of it, propping yourself up on your elbows to shower his face in kisses to chase all those tears away!

He’ll find it absolutely adorable and won’t be able to stop himself from grinning or laughing some more

He won’t say it, but it’s actually really comforting to know that you’ll always be there for him, even in cases like this

It’s a really warm feeling that makes Zen flip the two of you and start showering your face in kisses instead

Revenge!

✿ Yoosung ✿

This sweet child

Cries when he’s drunk

Cries when he thinks you’re hurt

Probably cries when the LOLOL server goes under sudden maintenance in the middle of a raid

But if it’s serious crying, he’s the type to scrub at his face and tell you it’s nothing while still whimpering and sobbing

clutches chest

Gets red-faced when he cries, hot to the point that you can feel it even through your lips when you kiss his wet cheek

Doesn’t really see a problem with you seeing him cry?? Like yeah, it’s embarrassing, but you’re not making fun of him

You’re actually looking at him in worry, reaching out to brush his tears away, and fuck you’re so cute -

are you sad or in love yoosung

You are his safe place to cry - right in your arms, head against your chest

And he wants you to feel the same about him too

He wants to be able to make you feel as safe and protected and loved as you can make him feel

This isn’t even remotely angsty anymore it’s just cute wtf Yoosung

✿ Jaehee ✿

Baehee actually rarely cries

She’s so used to having her will to live absolutely destroyed on a daily basis by one Jumin Han that she’s like

Crying??? Why, I could be doing other things

I do have 56 things to do for Mr. Han at this moment after all

jumin ffs

She’s an incredibly cute crier, which is sort of unfair considering it’s crying

Why does anyone look attractive when crying

Her cheeks redden and she makes these soft little hiccupping sounds and listen

It may be cute but it’s fucking painful to see or hear

She’s such a strong woman, if she’s crying about something and it’s not tears of happiness/emotion because of a Zen musical then something has really gotten to her

Likes to be absolutely enveloped and close to you when she’s upset

Gently slide her glasses of her face and then take her to your bed and pull the covers up over the two of you

She’ll curl up and just cling to you

It’s a rare sign of vulnerability that she usually can’t show in her line of work, and she is so grateful you don’t judge her for it

when she peeks her head back up and her face is all red from crying and her hair is all messed up she’s so cute i just want to fdjhgjdhffh kiss her a lot, so you definitely should do that

✿ Jumin ✿

Mr. Trustfund Kid?? Crying???

Lol

Lololololololololol

He doesn’t cry

It’s a lie, you’ve seen him cry a lot

There’s a picture of him with tears in his lashes during your wedding that you value over your life

It’s actually really rare that Jumin cries anything other than surprised tears of happiness

Rare, but it does happen

You never know what triggered it though. Jumin, talking about his feelings? LOL

I mean, he tries, but in moments like these it’s more comfortable for him to just stay silent, and you give him that small comfort

A very silent crier, but will grip you so tightly

Buries his face in your shoulder or neck and just clings to you like you’re the only thing keeping him from crumbling you may be

Pressing soft kisses to his temple and placing your hand on the back of his head are probably his favorite ways that you try to soothe him

He’s not someone who needs to hear assertions that everything will be okay - he’s a logical person, he knows this

But in the moment nothing is okay

He takes the most solace from just having you, the person he loves most in the entire world safe in his arms, holding him back and showing you care through small physical acts of affection

God he fucking loves you

✿ Saeyoung ✿

Despite how larger than life his personality seems to be at times, he really makes an effort to make sure no one hears or sees him crying

Tensed shoulders, hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into flesh, a dull and all-consuming pain in his throat and wrists as he tried sort of successfully to shove his anguish back down

Crying was just simply something he didn’t think he deserved the luxury of doing

When you entered the picture, things went slightly different

He still tried like hell to keep you from noticing, because what if you got the wrong idea? What if you thought he was anything less than incredibly happy you were in his life? What if you thought -

He can work himself into a panic pretty easily, especially when his brain works against him

When you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind or reach for his hand in moments like these he just absolutely breaks down

Just turns into you and the comfort you provide no matter what position he’s in and sobs

Literal sobs, the kind that causes his entire body to shake and his throat to ache

It’s not an over-exaggeration to say that you are the only thing keeping him together in these moments

Will tell you what’s bothered him, but you have to press to get it out of him - usually his response is just a whispered and teary “I love you so much”

Because he does

He really does love you with every minuscule fiber of his being, and he cannot believe he ever got so lucky to have you in his life

✿ Jihyun ✿

This poor baby TT

Seeing him cry is just so fucking painful

His eyes are so bright and clear that when tears blur them they get all glassy and just lost looking

Will always try to apologize and wipe his tears away with the back of one of his fingers

His breath will hitch if you gently grasp his hand in your own and draw his fingers away from his face, pressing a soft kiss to the skin beneath his eyes instead

His eyes will widen for a split second at such a tender display of comfort and affection and then his expression will shift into one of such pure sadness and love that it will just break your heart even more

Kiss him

Kiss him lots

Please

He needs a lot of soft kisses TT

Honestly just needs a lot of soft treatment in general

He’ll always end up crying harder when you try to comfort him, but don’t misunderstand

He’s just always floored by what a wonderful person you are

Lots of gentle kisses will be pressed to the back of your hands in thanks and love, even if he’s still crying

Jihyun you dummy dry your tears first gjhdjh

✿ Saeran ✿

Does he like crying in front of you?

Fuck no

Does he?

Unfortunately for him, quite often

Now he knows that logically him crying isn’t a sign of weakness, or of how broken he is

And it’s not going to scare you off or give you second thoughts about staying with him

That doesn’t stop the sharp pang of fear whenever he feels tears burning at the backs of his eyes though

Comforting him isn’t always easy - sometimes he craves the safety of physical touch, sometimes he’s snarling at you to leave him the hell alone

If he pushes you away he just needs some space - he inevitably feels awful about it, which just upsets him more, and he ends up even more emotional than before

Will never ask for it but absolutely loves when your cup his face and tenderly brush away his tears with your thumbs, kissing his forehead and eyelids

The contrast of your cool fingers on his hot skin helps relax him

He doesn’t know how, but you always seem to know what to do to help him feel better

Whether it’s just sitting next to him with your fingers interlaced with his or cuddled together on the couch with some stupid show playing in the background, legs interlaced

No matter how shit he feels, just being near you makes him feel a tiny bit better

Like you’re helping to fill some empty part of him

He doesn’t like feeling so weak around you, but somehow, you make it more bearable than trying to deal with it alone

✿ Vanderwood ✿

He’s a fucking agent, he doesn’t have time to cry

If he feels like he’s about to he usually just roughly rubs at his eyes like oh fuck no

Has no idea how to react when you tell him it’s okay to cry

Like???

He wants to be the strong one and crying isn’t a sign of strength??

vanderwood shut the fuck up

He doesn’t mean to act so gruff and coarse about it all, but he’s just not used to allowing himself to be vulnerable like that, especially in front of anyone he cares about

Feels a bit uncomfortable when you show so much obvious worry and care towards him, but does manage to send you a small smile with the hint of a flush high up on his cheeks to assure you that everything was okay

He is unfairly attractive when he flushes, btw

Unless something really fucks with him, he never allows himself to cry for very long

And unless its one of those times, the most comfort he really needs is just your hand on his arm or the warmth of you at his side

Things in the world may fucking suck, but he feels like they may not suck as much so long as he has you

did he actually just think that?? djhdhdfdhs please ignore the suddenly flustered vanderwood who can’t control his own thoughts

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger angst #mystic messenger headcanons #mysme #mysme angst #how do i write vanderwood rip #should i put read more cuts on this??? i am new to the mysme fandom whAT IS THE PROTOCOL #💚#💙#💖#💜#🧡#💛#🖤#💌

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sad-goomy · 5 years ago

Text

iron & cream - fantasy

Day 4 of Bederia Week

Read the rest on Ao3

Bede makes a strange first impression on everyone in Postwick.

It doesn’t help that he has to watch himself, has to carefully mind his wording lest he accidentally gain control of someone’s name, or have them incur a debt, and while Victor and Gloria’s mother brush it off with polite smiles, Hop is...

Well, he’s Hop.

They meet on the second day of his visit, just outside the pub in Wedgehurst that Hop and Victor have taken to frequenting, and he sticks his hand out with a wide smile as he greets with a small-town charm that must come second-nature to him, “Take it you’re the infamous Bede, then? The one who’s been keeping our Gloria out of trouble.”

Gloria clicks her tongue in disapproval while Victor smirks at her, and Bede only stares at the outstretched hand being offered. There’s no harm in him shaking hands with a mortal, he knows this, and yet he finds that the very idea of shaking Hop’s hand makes him want to gag. He looks back up at the boy’s face as his smile falters slightly, and Bede realizes just what’s wrong here.

Hop is exactly the type who’s terrorized him in his life, the boy who’s nearly a local celebrity and rides the coattails of a family legacy while having fun pointing and laughing at the local weirdo who comes from nothing.

(Never mind that he hasn’t done anything like that in the past thirty seconds, and that some of this bias might be due to how long he hugged Gloria upon seeing her.)

“You may call me Bede,” he finally replies, when the silence stretches just south of uncomfortable, his hands still buried deep into the pockets of his coat as he puts a little extra sneer in his tone, “And what may I call you?”

Gloria elbows him sharply in the side, but he doesn’t flinch, instead focusing all of his attention on puffing up his chest, on using all his old tactics to make it clear that he isn’t one to be needled and poked at like a science experiment. Hop blinks, taking back his hand as he shares a look with Victor and an uneasy chuckle slips past his lips. “Bit formal, innit?”

His fae pride bristles, and he opens his mouth to snap something far less playful back when Gloria beats him to the punch, nearly stepping between the two as she quickly supplies, “Ballonlea thing.” She turns to look up at Bede, her voice tight and glare warning. “You can call him Hop.”

Then, as if this can’t get any worse, Hop gives him another bright smile and slings his arm around Bede’s shoulders, the fae flinching at how casual this all is, as Hop leads him into the pub with a laugh. “Didn’t mean to poke fun at it, mate – first round is on me.”

This is the moment Bede decides he hates Hop.

...

Of course, try as he might to avoid Hop, Bede’s still forced to be around him if he wants to spend any actual time with Gloria during the holiday.

She calls him out on it once, when they’re taking off their boots and coats at the front door. Gloria fixes him with a look as Victor quickly scurries off to the kitchen, clearly sensing the tension in the air.

“Play nice.”

“I’m perfectly polite,” he jabs back, adjusting his sweater.

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms with a pout. “You’re bloody frigid with Hop is what you are. He’s been nothing but kind to you, but every time he says something to you, I swear you’re going to send an evil eye his way.”

And to be fair, he nearly did on the walk back just now, when Hop caught him staring at a baby in the family they passed – strange side effect of fae heritage, a growing fascination in human children and their delicate fates – and pointed it out. It was a lighthearted joke, something about being a family man that Bede’s already forgotten, but it was still enough to have him consider manifesting a patch of ice under Hop’s feet.

Gloria sighs, shoulders slumping as her eyes turn into a plea. His stomach drops a little as he feels the disappointment radiating off of her, can see the dulling of her aura as she pleads, “You don’t have to be his new best friend, but please, I really want you to get along a little. He’s like my second brother and you’re...”

He holds her gaze, and his heart beats faster as her cheeks grow pink. It’s just a second of hesitation, but then she’s clearing her throat, looking down at her mismatched socks as her aura blooms, warm and radiant and all for him.

“You’re really important to me.”

Something in him melts, and he feels heat crawling up his neck and over his cheeks as he pulls at his shirt collar, desperate to cover his face.

“...I’ll be nicer.”

She looks up with a lopsided smile and takes a step closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and drowning him in a warmth that he finds harder and harder to live without as she whispers into the crook of his neck, “Thank you.”

This is the moment Bede decides he can tolerate Hop.

...

It occurs to him in the space between Christmas and New Years that he hasn’t had cream in a while.

Unfortunately, it occurs to him at two in the morning and in a slight craze, as his stomach clenches and he tries to not stumble loudly down the steps from the guest room and to the kitchen. He opens the fridge, eyes scanning for anything that could fill the craving that’s clawing at his insides, but finds nothing immediately.

As he continues to dig around, shuffling tupperware and condiments, he misses the light footsteps coming into the kitchen from the living room.

“Oi mate, everything all right?”

Bede does not shriek, mind you, but he certainly jumps several inches into the air and lets out a noise that has him convinced he’s just woken up everyone else in the house.

Miraculously, there’s no movement upstairs, leaving him to turn slowly and find Hop (who had crashed on the couch after a movie marathon with Victor) scratching at his side underneath his shirt, one eye closed and the other barely cracked open.

“Take that as a ‘no’ then,” he mumbles through a yawn.

Bede doesn’t even consider coming up with some acidic retort, because he promised Gloria and he’s also in dire straits. Instead, he swallows his pride as best he can and takes a deep breath before fixing Hop with a look that’s so somber, it has the other boy actually waking up.

“I need cream.”

Hop blinks, eyes flickering from Bede’s face to the glowing fridge behind him. “Like, literal cream or...?”

“Yes, literal,” he huffs, turning to close the fridge door and leaving them in the low light of the moon through the kitchen window – which is somehow making this entire situation worse – and explaining, “I think they’ve run out.”

“Well, the closest grocery store is in Wedgehurst, and they don’t open until eight. Can you uh, wait until then?”

Bede gives him a look that communicates, even in the dark, that he absolutely cannot wait until then. His body is already screaming at him, and he suspects if he goes another hour without it, he may very well lose what little control he has over his powers. The last thing he needs is to out himself as a fae to Gloria’s family and best friend by turning someone’s hair green over a cream deficiency.

Hop gets the message loud and clear, chuckling under his breath as he holds his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, okay, got it.”

Without another word, Hop turns and exits out of the kitchen, heading towards the front door. Bede raises a brow, confusion cutting through his haze as he follows and watches the other boy throw on his coat and pull on his shoes.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Popping over to my place real quick.” Hop pats his left coat pocket, checking for something that is apparently there since he smiles and nods. “My mum’s a big baker, she’ll definitely have heavy cream. Just a pint okay?”

He’s not sure what he expected, but it surprises Bede all the same as he mumbles, “Yeah, that’s enough.”

“Right then, be right back.”

The front door clicks closed quietly behind him, leaving Bede to stand in the front hall and wonder what the hell is happening. He paces, losing track of time as the cream craving comes back and fogs his mind, along with questions of why on earth Hop is being so damn nice to him. It’s not like he’s been much better than stand-offish at best, and he’d be hard-pressed to walk in the cold in the middle of the night to get something out of his own fridge for a near stranger.

By the time Hop knocks on the door and Bede lets him in, he’s no closer to an answer other than inching closer to the realization that Hop is actually nothing like the boys who used to torment him in primary school; there’s a reason Gloria keeps him around, after all.

When Bede’s swallowed half the pint of heavy cream in a single gulp, clarity comes back to him. He wipes the back of his mouth, looking to Hop, who watches the whole thing with more than a little curiosity but not a single word.

“I owe you.”

It’s less an expression of gratitude and more a statement of fact, as Bede can see his aura intermingling with Hop’s now, pink and indigo linking as his fae nature compels him to return the favor.

But Hop just shakes his head, his arms behind his head as he stretches out his back and gives Bede a smile. “All good, although...actually yeah, I guess I sort of have a favor to ask.” When Bede remains silent, Hop continues on, growing sheepish as he mumbles, “Just, uh, can you keep looking out for Glo? She was real nervous moving all the way out to Ballonlea, and I’m glad she has someone like you around to keep her head on her shoulders.”

Bede takes another sip of cream, fixes Hop with a look, and feels the last of his acidity towards him fade out of his body as a corner of his lips quirk up.

“Of course I will.”

And in the morning, when Bede wakes up with the cold dread of Hop bringing up this entire ordeal to everyone and making fun of him, he finds that Hop keeps quiet about it, instead making conversation about how everyone slept and how he can help with breakfast.

This is the moment Bede decides he likes Hop.

...

New Year’s in Postwick actually takes place in a pub in Wedgehurst, which immediately becomes more crowded when Hop’s brother arrives with his girlfriend, Sonia (and it takes Bede no less than five minutes to recover from the fact that Hop is related to Leon, Leon of Wyndon United, Leon the star footballer nicknamed the Champion of Galar).

As they get closer to the actual countdown, Gloria tugs on his hand and leads him to the backroom, away from the crowd. He follows along, more than happy to actually have room to breathe for once tonight, and maybe a little happy that he’s alone with her in a hallway by the bathrooms as she rests her head on his shoulder and keeps holding his hand.

She looks up at him, eyes slightly hazy with the two glasses of cheap champagne in her system, and she sighs with a smile, “Thanks again for coming.”

He nods, doesn’t have anything else to say that won’t give him away, because he may also be slightly tipsy but it’s certainly not enough to have him really letting go of his multitude of inhibitions.

“And for giving Hop a chance,” she mumbles, thinking for a moment before adding with a giggle, “I know he gives you a hard time sometimes, but that’s how you know he likes you.”

The countdown is starting in the front, muffled all the way back here, but it seems to be the catalyst Bede needs to lean down closer to her, gripping her hand tighter as he looks into her eyes with a smirk.

“He might be the only one who likes me.”

Gloria seems to get the same idea, feel the same string of tension holding them back snap as the crowd chants the final seconds of this past year away.

“Now we both know that’s not true.”

The pub crowd roars as the new year rolls around, but Bede can’t hear it because Gloria’s kissing him and it’s even better than what he’s been imagining ever since they got on the train to Postwick. She has one hand on his cheek and the other on his chest, right above his heart as she presses her lips to his with that lopsided smile he loves so much, and she’s warm and green and he swears there are sparks.

Then there are actual sparks and Gloria pulls back with a slight yelp that turns into a laugh as Bede groans, resigning himself to his fate of jolts of glittering magic zapping off his body and into his air, unable to control it and unable to really care.

At least, not until a familiar voice gasps behind him, “Mate are you sparkling?”

They pale, slowly turning to find Hop standing in the hall, a party horn dangling out of the corner of his mouth as he watches Bede glitter and sparkle with wide, confused eyes.

This is the moment when Bede realizes he has to tell Hop he’s part fae.

#bederia #pokemon swsh #dressedinpinkshipping #bederiaweek #rival bede #trainer gloria #gif #me looking at this prompt and realizing the entire fic is fantasy: well shit #so this is a loose interpretation??#more like looking into bede's weirder fae stuff and the clash between someone like him and someone 'normal' like hop #debated on having gloria bust out a 'get along sweater' for the two #the formatting - as always for slightly longer stuff like this - is better on ao3 #congrats on getting a cryptid boyfriend who craves cream at ungodly hours and considers cursing children gloria #listen i'm being real fast and loose with fae myths and customs but let me have fun

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wordsablaze · 5 years ago

Text

The Witchfinder’s Legacy

Things often come back to haunt Merlin but people with a vendetta make it all the more painful and Arthur struggles to step in before Merlin's suffered... from my whumptober adventures, enjoy!

A/N: Several chapters of my whumptober fic were linked and people suggested posting them as their own fic so here we are ^.^

Merlin was usually careful enough.

He knew he wasn't the most subtle with his magic - especially since Gaius never stopped lecturing him about it - but he rarely ever exposed it. Which meant that, for the most part, nobody would think to call him, the clumsy but joyful and loyal manservant, a sorcerer.

For the most part.

Every so often, someone would accuse Merlin of practising magic and there’d be a risk of jeopardising his destiny.

This time, however, it was a little more serious.

This time, it was a witchfinder.

And a fraud of a witchfinder at that.

Merlin catches Gaius’ eye as the witchfinder drags him into an audience with the King. The physician is doing a terrible job of hiding his concern, in Merlin’s opinion.

“What is the meaning of this?” Uther demands, raising an angry eyebrow at the witchfinder.

“The boy cast a spell on my horses!” The witchfinder declares, shoving Merlin forward.

Barely catching himself, Merlin shakes his head at the King. “I wasn’t, I swear-”

“All due respect, My Lord,” the witchfinder interrupts, “but surely you wouldn’t trust the word of a mere serving boy over mine.”

Uther frowns, clearly torn between what he wants to believe and wanting to save his reputation. If it comes down to his reputation, Merlin knows he’s doomed.

“Do you have any proof of this accusation?” Uther asks.

“You can’t have missed that my horses rampaged through the city as if possessed!” The witchfinder has the audacity to look offended, as if he hadn’t been the one to cause them to do so.

Gaius steps forward before Merlin can try to argue again. “Sire, I think we should remember what happened with Aredian before you pass any judgement.”

The witchfinder stiffens at the name and Merlin groans to himself because, if the two witchfinders are somehow related, there’s no way he’s going to let this go before Merlin is dead, or worse.

“Aredian, My Lord?” the witchfinder asks, his voice the epitome of innocence.

Uther’s silence acts as a cue for the witchfinder to grab Merlin again. “If there are, as you say, multiple who have accused the boy, perhaps there is good reason for it?” he suggests, tightening his grip on Merlin as if daring him to argue.

There’s a silence in which Merlin mouths an apology to Gaius.

Then Uther nods solemnly. “Very well. You may question the boy for three nights. If he then confesses to me, I will let you do as you wish.”

Merlin’s eyes widen but Gaius and Gwen - who seems to have appeared from nowhere - look more hopeful than before. Apparently they haven’t heard of how witchfinders force confessions from people and expect Merlin to easily survive his interrogations.

Once Uther's word is finalised, the first thing the witchfinder does is drag Merlin along and throw him into the small cage that lives on his cart, securing heavy metal shackles around his wrists.

He thinks he’s gotten lucky but no, as soon as the metal clamps around his wrists, something breaks inside of him, smothering him from the inside. Just his luck to be accused by a witchfinder that knows what kind of shackles can suppress magic.

Despite the pain, Merlin glares at him once he’s done. “I know you’re framing me.”

The witchfinder laughs as he spurs his new horses on and they start moving. “Just as you framed my father.”

A small gasp escapes Merlin. “You’re Aredian’s son?”

“Aren’t you a smart one?”

He doesn’t have a chance to answer because Aredian’s vengeful son turns a corner and he’s painfully thrown against the side of the cage. He ends up focusing on trying not to cry out every time Aredian’s son makes the journey more difficult for him, which is almost continuously.

It doesn’t help that it feels like someone is slicing into his soul with every passing minute, the shackles effectively dampening his strength entirely. By the time they stop, Merlin is sure he’s gained a dozen bruises, if not more.

He exhales softly as he hears Aredian’s son climb down and walk round to him. “I take it you won’t be ready to confess yet?” he asks languidly, clearly happy with this situation.

“I can’t confess to a crime you committed,” Merlin replies, not even trying to hide the venom in his voice.

“Oh, but you will…” Aredian’s son laughs. “But since we have three nights and I rarely require more than one, how about you enjoy a quiet night under the stars for today?”

“What?” Merlin finds himself asking before he can stop himself. It’s only then that he takes a moment to look past the pain and at his surroundings, seeing nothing but trees.

Aredian's son unlocks the cage and unhooks the chain from the side of the cart, yanking Merlin out of the cage and forcing him to tumble onto the ground. With a groan, Merlin pulls himself to his feet and stumbles after the witchfinder, who doesn’t even look back as he pulls on the chain that links Merlin’s shackles together.

They don’t stop walking until they reach a quiet, secluded clearing, where Aredian's son unlinks one of the shackles long enough for him to push Merlin in front of a tree and wrap the chain around the trunk so Merlin ends up effectively tied to it.

He’s too tired by the suppression of his magic to even fight back and the witchfinder takes this as a sign of him being in control of this situation.

“They’re going to discover you’re a fraud, you know,” Merlin warns, testing how far he can go and realising he literally cannot step away from the tree without uncomfortably pulling his arms backwards.

“No, they’re going to discover you’re a sorcerer,” Aredian’s son replies, harshly kicking Merlin’s knee so his legs buckle and he ends up on the floor yet again, groaning softly.

“Now, I’d avoid sleeping if I were you… what with all the snakes and that.”

He has the nerve to wink as he walks off, dropping petals behind him that Merlin can tell will attract the snakes that may have otherwise left him alone. Sometimes, it’s truly a curse to be Gaius’ ward and know so much about which plants attract which species.

Merlin stretches his legs out and winces as his knee starts throbbing but he can’t do anything about it, especially since he can’t use magic.

“This cannot be happening,” he mumbles to himself as he tries and fails to get comfortable, the tree digging into his back and the shackles feeling as though they’re digging into his bones.

Attempts to slide his wrists out of them only result in him breaking the skin there, leaving it more painful than before. Sighing, Merlin gives in and simply closes his eyes, preferring to be asleep than awake and in pain.

It doesn’t last long.

He wakes to a burning sensation.

He’s not sure what’s causing it at first but it’s not hard to figure out the source when his arms feel like they’re on fire, his wrists feel like they’re about to fall off, and the shackles feel as heavy as the burdens of his destiny as Emrys.

Biting his lip to stop himself from crying out and giving his magic away, Merlin curls into himself and struggles with the shackles, the dull clinks of the metal barely registering to his ears as he finds it harder and harder to breathe.

“Stupid Uther…” Merlin mutters through gritted teeth, somehow finding himself wishing that Arthur had been there to negotiate on his behalf.

With half a sob, Merlin gives up on the shackles, his wrists stinging from the myriad of cuts caused by the uneven metal and his head pounding as his magic screams at him from where it's being cruelly forced down.

It’s a small mercy that no snakes attempt to approach him despite a few having appeared, lured in by the scent of the petals. He's content to have survived what the witchfinder had attempted to throw at him, just like he'll have to survive anything else thrown his way.

By the time Aredian’s son returns, Merlin is exhausted.

“Well, well, well. It looks like someone foolishly did themselves a fair amount of damage overnight,” Aredian’s son drawls, laughing at the state of Merlin’s wrists.

Merlin just glares at him, too tired to argue or defend himself.

“If this is what happens before I even touch you, I can’t wait to actually get started…”

Something inside Merlin, something that feels a lot like hope, dies at the very thought.

But he’s too busy trying not to cry to care.

He has to get through his. To prove Aredian and his twisted son wrong. To prove to Gaius and Gwen and anyone else that believes in him that he won’t let them down. To make sure he’s there to protect and serve Arthur.

So when Aredian’s son unwraps the chain from the tree and roughly pulls Merlin back towards the cage on his cart, Merlin stays silent and focuses on breathing, on hiding the agony burning inside him, on staying alive for destiny's sake.

Out of everything, witchfinder shackles will not get the better of him.

He can’t let that happen.

Arthur's worrying is of no help.

Unfortunately.

He'd argued with his father until he’d been sent to his room, he’d paced the polish right off his floor, and he’d thrown enough objects around for his room to look like it'd been attacked by a beast of some sort.

But none of it had helped to get Merlin back.

None of it could undo his sentence with the witchfinder.

The sentence that, while Arthur was busy worrying, Merlin was suffering through.

“No,” Merlin repeats, his voice barely some sort of hushed whisper.

He’d tried not to talk at first and, in a way, he’d succeeded.

He hadn’t confessed, but he’d whimpered.

He’d whimpered and moaned and eventually cried out when the superficial pain on his skin had started to match the oppressive pain in his very bones.

Aredian’s son was fond of blades.

“Confess!” the witchfinder snarls again, cruelly dragging the small dagger down Merlin’s arm yet again.

“Not until you do,” Merlin bites back, but his defiance is weakened by the whimper that escapes him next.

He’s not sure he can handle any more slicing into his skin, he’s not even sure he should be awake with the amount of blood that seems to be spilling out of him. The constant agony of the shackles suppressing his magic doesn’t help either.

Aredian’s son groans, throwing the dagger to the corner of the room that Merlin had been brought to earlier that morning. Apparently, surviving the night outside was a double-edged success and had only lead to more severe interrogation ‘techniques’.

Merlin winces as the metal clangs against the stone walls, letting his eyes fall shut as he leans against the cold wall. At least it provides some relief from the way his magic is literally burning to be set free inside him.

He hasn’t moved away from the wall since he’d been roughly thrown there and the chain connecting his shackles had been fixed into a bolt on the wall. There’d been no reason to aggravate Aredian’s son; his only goal is to survive, to get back to Gaius, and to carry out his duty of protecting Arthur.

He can vividly feel all of the cuts littering his unfortunate skin, all the blood that falls over his fingers and slides down his torso. It hurts in a way that he can’t describe.

“I am not without mercy,” the witchfinder declares unexpectedly.

A broken laugh escapes Merlin as he shakes his head in disbelief, not bothering to open his tired eyes. He can’t see any mercy in such a cruel kind of torture.

“I will give you one more chance to confess,” he continues, his footsteps getting louder until he stops and crouches in front of Merlin, uncomfortably close, “before I take this to the next level.”

Something infinitely sharper than any of the blades that had been used on him throughout the day touches the back of Merlin’s hand and his eyes shoot open reflexively.

No.

He must have said that out loud because the witchfinder laughs. “I can’t have you bleeding out, now, can I?”

“No, please…” Merlin mumbles, finding a little strength in the newfound fear that shoots through him and shuffling away, as far away as possible. Not far enough.

“Is that a confession?”

No.

It’s a needle.

Merlin shakes his head weakly, biting his lip as Aredian’s son scowls darkly before sighing and arranging himself better, pulling Merlin’s arm towards himself in a firm grip.

“Well, then, I’ll have to make sure you don’t die so I can continue.”

Merlin whimpers softly and squeezes his eyes shut as the needle is pressed to his arm, into his arm, into the skin right at the edge of a cut, and then pushed, pushed, painfully pushed deeper until the thread is pulled through.

He cries out immediately, trying to get his hand free, but there’s no use, the witchfinder is stronger. He makes a mockery of stitching the wound back together, unfathomable jolts of pain sparking along Merlin’s arm as he bites his lip hard enough to make it bleed.

By the time the wound is stitched back together, the witchfinder is grinning and Merlin is close to crying.

He yanks his arm back as soon as it's released and whimpers, knowing the wound could have done with a simple bandage instead. It’s almost alarming how neat the unnecessary stitches are, almost a parody of when Gaius has done the same for him in the past.

“There, see, that wasn’t so bad…” Aredian’s son drawls, close to sounding like he actually cares about keeping Merlin alive.

A small part of his brain is telling him that this is all for show, that it’s all being done so the King can’t complain and accuse the witchfinder of anything, but he’s blinded by the throbbing in his new stitches.

“You seem relieved…”

Merlin looks up sharply, cradling his arm.

Aredian’s son smirks at him. “Come on now, don’t give me that look. We’ve only just started, after all.”

“No, no, no,” Merlin breathes, shaking his head, trying to move away, failing to move away because of the shackles, his eyes widening at the implication.

Before he can make sense of anything, Aredian’s son has pushed him to the floor and is hovering above him, pressing down on his chest and brushing the needle against the gash in his side.

That one does need stitches, Merlin can admit. But he wants Gaius to do it, he doesn’t want this, he can’t handle this, please-

The needle pushes in.

Merlin screams.

His thrashing is weak because his soul feels drained but he’s aware of himself crying as the witchfinder just laughs above him, using the thread to pull his skin back together as if this is all a game, as if Merlin’s pain is nothing more than background music.

He feels himself starting to lose consciousness halfway through but he doesn’t get the mercy of staying unconscious, his magic forcing him to stay awake, to stay alert.

So he just screams, his hands curling into his fists and his teeth starting to ache from being clenched together too hard. He can’t move, he’s pinned down by the weight of the witchfinder, but his free leg kicks at the witchfinder desperately, uselessly.

It hurts.

Merlin can feel his resolve crumbling; this is something new, something no spell or book could have prepared him for. This is pure evil and he can’t do anything, he can’t find a way to stop it, he can’t figure out how to handle it.

“Please!” he finds himself whimpering, wishing it would stop.

It doesn’t.

Not until the knot is tied and the gash has been closed in the most awful way possible.

Only then does he breathe, every breath tugging slightly on the stitches but letting him exhale his pain away. Or rather, imagine that he’s exhaling some of his pain away.

“One more, I think…” Aredian’s son muses, glancing over Merlin.

He shakes his head again, silently pleading for him to stop.

Aredian’s son clicks his tongue as his eye catches the wound on Merlin’s shoulder; Merlin watches as the idea forms in his mind but he’s too exhausted to even try and defend himself this time.

He’s rolled over so that the cold floor is pressed to his face and he can see nothing but stone and blood, the shackles digging into his wrists painfully and Aredian’s son settling into place above him, pinning him down again even though he wouldn’t have the strength to move anyway.

Merlin screams again as he starts stitching.

This one hurts the most.

He can’t stop the tears escaping from his eyes as the needle is pulled through his skin, weaving away the wound but leaving behind unmeasurable agony in its wake.

He slumps into the stone below him, letting his tears fall as soft sobs leave his tired, bleeding lips. If he didn’t have magic, he’d have been mercifully unaware by now, but it’s just his luck to be plagued by the reminder of his destiny, his responsibility, his duty to fulfil the expectations looming above him.

“Puh- Please…” Merlin manages to plead as the witchfinder harshly yanks the thread at one point and sends a whole new wave of pain down his spine.

“I don’t know what you’re made of that’s keeping you awake,” Aredian’s son mutters, something like concern flashing in his voice for half a second. It disappears as soon as he adds, “But you could just take this chance to confess.”

Despite everything, Merlin shakes his head, letting his eyes close once more.

He’s so tired that he wouldn’t even have the energy to form a confession if he’d have wanted to. Not that he does. He never will. Not even if it kills him.

And as the third gash is finally stitched up and Aredian kicks him back into the corner, agony from all three wounds flaring up enough to entice yet another broken sob from his lips, Merlin thinks it just might.

Merlin rarely screams.

He’s so used to being quiet and hiding his pain to maintain his reputation as a bubbly manservant who always smiles at everything and cracks endless jokes. Even in front of Gaius.

The last couple of days have made up for all of that.

He easily loses count of how many times he’s screamed in pain during his sentence with the witchfinder, both due to internal agony related to the magic-suppressing shackles and the inflicted external wounds.

And the third day’s morning sees him screaming yet again, albeit weakly this time, as freezing water is unkindly poured over him; it’s a shock and a half.

“I thought you might be dehydrated,” the witchfinder explains, even though it’s more of a taunt.

Merlin just glares up at him, not even bothering to try and straighten his posture from where he’s awkwardly slumped against the wall because his limbs feel like the mud he usually has to clean off the horses after it’s been raining.

“What? No thanks?” Aredian’s son crouches down and lifts Merlin’s chin with his hand, smirking. “Do you need more incentive to show your gratitude?”

Naturally, Merlin doesn’t reply.

He’s too busy trying to figure out if he’s now freezing because of the unwanted shower or if the burning in every atom of his magical being is just so intense that it only feels as though his soul has frozen over and is now shattering into tiny fragments, fragments that are slowly piercing his organs.

Within seconds, the witchfinder’s other hand presses down onto the stitched wound on his arm, eliciting a sharp, broken whimper from Merlin, who can’t help but also flinch away from the pain.

“Much better!” Aredian’s son beams brightly, as if he were a child getting his way.

A lack of sleep means Merlin doesn’t even have the energy to mentally form a comeback to that, never mind actually say one out loud. He just waits until Aredian’s son is satisfied and lets go of him again so he can exhale softly, pulling his arm closer to his chest protectively.

“I had so many fun things planned for today but I might have to change them if you’re so unwilling to talk,” Aredian’s son announces.

Merlin just waits, blinking water out of his eyes.

“I think we’ll go for a ride,” he announces eventually, making Merlin groan.

He knows what’s coming but it still hurts - it hurts so, so much - when Aredian’s son unfastens the chain and yanks him to his unsteady feet, not bothering to let him steady himself before starting to march towards the door.

Merlin almost falls over in his haste to stumble after Aredian’s son, his numb feet just about managing not to let him fall until they arrive back at the cart. Only then does he stumble and end up on the ground, groaning softly as the witchfinder grins down at him.

“Pathetic,” he comments gleefully.

Merlin flinches from the word, using his less injured arm - that is, the one without the stitches - to push himself upright as he bites down on his lip to stop himself crying out.

Aredian’s son just grabs his ruined t-shirt and hauls him up, practically tossing him back into the cage before securing the chains to the cart once more. He’d lost his jacket and necktie at some point, probably when all those blades had gotten involved, so he can’t stop himself from shivering when his skin touches the cold metal of the cage.

“Comfortable?”

Merlin lets his eyes shut and refuses to acknowledge the question, but regrets that when Aredian’s son bangs on the cage, the reverberation echoing through his bones and drawing out yet another whimper.

He feels himself slide down until he’s not touching the bars anymore, curling into himself to make himself smaller, less noticeable, less of a target.

Aredian’s son just angrily grumbles something about a confession and, soon enough, the cart starts moving. Hitting as many rocks and bumps in the road as possible, it seems.

When they stop, Merlin doesn’t notice.

What he does notice, however, is the chains rattling and the shackles rubbing against his bruised wrists, where the skin is raw from when he’d found the energy to struggle.

He hisses softly, his eyes blearily blinking themselves open.

“Merlin?”

Arthur.

Merlin gasps, pulling himself upright with newfound strength, carelessly lifting a hand to rub his eyes, ignoring the pain that shoots down his arm.

“I can’t- Merlin, stop moving!”

Definitely Arthur.

But Merlin obeys anyway, his gaze finally focusing on a familiar face as Arthur draws out his sword. Despite the familiar face, however, Merlin flinches as light glints of the sword, pulling himself into the opposite corner.

“No, Merlin, I wasn’t-” Arthur cuts himself off, sighing sadly, and swallows before sheathing his sword almost guiltily and turning to the menacing chains once more.

Merlin lets his eyes fall shut again regardless of how much he wants to see Arthur, how much he wants to see if Arthur will stay.

He’s missed Arthur.

There’s about a minute’s silence before an almighty, metallic noise rings out and Merlin abruptly feels alive.

He gasps, ducking his head to hide his eyes as they widen because he can feel, actually feel the powerful golden glow that radiates from them. He covers his head with his arms as his heart blooms again, as his soul finally starts to thaw and comfort him again, as his magic roams free under his skin again.

He breathes.

Inhales.

Exhales.

Simply breathing.

He’d forgotten how liberating it feels to be able to breathe normally.

He waits until he feels his magic settle, nestle inside him where it can’t be found, before looking up.

Arthur’s tears greet him.

He frowns but no, he’s not hallucinating, Arthur Pendragon is in front of him, is crying in front of him.

“Arthur…” Merlin breathes, a small smile blooming on his face.

Arthur looks conflicted but he beams as Merlin smiles, letting them share their relief for a moment before clambering onto the cart and unfastening the bolt on the cage, practically throwing the door open.

“Come on, Merlin, I have to get you out of here,” he says quickly, hushed.

Merlin nods, pushing himself towards Arthur and letting himself be swiftly but kindly guided off the cart.

Instantly, there are arms around him.

Merlin’s smile only lasts a second before Arthur’s hand brushes the stitched wound on his shoulder and he cries out, wincing enough for Arthur to pull back in concern. “Merlin?”

“S- sorry,” he manages, unable to stop smiling despite the pain.

“Oh, Merlin. I’m so sorry,” Arthur tells him sincerely.

Someone starts yelling somewhere behind them - apparently, Aredian’s son hadn’t missed the commotion - and Arthur’s eyes widen, glancing around frantically before settling back on Merlin. “I’m sorry if this hurts,” he whispers.

Then Merlin’s feet are leaving the ground and his head is suddenly on Arthur’s shoulder.

He whimpers but clings to Arthur as he bites down on his lip, forcing himself to stay quiet, focusing on his magic, trying to see how much of it he can use to help them escape, to help prevent Arthur having to face the witchfinder too.

Not much, apparently.

But just enough.

With the help of Arthur’s strength and a sprinkling of Merlin’s magic, they manage to make it far away enough that they can’t even hear whoever it was chasing them anymore. Only then does Arthur stop and let Merlin down, making sure there’s a tree behind him that he can lean on.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.” Arthur smiles.

When he doesn’t continue with how he’d be losing someone to use as target practice or something of the like, Merlin lets himself smile properly for the first time in days.

“Why… I mean, how did you…?” Merlin stops suddenly, unsure of what exactly he should be asking.

Arthur understands anyway.

He shrugs. “I persuaded my father that three nights was far too long to result in a genuine confession and then I simply followed the tracks to find you.”

“You followed the tracks?” Merlin echoes, unsure where his energy is coming from but unable to resist an opportunity to tease Arthur.

Arthur clears his throat pointedly. “I may have, uhm, asked… everyone… if they’d seen a witchfinder.”

Something soft, something like happiness, spreads through Merlin as he imagines Arthur questioning so many people just to look for him. It means more to him than he can care to admit and it makes his suffering at the hands of the witchfinder just a little more tolerable.

“Arthur, we can’t stay here,” Merlin finds himself saying, despite his heart wanting to do just that.

Arthur nods solemnly. “I know, we have to get you back home- Uh, that is, to Gaius. So he can heal you. Because you don’t look good at all.”

Merlin has questions but he makes a note of and saves them for another time.

When Arthur moves to pick him up again, Merlin holds up a hand and steps back just enough to prove a point. He ignores the way Arthur looks horrified at the bruising on his wrist and swallows. “I can walk.”

“Merlin…”

“We’ll be faster this way,” Merlin argues.

Arthur takes a moment but nods once more, pausing briefly before grabbing Merlin’s hand and starting to run.

“I only said I could walk, Arthur!” Merlin yells as they start moving.

“You also said you wanted to go faster!” Arthur yells back, his voice laced with equal amounts of amusement and concern.

Merlin had anticipated himself falling but he does nothing of the sort, a strange sort of strength pushing him forward, allowing him to keep up with Arthur as they sprint their way towards Camelot.

They don’t speak but they don’t need to.

If Arthur’s hand wasn’t firmly gripping Merlin’s as they ran, Merlin would have thought he was imagining this as some kind of fever dream. It just seems unreal that Arthur would search so desperately for him but he’s not complaining; if this is the reward for maintaining his end of destiny’s bargain, he’ll gladly accept it.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asks breathlessly at one point, glancing sideways.

Merlin nods, not even lying when he manages to reply, “Never been better!”

They carry on, through the forests and over the mostly deserted roads, stopping for nothing and no-one as they move, their fingers firmly intertwined as if their lives depend on it.

Eventually, the castle comes into view and the two of them share a slightly exhausted but still exhilarated grin as they somewhat carelessly navigate their way through the streets until they burst into the courtyard.

Coming to a stop, Arthur looks over to Merlin, pure relief in his expression.

Merlin sends him a lopsided grin in return.

But then the blistering pain of the last few days catches up to him and he whimpers again, his hand falling from Arthur’s as he doubles over, his body aching all over.

Agony burns and dances across his skin, creating nonsensical patterns between his wounds and connecting the dots of all his bruises. It hurts and although it's slightly better than before because his magic is trying its best to help dull his pain, it still hurts a little too much for him to bear.

“Merlin!”

He can hear Arthur’s concern but it seems that his adrenaline could only last so long.

Satisfied that he’s back in Camelot, back where he’s safe, back home, Merlin offers Arthur a soft smile before letting the soothing comfort of darkness take over, take away his pain.

He just about registers himself collapsing before he sinks into unconsciousness.

At least Arthur's there to catch him this time.

Arthur was no stranger to scars.

A knight’s duty is to battle and continue to battle even when injured.

Naturally, not every battle can be won and often, Knights would return home with more injuries than victories, injuries that slowly but surely healed into scars of memory and experience.

Having scars should have been a trait reserved solely for Knights.

Merin shouldn’t have scars.

A strange kind of fury blossoms in Arthur’s heart every time he’s reminded that his manservant and his - dare he say it - his friend had been injured, tortured, and left with scars.

He knew Merlin would scar as soon as he’d seen him, there’d been far too much blood smudged on his bruised skin and soaked into his rags of clothes for anything otherwise. And then they’d started moving and Merlin had winced and flinched but pushed through and his hand had smeared blood into Arthur’s skin while their fingers had been intertwined.

Merlin had been his responsibility and he’d failed him and that blood can never truly be washed off his hands.

Just like the witchfinder’s cruelty will never truly leave Merlin.

Arthur doesn’t even get to see Merlin for what feels like an eternity after they return to Camelot because Gaius forbids it and not even Arthur would dare to interfere with a court physician’s love for his son.

But not seeing Merlin doesn’t mean he’s not constantly reminded of him.

It seems that everything he does is somehow connected to Merlin so even waking up in the morning without their usual exchange of meaningless teasing feels strange, disjointed. If people didn’t respect his position as Crown Prince or First Knight, he’s certain they would have pointed out his general lack of enthusiasm, lack of spirit, lack of life.

And they’d be right; he misses Merlin.

He misses him more than he can explain. More than he can express. More than he can handle.

So he waits.

He waits and waits and pretends that he’s not suffering with his guilt and his concern and what seems to be his affection for Merlin.

It feels like years later when Gaius finally summons him.

Arthur’s never run so fast.

He thunders through the castle corridors until he reaches the physician’s study, composing himself enough to knock once, twice, thrice.

“Come in,” Gaius calls from inside.

Taking a breath, Arthur pushes the door open.

Only to be hit with something.

“Ow!” he exclaims, rubbing his head and glaring at the lowly twig that had bounced off him.

“What took you so long, clotpole?” Merlin teases.

Oh, how he's missed that voice.

Arthur feels himself laugh before he looks up, catching Merlin’s eye immediately, his feet pushing him forwards before he can think about it but his brain quickly catching up and making him freeze just before he gets round to embracing his manservant.

“Can I…?”

Merlin grins and pushes himself off the bench, wrapping his arms around Arthur.

It’s just about the happiest Arthur has felt in his life.

“Merlin…” he breathes, taking care not to press too hard as he wraps his own arms around Merlin, a relieved smile taking over his face.

They stay wrapped within the moment and each other, neither of them wanting to ruin their reunion in any way, anything they’d previously planned to say forgotten in favour of savouring one another’s presence.

“At least sit down, will you?” Gaius scolds, but not unkindly.

Sighing, Arthur pulls back so they can both take a seat on the bench, refusing to take his eyes off Merlin, noticing the way he holds himself tighter, as if afraid of falling apart.

“I’m sorry, I tried-” Arthur begins, only to be cut off as Merlin lifts a hand.

“I know, Arthur. It’s okay… You came for me, didn’t you?” The soft smile on Merlin’s face is so pure, it makes Arthur want to scream.

He doesn’t, of course.

He just takes Merlin’s hand, frowning at the small, almost invisible marks on his skin that he knows he should have prevented.

Merlin clears his throat after the silence stretches between them. “My face is up here, you know?” he jokes.

Arthur looks up slowly, unable to stop his gaze wandering over the rest of Merlin, the bandages peeking out from under his shirt, the few bruises that have failed to fade even after so long, and the way he seems to be smaller, more vulnerable, more fragile.

He knows Merlin is far from fragile, he knows that.

But he can’t help himself.

“Arthur, please,” Merlin says quietly.

Guilt flashes through Arthur again as he finally meets Merlin’s eyes and notices the almost-healed cut on his jaw and the healed but not entirely invisible scar on his forehead.

But he smiles nonetheless. “It’s good to have you back, Merlin,” he admits.

“It’s good to be back,” Merlin replies as he stretches a little, “but I’ve been in this room for so long, I’ve just about forgotten what wildflowers are like.”

It takes Arthur a second to register what Merlin’s said but then he bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Surely you’d see the herbs and such that Gaius uses in his potions?”

Merlin makes an incredulous face. “Do you really think crushed remedy ingredients are anything alike?”

“I don’t know Merlin, I don’t often spend my time admiring flowers like a girl.” Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Ah but you do sometimes?” Merlin raises an eyebrow and Arthur scoffs, gently shoving his arm.

Wrong arm.

A stifled gasp escapes Merlin as he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He reopens them almost instantly but it’s too late to pretend that nothing had happened, that he's alright.

“I’m so sorry,” Arthur blurts, awkwardly jerking back and pushing himself off the bench to stand upright, not even trusting himself not to hurt Merlin anymore.

“It’s not your fault,” Merlin murmurs in response, sighing.

But it is.

It’s Arthur’s job to protect Merlin and here he is further aggravating his wounds. Maybe Gaius was right to keep them apart, at least until Merlin was stronger, better, back to his old self.

But he can’t ever truly be back to his old self because he’ll have to carry the scars of his time with the witchfinder on his skin for the rest of his life.

“Please- Arthur, don’t… leave.”

Merlin’s voice breaks through his guilt-fueled doubts.

He doesn’t even have to think about it before sitting back down, shuffling as close to Merlin as he physically can, offering him a reassuring but apologetic smile.

“I won’t,” he promises.

It’s an easy promise to make.

Merlin’s loyalty is unbelievable, unrepayable, and if he’s willing to let Arthur stay near him- if he’s asking for Arthur to stay with him even after such an ordeal, Arthur will gladly honour that promise with his life.

He knows it won’t be too difficult for Merlin’s endlessly, hopelessly kind heart to forgive him but until he feels as though he’s kept this promise for as long as he’s able to, he’ll never quite forgive himself for letting Merlin have to bear the burden of his scars.

Merlin wakes up crying.

He’s not sure why at first but flashes of blades and chains and indifferent smirks are enough to let him guess that, apparently, he’s not recovering as well as he’d thought.

And if that wasn’t enough, he could easily have guessed because lately, it was common for him to lose out on sleep and end up experiencing his past pains all over again. It seems that, unfortunately, he’ll never quite get used to it.

Angrily, he wipes the tears from his eyes and pulls himself out of bed because the sun seems to be peaking through his window anyway so there’d be no point in getting back to sleep.

He’s still a little disorientated by the time Gaius wakes up and serves them breakfast so he says nothing, keeping his troubles to himself, not wanting to worry the man he considers to be his father.

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin?” Gaius frowns at him once they’re both finished and Merlin’s halfway out of the door.

He briefly considers replying truthfully.

“Of course, Gaius!” he smiles widely before closing the door behind him and making his way to Arthur’s chambers.

Arthur’s still fast asleep, no surprise there.

Rather than immediately waking him, though, Merlin sets up the armour for later, tidies away what he can, and sets the table for breakfast before attempting to rouse him.

“Arthur, come on, you’re going to be late!” Merlin all but yells at said prince, yanking the covers off him and chuckling when Arthur grumbles in response.

“So rude,” Arthur comments as Merlin kindly manhandles him upright.

For a second, he sounds just like Aredian’s son, right before a dagger had been plunged into his skin because he’d refused to make a sound. For a second, he’s back in a hollow, stone room with no escape and no refuge from the cruelty of someone out for revenge. For a second, he forgets where he is.

“Merlin, you do have to move,” Arthur says impatiently, breaking the spell.

“Right.” Merlin clears his throat, pushing away his memories and focusing on getting Arthur into a more respectable outfit for his meeting.

They’re both quiet until Arthur sits down to eat, at which point the silence seems to be suffocating Merlin and he finally speaks up: “I need to, uh, feed the horses. Unless there’s anything else?”

Arthur frowns before shaking his head. “No, that’ll be all. But make sure you’re back here after lunch to get me ready for training.”

“Of course,” Merlin promises before sprinting from the room, his feet taking him towards the stables even though it’s not actually his turn to feed the horses and he’d just used the first excuse he could think of.

When he gets to the stables, he turns and takes the path that leads into the woods, walking until he knows he hasn’t been followed before sinking down into the leaves under a particularly tall tree and sighing sadly.

He lets his head fall onto his knees once he’s pulled them up to his chest, keeping his eyes open so that he doesn’t fall asleep but letting himself slump back against the tree trunk, too tired to hold himself upright.

And he cries.

He doesn’t mean to but he can’t get the scent of metal and blood and badly hidden hatred out of his mind and it’s driving him crazy.

Silent sobs ripple through his frame as he tries to breathe, tries not to fall into unpleasant flashbacks, tries and fails to stay composed.

Only when he knows he can’t stay any longer without risking being late and letting Arthur down does he push himself to his feet, wiping the tear-tracks off his face and breaking into a soft run.

“You’re late, as usual,” Arthur scolds as he bursts through the door.

“You’re ungrateful, as usual,” Merlin retorts, scoffing.

He swiftly goes over to the armour and starts getting Arthur ready, letting himself stay focused on securing the clasps rather than securing his emotions.

“You smell bizarre, Merlin. What were you feeding those horses?”

Merlin blinks in confusion before pausing. “Um… I wasn’t… Someone else already had so I went to collect herbs for Gaius instead.”

Arthur hums in acknowledgement, the two of them lapsing into a hushed quiet once more before making their way to the field so Arthur can embarrass the new recruits with his ego.

He must be having a bad day because Merlin doesn’t even know what happens between handing Arthur his sword and the end of the training session. He’s dimly aware that he’d been gathering weapons and assisting the Knights but he can’t focus on any of it.

“Merlin, get your head out of the clouds,” Arthur yells at him eventually.

It’s only then that he realises the sky has gone dark.

“Wh- what?” Merlin asks, blinking as Arthur walks over to him.

“Did you get hit in the head?”

Merlin nods without thinking, then frowns. “Wait, no. I don’t know.”

After a beat, a matching frown appears on Arthur’s face. It disappears before Merlin can comment on it and then Arthur is pulling him back to his chambers, his grip on Merlin’s arm soft and gentle but firm enough to hold.

“Help me with my armour,” Arthur orders him once they’re both back inside.

Merlin does so, without question.

He steps back once all the armour has been taken off, picking up the gauntlet and readying himself for having to clean it all before the next dawn.

But Arthur just shakes his head. “No, Merlin, they don’t need cleaning yet.”

“Then what do you need?” Merlin asks, dumping everything in the chest near the door so he remembers to clean it another time.

Arthur opens his mouth and closes it again, then repeats the process.

Merlin would laugh if he weren’t so curious. “Arthur?”

“Stay with me?”

It takes Merlin a second to process the request because Arthur had blurted it out as if it were trying to run away from him.

“What?” is all he can reply.

Arthur walks over to him and smiles knowingly, something he doesn’t do very often. “I know that something’s troubling you, Merlin. Perhaps if you stay with me tonight, I can help.”

Oh.

Merlin’s heart grins as he understands why Arthur had been acting so nervous: he was just worried. But it’s not like Arthur can fight Merlin’s own mind for him, especially when he has no idea what goes on in there.

“Arthur, I appreciate it, but-”

“I know,” Arthur interrupts, “that I don’t understand entirely. But it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

Even if he’d have wanted to, Merlin couldn’t argue with that.

“If you wish,” he mumbles.

Arthur’s explicit concern is almost surreal but Merlin lets himself have it, lets himself fall asleep in the presence of another despite the risk of his nightmares being a nuisance, lets himself be the subject of someone else’s help for once.

He sleeps soundly.

In case anyone's interested and hasn’t seen my whumptober fic, the prompts for each segment were 'shackled', 'stitches', 'adrenaline', 'scars', and 'stay with me' :)

like/reblog but please don’t repost, thanks! masterlist

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