#he ran through that argument in his head plenty of times during his first year of two in hell

[randomly--accessed--memories]

@storm-ismyusername

Yeah, she'd have no other choice. Now the issue is making sure he stays there.

It'd be kind of funny though if Vox somehow ended up participating in the trial. Charlie and Vaggie think it's going to be a disaster when he starts talking, but some of the old Vox charisma and smooth talking reemerges and he's able to make some surprisingly solid points. Bro may not believe in Charlie's mission, but he can argue like nobody's business.

Since Vox can appear in Charlie’s phone what if he followed her to heaven when she went there during the trial

Oh gosh, that'd be a hot mess. I'm imagining Vaggie right after her confrontation with Adam and Lute, fretting over Charlie possibly discovering her secret, and then she suddenly hears "Wait, you're an angel?" coming out of her phone. Vaggie's pissed that Vox stowed away in her phone when he was supposed to stay home with the others (And for eavesdropping!! They've talked about how he shouldn't do that before!!!). This is already a delicate situation– who knows how the higher-ups will react to them "sneaking" a sinner into Heaven– and now she's gotta keep the hotel's most volatile resident from making himself known and from accidentally blurting out her biggest secret to Charlie next time he sees her (that is, if the angel revelation actually sticks in Vox's mind for the rest of the day).

[mishlady]

Kinktober Day 7

I'm still working from the prompt list made by @dreamlandcreations. Day 7: praise kink - spanking - corruption

Today's ship: FrostIron.

~~~~~

Praiseful Love

"Your workshop is quite extensive," Loki said to Tony, a note of appreciation in his voice. Dum-E beeped back at him, a note of pride filling the beeps.

"You are also to be congratulated on your work, dear one," Loki said, and noted that Tony seemed to soften at the fact that Loki acknowledged Dum-E. Tony had brought him there after Loki had expressed interest during a recent team dinner. What had surprised everyone after Thor's descriptions of Loki was when Loki had arrived the year before, almost prostrate in his begging for help. A year and lots of therapy later, Loki had become more centered in himself and in his relationships with others. Tony had given him a room in Stark Tower; not just because he wanted to keep an eye on Loki himself and through J.A.R.V.I.S., but because he had seen himself in the haggardness that had draped itself around and through Loki when he had first showed up.

"I'm glad that you like it. I put a lot into it, you know," Tony said, looking around with a sense of pride. Loki smiled, his face softer with it after so much healing. It reminded Tony that the two of them had been....flirting?....off and on over the past few months. Jests and playful arguments were plentiful, as well as similarly playful touches. Nudges, and an arm thrown around shoulders; things like that. Both of them had similar mindsets and sense of humor, and time after time they found that their ideas could endlessly bounce off of each other.

"I like this idea, Tony. Good job on the drawings; I can tell you did this yourself," Loki said. He had gone over to one of the benches while Tony had been woolgathering. Tony blushed, and Loki perked up at that. He walked over to Tony, a small smile on his face that was full of mischief. Loki reached out with a hand, putting it on Tony's chest. His thumb traced the edge of the arc reactor as Tony fidgeted a bit, a blush running down his neck.

"I thought so," Loki murmured. "I thought I noticed you enjoying my praise of you, now and in the past." Tony shuddered as Loki's fingers ran across his chest and neck.

"Maybe, maybe not," Tony muttered, his ego not wanting to back down (even if he did like the praise). Loki hummed, a sly grin appearing on his face.

"I think it's more maybe than not, my sweet smart boy," Loki said, his voice dropping to a lower octave in anticipation. He walked around Tony until he was directly behind him and pressed against him. Loki's hands rested on Tony's shoulders. Loki snapped his fingers and a mirror shimmered into being in front of them. Tony saw that he fit neatly under Loki's chin, able to be surrounded on all sides. Yet Loki had not overwhelmed him to start with.

"I want you to know how much your mind is a miracle of thought and ingenuity," Loki said. "Starting with this." A finger tapped at the arc reactor as the other hand slid down and landed on Tony's hip.

"You did such lovely work with your heart. No one could do what you did," Loki said, his fingers on Tony's hip squeezing gently. Tony's hips twitched at that, and Loki could feel the shiver that went through Tony's body.

"You learned to love yourself first, even if it was under duress at the time. You allowed your mind to be flexible, to learn, to grow," he continued. "Such things should be sincerely praised, and not praised so that the person gets something in return from you."

"And you don't want something from me, oh mischief maker?" Tony said, his voice wobbling. Loki shook his head, leaning it down enough to inhale next to Tony's neck and give the lightest kiss.

"What I want, Tony, is to praise you with no official recompense for myself. What I get out of this is the pure enjoyment of seeing you receive praise from me," Loki said. "I want and need nothing else from you." Loki slowly slid his hand down Tony's torso, humming to himself.

"Look at you, darling," Loki murmured. "You keep yourself in good health; the better to work with your suits to help others." His hand slid under Tony's shirt, pressing against his abdomen. Loki dropped a kiss to the meeting of neck and shoulder, feeling Tony's breath quicken.

"You work so diligently to protect and serve others, receiving thanks and praise like it is your due. Which it is. However....the same food, the same drink day after day from the same people's mouths can become...tedious. Routine. Just - boring. Is it really truly something that others mean? For some, yes but others? It's always nice to receive but...." Loki's voice trailed off as he saw tears in Tony's eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry darling," Loki said, and Tony could see that he meant it. Tony shook his head, the tears falling.

"These....these are good tears," Tony said, almost gasping for air.

"Oh? Shall I continue?" At that, Tony nodded, a "please" coming out of him as a whimper. Loki moved his one hand and arm to help cradle and hold Tony across his torso, and the other started moving slowly inward from the hip to the groin.

"Your acts of service know no bounds, and even more so to those that you personally know," Loki said. "You take immaculate care of those you care about - even myself. You saw yourself in me, and felt empathy. Through caring for me, you learned care and empathy for yourself. I am so proud of you, nydelig en, for learning self care and self love."

Tony was squirming at those words, panting and red faced. It was making all kinds of feelings firing off inside of him. Appreciation, certainly, but also feelings of pleasure and desire. The solidness of Loki's body was a living breathing warm line of muscle surrounding him, and it pressed a few buttons that Tony both knew about and didn't know about. He knew he thrived off of proving that he could do the impossible; he didn't know that he could thrive off of such sincere praise. Then he felt Loki's large hand press into his cock, and the whining moan that ripped from his throat was something new. Something that was pleasurable and wanted. Tony's eyes fell closed as Loki continued talking.

"You are such an inspiration, Tony. To so many; yet especially for the young people who use the study rooms in Stark Tower. You could have easily foisted that onto someone, anyone else. But you took care of it yourself, listening to them and paying attention," Loki said, keeping the heel of his hand on the tip of Tony's cock and curling his fingers enough to brush against his balls through the fabric. Loki got to watch Tony pant and moan, got to feel his hips thrust against his hand with pleasure and desire all over his face.

"You respond so well to my words, to my touch. Such a precious boy for me, Anthony," Loki said, watching as Tony reacted more at the use of his full name. "Open your eyes, darling, see how good you are."

Tony opened his eyes and gasped, seeing how utterly debauched he looked. They hadn't even taken off their clothes, or done any of the other things that usually preceded such a look on his own face. Tears had left streaks down his reddened cheeks, and the pressure of his jeans and Loki's hand felt so good on his cock. And his words - oh Loki's words hit him deep in his brain and his heart.

"Oh darling, darling Anthony. Be a sweet boy and cum for me. You can do it, that's a good precious boy for me," Loki said, his own voice tight with desire as he felt and watched Tony gasp and shudder through a climax. By the look on his face, Tony had been taken by surprise at how fast he came. After a bit, Loki removed his hand from Tony's groin and used it to turn Tony's head towards him.

"Shall we retire, darling?" Loki asked. Tony nodded, still a bit lost for words.

"My rooms?" Tony asked, and Loki nodded, maneuvering them so that they were arm in arm and Tony's front was covered, preventing others from seeing any wet spots. They walked off, J.A.R.V.I.S. dimming the lights and re-starting the audio and visual pickups once again in the lab. J.A.R.V.I.S. knew Tony, and had turned them off once the A.I. had realized what was going on.

"This....this will be good for him," J.A.R.V.I.S. said to himself, tasking himself with the additional watch over the two men.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Read Tin Soldier! Part 3! (Pick Your Platform!)

“Cin?” She stood at the top of the stairs. Upon consideration, she came down a few. “There are kind of a lot of people coming up Green Dragon Alley. Some of them have torches. Quite a few of them have torches, actually.”

“Torches?” said Hyacinth. She hauled stiffly to her feet. “Honestly?”

“Well, the lamp lighters haven’t been,” Ann allowed, trailing down the rest of the way.

“Any pitchforks?”

“Not that I’ve noticed, but I wouldn’t rule it out, I suppose. Is there anything at all you need from me down here?”

Hyacinth took her hand and mounted the first two steps with assistance. The pins and needles were a hindrance. She hadn’t noticed when she’d been sitting. “Yes, stay with him. Don’t touch him, not unless he’s going to hurt himself.”

“Oh, no. The poor thing! How would he hurt himself?”

“Well, he might puke.”

“Oh.”

“But don’t touch him to comfort him. You’ll just hurt him.”

“Oh,” but this time with a great deal more pity. “Cin,” Ann lifted a finger, “if they should happen to make any attempt to burn down the house…”

“Grab him and run, yes.” Hyacinth had attained the main floor. She looked down with a smile. “…It’s not as if it would help to bar the door.”

There was neither a door here nor a bar. Inhabitants of this house, impaired as they were, had to be trusted not to fling themselves headlong down the stairs. At least not accidentally.

Barnaby was kneeling with his bathrobe splayed theatrically around him, and bashing the floor with a half-brick. “The tile here is badly broken,” he explained without prompting.

“Thank you,” she managed. A sharper remark might result in an argument, and she had no time. “Are you just about done?”

“Why? What are you doing?”

“Facing an angry mob.”

“Well, then this is imperative.” He began chipping away at the tile again.

At least he was in a good position to get out, should such a thing become necessary.

The front door fell open. It had been a few hours, but nobody had taken the time to fix it, or even to loop some more string through the hole. Hyacinth implicitly approved of this kind of neglect, even when it extended to smashing the floor. Repairs were for people.

There were kind of a lot of people in the yard, and more filing in. The women, in their long skirts, favoured the gate and the lowest places. The men were better able to hop the crumbling walls without getting snagged.

These were not slum people, whose clothing was tissue-thin and stood much trading and mending, but they were by no means wealthy people. Those who could wound their wardrobe with impunity had fled the city during the siege, and in the years since they had returned only in patches. They were not liable to be climbing fences and carrying torches.

These people were below the middle and above the bottom. In-between people, labourers with just enough skill to be trusted with cash registers, underemployed and unemployed. Renters who ran up lines of credit for furniture they couldn’t afford and groceries they didn’t always eat. People with just enough to really feel it when they had to do without.

Testy people.

They were throwing things at the house. Loose cobbles. Bricks. There were plenty in the front yard. Someone shattered the front window just as Hyacinth emerged.

“All right, that’s enough!” she snarled. She positioned herself at the top of the stairs, which gave her a slight advantage in height and scope. “I know you’re here, don’t I? You assholes aren’t subtle!”

Someone pegged a rock at her. She didn’t duck. She turned slightly and took it on the left side of her head. It was a calculated risk. She hoped the projectile was small enough and her own metalwork strong enough to prove impressive.

The stone bounced off with a faint ping, like a hammer striking the post of a chain link fence.

There was a little bit of blood, which she ignored. She did not fall. She frowned.

That shut them all up.

“What did I just say?” she demanded of her audience, one finger pointing heavenwards for attention.

Wanna read the rest...?

Tin Soldier is a web serial about steampunk wizards in substandard housing. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's sad, and sometimes it's terrifying. We begin with Part 1 of the first four instalments, the Pilot, which introduces Hyacinth's house and everyone in it. It's pretty sad and scary, to start, but it gets better.

If you read at Tapas, you'll get instalments in order, as I illustrate them, with slightly dodgy formatting. If you read at Soldier On, you can binge all the text right now - but I understand that can be intimidating for some. Pick either platform, but please pick one! I'm trying to build a community for my very few, very loyal, readers!

[ladyviserra]

we’ll we get a part 3 of The Sweetest Betrayal?

I loved the fic so much btw💗

The Sweetest Betrayal | Aemond Targaryen

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Targaryen!Reader

Summary: Aemond makes his decision on what he wants to do, what he really wants...more than anything.

Warnings: incest, curse words, arguments, mentions of deaths, war, THE ENDING!

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: I guess you figured out this is the last part of this series. It has been so fun to write it and I am glad you enjoyed it. I have been away from writing since it's going to be a busy year for me, but I managed to finish this. Also, some people die and don’t blame me for that since the spinning wheel made that decision instead of me. Anyway, thank you for the love you gave to this fic and for your patience I really appreciate it and now onto the ending.

Alicent had screamed the doors down before anyone came to her rescue, finding her broken on the floor, leaning next to the wooden thing she just banged on. Her tears stained, leaving her ugly as her eldest said.

Aegon sent for Aemond and finally got the first word out of her " NO! " The dowager queen nearly stood up, still feeling the cracks the shock left her.

" Lord damn you woman, spit it out! " The king was frustrated. His forehead wrinkled at the state his mother was found in.

" Aemond... " She began, giving up until she noticed how her son was getting angrier. " He fled. " A real confusion was put on him. " Fleed? What does that mean? "

" He betrayed us. " If his hair wasn't white it would start to be. " How what did he do? "

" He was with Daemon's daughter. With Y/n. " The king growled in anger, kicking the nearby chair, throwing the vase, and screaming his lungs out.

" He left us for her! " With Aemond's leave, the greens were in ruins, not only did they lose a strong character, but also the biggest dragon Vhagar went with him, which left them in great loss.

" Oh, what will come of us? " Alicent couldn't believe her mind, that all she was living through was real.

" Fuck him, let's get this war over with. " Aegon left his screaming mother who might have brought some sense into him if he didn't rush away.

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

The air around his face felt cold, but it wouldn't stop him from going back to his home, his love. Vhagar too had some understanding of it since she was flying quicker than she would usually. Perhaps she could sense her rider's big wish for getting to Dragonstone as quick as possible.

Before he could even spot the island, he saw a dot in the sky which flew around, thinking it was one of the Blacks he decided to follow it. His sapphire eye glowed when he realized it was Y/n, his beloved. He hurriedly pulled Vhagar to go higher in the sky, which she did with swift moves.

The other dragon, calmly flowed in the sky, until realizing there was another dragon close by. Alerting Y/n who let her dragon lightly lower itself preparing for the possible danger the dragon and its rider could cause to them. However, it did take long for Y/n to realize it was Vhagar. The knowledge of the before unknown dragon worried her, Aemond was with her just this morning, so why would he return again during the day when he could be seen?

Not long after the dragons met on the ground, both lovers jump off them and ran to each other’s arms. Aemond sweetly pushed her head into his neck, hugging her tightly. 

“ Aemond, what are you doing here? “ Her eye twitched from the nerves she was feeling, hoping the rest of the Greens weren’t with him. “ I came to get you. I came to tell Rhaenyra that I will serve for her claim. “ She smiled proudly. “ You will? “ 

“ Yes, but most importantly, I shall ask your father for your hand. “ A surprise blossomed on the Princess’s face, lighting it up with colours of excitement. “ Oh, Aemond. “ Y/n rose a bit to kiss his lips, not being able to hold her happiness away for the words she was hearing. 

She continued to kiss him until he stopped her with a tiny bit to her lip. “ Now, now, let’s not get greedy, plenty of time for such entertainment. Let me get a yes from your father first. “ Y/n still smiling, took his hand and started strolling to the castle.

By the entrance stood three guards, all displaying their houses on their armour. The blades were put in front of the two Targaryens “ You traitor, must not pass. “ One of them spoke strongly gripping his sword’s handle.

“ Aemond is about to become one of us. “ Y/n said. “ And he is my guest, so you must let him in with me. “ She bothered to say the last words a bit louder than the rest of the sentence.

They had no other option, but to do as it was said. The two headed towards the room in which Y/n was sure all her family waited. And she was right. Just as the door, Daemon Targaryen spotted the sapphire flashing of his enemy, taking out Dark Sister. “ Don’t you dare make a single step. “ With his posture every looked in the direction of the door, spotting Y/n with their enemy. The other guards that were in the room, took out their own swords. The Velaryon couple Rhaneys and Corlys spotted the girl, gasping in shock, as their grandsons angrily watched the man behind their half-sister.

“ Father, let me- “ 

“ Explain? What is there to explain? The traitor came to the Dragonstone, ready to drop out another eye from his skull. “ 

“ No, he is here to- “ 

“ It’s fine. “ Aemond laid a hand on Y/n which tensed up her father even more. “ I shall speak for myself. “ His gentle smile turned serious when he met the eyes of the Rogue Prince. 

“ I have come in peace to the Dragonstone with two purposes. The first one being of devoting my loyalty to the true heir of the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen. “ He cornered his eye to the Queen, who didn’t take her eye off him the moment he came to her sight.

“ How so? “ She questioned. “ I have realized how my brother Aegon and my mother aren’t my family. Daeron, Helaena, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Maelor are dear to me, but I don’t think they would be able to accept my decision of changing sides as quickly enough to be here. “ As he breathed a small amount more, Y/n could understand how hard it pained him to leave them and that if he could, he would take him with them somewhere where they could be happy.

“ And why do you want to be loyal all of a sudden? “ He dragged his hand down to Y/n’s waist before stepping forward, feeling as she flinched to make him go behind, fearing what could be done to him, Aemond only smiled at that reassuring her he will be alright. “ That brights me to my second purpose. “ The prince said as he took out his sword, alarming Daemon who was ready for attack, but before it came to that the strong sound of metal hitting the floor played in everyone’s ears.

Aemond started dropping his dagger and knight to the ground, leashing himself and the weapons that could harm someone and kneeling in front of Daemon. “ I came here to ask for Princess Y/n’s hand in marriage as her love made me see with my eye the family I want to be a part of. “ 

As the words were said out loud, everyone fell in shock, looking at either Aemond or Y/n, figuring out their relationship. Daemon looked at the man before him and then at his daughter, confusion catching him.

He left the man to kneel and walked over to Y/n, handing her his own hand and pulling her to the side. “ You were sneaking around with him, I see. “ His voice made Y/n frown. “ I know father, I wouldn’t have if you did approve of him. “ 

“ I promise you, he is telling the truth father, I know he is and this isn’t a trick. “ Daemon watched as she spoke observing as her eyes worriedly switched to Aemond who still kneeled in the same spot. “ How can you be sure? “ 

“ No sane man would go alone in the pit of dragons and drop his weapon in front of them. “ 

“ Y/n, no Targaryen men are sane. “ 

“ No, but they know what they want and they don’t let anything stop them from having what they desire the most, not even humiliation of kneeling before their enemy. “ Daemon took a good look at his daughter, thinking of how quickly she had grown up in front of his eyes with him bearly realizing it. “ Alright then. “ 

“ Prince Aemond of House Targaryen. “ He turned quickly at the sound of his name. “ I give you my blessing. “ At the sound of these words, the seriousness of their faces vanished, replacing it with the brightest smiles there could ever be. And once again Y/n found herself in hands of her lover, happier then ever before.

Seeing how genuinely happy they both looked, Daemon knew he made the right choice, with calm steps he made his way to Rhaenyra who wasn’t as sure about Aemond.

“ Our Y/n, is your source of loyalty? “ Aemond still holding her responded “ She is, and there is no better time to show it than now. “ He said before speaking “ I have escaped my brother’s punishment but just for a small bit, by now he must be close to the Dragonstone. “ With the information of the Greens being close by, the Targaryens hurriedly rush outside. 

Daemon approached the couple “ Y/n, you know what you must do. Aemond, you stick by me. “They both nodded to him. All of them called their dragons and jumping off their backs. Vhagar and Y/n’s dragon patiently stood waiting for their riders. 

Before they could separate Y/n grabbed Aemond’s arm. “ Let’s get out of this alive. “ Aemond only smiled at that reassuring her he will be alright. “ We shall, and live many years to come. “ Kissing her forehead dearly, they both hopped on their dragons, flying in opposite directions, not knowing will their paths cross again.

Following the plan her family made prior to the war that was to take place, Y/n was dropping by the Driftmark where dragonless Alyn of Hull was waiting for her with the supply of water and food. Flying very high, hiding with the help of the clouds they moved to the sky, hoping to arrive at King’s Landing as soon as possible, but not soon enough to meet the King.

With a full day passing by, their fears for their loved ones grow, hoping they would see them alive again. Soon they arrive at King’s Landing, with the hidden soldiers of House Arryn already close by they circled around the Red Keep making sure it was safe for them to enter. Landing on their feet, with the honourable army of men, they approached the gate and soon enough, seizing the castle. 

“ I Y/n Targaryen, have come to take the Iron Throne in favour of my cousin, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. “ With the taken power and stable control, Y/n imprisoned the Dowager Queen and put Queen Helaena and her children in the care of the guards making sure they would not escape.

As they waited for the rest of their family, the iron chair sat cold and Y/n waited on a balcony which pointed in the direction of Dragonstone hoping to see her family soon. In such state, she waited 2 and a half days, not seeing no marks on the sky to look like a dragon, that was until the two red dots were getting closer to the King’s Landing. Recognizing them as Caraxes and Meleys, she ran thought the halls, hoping to get out of the castle quickly.

By the time she made her way out of the castle, she had seen her brothers’ dragons flapping their winds onto the grass. She found herself in her father’s embrace, before looking up at the sky and seeing Vhagar dropping down. 

She happily cried out for Aemond and dived into his arms, feeling safer than ever before. “ It’s alright love we are all here. “ He comforted her, as the warmth of her tears reached his skin.

-----------

As said Prince Aemond married his one and true love Y/n. Their wedding was the first to happen and was followed by the wedding of Baela and Jacaerys and a year later by Alyn and Rhaena’s. Alyn’s brother sadly didn’t survive, dying just before his killer Aegon II. The rest of the Greens were spared, except from Otto Hightower who vanished without a trace.

Queen Rhaenyra let Aemond and Y/n live in King’s Landing with Helaena, and her twins, Maelor and Daeron who all bend their knee to the new Queen.

And as for the family Aemond desire to have with Y/n...

-----------

“ Dear Lord, don’t jump that much you will get too tired to play anymore. “ Y/n warned her oldest son, a boy of only three. The little one soon became bored of jumping and sat down next to his older sister by three years and pulled at her red dress as she pulled back.

“ No, no. We don’t pull girls’ skirts. “ His mother separated the siblings, giving her youngest daughter to her elder 10-year-old sister and keeping her son in her arms. “ Not unless he is interested to see what’s underneath. “ Y/n’s husband chuckled, holding their youngest son who is just waiting to celebrate his first name day.

“ Don’t teach him how to do bad things. “ She scolded the man, trying to not crack at his smirk. “  Those are not bad things. Just want to teach him, how I found a beauty like you. “ With his one free arm, he gently grabbed her neck and brought their faces closer. They kisses sweetly until, breaking apart when they heard their son’s muffled words. “ I want a kiss, mama. “ The little boy said frowning. His parents laughed. “ Well then everyone is getting a kiss. “ Calling after their daughter, Aemond and Y/n gave their children kisses until it tickled them, enjoying in the beauty their union created.

tags: @ultarviolence | @glors3 | @ateliefloresdaprimavera | @cleverzonkwombatsludge | @badwicht | @mooniesthings | @flyingmushroomss | @missusnora | @holy-minseok

[attackonbangtanfics]

you get in a fight with a bts member ( hyung line ) / REACTIONS!

* ( kim namjoon )

the fight started because of a simple misunderstanding between the two of you.

an army had mentioned during one of his vlives that they had seen you out and about with another man and they were worried about his happiness.

that “other man” just so happened to be your cousin.

namjoon, luckily, is someone who is really easy to talk to and does his best to talk things out like an adult with you.

voices were a raised a bit, the argument was heated, but it all ended up okay in the end. he made it very clear that he trusts you.

plenty of kisses and cuddles were given after you both made up and your soft boy even wrote a song about you because of the disagreement.

he’s just such a good guy and you know that you’re damn lucky to have him.

* ( kim seokjin )

it was a silly argument, really. so silly, in fact, that you thought that jin was joking with you at first.

you had been lounging on the couch watching your favorite k-drama, while he made the both of you dinner in the kitchen.

with an audible sigh, you swooned over your favorite male actor and your boyfriend had managed to hear it from his spot.

he's a curious boy, so he checked in to see what was going on.

“sure, he’s handsome... but, is he more handsome than me?”

“i don’t know, jinnie. he’s pretty damn handsome.”

it was a joke. you had even given him a smirk and winked at him... but he didn’t notice and looked at you as though you had betrayed him.

that moment became the biggest mistake of your life as the next half hour was him somehow spitting some crazy rap out as he yelled at you for not finding him more handsome than the actor.

you both ended up laughing about it after arguing back and forth, you trying to plead your case the entire time.

jin spent that whole night making sure that you forgot all about what’s-his-name and only remembered him.

* ( min yoongi )

it’s always really hard to be away from your boyfriend for a long time, whenever he was on tour.

you may be his biggest fan, but even you are only human and you have emotions that you have to work through.

but things came to a head when you had been waiting for a video call from yoongi all day and it never came.

normally, you’d be fine with this, but today was a special day. it was the one year anniversary of your relationship and it seemed as though he forgot.

with a very upset text sent to him and a long argument later, the both of you took time away to just cool down.

unfortunately the cool down period lasted nearly a week, before yoongles figured out why exactly you were so upset.

he showed up the day after realizing with flowers and takeout to say how sorry he was.

* ( jung hoseok )

you had always been one to watch your boyfriend hoseok perform and even the boys had become so used to you being there.

before one of their concerts had started, they had a mini rehearsal in their dance studio that you had attended so that you could all leave together.

whenever dance leader hobi was in charge, you knew that it was in your best interest to keep quiet and let him do what he needs to do with the group.

but, that day, you and jimin had been in the middle of a very giggly conversation when he was supposed to be paying attention to your boyfriend...

it ended with your normally happy hoseok snapping at you in front of everyone ( the crew included ) and embarrassing you completely, making you hurry out of the room crying while trying to get away from prying eyes.

he had regretted his actions as soon as he saw your tears and after a few moments of namjoon’s intense glare boring into his skull, he ran after you to apologize immediately for hurting you.

your sunshine never meant to speak to you that way and he let it be known.

[rqnvindr]

sparkles of envy

pairing: felix fraldarius x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

w.c: 1.7k

synopsis: felix can’t shake off the sour feeling he gets when he sees you dancing with dimitri at the ball. afterwards, he’s met with more certainty for the future when the two of you find yourselves at the goddess tower.

a/n: first time writing for fire emblem let’s gooooo ;D

--

“well would you look at that,” sylvain crosses his arms behind his head, glancing at you and dimitri dancing in the middle of the ballroom. all eyes were naturally on the two of you, having long-awaited the crown prince of faerghus to take the floor. all except for felix, who scoffed in advance of sylvain getting his words out. “he’s a lucky man for sure.”

the blue-haired boy put his hands on his hips. “of course you would fall for the boar’s act. this was one of the many reasons i didn’t want to attend this damn ball in the first place.”

felix wasn’t lying. if it weren’t for the professor’s pleas, he would’ve spent the night training as usual, in complete solitude. especially after seeing that you surely weren’t alone, evident from how you leaned in closer to dimitri to whisper in his ear and laughed in unison with him.

“hey c’mon. you have to admit that they do look pretty good together.”

“you’re just projecting. i’m sure you’d be trying to woo the boar’s partner right now if they hadn’t already gotten swept up.”

sylvain ignores the opportunity for banter when he suddenly goes off on a tangent about how byleth ‘irrevocably changed [his] life’ and how they might actually be soulmates. he then spots her from across the hall and leaves felix alone to ask for a dance. although he felt bad for their professor, he’d settle for his childhood best friend bothering someone else over embarrassing him any day.

the goddess tower seemed like a much better place to be than this suffocating lovesickness. cold, empty, and away from the crowd. even if the training grounds were locked, he could still take the time to reflect on his next steps for the future. there were plenty of people he still had to surpass, and that included you. while you were busy swaying away with dimitri, he’d be getting stronger, the mental preparation making him all the more agile to sweep you off your feet by surprise.

that was it. felix would begrudgingly stay for 10 more minutes in case byleth had come looking for him, and then leave. he figured he might as well grab some refreshments to give him strength too.

“hey!” felix hides his surprise upon seeing you in line for drinks at the same time as him with a blank stare. “where have you been all night? dimitri and i were looking for you.”

“really? sure didn’t look like it earlier.” he really didn’t want to hear dimitri’s name right now. their friendship remained severed for years, but his blood had never ran colder from just hearing his name until it rolled off of your tongue so frivolously.

“oh,” you turn away with a sheepish smile. “yeah but don’t get the wrong idea. it’s just that...it’s traditional for the house leaders to begin dancing promptly..”

felix takes a sip of his newly acquired drink. “spare the details. this is enough proof that i will get stronger than you. you’re out here wasting your time with dances and romance, and i am going to continue to surpass you in the sword and in the way of the warrior.”

to anyone else, felix would be asking for an argument. he was always picking fights with everyone who challenged him, either verbally, or physically (through sparring). since the beginning of the school year, you have watched him stick to his principles, which at first did not appear to include caring for relationships. but after witnessing how he discreetly watches over his friends, and not too long before the grand ball, asked you to join him to try a new technique during training, there was something underneath his disappointment with you.

“nonetheless, don’t stay out too late. we have a big mission coming up and i’d be annoyed if you got sick. i’m leaving.”

“felix wait!” your voice shakes, but you remain firm.

“what? make it quick.” he frowns. the last thing he needs right now is you feigning sympathy for him and begging him to stay longer. he was already mere seconds away for abandoning his feelings for you right then and there without turning back.  

“all this talk about getting stronger....you know you can’t do that all alone, right?”

“there’s no one out there who could keep up with me at this point,” felix scoffs. “what? are you trying to say you’re up to honing your disciplines now?”

you roll your eyes. “i always have been. if i have to follow you to wherever could be more enticing than bonding with my classmates and friends than so be it.”

“fine. it’s not my job to hold you accountable for your word anyway.”

--

“staring off into space and brooding isn’t really ‘mental training’, felix.” you chide, causing him to scowl down at the brilliant view of the monastery from the goddess tower.

you were already feeling anxious about the implications of being alone with him in a secluded place like this. a secluded place with legends of promises of romance and hopes for the future for most people who found themselves in pairs of two at the heights of the monastery.

felix has no words to offer in objection to your implied definition of interpersonal reflection. alas, the lack of conversation leaves you with the sound of crickets. surprising, how the most minute of white noise could either help you relax or be even louder than your own thoughts.

“though, i can’t really blame you for taking in the world from above,” you join him on the balcony, arms crossed over the handrail. “the night sky in the mountains is clearer than the eroded dark skies during the winters of faerghus.”

“i don’t dislike the night. i’ve never been afraid of the dark, any alleged demons that came out would be cut down anyway. speaking of which, we could spar here sometime. there’s a lot more privacy than the training grounds.”

you can’t comprehend how felix could dance around, yet so explicitly express his desire to be alone with you. diving into the dangerous waters of teasing him, you grin mischievously.

“and you’re always going on and on about how dense dimitri is.” you murmur.

“ugh! if you have something to say, it’s better to not mumble, you know?” felix scoffs, a hair’s away from falling for whatever scheme you had up your sleeve in bringing up the prince. “whatever. i don’t want to waste my time prying into something so unimportant that you couldn’t even say it clearly.”

whenever he fires off the cannon of a tongue he was born with, you always have to study his expression. you didn’t expect to end up making direct eye contact with a person who dislikes it, his orange orbs complimenting the galaxies above.

“do you know why i train with you, felix?” you ask.

“no, i do not know. you want to become stronger right?” he exhales, shaking his head as he shrugs with his arms up.

“yeah, that’s a big reason. but also,” now comes the true gamble. no one else would dare to poke a bear, or in this case, a lone wolf. you were probably the first person in years to tenderly touch his cheek the way you did, and without him flinching away.

he could’ve pushed you away. but did he really want to take that risk when you could go back to the ball and cry on dimitri’s shoulder? for the first time, felix suppresses the urge to stay in the shadows, and grants you the honor of pulling him out.

“i admire the strength of your entire being. particularly in your eyes....they’re just like stars. whenever they twinkle passionately on the battlefield or during training, i feel all of my wishes coming true. the legendary powers of this tower don’t even come close to the hope you fill me with.” you gently caress his soft skin under your thumb.

felix is worried. he’s worried that he won’t be able to savor the feeling of your warm hand any longer, as he’s about to melt from your declaration alone. it’s  hard for him to process any form of affection, especially when it’s from his beloved partner in battle.

wait, beloved?

“y-you..!” felix grumbles, his voice cracking as he chokes out the last syllable. he reaches for your wrist, wanting to move your hand away. but he lets it linger, clinging onto you for support. you were the one who caused this mess, it’s your job to fix it.

“you okay?” he hates how innocently you blurt out the question, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“no! i mean, you can’t just say things like that so suddenly!” he facepalms with his other hand. “just...but don’t go anywhere okay?”

you snort under your breath and both of you withdraw your hands. “noted. we might as well get in some dance practice, though. after all i only got to dance with dimitri before you-”

“stop talking about dimitri.” felix snaps. “you’ve mentioned the boar enough for one night, give it a rest already.”

you laugh in disbelief, not because you’re mad at him. you just never would’ve expected your hypothesis to be true.

“i was right. you are jealous after all.” felix blushes. he hates having been caught so easily, but is also relieved that you understand his feelings.

“shut up. now, what’s this dance practice you were talking about?”

you guide felix’s hands and posture into the appropriate positions, based on professor byleth’s brief private instruction on dance. to this day, you don’t know why you were chosen as the class’ representative for the white heron cup, but your fifteen minutes of fame came in handy for wooing the swordsman in front of you.

“well,” you take the lead, as the two of you sway in sync and he grows less stiff as you squeeze his hand. “balance, concentration, chemistry between allies...these are all things you’ll need in battle. you’d do best to focus on other things other than the training dummy that you’ve beaten to the ground, literally.”

“tch.” felix turns away from you, albeit keeping his grip firm on you. “i don’t dislike that idea. if it makes you happy.” his last sentence is void of his usual sarcastic and dry tone, and replaced with a gentleness that you could get used to.

you wish to capture this moment forever. however short-lived just one dance may be, you both vow to live for another one.

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 3 (Rowaelin)

~Aelin~

There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.

It was the thrill, she supposed.

She'd always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.

Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn't give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she'd always been just a little bit vindictive.

Or maybe a lot.

The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.

It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.

While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.

Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.

It was also more exhausting.

It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.

It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.

She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.

The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.

It was no different tonight.

Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.

No one stopped her, no one questioned her.

When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.

Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.

The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.

Silent, efficient, traceless.

Just like she'd been taught.

Leaving was even easier than entering.

She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard's sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn't just committed a felony.

One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.

Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera's blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.

It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.

Plus, like she said: exciting.

~Rowan~

Doubt is a strange emotion.

It starts small, so small you hardly even realize it's there.

And then, over time, it grows and grows like a fungus, eventually becoming something that you think about all the time. Something that kills you.

Rowan didn't believe in doubt.

His problem had never been with not believing in himself, it'd always been with the opposite affliction: over-conviction.

He believed things so fully, so deeply, it was hard to see it any other way.

It was what made him such a good lawyer. As the top public prosecutor in the city, he had a reputation for being impossible to win against.

He convinced himself of the defendant's guilt so completely, the jury had almost no option but to believe him.

He hadn't always been that way, he didn't think. Argumentative and stubborn, sure. His mother could attest to that. But never so unflinchingly self-assured. So alright with deceiving himself if need be.

If he had to guess, he'd say it'd started two months after the day of Aelin's trial.

He hadn't been lying to her four days ago; every word had been the truth. He'd worked his ass off all those years ago, trying to find something that would help him either clear her name or at least fucking sleep at night.

He'd given himself a timeline, deciding that if he couldn't find a single lead in two months, there probably wasn't one. Two months, and then he'd let it go.

He didn't regret stopping his hunt--he'd seen what an obsession could do to someone.

And when that day had come, he'd thought he was ready. He'd exhausted himself working both her case and the ones he was assigned, burning the candle at both ends and sleeping in the office more nights than his own bed.

There'd been nothing to be found. The evidence, the testimonies, the medical examiner's reports... they'd all pointed to Aelin.

So eventually he'd forced himself to stop looking.

But the sight of her swinging between the two court police officers, fighting for just one more second with him with a desperation he'd never seen from her... he hadn't known how he could just forget something like that.

The image followed him, haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Lined with tears and disbelief and so much hurt he felt like invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.

So he'd hardened himself against it.

He'd repeated the pieces of evidence against her, told himself she was guilty until the words were easy to say, forced himself to visualize the crime scenes of her victims whenever he thought of her.

Piece by piece, he'd swapped out the months of positive memories they had with stone cold facts.

And it had worked.

After a month, he could sleep again. After a year, he hardly thought of her and when he did, it was with disgust.

Yet now, over eight years later, he found himself with just the slightest amount of doubt again.

It was the same nagging, incessant feeling he hadn't been able to shake eight years ago. Back for round two, apparently.

At first, he'd played it off as nerves from their conversation. She'd worked him up so much he'd admitted how much he'd once loved her and said things he shouldn't have.

His body was reacting to the sadness in her eyes, the surprise that had bloomed when he'd told her he'd fought for her. It was emotion, nothing based in logic, that made him want to start looking again.

At least that's what he told himself.

But four days later, he found himself on the couch--he really did need to give up and just buy a new bed--staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep and not being able to.

Because... well because what if she was telling the truth?

Why else would she have told him that story?

What had he missed during all those late nights spent hunched over her folder?

The questions grew and grew, until that once-little shard of doubt started to slowly drive him mad.

The uncertainty, no matter how small it had begun, had grown to be almost irritatingly large and unavoidable.

He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. The breadcrumbs that apparently only he could find.

What did that mean?

And why couldn't he just let it go?

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his blanket off and storming to the closet.

Like a love-struck idiot, he'd kept a box full of the stuff she'd left at his apartment during their relationship. The stuff that wasn't evidence, at least.

If it was something only he could find like she'd said, it was probably something only he had access to.

He dropped the box on his kitchen table and opened the lid.

Then cursed when the first thing he saw was a pair of red lace underwear. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about and remembering.

Especially when he'd barely been able to resist the temptation to kiss her in that interrogation room.

Something about the way she'd looked at him after he'd told her he'd fought for her all those years ago had rattled the grip he had on his control hard.

She'd seemed so... sad. So hopeless. It had brought out the urge to comfort her in whatever way he could.

Hearing about her childhood and how she'd been raised by Arobynn Hamel hadn't made it any better. Truthfully, it'd broken something inside of him.

She'd always been so positive around him--a ray of light he'd felt was put on this earth just for him.

And all the while, she'd been forced to live with and work for one of the most notorious crime syndicate members of all time.

He'd always known she hadn't had a good childhood, but there was a difference between foster care hell and an actual house of horrors. Rowan couldn't even imagine the things she'd seen. Been forced to see, to do.

She made it out, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.

But had she?

If what she'd told him was true, she'd killed those people because she'd been forced to.

It hadn't been her choice.

But there was something else about her, something he couldn't stop thinking about.

The secret she'd eluded to, the one that apparently only he had the key to solving.

A secret she'd promised would explain everything.

He tossed the underwear on the table, vowing to ignore them.

Then threw them in the trash a minute later when that became impossible.

You're such an asshole, he told himself, shaking his head. It's been eight years.

Even if that part of their relationship was most definitely memorable.

"Jesus," he laughed, running a hand over his face. Why was he even thinking about that?

Maybe it was the look in her eyes four days ago, or maybe it was simply that Aelin had been an important part of his life. He'd never forget the connection they'd had. Maybe it would always be a part of him.

But that was ridiculous, because he'd been connected to plenty of women since. Plenty of gorgeous brunettes and redheads.

For some reason, he hadn't been able to date a blonde, but that didn't mean anything.

He was over her.

Obviously.

Forcing his thoughts away from Aelin, he grabbed the next thing in the box.

Her address book. Maybe she'd left a note in there?

He flipped it open, scrolling through blank page after blank page. Her cousin's address and phone number were there--both of which he confirmed with police records--but other than that, it was blank.

The next thing he found made the ache in his chest expand to a soul-sucking hole.

It was a travel brochure for Aruba.

The edges were frayed from how much she'd flipped through it, and notes in her handwriting were scribbled throughout the pages.

He remembered this, all right.

He'd woken up one morning, a morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, to find her laying on top of him, leafing through the travel pamphlet with a huge grin on her face.

"We're going to Aruba," she'd whispered in lieu of a greeting, leaning down to press her lips to his.

"Why?" he'd asked back between kisses.

"Because it's the perfect place to hide from your real life," had been her laughed response.

She'd planned a trip for them at Christmas. Their very first trip together.

Every time they saw each other, she'd shown him a new page or told him about a new activity she wanted to do.

In general, she was a happy, excited person, but he'd never seen her so thrilled over anything like she was that trip.

He'd hidden it better, trying to play it cool, but he'd been excited, too.

He'd pictured her on the beach, running in the sand and smiling and laughing and drinking from a coconut. He'd imagined sneaking to the beach one night and making love to her in the ocean.

He'd imagined getting down on one knee and asking her to be his travel partner for life.

She'd been arrested two weeks before they were supposed to leave.

He tossed the little magazine back into the box, shaking his head to clear it of the memories and long-lost dreams.

The only thing left in the worn box was books.

Aelin had volunteered at a publishing house, trying to get hired as a fiction editor, and she'd always had a book in her ridiculously heavy pocket book.

She'd given him a few of her favorites, claiming that if he ever wanted to know the "real her," he had to read them.

A statement that made a lot more sense now than it used to.

He grabbed the one on top and leafed through it, going through the pages and scanning.

When that didn't yield anything, he flipped to the back of the book and looked at the inscription she'd written him.

March 1

Rowan,

I know you're not a fan of fiction, let alone romantic, feminist fiction, but I hope you'll read this and fall in love with Elizabeth's character like I did.

Aelin

He turned the book over and looked at the front again, then flipped through it again, then went through the whole process again.

Why did he feel like something about this didn't add up? And why was this, of all things, what she'd left as a breadcrumb?

He didn't figure it out until he reread the inscription for the fifth time and realized the date she'd written.

March 1st.

It was wrong; she'd given him this book on his birthday in February. He remembered because he'd laughed about her giving a grown man a romance novel for his birthday.

Why had she put March 1st? And why did that date stand out in his mind?

Stomach dropping, he finally figured out why that date was so important. It was the date of the first murder.

Maddison Kliff, a state senator who controversially wanted to fund renewable energy in the upcoming year, had been murdered the morning of March 1st eight years ago.

Breadcrumb.

He grabbed the next book from the stack, Wuthering Heights, and flipped to the end.

Almost the exact same inscription, except the date was April 13th, and the inspiring character was Linton Heathcliff.

April 13th was the day another victim died.

Rowan's heart started pounding, so hard he thought he was going to either pass out or go into cardiac arrest.

What was the connection between these dates, characters, and victims? Rowan could feel it in his gut that this was what she'd been talking about. It had to be.

He flipped through the books again, looking for something else, but there was nothing there. Nothing was underlined or highlighted, and the books were all in brand-new condition, no pages were bookmarked.

"What are you trying to tell me, Aelin?" he whispered, rubbing at his temples.

He made a list of all the dates and characters, stared at it until he thought he'd go blind, and tried to think like her.

Except her mind was a complex puzzle he'd never quite solved, so that didn't give him anything besides a headache.

He looked in the box again, hoping to magically find another note or something that explained everything in simple, idiot-proof terms.

But all that was there was that damn Aruba magazine.

It's the perfect place to hide from your real life.

The words came rushing back to him, so suddenly and violently it was like his subconscious had been shouting it for a while.

Was that it?

Maybe the connection wasn't only between the dates and characters, but it also had something to do with Aruba.

Maybe that was where this secret, whatever it was, was hiding.

Knowing he was probably grasping at straws, Rowan grabbed his phone and called the one person who'd help him.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I need a favor, Gavriel."

He heard a heavy sigh. "Like a we've been friends for twenty years favor or like an I'm the Chief of Police favor?"

"The latter," Rowan answered.

"Dammit, Rowan, you're going to get me fired one day." That was what he said every time. There was a long pause, then, "What do you need?"

"Flight manifests from Rifthold to Aruba from ten different days eight years ago."

Gavriel caught on quickly. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a former flame of yours, would it? One currently serving time for ten murders from eight years ago?"

"Of course not," he lied, knowing he was busted.

Another sigh. "You need to let this go, kid."

Rowan ran a hand over his face, knowing that wasn't possible. Not when, for the first time since he'd been assigned this God forbidden case, he had a lead.

"Can you help me or not?"

"I will, as long as you promise to drop it once whatever you're chasing ends up to be yet another dead end."

Knowing he didn't have another choice, Rowan agreed.

Gavriel told him he'd send them over, then said softly, "I know you loved her, Rowan, but it's time to move on."

It's not that easy, he thought, thinking once again of Aelin sitting in that tiny cell, skin pale and hair too long.

"Thanks for your help," he said instead, hanging up before the lecture could continue.

A few minutes later, he was printing out the passenger lists from all the Rifthold to Aruba flights on each of the ten dates.

Starting with August 1st, he went through, passenger by passenger, and looked for an Elizabeth.

There'd been three direct flights to Aruba that day, so by the time he found it, his eyes were so tired he almost missed it entirely.

But there was a name that stuck out, one that was straight out of his copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Seat 14C had been occupied by Elizabeth Darcy, and she'd flown directly from Rifthold to Aruba on August 1st.

Rowan's jaw damn near hit the floor.

His hands shook as he highlighted the name, writing the victim's name next to it to keep it straight in his head.

His mind whirled with possible explanations, but he didn't let himself think about anything except the next date.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he went through the passenger list for April 13th.

And sure enough, Linton Heathcliff was on one of the flights. In the same damn seat.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, grabbing the next sheet of paper.

He went date by date, flight by flight, and by the time he'd located every character, he was sure of what he'd found. What she'd left for him.

It wasn't a breadcrumb, it was the whole goddamn loaf.

Rowan barely made it to the kitchen sink before his stomach emptied as an explanation of what had really happened eight years ago started to form in his mind.

He didn't have all the pieces, but the ones he did have made him literally sick to think about.

Her insistence on being innocent, her begging him to look again, telling him only he could find the clues... it all made sense.

The doubt he'd been struggling with for eight long years suddenly disappeared, replaced by a certainty so swift and thorough and all encompassing, it almost took his breath away.

She hadn't been lying.

She hadn't killed those ten people.

She couldn't have, because...

"They're still alive."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dun dun duuuuun

part 4 out next Friday (sorry for the slow updates I'm in summer school)

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @jorjy-jo @court-of-dreams-and-ashes @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @loudphantomdragon @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[butgilinsky]

someone will ache for your soul // np

warning; a lot of language i’m sry, argument btw best friends, talks abt a shitty ex bf but there’s nothing explicit

summary; in a world where you acquire tattoos across various parts of your body once you fall in love with someone, you have to hide yours from your best friend. 

word count; 6.7k+

a/n: kind of a soulmate au but not really i guess? i saw this prompt somewhere online and idk where it’s from so the general idea of gaining tattoos from those you fall in love with is not mine but the rest of the fic is. okay thx bye(:

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

When you were younger, you loved it. You loved looking down at your ankle and seeing the small butterfly just beside your ankle. You’d had it your whole life, though you still weren’t entirely sure how a tattoo grew up with you, but you accepted it. After all, it’s all that you knew. 

Everybody’s born with a tattoo on their ankle, a small tattoo that has theirselves embedded into it. However, the older you get the more you realize that it’s not the tattoo you’re born with that makes the biggest impact on you, it’s others’. Every time you fall in love with somebody, your skin makes room for their tattoo on it. Your mom’s tattoo, a small star on her left ankle, shined bright from its place on your father’s wrist, somehow separate from the couple tattoos he collected over the years. 

You remember the day you found out about the tattoos, perched in your mom’s lap and listening to her talk to your aunt about it. You remember tracing their tattoos with your small fingers while they told you various stories about their loves and how they grew up collecting tattoos on their skin. You were scared, asked your mom what happened if you never got any more than your single tattoo on your ankle. She told you that you would, that anybody would be lucky to collect your small butterfly somewhere on their body. 

You remember the day you got your second tattoo, the paper plane that sat on the back of your left shoulder that now held the role as a painful reminder of your first love. You loved Cory, but the time for the two of you had come and gone. The paper airplane, though never in your line of sight, was still a painful reminder of the times you shared with the boy and how he broke your heart at the end of it all just before moving to college. 

You had to go through senior year alone, newly broken up with and with your best friend hours away from home. You couldn’t blame Nolan, not when he was out doing the thing he loved so much. Being in Brandon was good for him, it was all that he wanted, and it wasn’t all that far away from Winnipeg anyways. You still drove out to see Nolan’s games, even if it ran up the miles on your car and had you spending late nights driving back home by yourself. You would’ve done anything for Nolan, and it truly showed during your senior year. 

Nolan’s draft day was a rude awakening for you. You jumped up when his name was called, hugging him as tight as you possibly could before hiding your giddy expression behind your hands. You were excited for him, even if he was going all the way out to Philadelphia. You wanted him to be happy, and you could tell within seconds of his name being called that he was going to do just fine in Philly. 

You didn’t notice until you got home and your heart sank into your stomach. Your adrenaline high had worn off, and the reality of everything around you began to sink in. You knew what it was the second you laid your eyes on it, black lines etched into the skin of your sternum. You thought it was an odd placement, though it was hard to miss it when you stepped out of the shower and it stood tall and proud and ready to be found. 

You knew what it was, you’d seen the shape etched into Nolan’s ankle far more times than you could count. It mocked you, the snake coiled up the same way your memory sketched it out in your brain, and now it was imprinted perfectly into your skin. You touched it, rubbed it, tried to wash it off. You had just taken a shower, just washed the day off of you and down the drain and now you were standing in the middle of a hotel bathroom, rubbing at the spot between your breasts mercilessly. This couldn’t be happening, not to you, not when Nolan was about to move thousands of miles away from you. 

But it was happening, because the black line that followed no real pattern never faded, despite the skin around it turning raw from your insistent attempts at washing it off. It was here to stay, no matter what happened in your life down the road. It didn’t matter that you had no heads up, no warning that you were falling head over heels in love with your best friend. 

You knew it wouldn’t wash off, but that didn’t stop you from trying. These tattoos were forever, you knew that. You learned from a ripe, young age about obtaining your love’s tattoo. You learned about it growing up, you talked about it with friends and family, hell this wasn’t even your first tattoo that wasn’t your own. You knew the drill, you knew the routine, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. 

You were 18, watching him sign contracts and make agreements of his big move in a few short weeks. You couldn’t believe it, that you were losing him in a time like this. It made dropping him off at the airport all that much harder, cheeks wet and eyes bloodshot as you clung to him for dear life. You knew his parents wanted to say bye, that his sisters were waiting patiently while you cried into his shoulder, but you couldn’t let go.

He didn’t know about the snake on your sternum, nor did you plan on telling him. You couldn’t drop a bomb like that on him just before he moved to a different country, finally living out the dream he’d had ever since you could remember. Nolan wasn’t Nolan without hockey, and you were aware of that. You were painfully aware of that. 

So you didn’t tell him. 

You spent too many nights curled up in your bed, clinging to your pillow to muffle the whimpers and whines that pushed through your lips and out into the air. You tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest at any given moment, and you did everything in your power to keep everything under wraps. You couldn’t tell anyone, no matter how bad it hurt to be in love with your best friend that now lived so far away from you. 

It was hard, hiding it. You had to hide it from your family and friends, and sometimes that was easy. During the cold months you were seemingly off the hook, but when summer rolled around and your friends dragged you out to the lake every chance they got, you were in a bit of trouble. You had to carefully choose what bathing suits you wore and had to make sure nothing slipped or faltered throughout the day. 

You’d made it three years without a slip up. Even on nights when Nolan came home and you were mere inches away from him, you couldn’t find it in you to tell him. Even when he was curled up into your side and holding you against his chest in the most comfortable way, you couldn’t say anything. You couldn’t make a move on him. 

And now you were in Philly, standing in an arena that had you shivering but smiling brightly from the opposite side of the glass. You smiled every time Nolan skated by, even more when he assisted Travis in the first goal of the game and scored one of his own late in the second period. You were buzzing, adrenaline pumping and excitement shining deep in your chest. Watching Nolan do what he loved would never get old, not when the smile he wore was enough to wash away any fear or worry you’ve ever had. 

You remember nights when you couldn’t sleep and Nolan would hold you. You remembered nights when you were crying over the phone to him and he snuck out of his room and into your own. You remembered fights you had and the way he made you walk home one night after one of your bigger ones. 

You were walking out of TIm Horton’s, mere feet away from Nolan’s car before you tumbled into an argument you’d been trying to avoid for a few days now. You were dating Cory at the time, and Nolan couldn’t believe you were telling him that you couldn’t go to his game on Friday night, regardless of the fact that you’d promised him for weeks now that you’d be there. It was hard for you to catch games during the week, but this one was on a Friday night with plenty of time for you to finish the school day and drive over to Brandon. 

But now you were telling him that you couldn’t go, and no matter how sorry you were, Nolan couldn’t forgive you. He said you’d blown him off for Cory more times than he could accept anymore. You had to call your sister, figuring she was the only one that would pick you up and give you a ride home without threatening to leave you in the parking lot in favor of beating Nolan to a pulp. 

None of that mattered though. None of it mattered when you were faced with the boy you’d fallen in love with doing the thing he cherished most. When he left the locker room with a smile brighter than any of his teammates had seen in a long time that was directed straight at you, you knew none of it mattered. 

Your feet left the ground, hanging in the air while your best friend clung to your frame tightly. He thanked you for coming, told you that he scored the goal just for you, that he scored every goal for you. You figured it was the adrenaline talking, that he was just basking in the big win against their biggest rivals. That plus the fact that Nolan could barely come to terms with the fact that you were here all for him. 

You’d been in Philly before, had visited Nolan a few times over his years with the Flyers. You’d met practically everyone there was to meet and had gotten fairly close with his closest friends by default, seeing as they were always around when you were. Everything was going well this time around, everyone was having fun and getting along and it almost seemed like nothing could fall out of place. 

You were standing in the kitchen with Nolan and Travis when Nolan’s name was called, beckoning him out into the rest of the house while you and Travis rallied drinks for the group. He tried to ignore them, tried to help you pile up on wine and beers for the rest of the group but Travis practically kicked him out of the kitchen. Travis said he could help you, that the two of you didn’t need Nolan’s help and that someone else clearly did. 

It took all of five minutes for Travis to spill red wine all over your shirt. Thankfully for him, the few glasses you’d thrown back throughout the night washed over any sense of anger or annoyance you’d usually pick up and you simply laughed it off. He felt so bad, begged you to forgive him and let you buy him a new shirt, but all you did was insist that he find you a new one for now and that you could figure out the rest of it when the two of you weren’t tipsy and surrounded by your friends. 

Travis ducked out of the kitchen for a second before turning back up and leading you into a hallway on the other end of the house. He told you that Claude never really let them wander his house without a little supervision, claiming that they break everything that they touch, but this was a special case. Claude loved you, and he wasn’t going to let you walk around with a wine stained shirt for the rest of the night, especially when it’s Travis’s fault in the first place. 

You laid back on the bed in the room you were unfamiliar with, smiling up at the ceiling and humming to yourself while Travis dug through Claude’s closet. 

“I know Ryanne has a stack of those shirts somewhere.” he spoke gently to himself, refraining from throwing clothes all over the room and instead digging for one through multiple piles. You laughed to yourself, not even sure if he knew that you could hear him. 

“Just pick one, Teeks!” he huffed and chucked one at you, laughing loudly when it landed directly on your face. 

You whined and sat up, reaching for the hem of your shirt without much thought surrounding the subject before peeling it off. All you could think about was how sticky your stomach had gotten from the red spot. 

It was the small gasp that got you, the one that brought you back down to Earth and tore you out of your wine-induced haze. It was Travis’s eyes locked in on the spot in the middle of your chest that triggered every panic siren in between your ears. 

“Is that-”

“TK you can’t tell him.” you rushed out, pushing yourself to stand up as you pressed a bright orange Flyers shirt against your chest. Your hands were shaking, and Travis’s eyes were glued to the spot of the tattoo even without being able to see it anymore. He knew what that snake was, he knew it all too well. He’d known Nolan for a long time now, and he’d seen the snake enough times to commit it to memory. 

He was sure you had Nolan’s snake in the middle of your chest, and now Travis knew you were in love with Nolan. 

“Trav, I’m serious.” he shook his head, trying to clear himself of the intrusive thoughts and nodded gently. He couldn’t tell Nolan. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to keep that from him, especially when he had been looking for your tattoo on Nolan’s skin for years now. 

Travis wasn’t dense. He saw the way that Nolan looked at you, heard the tone he used when he talked about you. He saw how excited Nolan got when he knew you were about to fly into Philly, and he saw how upset Nolan got when you left. He might not have been the brightest bulb in the box, but he knew that there was something lying under the surface of you and Nolan’s friendship. 

He tried to have this conversation before, had tried more times than he could count at this point. The only difference now was that there was hard proof, there was evidence that he was right all along. But now he couldn’t use that evidence, not when you were looking at him with wide eyes and begging him to keep it between the two of you. 

“Fine, but we’re talking about this before you go back home.” you nodded, figuring that it was good enough for you if it meant he never told Nolan about it. 

Except, there was one small problem.

The door swung open, dark and narrowed eyes landing on you and Travis, less than a foot between the two of you with you topless, a single shirt held between your hands and in front of your chest. 

“My best friend?” the disappointment in his voice tugged at your heart and punched you in the gut simultaneously. The guilt hanging in your chest was barely justified, given this was one large misunderstanding, but the look on Nolan’s face was enough to have your shoulders falling. 

“Nolan, it’s not-”

“My best fucking friend? Of all people you had to choose him?” his eyes were wide and glued to yours, anger mixing with disgust in the back of his mind. He couldn’t believe you’d do this to him. 

“Pat, you don’t understand-” 

“Fuck you.” Nolan spoke slowly and clearly, shooting Travis the sharpest glare he could produce. His voice sent a chill down your spine, unsure if you had ever heard him speak with such malice. “Both of you.” 

Nolan spun on the balls of his feet and left the room, but you didn’t let him get far before you were following him. You tugged the shirt over your head, not even bothering to turn back to Travis to apologize before you were running after Nolan, calling his name down the hallway. 

“Nolan, please-”

“I don’t want to hear it, honestly.” he threw over his shoulder, but you weren’t accepting that. You weren’t going to let him walk away right now, not when you didn’t do anything wrong. 

“Just listen to me!” you stopped walking, stopped running. You stood in the middle of a hallway that had pictures lining the walls around you. Smiling faces and cheery laughs suffocated you in a time where you stood toe to toe with your best friend, the same one who was looking down at you like he’d never known you. “You don’t get to assume things and just walk away!”

“Yeah, well you don’t get to come out here after not seeing me for six months and sleep with my best friend! You don’t get to do that to me! You don’t get to use me to sleep with professional athletes.” any words you had swimming through your mind halted at his accusation. They fizzled out, unable to produce a coherent thought after you heard your best friend accuse you of using him. 

“After all this time, you think i’m using you? You think that I came here to sleep with Travis?” 

“You want to know what I think? I think you’ve always used me. You used me to escape your awful boyfriend in high school and you used me to leave home when things got bad. You used me to get over your shitty boyfriend when he left you in the fucking dust and here you are now, using me to sleep with my best fucking friend.” you were in shock, lips parted and throat constricting as you tried to let his words sit. 

“If you wanted to whore yourself out to NHL players, you should’ve just said so, puck bunny.” The nickname weighed heavily in your chest, bringing you back to a time where Nolan went on and on about how much puck bunnies got under his skin. It brought you back to a time when Nolan would never call you that, would never even put you and the name in the same conversation.

“Patty!” Nolan’s eyes left yours, casting over your shoulder and locking with another pair that he might have been more furious at. Sure, he was angry at you. He couldn’t believe you’d do something like this, not after growing up with him just a few houses down. He couldn’t believe you’d stoop this low, but Travis? Travis knew how Nolan felt about you. Even if he didn’t admit it, even if he’d never say that was all true, Travis knew. He knew better than anyone how Nolan felt, and that made it all the more worse. 

“Don’t talk to her like that.” you bit down on your bottom lip, hard enough to sting slightly but you couldn’t look away from where your eye level left you. You couldn’t look up at Nolan, not when he was this angry at you, and you surely couldn’t look at Travis. You knew that’d only make things worse. 

“Now you get to tell me how to talk to her? Does that mean the two of you are a thing now? That’s funny, seeing as you have a girlfriend, Teeks. Didn’t know you were into home wrecking, y/n.”

“Fuck you.” you spoke softly, not even sure if he had heard you before he looked down at you with a puzzled look stretched across his face. 

“So I can pick up TK’s sloppy seconds? No thanks, angel.” you shoved him then, shoved him hard. He didn’t move much due to the way his feet dug into the ground and he had muscle on you, but you got your point across by the force delivered to his chest. 

“You’re a dick, you know that? You walk into a room and think you know everything that’s going on, but you don’t, okay? You don’t know what happens when you’re gone. You don’t know what happened in there or what happens at home when you’re here. You don’t know anything, okay?” 

“That’s bold, given that I just walked in on you topless, seconds away from kissing my best friend, y/n-”

“Is there a reason you feel the need to keep reminding me that Travis is your best friend?”

“Because I need you to know that you’re not.” 

The world titled on its axis then, the rude awakening you’d walked into becoming all too much for you to handle. With the realization that Nolan wanted nothing to do with you, you nodded once and walked around him so you could leave. It was only then that you noticed the audience you’d gathered, the better half of the Flyers roster circled around the room with a few of their significant others. You flashed everyone a pained smile and thanked Claude and Ryanne for inviting you before leaving the house. 

You weren’t even down the driveway when your lungs gave way, gasping for air while tears streamed down your cheeks. Your heart hurt and your stomach turned, and you knew it was going to be a long night. 

“You really are a dick.” Travis was going to walk past him, was going to avoid the lot of people and follow you outside. He knew you didn’t know where you were, nor did you have a way to get to or from anywhere else. You could order an uber to Nolan’s, but then what? Kevin might let you into the apartment but where would you stay? On the couch in a living room you weren’t welcome in? Not likely. 

“I’m the dick? You know how I feel about her!”

“Nothing happened!”

“Bullshit, TK! I know that look on your face and I know that she sure as hell looked embarrassed-”

“I spilt wine on her shirt, you fucking idiot! I knocked into her when we were in the kitchen and I made her entire glass of wine spill down the front of her shirt, so I went to get her another one. I didn’t want her to sit in a soaking wet, stained shirt for the rest of the night so I went to get her another.” 

“And she changed in front of you because-?”

“Because she was drunk and knew I wouldn’t make a move on her. Because she knows that I respect you and care about you far more than I care about making a move on her. I don’t look at her that way, Pat. You know I would never do that to you.” Nolan sucked on his teeth then, casting his eyes away from Travis’s and looking down at his feet. 

“Do I?” Travis scoffed then, not bothering to give Nolan a response before walking past everybody else and out to his car. 

After a few minutes of driving around, he found you at the park just down the street, leaning against the chain that supported the swing you sat on. He couldn’t see your tears from his car, but he could see the way you flinched when he shut the car door behind him. 

“You okay?” you shook your head, eyes filled to the brim with tears that blurred your vision and broke Travis’s heart. 

“I’m in love with him, Teeks. I love him more than anything in this entire world and he thinks I’m using him. He t-thinks- he thinks I-” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Travis pulled you onto your feet and into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you in order to attempt to calm you down. 

“He thinks-” your sobs rang through the air, piercing through Travis’s heart and resulting in him squeezing you tighter, letting you get all of it out while no one else was around. 

“He doesn’t think that. He knows you’re not using him, he just can’t bear to think about you with anybody other than him.” you shook your head, not allowing yourself to believe Travis, even though he knew Nolan pretty well. If there was anything to know about Nolan, you or Travis would know about it. 

“He loves you, okay? He loves you more than he knows how to handle and he can’t handle losing you before he’s even had you.” you flinched when a car backfired, jumping inches off of the ground and making Travis laugh gently from beside you when you let out a shaky breath of relief. 

Your eyes found the familiar car drive by, slowing down the slightest bit by the park only to take off towards the entrance of the neighborhood quite quickly. You knew it was Nolan, you knew that car by heart. 

You ended up on Travis’s couch the night, wrapped in a warm pair of sweatpants that Travis threw in the dryer for you before giving them to you. You tied the drawstring in a tight knot so they’d stay up and pulled on a hoodie that he offered to you shortly after. He listened to you reminisce on all of the memories you had with Nolan. He learned more about his best friend and who he was growing up, but also learned a fair amount about you as well. 

He felt for you. He couldn’t believe Nolan said all of those things to you, but he also knew that Nolan must not be doing well right now. He texted Kevin when he got back to his apartment, saying that you were safe with him, and that he’d text Nolan but didn’t for obvious reasons. Kevin assured Travis he’d let Nolan know you were safe, despite Nolan not asking about your well being. Not that he hadn’t thought about it, but he figured if he asked he’d be left with a less than likable answer. 

Nolan didn’t sleep well that night, replaying how bad he fucked up over and over again in his mind. He didn’t believe you at first, didn’t even believe Travis when he told him what truly happened. He did, however, believe his captain when he said that Travis asked him for a shirt for you just a few minutes before it all happened. Ryanne brought out your wine soaked shirt after the two of you had left, and despite Nolan coming to terms with the fact that he was wrong, he couldn’t forgive himself for the things he said to you. 

He couldn’t believe he accused you of it all before going on to accuse you of using him for your benefit. He knew it was stupid, since you’d been around far before the NHL. you were there when he got drafted, you were there when he was named captain of the Wheat Kings, and you were there when he almost quit hockey when he was younger. He remembered having you by his side through everything growing up and even now, even while living so far away from each other. If he called, you answered. If he needed help, you helped him. Hockey had nothing to do with that. 

He looked down at the butterfly on his thigh, the one that took residence right beside another one of his tattoos, one that he had to keep hidden from you for well over two years now. He traced his finger over the small image, let his mind wander over all the possibilities of where yours could be if you had a snake somewhere inked into your skin. It’s a thought he often had, wondering where you’d want it, if you’d want it. 

By the time Nolan came to his senses, it was too late. He’d already gotten through an entire practice and by the time he got back, by the time he got home, he realized you were gone. Your things that were piled into a corner of his room were gone. The jersey he’d given you for the game against the pens was folded up nicely on the pillow of his bed and a sticky note with your unmistakeable handwriting on it left a hole in his chest. 

I’m sorry I ever made you doubt me. 

He couldn’t reach for his phone fast enough, couldn’t call you enough times to break your voicemail box. He called Travis, pained to hear that you were already on a flight back to Winnipeg. He wanted to leave, wanted to drive to the airport right this second and catch a flight back home to tell you he’s incredibly sorry, but he couldn’t. He had a roadie in a few days and a game tomorrow night and he couldn’t just leave. 

He did his best to contact you, tried to call every person in your family and was disappointed every time. Even when both of his sisters sat down and called him to collectively tell him that he was the biggest idiot either of them had ever met. Nobody could believe Nolan blew you off like that, not even Nolan himself. 

He knew he fucked up, but he hadn’t realized how bad he fucked things up until one of your friends from back home posted a picture of you on social media a few months later. It had been at least four months since he’d spoken to you, since he saw you. It had been too long of him having nothing but the sliver of content he got from social media. He hated that his friends had chosen your side in the thick of it all, though he guessed it was easier to do that with him in Philadelphia and the rest of you in the same place. 

But it wasn’t until a picture of you with a wide smile and a new bathing suit popped up on his phone that he knew the true weight of the situation in front of him. There you were, in a baby blue bathing suit that showed the same shape between your breasts that he’d grown up with beside his ankle. His tattoo was committed to memory, ingrained into his brain with no room to forget about it, especially when he saw it on you, etched into your skin the same way it had been etched into his. 

He thought back to the paper airplane on your shoulder, the mark that had haunted him for years. He hated your boyfriend, hated the sight of his tattoo on your skin. He hated everything that had to do with the sheer thought of you with somebody else, even if he didn’t know how to deal with that. And now, with his thumb sitting on the butterfly on his thigh and his eyes on the snake on your sternum, he knew he had to fix this. He knew he had to fix things because these tattoos, though permanent themselves, didn’t guarantee him a life as your boyfriend, nor your husband. 

Nolan remembered a time when he thought these tattoos were stupid. He remembered when he thought it was a thing for soulmates and you told him that thought was wrong, that it just reminded you of a love you felt, even if it was eventually lost. He remembers you telling him that you were scared you’d never be loved forever, that you were scared to only be loved momentarily. 

But that wasn’t the case. Nolan would never stop loving you. He couldn’t forget about the way your laugh brightened his day without question, or the way your nose scrunched when you laughed. He couldn’t forget about the way you bugged him for ice cream on a bad day, or how good you looked with his name and number stretched across your back. 

He couldn’t remember a day he wasn’t in love with you. 

So Nolan flew to Winnipeg the second the Flyers’ season was over. He didn’t bask in getting knocked out of the playoffs like some of the other guys, didn’t dwell on the loss in the sixth game of the series because he couldn’t. He couldn’t dwell on a loss when he was so focused on trying to prevent a second one. 

He had called everybody he could think of once he got off the plane. Some didn’t answer, some didn’t know the answer to his question, and some just flat out refused to humor him. You weren’t home, he knew that much by the absence of your car in the driveway and your sister telling him that you weren’t there, and that she wouldn’t let him inside even if you were. It wasn’t until he rounded a familiar corner after a phone call he’d been thankful for. 

Jordan told him where you were, unable to lie to his childhood friend when you were hanging out with everyone. You were wearing a bathing suit again, though it didn’t matter for a while. The sun was high in the air and you weren’t the only that had shed yourself of your coverup earlier in the afternoon. You were playing basketball with Jordan, oblivious to the fact that he’d given you up just ten minutes prior to the gate door swinging open and Nolan letting himself into the backyard. 

Your eyes found him easily, as if he was a magnet you could never repel. Your shoulders fell for a moment, your instinct of wanting to comfort him seeping in before you could tell it not to. Of course you kept up with his team, watching every game you possibly could until the very last one. You knew he’d been knocked out of the playoff less than 48 hours ago, and you had no idea he was coming home. 

You hadn’t realized the weight of the situation until you noticed his eyes locked in on your chest. You folded your arms over your chest in an attempt to cover the snake, but it didn’t make Nolan look anywhere else. 

“Who told you I was here?” your voice was soft. You knew he didn’t drive around the entire town looking for your car, though you weren’t sure it was something too far out of his reach. Nolan would do just about anything to get something if he wanted it bad enough.

“Bo did.” you glared at the boy not far from you, the one that you shouldn’t have trusted with something like this in the first place. You should’ve known Jordan would do something like this. 

“Patty, what the fuck?”

“Just shut up, Bo.” Jordan rolled his eyes and tossed the basketball to Nolan who smacked it away and into the grass. 

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you.” you tried to stand your ground, even with Jordan giggling to himself before walking over to your friends not too far from where you currently stood. 

“Just give me five minutes.”

Nolan’s eyes bore into yours, the same pair of bright blue eyes that you had been avoiding for months. You wanted to answer every call and every text, but how could you? How could you pick up the phone and listen to his voice through the speaker after all he’d said to you in front of his entire team. And then on top of it all, he left you stranded in Philly, in the middle of a city, country even, where you had nobody to turn to and nowhere to go. 

“I know you don’t want to talk to me-”

“Then leave, Nols.” he shook his head, taking a step towards you. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I know I hurt you-”

“You’re right! You hurt me! You hurt me so bad Nolan and I can’t go through that again so if you’re here to let history repeat itself, then can you just go?” he shook his head, firmly planting his feet into the ground and refusing to move. 

“I know you don’t want to see me or listen to me or give me the benefit of the doubt but I need you to hear me out.” you sighed, letting your arms fall to your side. You weren’t sure how he seemingly broke down all of your walls without even lifting a finger. You watched his eyes flick down to the image on your chest, you even let him raise a finger once he stood in front of you and trace the shape of the snake. “It suits you, y’know?”

“Did you really come all this way to tell me that this suits me?” there was a hint of amusement in your voice, enough of it to bring a smile to Nolan’s lips. 

“I know I fucked up-”

“Big time.” you cut him off, shooting him a gentle smile and nod that told you you’d stop interrupting him. “Sorry, continue.”

“I know I fucked up and I said a lot of shit I didn’t mean and that’s not an excuse but- look, I know i shouldn’t have said all of that shit. I should’ve believed the two of you. I should’ve believed you when you told me nothing happened and I shouldn’t have said you were using me. I know you’re not using me. There was no way you could’ve known that I was going to be in the NHL, and you wouldn’t have stuck around all this time just to be a puck bunny.” 

It wasn’t like you to forgive all that easily. You drew lines in the sand and refused to let someone fuck you over twice. You weren’t big on second chances, especially when you thought people didn’t deserve them. You were a straight shooter, no bullshit. But those walls cracked for Nolan, they fell for Nolan. None of your boundaries were drawn in place with Nolan in mind. He had broken down every wall, overstepped every boundary since the day he met you. You couldn’t block him out, couldn’t lead him out of your life. 

As much as you hated to admit it, you needed Nolan Patrick. You were in love with Nolan Patrick. 

And the little butterfly on his thigh told you that he loved you all the same. 

Your lips turned up at the sight, your eyes locked in on the place where his shorts had ridden up and the small image danced happily on his skin. 

“How long have you had that?” you pointed down at it, barely noticing the way his eyes stayed trained on you through the entirety of the situation. You were looking at his tattoo, but he was looking at you. He was always looking at you, which only made it that much more surprising that he hadn’t picked up on the snake on your chest. 

“Since before I got drafted.” he spoke softly, hitting you with a force you didn’t know existed. You were floored by the realization, somewhat thinking that he’d only had it for a small bit of time. You’d seen his thighs, seen his tattoos and you’d never seen the small butterfly etched into his skin. 

“How long have you had that?” his finger traced over the snake one more time, sending a chill down your spine that you had felt more times than you could count when you were around Nolan. It was a feeling that was never expected but always welcome. 

“Draft day.” you breathed out, feeling the weight of the world lift off of your shoulders. You were finally admitting it, finally letting the love of your life know just how long you’ve been a mess for him. Little did you know how much of a mess he was for you. 

“I’m so sorry, y/n.” 

“It’s okay.” you spoke softly, a smile gracing your lips at the realization that things were falling back into place, even after all this time of not talking to him. 

“It’s okay?” you nodded, taking another step toward him so you were chest to chest. 

“As long as you don’t fuck it up again.” he let out a small laugh, his hands finding the sides of your face just before pressing his lips to yours. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

-

italics mean it wouldn’t let me tag you!!

nolpat tag list; @extratragic​ @babytkachuks​ @teenagekook​ @stfukie​ @kiedhara​ @sadcupofcoffee​ @sidscrosbyy​ @rebel-without-care @baby-cat-nol-pat​ @creator-appreciator​ 

tagging the himbos as well; @bricksatlandyswindow​ @damndunner​ @anxietyandtacos​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @dmonchld​

[owletstarlet]

the grand deeds of great men, the smallest of gestures

"My hero."

An (extremely late) request of sorts from @taizi for some solid nishi content, involving Tanuma putting those childhood karate lessons to good use. Established tanunatsu.

Ao3 link in the notes. 

“Your boyfriend,” Satoru announces without preamble, dragging Tanuma by their joined hands through the hotel room door, “is a badass.”

Natsume looks up sharply from where he and Atsushi are huddled over a pile of rumpled travel pamphlets on the bed. But it’s Taki who’s on her feet first, closing the distance to the door with a pinched look and taking the shopping bag out of Tanuma’s hand.

Satoru’s grinning. Tanuma is very much not.

But they’re both shaking.

Satoru doesn’t let go of Tanuma’s hand until Natsume’s there to take it. Atsushi’s there to grab Satoru by the shoulders, and the five of them shuffle back as one towards the beds.

Natsume doesn’t press for the explanation until they’re all seated, he and Taki pressed up against either side of Tanuma, their knees bumping up against Atsushi’s and Satoru’s in the narrow space between the two beds. The muttered question is probably more directed at Satoru than at Tanuma, because Tanuma’s gray-faced in the lamplight, gaze a little too wide, breaths coming a little too fast. Both Natsume’s hands are wrapped around Tanuma’s slack one, and on his other side Taki’s hands are gentle where they rub his back, but her keen eyes keep darting over to Satoru, expression tight with all the same concern. Satoru, for his part, is practically vibrating where he sits tucked against Atsushi’s side, from nerves or exhilaration or both, Atsushi can’t quite tell.

“He flipped a guy!” Satoru declares, with a wide one-handed swoop of a gesture at Tanuma, sounding positively giddy about it.

Well. Whatever Atsushi was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that.

“What,” Natsume says, blankly, at the same time that Taki says, “…wait.”

And then they’re all looking at Tanuma. Who very much looks like he’d rather not be looked at.

“It was the actual best thing I have ever seen,” Satoru says, nudging Tanuma’s knee with his own, and there’s something fierce and warm in his eyes. “And he thinks he’s gonna go to jail or something for it, which he’s not, because the guy deserved it, so that would be dumb.”

“What happened?” Atsushi blurts, now well and truly alarmed.

And he tells them.

They’re in Osaka for a long weekend, because Natori had invited them all along for some premiere of a new period piece that Satoru had been gushing about for months. Natsume’s not exactly ecstatic about attending the event itself, but he’s clearly happy that Satoru’s happy—Atsushi gathers that that’s whole point of this—and even if Natori himself is all booked up with press events for the majority of the weekend, it’s a chance for them all to explore the unfamiliar city together.

Not thirty minutes ago, Satoru and Tanuma had volunteered to make a combini run for snacks, only about two blocks from the hotel. But once they’d finished and were through the door, bags in hand, Tanuma had realized he’d forgotten to get the ice cream Taki had asked for. He’d gone back in to get it, while Satoru stayed out front to sip at the cocoa he’d bought. They hadn’t really paid any mind to the group milling about out front. Salarymen, by the looks of them, three or four younger guys in tidy suits with raucous voices and beers in hand. Satoru had been making his way to the bench near the entrance to wait, not quite looking where he was going, and he’d bumped into one of them, causing some of his beer to slosh over the lip of the can and onto the guy’s blazer sleeve. From his place in line Tanuma had heard it, the sharp “Oy!” and the rumbles of displeasure from man’s friends. Tanuma’s not sure what became of the ice cream he’d been holding—maybe he dropped it, maybe he shoved it into the hands of the customer beside him—but the next thing he knew he was out the door, wedging himself firmly between Satoru and the man who now had him by the arm.

“And then he just…bam!” Satoru mimes the motion, as though he’s grabbing something heavy with both hands from behind, and twisting it downwards in front of him. “Like. Grabbed him. And just. Flipped him! Guy went down beer and all, and he looked super confused about being on the ground all of a sudden. And it was amazing, and I had no idea he took karate before.”

And with that, three sets of startled eyes all land squarely on Tanuma. Natsume taps his knee, like he’s trying to break him away from whatever’s got its grip on him behind his own glassy gaze.

“Karate?” Taki looks, at first, gobsmacked by this piece of information. But it morphs into something like slow-breaking delight across her features.

Tanuma’s nod is a single, tight bob of the head. “Just, um.” It’s the first time he’s spoken since walking through the door, and his voice is a ghost of a thing, like it might get swallowed up by the stale air of the room. “Until I was twelve. On and off. I don’t remember much.”

“You remembered plenty,” Satoru tells him, tone banking no argument, before clasping his hands together dramatically. “My hero.” His grin is so wide and irresistibly cheesy that Tanuma looks up, just for a moment, with the barest twitch of his lips before his gaze drops back down towards the stretch of flowery pink carpet beneath their toes. Natsume shoots Satoru a grateful look, even as Atsushi finds himself doing the same to Tanuma. Somewhere, during the course of the story, he’d found himself squashed up impossibly close against Satoru, arm tucked firmly around his shoulders. He seems genuinely excited, not distressed, but against Atsushi’s side he still feels wound up tight as a coiled spring. It’s definitely not lost on Natsume, either, judging by the glance he gives Atsushi. Atsushi nudges Natsume’s foot—he’s okay, I got him—and Natsume nods, once, though his gaze lingers a moment longer on Satoru’s flushed, still-beaming face.

“So you’re afraid someone saw?” Atsushi asks, while Taki fishes out a tea bottle from the shopping bag, uncaps it and presses it into Tanuma’s hand.

Tanuma doesn’t answer, but that touch of a grin from before has twisted itself into something distinctly nauseated.

“If anyone did see, they’d know the dude was fine.” Satoru shrugs. “Also that he deserved it, remember. We ran, anyways.”

Natsume blinks. “You ran here?”

And Atsushi can’t help but see the comedy in that being what Natsume seizes on, considering the truly impressive amount of times Atsushi’s seen him tearing through town apropos of nothing like he’s got a swarm of invisible hornets on his tail.

“Yup,” Satoru says, brightly, tapping Tanuma’s knee. “Felt like an action movie.” A pause, before he tacks on, not unkindly, “Y’know, if you’re not gonna drink that tea, then I will.”

Tanuma blinks down at the tea bottle, which had tilted enough in his hand to nearly spill onto the scratchy comforter as though forgotten about. He manages a couple measured sips before letting Taki take it back and cap it.

Natsume squeezes Tanuma’s fingers in his own, looking unsettled. Taki looks thoughtful, idly tapping the bottle in her hands.

“Were you thinking they had a security camera out front or something?” she asks.

Tanuma says nothing.

Taki leans into his side. “You know, even if anyone watched the footage, it’s like Nishimura said. All they’d see is that man getting exactly what was coming to him,” she says, fervently.

“And you being cool as hell,” Satoru adds. “Seriously, they teach twelve-year-olds how to do that?”

The way his shoulders loosen, just a fraction, feels like a win. “I don’t…actually know?” he starts, squinting like he’s trying to recall. “I was in this class for high-schoolers at the time, because there were nothing else available in the town I lived in.” A shrug, a sheepish glance up and away. “Usually I was just partnered up with my teacher.”

“That actually sounds kind of brutal, though,” Atsushi says, curious now. “Did the teacher demonstrate take-downs and stuff on you?”

“She did, but. Really slowly,” Tanuma replies, and it’s as though the warmth of Natsume’s and Taki’s shoulders pressed up against his has started, though incrementally, to seep into his voice, his eyes. “And I never really got the hang of doing any of it back to her. I’m surprised that worked, earlier.”

Precisely none of this explanation seems to have made Satoru look any less starstruck. Atsushi has to hold back his snort. “You should totally pick it up again,” Satoru’s saying now, around a mouth full of the lemon ice pop Natsume had fished out of the shopping bag for him. “What color belt did you get up to?”

“Um.”

Just that half-second’s hesitation is long enough to put a loaded look into Natsume’s eyes, for him to slot their fingers together properly and squeeze.

Tanuma lets out a breath, and there’s something years-old and lonely clinging to the edges of his smile. Atsushi doubts he’s aware of it. “None.” He shrugs. “I didn’t pass the one exam I took. I got pneumonia that year and had to quit after that, so.”

He looks faintly embarrassed, now, and Satoru opens his mouth as though ready to nip that right in the bud, but Taki beats him to it.

“Tanuma,” she says, solemnly, turning around to face him. “You have got to teach me how you did that.”

***

By the time the polite-yet-firm call arrives from the front desk, indicating a noise complaint from their neighbors in the next room and forcing them all to call it a night, things are better.

By then, Tanuma had been goaded into demonstrating some unwieldy modified version the maneuver behind his earlier takedown, executed on a poor unsuspecting hotel pillow because the entire room had immediately nixed Satoru’s offer to be the human test dummy.

Now, Satoru and Taki are a boneless, lightly snoring tangle of limbs on the far bed, one of Satoru’s arms thrown over Natsume’s whale shark plushie. (A surprise gift from all of them, Taki’s idea, after they’d caught him eyeing it more than once in the aquarium gift shop yesterday. If he’d walked out of the aquarium clutching it to his chest just like he might’ve done with his fat cat, currently hundreds of kilometers away, none of them said a word about it.)

Natsume himself is dozing in the other bed, but he lies facing Satoru—and Satoru’s fine, he’s unharmed and happy and completely safe, he is. But for some reason the longer the night’s worn on, Atsushi’s had to remind himself of these facts more, not less. He knows the dark cast to Satoru’s slack wrist is the lamplight-shadow of his sweatshirt sleeve, knows because he checked.

Still.

Tanuma’s in the bath, now. And he seems, well. Better than he was, certainly. But Atsushi had seen the taut-lipped glances he’d stolen at Satoru, and he looks about the same way Atsushi feels. At least the unwelcome scenarios and possibilities unspooling in his own mind have got to be more vague than whatever Tanuma’s imagination was serving up. Tanuma had seen it. Had stopped it.

Let Satoru wave it off, insist ‘til he’s blue in the face that it was fine, all fine, that he hadn’t been in any real danger. If it would put his friends at ease, he’d have said the same with a smile on his face even if he’d just been robbed at knifepoint.

Atsushi really needs to stop thinking about this.

He’d heard Natsume earlier, voice whisper-gentle through the bathroom door after he’d led Tanuma in by the hand behind him. Satoru and Taki had drifted off by then. Atsushi couldn’t make out the words, and heard nothing at all from Tanuma, aside from a few isolated, stuttering breaths. Tanuma had re-emerged dazed, red-eyed, but calmer than Atsushi had seen him all evening.

When the door opens now, Tanuma steps out in a halo of steam, wet-haired and barefoot in an old t-shirt. Atsushi’s on his feet and halfway across the room before he’s even really aware of it, the change of clothes for his own bath forgotten at the foot of the bed.

Tanuma goes still, when Atsushi pulls him close. Atsushi almost lets go, but then he feels the tentative hands come up to rest on his back.

“Thank you,” Atsushi mutters into his shoulder.

“I—“

“No. Listen.” Atsushi pulls back, hands shifting to rest on his upper arms. And god but Tanuma looks exhausted. “You kept him safe,” Atsushi says. “And don’t try to tell me you didn’t, because you did. Thank you.”

Tanuma opens his mouth, closes it again, swallows. He says nothing for a long moment, but he doesn’t look away. Finally, “…sorry for freaking out.” He smiles as he says it, but his voice snags on the words. He swallows again.

“Hey.” Atsushi waits until Tanuma’s now-dropped gaze returns to him. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for that, okay? Not with us.”

A sound like an inhale, somehow sharp and shaky all at once, and then it’s Tanuma that’s pulling them together again. A steadying breath, in-out-in that ruffles Atsushi’s hair. Stillness.

“Okay,” he whispers.

***

If he does go to jail, it's Natori who'll have to bail him out :)

Sensei didn't come along because I like to think Hiiragi, Sasago and Urihime have been taking turns watching over Natsume, which is more than sufficient, except for when it's *not* Natsume himself who's getting into trouble--

Fun fact, according to the most current iteration of canon, Tanuma's taken judo in the past as well as karate, but the bulk of this was written before that chapter came out.

All credit to taizi for the nice hug idea--

[fleckcmscott]

Coffee & Donuts

Summary: Arthur’s thrilled to be part of a crowd. Though the evening doesn’t go perfectly, Y/N’s flirtations make it sweet.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 4,602

A/N: Alright. After the heart wrenching angst of my last piece (which I love, by the way; don't get me wrong! 😂), I had to write another story in which Arthur and Y/N are happy and together. It's inspired by one of Arthur's visions during their kiss. I hope you all like it! Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-ing!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Parties and celebrations weren't foreign to Arthur. He'd worked plenty, enough to make him realize what he'd been missing out on. He was well-versed in pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, and balloon animals. But as an adult, those activities didn't satisfy. He wanted to be included rather than paid. Connect with people, introduce himself. Discuss his experiences and pursuits. Feel sufficiently at ease to loosen up a little and have a good time.

Now he was a guest - a certified guest - at Patricia Gorman's fifty-sixth birthday party. The first party he'd been invited to since being the weird kid in class who'd rotated between three worn out sweaters and could never afford a gift.

He'd been a tad apprehensive about going to Burnside. Gotham's nicest borough had a reputation for high rents and low tolerance. When Y/N and he had entered 2E, however, Patricia's greeting ("You made it!") and the apartment were thoroughly welcoming. Crocodile brown walls and forest green shag carpet made the spacious living room a cozy hideaway. Marigolds leapt across the polyester of the T-cushion sofa and its easy-chair companion. The floor lamp's amber, crimped glass shades cast the spacious living room in a glow borrowed from warm autumn days.

Patricia's husband, Robert, was out on an emergency call. An HVAC had gone haywire in a residential building in Hinckley. Her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson had been by for lunch. That meant the only other guests were Matt - Y/N's old boss - and a bottle-blonde in a black halter dress and spike heels, who Y/N introduced as Laura. ("She's Matt's ex-wife," Y/N later disclosed. "He's been trying to win her back since I moved to Gotham.") Both shook Arthur's hand when he offered it, and he felt a little thrill whirl his stomach when Y/N laid claim to him by telling the woman, "This is my husband."

A collection of appetizers served as dinner, a fun and novel menu. The slow cooker meatballs Y/N and he had lugged over on the subway were a bit tangy; he still couldn't believe the recipe called for grape jelly. The deviled eggs with paprika, a pleasant mix of savory and sweet, was a dish he'd heard about on television. Cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches were light and airy, a good match for his iced tea. Only the artichoke and spinach dip gave him pause. Its beans and hot sauce made his taste buds wince.

That unpleasant flavor was quickly forgotten when Y/N pulled him to sit next to her on the sofa, so Patricia could open her presents. She proudly showed off the orange, clay ashtray her grandson had made for her. Arthur, having successfully kept the secret of her light smoking from Y/N, chuckled at Patricia fibbing she'd put candy in it. She thanked Matt and Laura for the champagne, wrapped in a silver bow with a simple "Happy Birthday" tag. The bottle wasn't popped. Upon peeking into the large giftbag Y/N placed on her lap, she made a soft sound. The Dazey whirlpool bath, which attached to the side of the tub and had three strength settings, was a hit. She announced her plans to try it in the morning. The dark blue Rexbuilt briefbag was intended to replace her cracked, leather briefcase, Y/N explained. Patricia ran her fingertips along the expanding inner compartments, the personalized planner that included the credential "CLA" after her name, and flipped through the included steno pads, eyes brimming.

She sipped at her cocktail and put an arm around Y/N. Melancholy tinged Patricia's voice. "At my age, the people in your life tend to stay the people in your life. Whether you like them or not." She reached further and patted Arthur's knee. "I'm glad an old dame like me gets to call you all friends." His throat clenched in gratification, though he wasn't daring enough to squeeze her hand and thank her for deciding he was a friend.

Still on top of the world an hour later, Arthur sauntered to the red and white enamel dining table to serve himself a second slice of upside-down pineapple cake. The evening had gone well, better than a guy with a natural inability to mingle could've expected. He bobbed his head to the beat of "Come Fly with Me." It was a happy coincidence that Patricia's taste in music aligned with his. She'd regaled him with tales of seeing Sinatra and Count Basie on her and Robert's honeymoon in Vegas. Arthur took a bite absentmindedly, wondering how long it would take for him to save the money to surprise Y/N with plane and concert tickets.

The daydreaming didn't last long. Matt's plodding footsteps preceded him, followed by a long sigh as he propped himself on the beige stone of the dining area's accent wall, across from the u-shaped kitchen. He held out a Budweiser and smirked. "Marriage is a hell of a lot of work."

Pleased that he was being treated like one of the guys, like a regular husband with a regular relationship who got to speak about his regular wife, Arthur accepted the beer and considered the comment. Matt's sentiment was hard to grasp. Dr. Sally had said marriage could be difficult, and Y/N's first hadn't survived the ripples of her life. But it didn't feel like work with her. Their arguments were minor. Her nagging him to find a primary doctor for annual check-ups, even though he'd survived this long without one. Or back in Missouri, when he'd told her to stop shielding him and trust he could take anything she had to give.

Arthur adopted a similar nonchalant posture and jutted his hip against the table's edge. "I like it. It's easy to take good care of her." He wasn't able to completely erase the smugness of success from his tone.

"You're what? Two years in with the most headstrong woman in Gotham? She's great and all, but she spikes my blood pressure." Matt slapped Arthur's back and let out a hearty guffaw. "Give it five more and you'll be in my office trying to avoid alimony."

"Don't. Say that." Arthur crinkled the can in his grip and glared up at him.

"Hey," Matt started, withdrawing even as he tried diplomacy. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

Flinching, pulling at the cuffs of his red sweater, Arthur fought the surge of anger in his veins. It wouldn't do to lose control and cause a scene. Of course Matt's comment about them splitting up was supposed to be a joke. But Arthur didn't find it one bit funny. Even with his complete faith in her and his firm belief that they were meant to be together, the possibility that she'd stop wanting him hurt. It didn't occur to him that the implication of the punchline could be that he'd get sick of Y/N.

With a muttered apology, Matt walked to the others in the kitchen. Arthur glanced over to see her laugh tipsily, until she grabbed her stomach and swatted Patricia's shoulder, a stark demonstration of how much he and Y/N differed. She always knew how to respond to people, the right comebacks. Appropriate timing and levels of interaction. It seemed she was in her natural element, the loveliest swan on a lake. Whereas after years of therapy and practice with her, he was still a fish out of water, flopping around on the shoreline in hopes some stranger would take pity on him and throw him back into the sea.

Maybe that was the real punchline. Eventually their contrasts would no longer complement each other and instead become a chore.

Scowling, he ambled towards the record player stationed before two double-hung windows. Increased the volume to drown out the intrusive notions. It didn't really work. He settled on a grounding technique he'd practiced, all the while lamenting that he couldn't handle a party without needing it. His attention went to the spinning LP, the needle following its grooves. The bright blue album cover, where Ol' Blue Eyes beckoned him, the scuff marks on the cardboard's corner edges. He acknowledged the spider plants sat on the windowsill, worried a papery leaf until it broke off. He stared out the window, taking in the whole of the city. Pinpricks of light dazzling in the darkness.

"Gotham's beautiful at night," Y/N said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to watch her approach. Her cheeks glowed with alcohol and good cheer, the collar of her ivory blouse unbuttoned. "There's a life behind every light out there. Ten million of them. Here. Try this." She offered her hurricane glass, filled with an off-white slush.

He sipped the pina colada with cautious skepticism and grimaced as soon as it hit his tongue. The blend of pineapple and coconut tasted of cheap sunscreen and tropical imitations, the kind advertised in smudged brochures for bad cruises to islands with made up sounding names. "No, thanks."

Snorting, she shrugged and embraced his back at the waist. "How are we doing?" she asked, curling into his side. After a few seconds, she prodded him. "Had your fill of Matt?"

"He was just joking." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  She set the drink next to the record player and brought her hand to his, trailed it over the inside of his wrist, up his forearm. She pecked his chin and nudged him until he turned to her. As soon as their gazes met, the concern in hers told him she'd continue to pepper him with questions. But he wasn't about to let his misplaced doubts spoil her evening. And he knew the perfect way to distract them both.

A new song started. An oldie that sang of Jupiter and Mars, playfulness among the stars. He cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping the corner of her mouth. "Dance with me," he said. Before accepting his proffered palm, she laid a sloppy kiss on him. With a flutter of her eyelashes, she grinned, and his smile grew to match her own. As he held her side, led her in a slow, swaying circle, he marveled at her. At her ability to soothe every molecule, every lingering ache. Self-assurance welled in him, chased away his earlier dejection. He cradled her to his lanky frame, trembled and felt himself blush. She was the only woman for him. That was as certain as his cigarette habit.

Despite Patricia's reassurances she was fine, that Robert working late wasn't unusual, Y/N insisted on staying until he got home. Though Arthur would have preferred they take their leave an hour earlier, being allowed to smoke inside blunted his grumbling. The disarming flirtations she bestowed on him also didn't hurt. She'd pour herself a drink (four in total, if he counted correctly), help Patricia make a plate of leftovers for her husband, then throw him a wink. Whisper and cackle while cleaning, then kiss his temple.

Around midnight, Patricia put her foot down. Ushered them out with a promise to call and a hug fierce enough to crush his ribs. She raised a brow at Y/N's unsteady gait, grasped Arthur's arm, and said with a wry, tired smile, "Make sure you put that woman straight to bed." His dark brows shot up and held. Had she intended a pun? Or had Y/N's spare caresses caused the interpretation? Either way, he liked being trusted to take care of her. And the hint of arousal that flared in his belly.

By the time they stumbled into their apartment, that arousal had reduced to a dull exhaustion. She kicked off her heels on the way to the bathroom, calling a slurred "night!" as she closed the door. Yawning, he put dish soap and hot water in the crockpot, scrubbed burned bits of sauce from its rim, turned it upside down on a towel to dry. Once he'd brushed his teeth for one minute rather than the recommended two, he tossed his sweater, trousers, briefs, and socks in the hamper, and went to the bedroom. He found his blue pajamas in their usual spot, the chair in the corner, and slid them up his skinny but toned legs. Tucked in next to her, he was carried to sleep on waves of fatigue and her quiet, wet snoring.

~~~~~

A tickle threatened to rouse him. Whispers along the waistband of his bottoms. Heat snuggled his back. Delightfully drowsy, he cuddled deeper into cozy, cream-color sheets, already returning to a pleasant, dreamless slumber. But a rumble of exhaust, likely from a bus that needed a new muffler, dragged him to consciousness. Arthur grumbled and tucked his arm under his pillow, not ready to transition to a world of overcrowding and concrete, commotion and bad jokes.

Yet, Y/N's insistent grazes continued, luring him with promises of placid pleasure. Her toes wiggled at his heel until he made space for her to slip her foot between his ankles. The corner of his mouth quirked. He was reminded of last night's playfulness, her endless teasing. The way he'd held the crockpot as a shield to fend off her advances on the train home, her forwardness to the point that he would've preferred having a laminated card to present on her behalf. Forgive my wife: she has a condition. It causes frequent and uncontrollable displays of affection.

Nimble fingers edged lower, loosened the tie of his pajamas before dipping beneath the loose elastic to lace through his dark brown curls, darker than the chestnut hair on his head. Her knuckles ran over him, lazy caresses full of intent. Up and down, up and down. Delicate. Deliberate. The blood racing to his groin, the pleasant swelling, made his abdomen twitch. Soon full and heavy, the sensitive tip straining the cotton seams, he pressed his lips together. When she skimmed the tender skin resting on his inner thigh, he flexed the muscle at the base of his erection. It bobbed and hit her wrist and she let loose a girlish giggle, more intoxicating than wine.

With her left leg draped over him at the knee, she undulated against his rear. Plush lips brushed the boney knobs of his spine, damp breath fanned the nape of his neck, labored, needy. Pebbled nipples grazed his back through the thin nylon of her nightgown, taunting and compelling. He made up his mind to throw an arm around her, to yank her on top of him. To eagerly take part in her seduction.

But she withdrew from his bottoms to palm his stomach and plant a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear, whispering, "Sleep tight." The mattress shifted and she rolled away from him. He furrowed his brows. She rarely relented this easily - other times he'd awakened, hard and aching, enveloped by the captivating wetness of her mouth. What was she up to?

Covers rustled. Her calf bumped his. And the opposite of what he'd assumed occurred. Instead of light footfalls leading out of the room, there was silence, silence that seemed to stretch on and on...

Until a hitched gasp gave her away.

Touching herself. She was touching herself. She'd just been all over him, acted like he was some sort of model on the cover of Vue magazine, and now she was touching herself. Right beside him! Ecstatic to have inspired such brazenness, he grinned and fisted the pillow. Her fleeting, stifled moans tangled him in knots, implored him to give her what they both burned for.

He flipped in her direction, his hand shooting under the sheet to grab hers. "Gotcha."

Eyes wide, she gaped at him in surprise. But adoration softened her expression as she entwined their fingers. "How long have you been awake?" she asked.

"Long enough."

He stretched to rewind the shades, the diaphanous curtains staying in place. Sunlight diffused over them, wrapped around her face, lent her disheveled hair a warm luster. He twirled a feathered lock and pecked her eyelids. "Finishing what you started on the subway, hm?"

"Me?" Y/N brought his knuckles to her mouth.  "You're the one who came to bed without any underwear."

"Well, it was a late night." The pad of his thumb tugged at her bottom lip to reveal the pink tip of her tongue. He bent to claim it. "I was lucky to find my pajamas."

Chuckling, she broke their connection. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. The cake was good. And the music. Everyone was nice."

"Patricia loved having you there. She thought you were very sweet." A pause as she mapped a dimple. "Matt said he'd upset you. Something stupid about breaking up?"

Vague shadows of discomfort flashed through Arthur, a frustration he'd mostly moved on from. He did his best to ignore it, waving her concern away. "Don't worry about it."

"He was just jealous, you know." Her nails ran along the small of his back. "He wants Laura to look at him the way I look at you."

Arthur had spent so much of his life yearning for change, to understand his purpose in the world and improve himself. The idea that a man with a good education, a successful career, and no disabilities could ever be jealous of him was, frankly, bizarre. But he didn't correct Y/N, instead locking her praise within his heart, preserving it for when he needed it most. He boosted himself on his forearm and fiddled with her V-neck, traced its button loops as he slipped the plastic knobs through them. "And how's that?'

A hint of scandal glimmered in her irises. She arched into him as he eased a strap down her upper arm to reveal her shapely breast, the lilac fabric momentarily catching on its taut peak. "Like I can't get enough of you."

He huffed at that, fondled her faintly before his lips met the velvety skin of her chest. A tonic comprised of the musk oil she'd dabbed on before the party and distinct sexual wanting wafted to his nostrils. He licked at her nipple, the bumps on her areola, and drew it between his teeth. She whined softly and lifted the bottom of her nightdress to her waist.

Hurriedly, he yanked on the waistband of her cotton panties, pushed them past her knees. She kicked them off while he knelt to lower his bottoms. Straddling her, he pumped himself back to hardness and opened the drawer of her nightstand. He searched haphazardly until he retrieved a small, glass bottle of lubricant. (She'd ordered it from a mail catalog, both of them a bit too bashful to walk into an adult shop, even together.)

She snagged it from him and poured half a teaspoon in her hand, then palmed herself. He moved between her legs and she grasped his length, coating him with the warm, slippery liquid. He pushed forward into her. Gradually, slowly, savoring every millimeter of her enticing heat. He noted the stretch of her mouth, the jut of her jaw, the lifting of her upper lip. "Mmm..." she breathed and begged him to keep going. When he did, her head tilted back into the pillow, eyelids falling shut. A smile cut across her cheeks as she purred her satisfaction. "Arthur, I love you."

His touch wandered down the curve of her thigh. At the sight of her subtle writhing beneath him, the sway of her slightly uneven breasts in time with his languid thrusts, he pushed her knee into the mattress, splayed her wider. He grunted lowly. "Look at me."

Their gazes met but didn't hold for long; hers dropped to where they were joined. She caressed right above his pubic bone. "I love seeing you like this." Her fingertips walked a line up his sternum to his chest. "And touching you like this." She wrapped her arms around his middle and drew him to her, locked their lips in a greedy kiss. "And making love like this."

He snorted. "I think this is the only reason you married me."

"Well, not the only reason. There's your good hair, too."

"I've been thinking about cutting it. Trying something new."

"Don't you dare." She tugged at his loose curls, wore her best pout. "What else would I hold onto when we're doing this?"

Laughing lightly, he bumped his nose to hers. Falling into her was like falling into his old fantasies, the ones that'd sustained him through years of isolation. Dates at diners, at comedy clubs, at donut shops, at home. Their shapes had changed as he'd matured, his role in them, his aspirations and infatuations. But they'd remained a warm comfort nonetheless, a place that felt like belonging. And now he belonged with her. Hunger filled him. Happiness. And love. So much love, more than he'd ever believed he'd carried in him. He bucked a little harder. "You feel so good," he murmured. "You make me feel so good."

A strained cry left her and her pelvis answered his steady rhythm with demands of its own. Her calves rose to squeeze him closer, encircle his narrow hips. They were pressed together so tightly; it felt like they were one flesh. He never wanted it to stop. But a dizzying euphoria had ignited, one that eclipsed the romantic yearnings of his heart, twisting his desire to last all morning into the desperate drive to possess her. Gasping, Arthur raised himself to his knees, delving deeper with each push. Their foreheads met and he grit his teeth at the scald of her, the texture of her walls. She fit as though she'd been made for him.

He supposed she was.

Pressure began in the base of him, building and building in terrific torment. The muscles of his inner thighs contracted inward. Tingling climbed his shaft, his tailbone, his spine. He wove his fingers into the sheet, his grip a vise that wrested its corner from the mattress. She kissed the spot where his jaw met his neck, all the while murmuring encouragements for him to let himself go.

Bliss shot through him, from the tips of his toes to the follicles on his scalp, and his back stiffened as he whimpered and poured into. Fever engulfed his frame, sublime in its frenzy, leaving him in a heady stupor. Aftershocks made him tremble. Once, twice. Until, sated and spent, he landed on top her. He closed his eyes, ribs rising and falling as he forced air into his lungs.

A minute later, he swallowed and looked down at her. "You didn't come."

She carded through his sweaty locks. "It's all righ-"

"Shh." He slid out of her and settled at her side, reached between her legs to swipe at her core. "I'm not done," he declared, tracing the edges of her entrance, slick and swollen. One of his favorite things about getting her off was demonstrating his prowess in bed, how well he'd learned with her. His thumb met her plump clitoral hood, and he felt her throb beneath his ministrations.

Nails biting his bicep, she rocked upwards. A bewitching blush crept up her breast, her neck, spread across her cheeks. Shallow pants hit his face, short puffs suffused with high-pitched whines, utterly irresistible. He circled her nub at a steady cadence, tapping when she'd shiver, and she clasped the back of his hand. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, sucked the pretty peak, and lowered the other strap of her nightgown to bare her completely. A hushed plea fell from her lips. "Please, please..."

Suddenly, her vulva grew white hot and she seized, her hips stuttering with each flutter of his touch to her folds. She thrusts her breasts towards him, a sharp moan caught in her throat. Liquid pooled against his fingers, proof of her rapture that made him wish, with mild amusement, that he could be an unmedicated young man again. He would've gladly taken her a second time.

Giggling and rubbing her temple, she released a long exhale and opened her eyes. He brushed her hair back and grinned, completely smitten, like the first time he'd heard a joke and understood the punchline. The light brown picture frame on his nightstand caught his attention, and he regarded the wallet size photo in it, one of the shots of Y/N from the booth at Amusement Mile. The last thing he looked at before turning in each night. He lay his head her shoulder and hummed, listened to the drum of her heart.

She smooched his hairline and wriggled out from beneath him to stand. Her nightie had been reduced to a crumpled stripe of lilac cinched about her waist. It felt tawdry and shameless and he wanted to see her in it for the rest of the weekend. But she peeled it down her legs, wrinkling her nose when it got stuck on her thighs, and stepped out of it one foot at a time. She dropped it on the floral bedspread and retrieved her bathrobe from the closet. "Meet you in the kitchen," she said, opening the door.

The sun had risen higher, its beams slanting across the covers. He basked in it, catlike, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on his pajamas, got a new pair of socks from their dresser, and made his way to the kitchen. He washed off the remnants of Y/N's arousal from his fingers, popped open a prescription bottle and took a tablet. He poured water into the coffeemaker, grabbed the can of grounds from the second shelf, added three scoops to the paper filter. Their three-tone brown mugs sat in their spot next to the machine, waiting to be filled.

When the glass coffeepot was half full, Y/N emerged from the bathroom, chuckling to herself. She opened the breadbox on the opposite counter and took out a wax paper bag. "Do you have any idea how dull this morning would have been if we'd never met? I'd have read the Sunday paper, had a drink. Probably worked on a file." He handed her a couple dessert plates, watched her put a donut on each one. "I wonder where you'd be. What woman you'd have breakfast with, what jokes you'd be writing, what magic tricks you'd have learned."

"Um..." At first he wanted to ask where this speculation had come from, if Matt had let her in on exactly what he'd said. But the confident slant of her smirk told Arthur she was teasing. He tried to play along but winced. No matter how appealing, how extraordinary she found him, his gut told him there wouldn't have been another woman. There'd be no more stand-up routines, no more Carnival. He certainly wouldn't be taking care of Penny. He'd likely be locked up in the hospital, maybe even dead. Without an anchor, his life would have lost what little sense it had.

Y/N was one of his anchors now, hooked into the sand alongside his material, treatment, the ability to pay bills. He seized her hand and squeezed it tight, unaware he was squishing her fingers. "I don't wanna think about it," he said quietly.

She sidled up to him and pulled him to her side. Rubbed his flank soothingly and pecked the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry." She took his chin and guided him to look at her. The intimate comfort of her smile helped him believe her next words, even before she spoke them. "I'll always be here."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @fakestreet​ @ralugraphics​​ @iartsometimes​

[sassyhobbits]

Could you please write post Kingdom of Ash fic where Aelin has to go back to Doranelle with Rowan on important business or something and she deals with her trauma going back/ meets Rowans family/ Rowan repairs his relationship with his cousins? Pretty please 🥺

loved this idea and had so much fun writing it!! combined with the modified prompt of “living is so much harder than dying. are you sure youre fit for living?”

here’s day 5 everyone!!

~~~

It had been three years since Aelin Galathynius had stepped foot in the City of Rivers.

Her first two visits to Doranelle had been… less than pleasant, to say the least. Most sane people who had gone through what Aelin had would never get within a hundred miles of the city. But, Aelin had never been one to allow a shitty experience or two keep her away.

In the three years since the end of the war, Terrasen had slowly been rebuilt. Aelin had gotten used to her role as queen, had gotten used to peace. Although it had been hard and strenuous work, it was worth it. Every struggle and late night, argument with lords and advisors, had led to happiness for her people. Aelin would do just about anything for them.

Part of being queen, Aelin had quickly learned, was responding to correspondences from other kingdoms. Sometimes, they weren’t all that bad. She liked to write to Dorian, enjoyed the sporadic letters she received from Manon. But there were plenty of others that were less fun. Taxes, proposals, budgeting.

But, a few weeks ago, she received a letter from Rowan’s cousin, Sellene, the new Queen of Doranelle. She invited both Aelin and her husband for a diplomatic visit to her lands.

“Are you sure about this, Fireheart?” Rowan had murmured to her one night, curled up in his arms in bed. “You don’t have to go.”

Aelin understood his concern. The last time she had been to Doranelle, she had been beaten and bruised within an inch of her life, patched back together, only to go through the process again the next day. Maeve had certainly done a number on her. But Aelin would be damned if she let the bitch get the last laugh.

“I want to go, Ro,” Aelin assured him. “I want to see where you grew up, get to know your family better.”

I need to go, is what she didn’t have to say, but knew Rowan understood. Aelin had conquered many of her fears in the years since the war, but there were still nights she woke up screaming, still nights when it was impossible to tell the difference between the darkness of night and the darkness of the iron coffin.

She needed to go back to the place where she had been brought down to her lowest. Needed to prove that she was strong, and that she had triumphed.

And so it was decided. The queen and king consort would sail east.

They stayed a week in Wendlyn with Aelin’s cousin, Galan. Since he had sailed to her aid during the war, they had formed a closer friendship. It was good to see him, to see the kingdom from which her mother hailed.

From there, they traveled by carriage to Doranelle.

“Much nicer than the first time we made this journey,” Aelin remarked one afternoon from the comfort of their carriage, resting her head against Rowan’s shoulder.

“You certainly smell better.”

Rowan earned himself a slug on the shoulder for that little comment.

They passed into the City of Rivers discreetly, not truly wanting to deal with a huge welcoming party. Aelin convinced Rowan to take a day to themselves, for her husband to show her the city itself. The beautiful, simple lives of the citizens of Doranelle. How Rowan had grown up.

It was a perfect day. Aelin loved seeing Doranelle in all its glory. It was truly a work of art, unlike anything she had ever witnessed in her years traipsing the continent. They wore hoods despite the mild, spring weather, the both of them far too recognizable now to move freely without some sort of disguise. It brought her back to the days of being Adarlan’s Assassin.

Rowan brought her to some of his favorite places growing up, showed her a block that sold the traditional street foods of Doranelle for lunch. He bought her some sweets and took her to a lovely park, where they lounged under the shade, just talking and sharing kisses. He took her to a nice restaurant for dinner, snagging a private back room for just the two of them. It was all perfect.

And then the next day, they woke and readied themselves to head to the palace. Aelin managed to wrangle her husband into something nice, though he protested it on the basis of it just being his cousins. She wouldn’t hear of it.

That first day in Doranelle, exploring the streets as nothing more than another citizen, Aelin had been nothing but content and relaxed… but the first sight of that wide, curving bridge that would lead them to the palace had her heart beating just a little bit faster.

She remembered the last time she had crossed this bridge beside Rowan. She had still been going by Celaena then, freshly nineteen, just stepping into her power and her status. Terrified, though she never would have admitted it then. She had already been falling in love with Rowan, and her newly healed heart certainly wouldn’t have survived losing him.

She knew Rowan noticed the small change in her demeanor, feeling him squeeze her hand comfortingly.

They were greeted by Sellene, who was just as elegant and beautiful as Aelin remembered. It was clear she had stepped into her role as ruler with dignity and grace. She embraced Aelin like she was an old friend, making her feel truly welcome.

They were shown to their rooms, given time to settle in and refresh themselves before they would meet in court before dinner.

Their quarters were lovely: bright, open, and airy. The glassless windows allowed for the sweet spring breeze to blow into their room. There was a large bath that Aelin had full intentions of making use of that evening. Hopefully with Rowan. He wouldn’t need much convincing.

Some of Sellene’s ladies came in to help Aelin prepare, making sure her hair was thoroughly brushed and gleaming, twisted up in perfection before placing her crown on top. Her gown was a lovely piece of Terrasen green and intricate silver embroidery.

By the time they were both ready, they made quite a pair. Striking, indeed. Aelin made sure she complimented her husband thoroughly as they made the short trip from their chambers to the throne room.

It managed to distract both Rowan and herself. She barely took in the halls they walked through, some of it twinging deep recesses in her memory, like some sort of dream. But, she forced herself to focus on Rowan, the man she loved, lest the memories get the better of her.

The next thing she knew, they were being announced as they strolled leisurely through the crowded throne room. Fae nobility bowed and curtsied as they walked by, sending them wide, broad grins.

The throne room was so different than Aelin had remembered it. When it had been Maeve perched on that throne, it had been cold and quiet. It had somehow always felt like a trap. But, with Sellene as queen, it was bright and full of life. Music played, people laughed and smiled. It was… good.

A half hour passed by busily. Aelin was introduced to some of Sellene’s courtiers, reintroduced to Rowan’s other cousins. People gave her their thanks, commended her hard work and sacrifice during the war.

It was hectic enough at the beginning to keep her mind thoroughly occupied. Chatting and charming and laughing. It took a while before there was a lull in the conversation, when Aelin wasn’t listening to someone or speaking herself. But, it finally came.

Aelin took the rare moment of solitude to take in her surroundings. Rowan was across the room, talking with his uncle and cousin, Enda. He looked happy, relaxed. She loved it when he smiled.

She looked away from her husband, glancing around the room. Despite her better judgements, her gaze snagged on that throne.  It almost looked non-threatening in the late afternoon sunlight, but her gut still twisted. Images of a pale woman with dark hair and a spider’s smile flashed to her mind unwillingly. She flinched, eyes screwing shut and willing the memories of Maeve away. She was successful at first, but not for long. Images and snippets of voices, of screams that she didn’t know came from herself or others, assaulted her all at once.

Aelin’s breathing sped up, her heart hammering beneath her ribs. She felt the phantom bite of broken glass in her knees, heard Maeve’s cruel laughs. She saw Fenrys, heard his cry when Connall spilled his own blood right there by the throne. It was so clean now. Like none of it had ever happened.

But no. That had been real. The other images Maeve had sent her weren’t but…

Suddenly, the airy throne room was too small, too packed. Aelin felt ill. She ducked her head down, slipping out as discreetly as she could manage. The moment she was sure she was out of view, she bunched up her skirts and ran.

Her body remembered the way down into the depths of the palace, though she had never navigated herself. It had left a mark on her soul. She would never forget.

The dungeons below the palace were a stark difference from the open, bright architecture above. It could have been a different world. It was just as dark and cold as Aelin remembered, as it was in her nightmares.

She wasn’t sure how, exactly, she knew which of the near identical, dismal cells had been hers but… she knew. She hesitated outside the door, amazed by just how ordinary it looked. Who would have guessed that she had been held and tortured behind that door for two months?

Aelin pressed her palm against the door, the magic left in her recoiling at the iron she sensed. These dungeons had been built to keep people with magic contained. They had been well designed.

She pushed into the room slowly, using her magic to light the torches lining the walls. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to find: a coffin, blood stains, iron chains waiting just for her. But… it was empty. Even the stone table she had been chained to while Cairn carved her up was gone.

Just… nothing.

Aelin wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she sensed a familiar presence behind her. She was wrapped in the familiar scent of pine and snow, Rowan’s warm body standing just behind her. He placed a broad hand on her shoulder. “I thought I’d find you here.”

A tiny smile curved her lips, though she didn’t bother looking back at her mate. “You know me well, husband.”

There were a few beats of silence. Aelin didn't have to be looking at Rowan to know he was carefully considering his next words. So, she did him a favor, and spoke first.

“There’s nothing here,” Aelin said simply, stating the obvious.

“No, there isn’t. Is that a bad thing?”

A tiny shrug. “I don’t know. Yes? No?” Aelin hung her head in defeat, covering Rowan’s hand with her own. “Sometimes, it's hard to believe it all really happened. Without the scars, without the coffin… it just seems like something I dreamed up. I know I didn’t but…”

“But what, Fireheart?”

Her eyes burned with tears, throat tightening. “It would be… comforting, I suppose, to know that the experience left its mark somewhere else than in my head. It was terrifying and hopeless but I don’t want to forget it happened.”

Rowan stepped closer, her back pressed against his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around her securely, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. “I think you know that what happened doesn't only still affect you. I don’t think Lorcan will ever fully forgive himself for summoning Maeve to the beach that day, I don’t think Aedion will ever stop feeling guilty that he hadn’t been there for you when you needed him. And I…”

He trailed off, but Aelin knew Rowan better than she knew herself. She knew his fears, his regrets, his insecurities. Just as Aelin awoke some nights thinking she was back in that coffin, Rowan would wake thinking she was gone. Those nights, he would wrap her tightly in his arms and wouldn’t let go until the sunrise, as if she’d disappear with the morning dew.

She gave a meek nod. “You’re right.”

They stood in silence for a bit longer, stealing strength from one another. After a period of silence, Aelin spoke again.

“I thought it’d be easier by now,” she commented. “I spent most of my life struggling to survive, trying not to die in one way or another. It’s been three years of peace. I know three years is nothing to you and will eventually be nothing to me too but… when does life get easier?”

Rowan didn’t answer right away. “Living, Aelin, is so much harder than dying.”

She sighed and nodded. “You’re right. But when have I ever not stepped up to a challenge?” She looked up at Rowan and smiled cockily. He gave a breathy laugh and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You’ve already conquered death, Aelin Galathynius,” he said. “I have no doubts you’ll conquer life just as easily.”

[hb-writes]

The Small Acts

1924

Clara rested her chin on her knees, arms wrapped tight around her legs as Polly finished weaving her damp hair into a braid. She had been tender with the brushing and the plaiting, something the woman often wasn't when dealing with Clara’s long tresses, but Polly knew it wasn't time for tough love or rough handling. Her niece needed to be coddled a bit. She needed to be a girl and not the nearly grown woman she imagined herself to be.

A few moments after she finished, Polly tapped a foot into Clara's side, prompting the girl up from the carpet when she seemed not to notice the ritual was through, her gaze lost in the fireplace while her mind, Polly assumed, was still a bit trapped in Warwickshire.

Clara reluctantly climbed onto the cushion beside her aunt, wrapping herself tightly in her borrowed robe as she drew her legs to her chest. Clara's stomach had been unsettled since she arrived, before that even, her nerves frayed by the time she arrived at the halfway point between Warwickshire and Sutton Coldfield, once the adrenaline borne of her row with Tommy finally subsided. It had all happened right around the same time that the rain started to come.

"He's gonna murder me," Clara said, the first decent string of words she had put together since coming out of the bath.

The bath had been at Polly's insistence, because Clara had been chilled to the bone when she showed up on Polly's doorstep in the middle of the night and because Polly needed a moment without Clara's presence to have a frank phone call with Tommy. And most of all, Polly hoped the bath would calm Clara's sputtering tears, same as it often had when she was a small child.

Polly could see now that the bath had helped Clara in a way, had at least dealt a bit with the cold bones. But while she was calmer, and very much quiet, Polly thought Clara seemed less soothed and more numb than anything else so Polly decided it would be time, then, that would ultimately make it better. She had been suspecting it for weeks, that her niece and nephew both needed a bit of time apart.

Tommy hadn't seemed particularly soothed by the call informing him his sister was safe at Polly's, his voice clipped and methodical as they sorted through the particulars. Sure, Polly had noted a certain measure of relief in her nephew at hearing she was present and accounted for, but the relief was quickly cast aside, and a certain gruffness returned to his tone. Polly couldn't help but think his tone wasn't just from the itch to shout at the girl for making the three-hour hike out to Polly's on her own in the middle of the night, though that certainly would have been enough to warrant it.

"Is he on his way?" Clara finally pulled her eyes from the fire and looked to her aunt.

"No." Polly moved the brush from the couch beside her to the end table, noticing the way Clara's shoulders had slumped a bit. "I told him to leave it for the night. It's already late. And an evening apart will do you some good."

Tommy would have been out to collect her directly after the phone call if Polly had allowed it. He intended for his sister to finish out the evening under his roof, in her own bed. He intended on seeing to it that his sister spent her evenings there for the foreseeable future, actually, but Polly put him off, delaying his collection until the following morning. She said it was on account of the storm and the hour, but it was also on account of the fact that Polly Gray didn't want to release her niece to her brother's care quite so soon, not with Clara in her current state and Tommy being as he was.

"But—"

"They'll be fine. Your brother is a grown man and Charles has his father and a whole staff to look after him."

An argument was already well-formed in Clara's head, even before Polly's interruption, because Clara and Tommy spent plenty of time apart these days, largely at her brother's behest. And after Polly's words, Clara couldn't quite dispel the swell of anxiety at the idea of her nephew being looked after by someone other than her. She knew on some level that Mary was entirely capable of caring for the boy, and under normal circumstances, her brother was quite capable too, but it had been Clara reading him bedtime stories and tucking him in every night since Grace's death, answering his late-night calls and soothing the bad dreams with her off-tune humming before the staff woke. And Clara hated herself a bit for not being there now.

"I know you worry after him, but it's not your job to mother."

Clara was sixteen, but Polly still saw a child when she looked at her. She saw one of the two babies she’d raised almost from birth, having done more nurturing of Clara and Finn than she’d done of her other niece and nephews, more rearing of the twins than she’d done even of her own two children. And though Clara and Polly rarely fought on subjects relating to the girl growing older as Clara and Tommy did, there were moments when it did make Polly a bit sentimental.

“And that can go for either one of them,” Polly added. “You’re a sister and an aunt, and there’s no expectation for you to be more than that.”

When Polly was sixteen, before that even, she had been helping her older brother’s wife to mother her niece and nephews, cleaning up after Arthur Sr.’s messes. By twenty-five, when her sister-in-law passed, Polly was tending to the responsibilities he left behind on Watery Lane, the business and the brood he had never helped with, the family he never deserved.

The relationship between Polly and her brother had been dissimilar in every way from that between Clara and Tommy, but Polly knew intimately the nature of the girl’s pain. She understood what tugged at Clara’s heart when she heard her brother wasn’t coming to bring her home. She knew how a bit of innocent worry could nag even when one’s heart was filled with rage or in Polly’s case, hate. Polly knew what it was feeling compelled to fill a void for motherless children and for a moment, the circular nature of life struck her. 

“Same as you, then?” Clara said, the notion striking her at the same moment. “A sister and aunt, mothering when it’s not her job.” 

Polly sighed. “That was different, love.”

Clara knew her aunt was at least partly right. It was different. Charles had a father and Tommy had resources. She could meet nothing more than the minimum requirements of sister and aunt and Tommy and Charles would certainly be fine. Clara wasn't sure the same could be said if Polly hadn't stepped in to raise them, especially during the war.

"I shouldn't have run."

"Probably not," Polly said. It had been a hot-headed response, not one of the well-thought-out reactions Polly was used to seeing from the girl, but she was grieving and rowing with her brother, and a bit of impulsivity could be expected under such circumstances. "But there's no use in troubling over that now."

Polly figured Tommy would give her plenty of time to trouble over the insensibility of her choices later. There was no need to discuss them with her now.

"I shouldn't have bothered you so late."

Polly waved her off. "It's okay, love. I couldn't sleep anyway." She pulled Clara closer. "Now, come here." Polly maneuvered the girl so Clara's head rested in her aunt's lap and settled a blanket over her. "You know it's never too late to bother your Aunt Polly." She cleared her throat, her tone a bit sharper. "Unless you're bringing me nonsense, in which case, you can take that right to one of your brothers or your sister and leave me out of it."

Clara nearly smiled, the both of them looking at the flames of the fireplace while Polly rubbed her hand up and down the girl's arm. Despite her aunt's pointed tone, Clara knew Polly would never turn her away. Not if it was midnight or if she brought the woman nothing but nonsense or got herself into some sort of real trouble or ran out on her brother in the middle of the night. In sixteen years of late-night intrusions, grand tantrums, difficult questions, and bits of heartbreaking melancholy, Polly had never turned Clara away without providing something, whether it be a bit of love or wisdom or strength.

They were the small acts of Polly's self-conscripted mothering that Clara had always taken for granted, but she recognized them for what they were now.

"You're a good mother."

It was the type of comment Polly would usually shrug off, announcing that she wasn't the kids' mother, claiming she was just an aunt doing her duty, stepping in when the kids had no one else, but she didn't fight Clara's mumbled declaration now. 

The comment actually left Polly unable to speak for a moment, so she squeezed her niece's arm instead, blinking away the wetness in her eyes, grateful Clara's head was still in her lap, her face turned to the fire while Polly regained her composure.

"Alright, love,” Polly said. “It's late. You get some rest now."

-----

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

[supermarvelgirl15]

Small Gestures

Summary: It's always the smallest gestures that speak the loudest; the best gifts come from the heart.

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) × f!reader

Word Count: 1,920

Warnings: Minor spoilers for season 2, slight angst during one part

A/N: What? Me posting another fic? I know, I know, I'm surprised too. I'm just currently obsessed with Din Djarin. Also, there's a part where it's in Din's pov and it is not that good, I'm still trying to get the hang of writing him. Anyways, enjoy! And check out Is There a Problem Here? if you haven't already!

Main Masterlist

××××××

    At first, it was just small gestures. Making sure the other had eaten or had rested plenty. Helping cleaning their weapons or keeping up with the state of the Razor Crest. Even making sure that the Bacta spray or patch was being used correctly.

    It was those small gestures that knitted the strong partnership between Y/N and the Mandalorian. Their relationship was based on trust and taking care of each other. Together they took care of the Child until they were able to return him to the Jedi. Until then, they were deemed his parents and he was their foundling.

    They worked extremely well together in both battle and everyday tasks. If Din needed a tool to fix the wiring in the Razor Crest, Y/N would give it to him without him even asking. If Y/N needed cover as she ran to help the townspeople, they would just exchange a look and Din would do his job to protect her.

    Greef had once commented on how they were the most in sync duo he had ever met. He's sworn he has never heard the pair mutter a word to each other while they were working, that it was like they knew exactly what they were doing. The Mandalorian and Y/N just shook it off, claiming it was because they had worked together for a few years now.

    One time, after seeing how Y/N had brought up a cup of soup to the cockpit for Din to eat, claiming that he hadn't eaten all day, and how he didn't even argue, Cara realized how those small gestures were bigger than they appeared to be. She herself hadn't even realized that he hadn't eaten, and she was the one who was in the cockpit with him the entire time while Y/N was down in the hangar watching the Child.

    Later on she watched how Mando placed a blanket over Y/N after she had fallen asleep with the Child in her arms in the cot. The heating had given out once again, so it was quite cold in the Crest. Cara didn't dare mutter a word as she observed how he watched her, as if to make sure she was still breathing. It was then she knew that it was a mutual thing.

                                                         ∞∞∞

    When Y/N saw Din get swallowed by the krayt dragon, her heart dropped. He had told her to take care of the Child and ordered Cobb Vanth to get them both to safety. She didn't dare breathe as she hoped that his Beskar was enough to protect him.

    As the krayt dragon breached out of the sand and the Mandalorian had flown out of it just before it blew up, Y/N could've sobbed. She had never been so scared in her life and it wasn't even for her own sake. She would have rather go up against the army of Stormtroopers again than to go through that.

    Y/N made her way towards him, the Child in his pod following right behind her. Din watched as they approached, meeting her halfway.

    “Sorry, I didn't have time to explain,” he starts but is stopped when Y/N's hands come to grab either side of his helmet, pulling him closer to her. Her eyes scan over his body, ignoring the goop that he was covered in.

    “Don't ever, ever do that again,” she says sternly.

    Din and her stay like that, just staring at each other, the Child looking up at the both of them. They didn't break away until Cobb called them.

    When they had gotten back to the Razor Crest, Y/N went to venture the street vendors as Din talked to Peli Motto about transporting a traveler. She came across a vendor that was selling necklaces with black obsidian.

    She remembered being told that black obsidian was used for healing and protection. Din immediately came to mind, along with the feeling that she felt when she thought she wasn't going to see him again. Y/N knew it was just some stone, but that didn't stop her from telling the vendor that she would take one.

    Later, the passenger that they agreed to transport was asleep in the cockpit while both Din and Y/N took a break in the hangar, mostly to make sure the Child didn't eat any more of the lady's eggs.

    The Mandalorian was leaned up against the side of the wall, his head tilted back against it. Y/N wasn't sure if he fell asleep or if he was just relaxing for once. She held the necklace in her hand, rubbing her finger against the smooth surface.

    “What's that?” Din grumbled, sitting up straight as he looked at Y/N. She looked down at the object in her hand, becoming slightly nervous for a reason she wasn't used to.

    “Uh, it's black obsidian. It's used for healing and protection,” she answers him, fiddling with it some more before looking up at him. “I, uh, actually got it for you.”

    Din looks at the necklace in her hand for a couple seconds before looking back up at her. “For... Me?” He questions incredulously.

    Y/N nods slowly as she sticks her hand out to him, chewing on her bottom lip. Din reaches out and grabs it, his gloved hand lingering for only a brief second. Once it's in his own hands, he observes it more closely, rubbing his thumb around the hexagonal shape of the obsidian.

    “It's for when I can't be there. It'll protect you. I know it sounds stupid, but... It's a nice thought,” she shrugs before pulling the Child by the robe away from the egg container.

    Din smiles to himself as he watches her. “Thank you... Cyar'ika.”

                                                       ∞∞∞

    “It's like you don't even trust me anymore. It's starting to sound like you just don't want me around!”

    “I don't! I worked better on my own before you came along.”

    Din had been angry. It had just slipped, but those words dripped like venom from his tongue. He regretted saying such a thing to her. He didn't mean a word, but he knew Y/N wouldn't believe him.

    He was just on edge about what Bo-Katan had said about his Creed. Then Y/N had gotten shot during their raid on the Imperial ship, and it was like adding gasoline to a fire.

    All he had said when they left Nevarro was that she should stay behind once they reached Corvus. Y/N, of course, disagreed and that started their argument. He had already made her sit out when they took out the Imperial base, he should've known she wasn't going to sit on the bench again.

    In reality, he was worried and didn't want her to get even more hurt, so his solution was to make her stay in the Razor Crest while he worked the jobs. Din realized that he was asking her to quit her way of life and it made him feel like a hypocrite.

    For the rest of their flight to Corvus, Y/N stayed in the hangar, spending what time she had left with their Child and avoiding Din. He didn't see her again until they had landed.

    Y/N wouldn't look at him except for the occasional glance. A word wasn't said between them when Din checked her Bacta patch or when they made their way to the city.

    When they met Ahsoka Tano, she could feel the mixed emotions going on between the two. Anger. Worry. Sadness. Fear. Grief. Even the Child seemed to feel the tension going on between them.

    The Mandalorian knew he shouldn't had been as relieved as he was when Ahsoka said that she couldn't train Grogu, that he would have to choose his own destiny with the seeing stone, but he was grateful to spend more time with him. He knew Y/N was relieved as well.

    But once they were back in the Razor Crest, the tension between them returned. Din didn't know how he was going to apologise to her, he was sure she wouldn't even listen.

    Din reached into his pocket, pulling out a necklace that he had gotten made when they had visited Nevarro. He had meant to give it to her then, but the argument had occurred between them, so there was never a perfect time.

    He walked by her as she entertained Grogu, stopped in front of her, and dropped the necklace into her hand. Grogu climbed up into her lap, trying to see the shiny trinket. Y/N waited for him to say something, but was met with silence when he went up to the cockpit.

    Y/N looked over the necklace in her hand, flipping it over a couple times. She ran her finger over the letters that were ingrained into the metal bar. Vaii gar slanar, Ni slanar.

    She didn't know what it meant, but she knew that it had to be Mando'a. Din had taught her a few words in his Creed's language, but she didn't recognize these words though.

    Taking a deep breath, she sat Grogu down. The little one looked up at her curiously, tilting his head slightly. She told him to wait there for a few minutes before making her way to the cockpit.

    Y/N eyes widen slightly when she saw Din fiddling with the necklace she had gotten him a while ago, rubbing his thumb over the black obsidian. She didn't know that he held on to it, thinking that he had just put it up somewhere.

    “I didn't know you kept it,” she finally says, coming up to sit beside him. The Mandalorian looks up at her surprised, his eyes slightly wide under his helmet.

    Din looked back down at the stone in his hand. She thought he put it away? Why would he ever do that with something she gifted him? He realizes he probably would've thought the same thing if he was in her position.

    “Vaii gar slanar, Ni slanar.”

    The Mandalorian's head snaps back up to her, the modulator picking up his sharp inhale. “What?”

    “Vaii gar slanar, Ni slanar. I hope I'm saying that correctly. That's Mando'a, right?” She asks, showing him the necklace he gave her. He looks at it briefly before nodding slowly.

    Y/N looks back down at the necklace that was now around her neck. “What does it mean?”

    Din reaches over, rubbing his leather-clad thumb over the ingrained lettering. He looks at it for a few seconds before finally looking up at her, making eye contact through his visor.

    “Where you go, I go.”

    Y/N bit her lip, putting her hand over his, scanning his helmet. She always respected the Way, but right now, all she wanted was to rip the stupid thing off his head.

    “I'm sorry... About what I said,” Din apologizes, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand.

    She smiles slightly. “I know you are,” she replies as she gives his hand a comforting squeeze. Din let's out a sigh of relief, leaning forward to place his helmet against her forehead. Y/N closes her eyes, the Beskar cold to her skin.

    Din watches her from beneath his helmet, seeing how content she looked. He reaches his other hand up, cupping her cheek, the fabric a warm contrast compared to his Beskar.

    “Close your eyes.”

××××××

[caffeinated-cryptid]

bishop to castle; check.

3.8k words | AO3 link | tags/warnings: suicidal behaviour, risk of falling from a height, talking someone down from a ledge, hurt/comfort, platonic roceit, positive ending.

“After weeks of moping post-POF, Janus goes into the imagination to find Roman. They end up having a much more intense conversation than he could have ever planned for.”

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

Janus hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Roman since their last argument. It was fine, probably, he justified to himself, despite how Patton had returned from their talk with pursed lips and worriedly furrowed eyebrows. He likely just needed time to process everything that had happened, and Janus wasn’t going to push that. 

(His reluctance to address the issue had nothing to do with the fact that he dreaded another confrontation. Totally not.)

After all, forcing his presence on Roman now could potentially only make things worse. So instead he would just have to wait for him to come around first-- to calm down enough to be willing to hear him out without resorting to name-calling.

Janus was plenty busy anyway, what with his new position in Thomas’ life. More than smoothing over one less-than-steller relationship with a side (which Janus was collecting like pokemon cards recently, it seemed), he elected to focus on ensuring Thomas held true to his promises of self-care, which meant working with Patton more often.

That wasn’t so terrible, at least it wasn’t as bad as the him from a year ago would have expected; the side was trying harder to welcome his contributions which he appreciated. Though inadvertantly through this new partnership, he found himself being dragged into more casual hang-outs, where they would do nothing but...chat. Sharing daily anecdotes and worries and secrets about themselves. It was strangely open and the sort of thing Janus had to adjust to, but with this new friendship he had found himself in, he did his best not to ruin it.

“I’m getting worried.” Patton admitted one day, setting down the tv remote after a finished screening of some Air Bud spinoff. How Janus had been wrangled into watching that ceaseless dog series was beyond him. “I think the others might be starting to come around to you, but Roman...”

Patton didn’t need to finish his sentence, because Janus already knew what he meant. With Virgil and Logan, he’d been making an effort to try to prove his worth as a member of the team (whether or not that was working was yet to be seen, despite Patton's generous assertions that it would all work out eventually), but he hadn’t even gotten the chance do to that with the creative side. As much as he had first assumed that time and space would do the trick, it seemed like that wasn’t the case after all.

 “I suppose a confrontation is inevitable.” He grimaced, knowing that this had been put off for long enough.

“Would you do that?” Patton asked suddenly, looking to him with relief. It made Janus realize that it sounded like he had signed up to go talk to Roman himself.

“Uh...” Janus tensed, his previous concerns surfacing again. “I don’t think I would be the best suited to have this conversation-”

“Oh- Pleeease? You two need to talk most of all! Besides, when I went, he wouldn’t even...” Patton trailed off, biting his lip with a pout. “...Could you try, at least? Maybe you could get through to him.”

“...Alright. I’ll go before lunch.” Janus agreed begrudgingly, rewarded by Patton’s grateful smile. Stupid puppy face. That would have to stop working eventually.

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

That was how Janus found himself in the lawless lands of The Imagination.

It had filled him with dread, knocking on the red and gold door and recieving no response. Even more so when he risked intruding anyway and seeing the wrecked state of the room, and then noticing the entrance to The Imagination wide open.

Unsurprisingly, that was where he found the side in question. More surprising was when he did, finding him sitting on the edge of the tallest turret of his castle, like he had decided to overlook his kingdom in the most dangerous way possible. Janus wasn’t so naive to assume that was all it was though.

Roman probably saw him approach as he ran the rest of the way to the castle, and that pushed him to go faster, dashing through the lonely walls of the old building until he was climbing up those spiralling stairs all the way to the top. When he finally made it, he stood there doubled over and completely out of breath as he adjusted to the high altitude winds that bit at his cheeks. He used the seconds he took to catch his bearings to figure out what to do-- his eyes never once leaving Roman’s back, who luckily hadn’t moved at all during his frantic dash. Perhaps his insticts had been wrong and there was nothing dangerous going on here. Every part of him screamed to stay and stop whatever this was though-- so he did.

“Roman.” He ended up saying once his breath had evened out, and nothing more. There was too much going on in his head to break whatever balance they currently had; too much to ask, too much to say, to explain, to defend, to try to understand.

Said side turned his head slightly to make eye-contact; not facing him, yet it was acknowledgement at least. “Deceit.” He said after a beat. His voice was cold, but not angry, and for some reason Janus would have prefered it if Roman were upset with him. Anything but this odd indifference that made him feel guilty for not summoning up the courage to check in sooner.

“Janus.” Janus corrected in an invitation to use his name. He intended it as a sign of goodwill, but Roman’s face twitched and he looked away again, this time his focus on the ground directly below.

“I came to talk.” Janus said in an attempt at a distraction. He was disheartened when Roman made no move to acknowledge him again, so he continued despite his uneasiness. "Would you please come down?”

“What? Scared, Deceit? I'm not doing anything. I'm not going to either, so you can go back to whoever sent you and tell them I’m fine.” Roman scoffed and the string of lies felt bitter in the fridgid air, enveloping him like an unwanted hug. If possible, Janus’ heart begun racing even quicker.

He wanted to protest and say that he had come of his own volition, but Janus knew that lying right now wouldn’t do either of them any good. “In that case, would you do it for my peace of mind?” He tried instead, and it earned him a wry smile, sent from over Roman’s shoulder.

“What ever gave you the impression I care about that?” Roman shot back, standing up only to turn on his heel to step down into the crenel next to him, then back up onto the the next merlon. He continued, going up and down and slowly circling around Janus like a predator would it's prey, but somehow he didn't feel like the one being hunted here. Actually, it was more like he was trying to convince a mouse that the cheese on a trap wasn't worth it. And being a snake himself, that simile was especially ironic.

“...That’s fair. We can talk like this, then. I wanted to apologize and hopefully make amends.”

Roman’s footing twisted haphazardly and Janus all but shot forward to steady him until he was given a deadly glare that froze him in his tracks.

“Stay back! You're not fooling me again. As far as I know, you'll just try to convince me to take a swan dive right of the side of this tower. No greater depth to plummet to than that, huh?"

“I- that's the complete opposite of what I want.” Janus stressfully replied, fighting against the urge to pull Roman off of the edge and end this whole thing himself, instead holding up his hands as a sign that he wouldn’t come closer. God, where had he gone so wrong go end up in this situation? He should have convinced Patton to come with him when he had the chance-- at least he probably would have had a better idea on how to get through to Roman when he was like this. Comparitively, Janus had no clue. He didn’t have the trustworthiness or the years of friendship.

“I believe you. You've already made it so clear just how much you care.” Roman replied sarcastically. Janus felt his hackles rising.

“I’m not lying! I didn't want any of this.” Janus gestured around. “There's so much I wish I could take back, but especially whatever I did to cause this.”

“Oh, Janus.” He felt a small dose of hope when Roman finally used his name, which was quickly dashed as he huffed out a laugh. “Always thinking you have a finger in every pie. Isn't it enough for me to come to this conclusion by myself?”

He continued bitterly, practically stomping his way around the edge of the tower now. “It's not like it was hard. Even an idiotic egomaniac prince like myself can tell when he's not wanted anymore. When the dream has died.”

Janus, despite the silver tongue he may possess, struggled for words in the face of Roman’s insecurity. He had wanted the anger because he had assumed it would be easier to prove that he wasn’t as evil as Roman was so keen to accuse him of being. He just hadn’t expected this issue to be so deeply sensitive. (Though perhaps he should have picked up on that hint when he saw the other side looking ready to jump to a temporary death). “Thats not true at all, you’re incredibly important and all of us need you. Perhaps we’re operating under new rules now, but that doesn’t mean you’re not wanted.”

But it seemed that wasn’t the best thing to say. Roman stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable as he began shaking with fury or perhaps something else. “...If I’m ‘so important’, why does it never feel that way? Why am I the only one who has to change constantly for rules that can never stay the same? Why do I have to make sacrifices and tone down my voice?”

His controlled tone got louder and more stressed. “Why are my best efforts never good enough? Why are my doubts ignored? Why is it considered fair to disparage my work? To ignore the blood, sweat, and tears I put into everything?”

Janus stared in horror as Roman kept going, yelling over anything he could have possibly wanted to say.

“Why does it take this to be be fucking noticed?!”

Both of them paused when his rant reached a screaming crescendo and fat angry tears rolled down Roman's cheeks.

"...Forgive me if I'm having a little difficulty trusting what you say right now.” He sniffed, ducking his head away to wipe his eyes. The words were distant despite the soft way they were uttered.

Once again Janus was lost for what to say as he watched Roman compose himself. There was simply too much there to unpack, too many years of built-up stress and resentment. What in the absolute hell had these sides been doing all this time? “...I do wish to take some responsibility for that, though. Your hesitancy to trust again.” That seemed like a good place to start, if any.

Roman only snorted humourlessly at his efforts though, voice tired and unenthused. “I'm sure you would. It's a lot easier to sweep aside a broken vase rather than acknowledge its cracks when they’re forming, after all. That was the lesson you taught us, right?”

Janus winced at the callback to his first appearence to Thomas. He didn’t necessarily regret that day, but having it thrown back now made it feel like something to be ashamed of; seeing his lessons interpreted in such a way. “...Is that how you see yourself? Broken?” He asked instead, squashing down his indignation.

He only got silence in return. Janus swallowed, definitely regretting his hesitance to resolve this issue now.

“Roman, even though I doubt you’d trust my words, I promise that we're not trying to simply ‘sweep this aside’. If we're going with the vase metaphor, all of us want a chance to try to glue the pieces back together. Make right on all of the ways you’ve been wronged.” When that got no response, he tentatively asked, “Have you ever heard of Kintsugi?"

“...Broken pottery fixed with gold, I'm aware. But trying to apply that right now is sloppy, even for you. People are never so beautiful after being so thoroughly broken, nor is it that easy." Slowly, Roman sat down on the edge, and even though his legs were dangling over the wrong side, Janus' heart finally felt some semblance of rest. He took a step forward.

"I disagree. Kinstugi is rarely an straight-forward process either, and yet it achieves such splendid results with just a little patience and care. Which is to say... while it may not be the easiest thing to do, there’s undeniably beauty and strenght in survival. Trying again even when it feels impossible.”

“Of course you'd think that, Mr. Kill or be killed. You have no choice in whether you get to continue forward. But I do.”

Janus paused at that, only four paces away from Roman now. The creative side startled when he peered backwards and saw him so close, and then he glared at Janus as he stood up again, this time facing him fully. His foot slid backwards until the worn-down structure crumbled under his heel, sending rocks tumbling down below. It was a warning, Janus realized as his blood frooze in his veins.

“Don’t look so shocked. I control everything here, or did you forget?” Roman smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile or even a smug one; it only looked like he was stretching his mouth unnaturally, all pretenses of putting on a convincing performance stripped away. “If I want, I could have a Pegasus fly by and save me at the right moment. Or I could expand the moat to catch me. Or..."

Roman looked frustrated for a second when he couldn't think of anything else, even more so when Janus patiently waited for him to think of another example. In the end, he gave up.

"The point is, I call the shots about what happens to me."

"But would you? Save yourself?" Janus questioned hesitantly. He knew he was treading on thin ice, so he left it there. Roman raised an eyebrow at him and he returned it, making it clear that he wanted an answer. He recieved it with a scoff.

“Of course I would. What kind of question is that?”

Lie.

Janus winced. “Roman... You are aware of my ability to detect lies, yes?”

The creative side blinked in surprise and then looked at him with wide eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to be called out. Like it had been so natural to brush aside the question that he didn’t even realize his own feelings. Fortunately, Janus’ ability was too keen to be fooled by one’s own self-deception. He could see below the surface like that; pull people’s hidden truths from them and keep them for himself, like a keeper of forbidden knowledge (Though in moments like these, sometimes he wished he couldn’t. Ignorance truly is bliss).

“Should I ask again?” He pressed. “Are you really planning on saving yourself?”

This time Roman’s face screwed up in confliction and he directed his gaze to the floor of the tower. It was an awfully clinical way to ask, but it felt necessary to stop dancing around what was important-- this casual show of self-destruction.

Eventually, the other cracked with a tired huff of laughter. Sadly genuine this time.

“...It's certainly nice to think that I could.” Roman admitted as he rubbed his face, apparently not mad at being called out this time. “Finally being a hero again, even if it's only to myself.”

Janus paused in shock. Was he still misinterpreting that moment?

“That wasn't a lie.” Janus blurted out, taking even himself by surprise by the thoughtless exclamation. “Thomas still thinks of you as his hero. There’s no need to do things like this to prove it.”

Romans eyes went watery and he avoided his gaze.

“At this point I don't think it matters, when I haven’t been acting like it at all lately.” He whispered coarsely, uncharacteristically quiet compared to the wind. “Frankly, I'm surprised you're even trying to stop me."

Janus eyes softened and he took another tentative step forward, then another when Roman didn't react badly. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m not just Deceit, you know. Part of my job is to help you.”

“...Because you hate me? At this point you have more reasons to than not.” Roman explained warily, looking at him like Janus were seconds away from snapping and shoving him over the edge. It hurt to have that sort of mistrust placed on him, but at the same time Janus understood it. He had often been in that sort of situation before; doubting the safety of opening up to other people. That was just part of his job, to be doubtful and wary in order to protect the self. Yet to see it so openly on somebody else felt like a punch to the gut, even though he should have been used to that feeling of being distrusted by now.

“Do you think me so sensitive that a schoolyard insult would make you my archenemy? Or being called evil? That is...sort of what I’ve been going for.” He cracked a joke, gesturing to his outfit. When Roman kept staring at him he sighed. “Of course I don’t hate you, Roman.”

Roman shifted doubtfully. “That doesn’t mean you like me, either. Maybe it doesn’t mean much to you, but you should know how- how being called that hurt me.”

"...Yes.” It was Janus’ turn to be uncomfortable. “Perhaps at first I felt attacked and wanted to make you feel the same hurt, but I would never have said that had I known just how deeply it would have impacted you. I’m sorry for that.”

Roman’s expression turned incredulous, like he couldn’t believe Janus had apologized. “...You know, I wanted to make you upset. I wanted you gone.”

“I figured.” Janus nodded.

“And that doesn’t change anything? Even though I acted so...” Roman bit his lip. “So unheroic?”

Janus stifled a sigh. By now, he really hated that word with a passion. It had caused so many high standards, so many instances of self-sacrifice, so many misguided attempts at selflessness and perfection. Perhaps later they could talk about it all and lay out why it had done so much harm, but for now he decided not to push it, not when he felt so close to getting a breakthrough.

“Believe it or not, but I think that you've been plenty heroic already. This whole time you've been fighting for something you thought was valient and noble, and that means something, even if it was for a misguided cause.”

That took Roman off-guard. He moved his foot away from the edge subtley, and had Janus not been focused on his face, he would have considered it a small victory.

“...What’s the point of all of this, really? Is this some... some dastardly plot?” Roman questioned skeptically. He was looking even more cornered now that he was letting Janus’ words sink in.

“All I'm here for is to offer the helping hand you need, if you’ll accept it.” Janus said softly as he extended his hand up to him. “Really, my only plot right now is to get you off that ledge before you give me a heart attack. Please?”

Roman stared at him, desperately trying to find some sort of mistruth in his eyes before his gaze lowered to the outsretched hand. It felt like time slowed in the seconds he was making his decision and Janus held his breath, waiting...wating... until finally the other side nodded and took his hand.

With Janus’ help, Roman stepped down, looking confused and lost now that he was away from the edge. The expression pained Janus’ heart, so he opened his arms half expecting rejection, only to be taken back by how quickly Roman latched onto him. Janus wasted no time clinging back, so relieved that he actually suceeded that he didn't want to risk ever letting go, like this moment could be torn away at any second. It was no surprise when he felt the other’s chest jerk with held-back sobs until there was a wetness on his shoulder, and he didn't say anything about it. He didn't need to either, because Roman spoke up first.

“It didn’t mean anything. Really!” He exclaimed through messy tears. “I was only thinking about it!”

Lie.

“...It's okay if it was more than that.” Janus soothed, patting his back. “It's okay to feel low and in need of help.”

That made him cry harder and Janus was relieved to see the excess of emotions finally pour out. While waiting for Roman to calm down, he had to fight for his own tears to not spill over. Inevitably, the stress of the situation finally caught up when the adrenaline wore off, and he sagged into the hug, sniffling quietly and trying not to fall over on his aching legs. He really just sprinted up multiple flights of stairs, didn’t he? Belatedly, he realized that he must have lost his hat at some point during the journey because he could feel the wind tousle his hair.

It would have been funny if it weren’t for the absolute rush of emotions he had just gone through.

The two of them stood there for what would normally be considered an awkward amount of time, except the act of simply hugging on solid ground was the biggest comfort in the world, too much to ruin the moment. They waited until they got through the worst of their tears before they dared speak again. Once again, Roman went first.

“Sorry for laughing at you back then.” He said, voice reflecting the yelling and crying he'd been doing. It felt genuine. “I actually really like your name...the mythology suits you. Very dramatic.” 

Janus laughed wetly, finally a true statement. “Why, thank you. And I apologize for where I’ve wronged you.”

Finally, they straightened up. Roman took one look at him and summoned hankerchiefs for them both. Janus accepted it and wiped away his tears as gracefully as he could.

“Hopefully we can have a more in-depth discussion on this later, but for now Patton and I prepared lunch, if you’d be willing to have us.” Janus asked, hopes raised.

“...That sounds good.” Roman smiled.

Janus smiled back.

Together, the two of them descended down the steps of the tower, and the imagination was the slightest bit sunnier when they reached the outside.

[votederpycausemufins]

God i love the trope of people who have animal traits going feral. So writing Grian is fun. I just realized that one time Grian said ‘I am the embodiment of twitch chat’ could imply those voices. i meant, it’s a stretch, but eh, whatever.

@petrichormeraki

Tommy hated how soon they were already gathered, preparing for another war. Hermitcraft was safe, the only wars were simply fun between friends. But now it was just like back on the smp. “I’ve got my disc box ready.” Tommy put the shulker in his inventory, looking over at Mumbo. “What about you?”

“I’m not really the best at these fights, so I’m just geared up and hoping I don’t die helping people out of here.”

“Help people out? What, are some of the hermits chickening out?” Tommy joked to lighten the mood, but it didn’t help.

“No. No one is going to just run off during all this. Grian’s our friend, practically family. But plenty of the people from your old world have been visiting. And with how you’ve talked about them, I doubt all of them will leave even though they should. And… Xisuma isn’t here. I don’t know how its supposed to work, but if he’s not here, we might not respawn.”

Tommy felt his blood run cold. He hadn’t thought of that. He could actually die. It had been so long since he was worried, having only one canon life left. He remembered Xisuma telling him he had ten, and every time he asked if a death counted, the admin said it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t until election 2 that he thought it had to be canon when he finally realized that he was never going to run out of lives. No one was. But now he could. 

“Well, I know them best. I should probably help with that.”

“You’re a better fighter, if either of us is going after Grian, it should be you.”

“Look, how about we just both fly over there now and help get people out, and when the fighting starts, we fly back to give whoever was already fighting a break.” Tommy suggested, and Mumbo reluctantly agreed.

Grian was flying towards a new island, one he knew was going to have everyone that wasn’t supposed to be there. Maybe Tommy will be there too. No way, he’ll be after Grian. But some of those people were his friends, right? Don’t you remember, Tommy said they abandoned him, exiled him. He forgave Tubbo easily. That’s different. How? Oh shit what’s that. Did Grian build that? AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Grian stopped listening and actually focused on the portal that had appeared in front of him. He hadn’t made it, especially since he didn’t have anyone to put there. So he tried to fly around it. It disappeared thankfully, but another appeared. Tubbo did say that cat was Tommy’s friend too. That was a cat? We could go and bring her back out. She might know where Tommy is! Oh that’s true! Grian dived into the portal.

“Oh look who finally dragged themselves home. It’s Xelqua.” Grian looked for the voice, then glared at them.

“You know I haven’t used that name since I was in your world Lynn.” Grian ruffled his feathers before preening them.

“Duck meat.”

“Mystic bitch.”

“Seed breath.”

“Rabbit freak.”

“Feather fart.”

“Pa-” “Grian, Lynn. Calm yourselves.” Grian stopped his insult to look at who approached.

“Sorry Zloy.” Grian said, rolling his eyes and then sticking his tongue out at Lynn.

“I saw that.”

“I know you did! What don’t we see?” Grian crossed his arms. Can he really boss you around like that? That dude is big. Bet you could- Grian shook his head to get those pesky voices to shut up. “Why am I here?”

“Pin was really upset that you left so early. Noah’s the only one that didn’t mind, but obviously you should have stayed longer.” Zloy spoke in a disapproving tone.

“Hey, Tommy is my brother. If Gxrgeous didn’t let things get this bad-” Grian started to complain, but Zloy cut him off.

“She doesn’t want to interfere like the rest of us.”

“Oh but Noah, Goof and Pin can? I’m a watcher because they interfered. You get more watchers by interfering.”

“And what, did you want Tommy to be one too?”

Grian felt his feathers puff up with agitation. “No! Of course not. I’m just saying she could have stopped things before they got to children being put in wars!”

“And here you are making more.” Lynn taunted Grian, making him even angrier.

“They started it by showing up in the first place to take Tommy! I only broke my promise to save him!”

“And what about now?” Zloy asked, drawing Grian’s attention back to him. “Why continue it?”

“Contin- What are you talking about? What, is Gxrgeous upset I’m helping out where she failed?”

“Pixlriffs, did you open up a window yet?” There was an answer of affirmation and suddenly Grian was staring into a watcher portal.

“And den we went to space! And dere were impastas and I got ta be one wit my dad, and we killed everyone and Sprinklez was so happy!” Crumb explained to Xisuma. The admin nodded along, half paying attention as he tried once more to access his admin panels and get them out of there.

“X! Where are we?!” Xisuma looked up and then around until he saw Iskall getting closer, falling from above with one of their other guests, Hbomb.

“I have no clue. I’m not getting any readings and I can’t access any admin panels to get us out of here.”

“Hey! You guys are my dad’s friends!” Crumb recognized Iskall, though she had only briefly seen him, and the other guy looked familiar, so that must have been who Sparklez said they just found. “We’ve been falling forever and it, well it was getting a little lonely but now we can share more stories!”

“Well, based on what was going on, might be something to do with Watchers with how Grian was looking. Though he was going to kill me when we saw him.”

“I have absolutely no clue what’s going on.” Hbomb spoke up, hoping the other three would have some explanation for him. Okay maybe just the two hermits, he wasn’t completely sure how much he would get out of Crumb.

“What does he mean with how I was looking? I’m just trying to hang out with my family!” Grian argued, making Zloy look a little confused.

“Grian, you started using your watcher powers to attack people. You threw those four in a Watcher portal, but as there is no new world prepared yet, they’re stuck in a place where no world exists.”

“What? But, I mean while I have trouble controlling myself when I’m using my watcher powers, I can remember everything once I’m a little more lucid. I mean, you remember the explosion.”

“Of course, Pixlriffs ran to me as soon as he noticed it was happening. Do you really not remember this going on?” Grian shook his head. “That’s not good. And we can’t look into it much if you’re here, so we’ll have to send you back.”

“Zloy, if you have to interfere, don’t let people get hurt.” Grian suddenly felt small and nervous, scared for his friends' safety. “And please, try not to let me go too haywire.”

“We can try, but until we know what’s going on…”

“I get it. But you better get Gxrgeous’ help too since this involves them now.”

“We will.”

Another portal appeared and Grian recognized the world of Hermitcraft on the other side. He didn’t want to go through, but if he didn’t now, he might never get to return. So he stepped through. Do you really think they know what they’re doing? Yoooo it was Zloy. Are you new, we’ve seen him before. We still need to keep Tommy safe, right? Hey Philza logged in. The dadza! Dadzaaaaaa. Guys, now I want pizza. What if he takes Tommy? Oh yeah, he shouldn’t be here either. Infinity portal time guys.

Grian sped up his flying, more determined to reach the island now.

Tommy was surprised to see a familiar avian as he and Mumbo landed on the island. “Phil? What are you doing here?”

The hardcore player looked surprised to see Tommy so soon. “I’m actually here for you Tommy. What’s going on?”

“Grian’s gone crazy and is apparently attacking people. I’m here to help get people back to the smp with Mumbo.” He moved to push Philza back through the portal. “So now is like the worst time for a visit.”

“Feels like it’s more of a perfect time to bring you back.”

Tommy, who was more focused on helping everyone else, suddenly looked over at Philza. “What? No, I’m staying! I’m staying right here! You should understand that! I’m going to help Grian! Just because you didn’t have him for like 15 years or something, doesn’t mean he’s not family!”

Philza grabbed Tommy’s arm. “And that’s exactly why you should come back. I saw him start going on a rampage because of you. What if this is just some of the same?”

Tommy shook his head. “That could just mean me leaving could make it worse.”

“Guys! I know your argument must be very fascinating, but I’m pretty sure that’s Grian flying towards us!” Mumbo yelled to get their attention and Philza and Tommy looked up to where the redstoner was pointing, Grian indeed flying towards them. 

Tommy yanked his arm away and started to pull out his shulker box when purple energy formed around the watcher avian and suddenly he was gone. Tommy’s eyes scanned the sky until a yell came from right behind him. When the blond turned, he had to crane his neck up to see the form Grian had taken. He looked like something out of stories he heard from one of the hermits. Angels with multiple wings and eyes covering them. Tommy could tell it was Grian, but at the same time, he didn’t.

“Dear lord.” Tommy heard Mumbo mumble. Grian was holding Philza in talons as a portal slowly formed made mostly of bedrock. Though Tommy was upset at his dad, he still didn’t want anything to happen to him. Fortunately the hardcore player could handle himself and stabbed Grian. He dropped to the ground and lost his health, but not knowing where that portal would lead, it was a better option. 

Tommy ran to his dad, ready to defend him, but the Watcher’s attention was drawn by another smp member who was trying to get to the infinity portal. With a swipe of a wing, Grian pushed the smp member into his own portal. A moment later he was going after someone else.

“Tommy, He’s after people from the smp.” Philza realized. “He’s going to go after you.”

Tommy didn’t want to believe it, but he knew the communicators didn’t work between worlds. That’s why they couldn’t find Xisuma or Tubbo. “Then let him, Tubbo’s gone. He’s got to be in there too.”

“No Tommy. If he’s after us, he won’t stop until we’re all gone. If you want to help Grian, you have to come home!” Tommy was pulled to look his father in the eyes. He hadn’t seen Philza look this scared in ages. And he was probably right. 

“Okay fine. Let’s go back.” Tommy nodded, and then followed his dad towards the infinity portal. Right before they could reach it, Grian noticed and dropped the person he was holding to go after Tommy, but before he could reach them, they had gone through.

The moment they got to the other side, Tommy regretted his decision. “What’s Dream doing here? Why isn’t he in the vault.”

“Tommy, come on, don’t be so harsh.” Dream spoke, trying to seem like no threat, but Tommy knew better and drew his weapon. “You came back with your dad, so as promised I won’t be too harsh on you.”

Tommy inhaled sharply, turning to look at Phil. “You were working with him?! Grian’s back there and you thought that bringing me back to Dream was going to be better than me helping my brother?!”

“Tommy, he-”

“I don’t want to hear it! I’m sick of trusting you! You always say you’re going to be there for me, but then you turn around and work with someone who’s going to hurt me.”

“Tommy, I’m your friend, I won’t-”

“Shut up green bitch. I’m going back!”

“No, you’re not going back Tommy. Once everyone comes back from visiting that little vacation world of yours, we can close the portal.” Dream spoke, sounding much too confident on something that wouldn’t be happening.

“Then we’ll have to close it now. If they haven’t come in now, they’re not coming through.”

Dream chuckled. “Oh I’m sure they’ll come through. I’ve got someone over there to bring them to the portal.”

“Kinda hard if Grian already got to them.” Tommy crossed his arms. “He’s tossing them in some weird bedrock portal and they’re disappearing. Unless Tubbo came back here.”

Dream stopped. That wasn’t supposed to be happening. “No, they were supposed to be put back through the infinity portal.”

It took a bit for Tommy’s mind to comprehend what Dream meant before he jumped to attack the former admin. “What the fuck did you do to Grian?! This is your fault, isn’t it?! Tubbo’s gone because of you!”

“It’s fine.” Dream gritted out. “He… the watcher messed with you. Saving you when you were falling. Ranboo didn’t have enough of his signature on him, but you. You’ve got to be around him all the time. I can use that.” Tommy tried to run, but Dream anticipated it. “Philza, grab him.”

Raven wings trapped Tommy. He turned around to yell at his dad, but there was just a blank look on his face. “What the fuck are you doing to my family?!” Tommy yelled, trying to escape the wings on his own with little luck.

“I’m just going to make sure everyone comes home and then we can go back to how things were before you ran away. And what better way to do that then to use the power of a Watcher.” Tommy wanted to argue again, but the handle of an axe crashed against his head, and the world went dark.

[karasuno-chaos]

Recommending Music (Tsukishima x Reader)

What do you think Tsukishima listens to with those headphones of his? 🎵  Also this one’s a bit long and a bit messy, sorry. -Giz

Word Count:  2,381

Fluffvember masterlist

The notebook started in middle school.  You’d befriended Yamaguchi almost immediately, but getting to know Tsukishima had taken some time.  After your first year, you could usually read the intention behind his snide remarks and hard stares, but you weren’t sure you qualified as a friend yet.  At least he tolerated you and allowed you to hang out with him and Yamaguchi sometimes, and you were willing to take what he’d give.

During lunch one day in the middle of your second year, you finally received some clarity.

“If we’re going to be friends, I have a list of songs you need to listen to.”

“You consider us friends?” you asked, feeling a rush of excitement.

“Obviously.”  His expression was annoyed, but he wasn’t being aggressive.  Sometimes you suspected that his frustration with himself surfaced as frustration with other people.

“Is it your top ten songs, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asked, totally unphased by his friend’s frosty behavior.  “Has it changed at all?”

“Not really.  Pass me your notebook,” he requested, holding a hand out to you.

“Hang on, I don’t have one handy.”  You heard him sigh as you ran back to your desk, but you didn’t know what he’d expected.  You didn’t usually bring school work to lunch.  You grabbed a mostly-empty notebook from your desk and flipped it open to a blank page before slapping it down in front of him.

“Here you go.”

You opened your lunch and ate while he marked the page with his sharp, precise handwriting.  Yamaguchi watched over his shoulder.

“That one’s new,” he said, pointing to the eighth on the list.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

“Sorry Tsukki.”

This common refrain between them had alarmed you at first, but neither friend was bothered by the words.  Like so many of Tsukishima’s remarks, it sounded more aggressive than he meant it to be.

“Here.”  He turned the notebook to face you, and you studied it curiously.  You’d heard of most of the songs, but some of them were unfamiliar.  He’d also written little notes next to a few of them, like “bass line” or “harmonies”.

“So I just need to listen to them?” you asked.  “You’re not going to quiz me or anything, right?”

“Why would I bother?” he scoffed, shifting his headphones from around his neck to over his ears.  You glanced at Yamaguchi who shrugged with a smile.  You looked at the notebook again.  Somehow this list felt like a confirmation that you had a place in their small but very close friend group, and it made you very happy.

A few days later, Tsukishima asked whether you’d listened to the songs yet.

“I have,” you replied confidently.

“Just once, or multiple times?”

“Multiple times.  You can’t fully appreciate a song after just one listen.”

He blinked at you, and a tiny shift in his expression told you that he was impressed.

“Tsukki had to tell me to try them several times at first,” Yamaguchi admitted.  You gave him a sympathetic shrug.  You didn’t want to admit that you’d been so thorough in an effort to impress Tsukishima.  Despite his confirmation that he considered you a friend, you still felt like you might be on a trial period with him.

“What did you appreciate about them then?” he asked, sitting back in his seat.

“Hang on, let me get my notes,” you said.

“You took notes?” Yamaguchi asked, also impressed.  He looked curiously at the notebook when you pulled it out.  You’d scribbled your thoughts next to Tsukishima’s concise script.  “You really took this seriously.”

“Was I not supposed to?” you asked, starting to feel embarrassed at the effort you’d made.

“Let me see,” Tsukishima said quietly.  You handed him the notebook and tried not to fidget too much while you waited for his reaction.  You braced yourself for the cutting remarks and cold criticisms you were fairly certain would come.

“What do you mean by ‘trying too hard’?” he asked after a bit, pointing to a note you’d made.

“The singer kept embellishing the melody like she was trying to impress the listener, and sometimes the guitar came on a little strong.  It was like they wanted to come across as serious musicians, but instead they sounded desperate.”

“The band was still pretty young when they first recorded this track.”

“I figured,” you said.

“Which is why some of those guitar riffs are so impressive,” he finished with the confidence of someone winning an argument.

“I’m not saying they’re not skilled,” you conceded, “but having the skills and using them well are two different things, and I think they could have done better.”

“Interesting.”  He looked at you critically, and there was that shift in his expression again that indicated he was impressed.  Your embarrassment left.  Maybe your extra effort had been worth it.

He asked you about some of your other notes or particular parts of some of the songs.  Yamaguchi chimed in, too, and you could imagine Tsukishima giving him a similar education in his musical tastes.  He didn’t speak with particular passion or aggressively impose his views, but he was much more focused than you normally saw him.  He was actually interested in what you had to say, and you rather liked having his attention.

As your lunch period drew to a close, Tsukishima flipped the page of your notebook and jotted down another few lines.

“Check these out next,” he said, and that’s how it started.  He’d tell you to listen to a few songs, you’d discuss what you thought of them, and you’d do it all again.  You ripped out what little school notes you’d had in your notebook, and it became dedicated to your music exchanges  After a while, you started recommending songs for him, too.  You enjoyed subjecting him to your musical tastes and defending your choices.  Yamaguchi participated sometimes, but the exchange was mainly between you and Tsukishima.

You were surprised when it continued through middle school into your first year of high school, but by then you had cemented your place in this little friend group.  You were pretty sure your debates over music had helped you win over Tsukishima.  At the very least, they helped you understand him better.  His song suggestions felt like snapshots into his mood or the way he viewed the world.  You wondered if he knew how much he told you through those songs when he couldn’t hide behind snide remarks and sneers.

“Ah, look at this.  The hotshot volleyball star graces us with his presence before taking off for the week,” you said in a teasing tone as Tsukishima and Yamaguchi met you at your locker after school.  The Shiratorizawa first year training camp started tomorrow, and you were taking every opportunity you could to tease your friend about it.  You’d noticed a heightened intent when he went to practice as though his attitude toward the sport had changed somehow.  You knew he was excited about his invitation to this camp even though he didn’t say anything.

“Whatever.”  There’s a hint of scorn in his voice as he brushes off your jest, but you’re not bothered by it.  His “whatever” is the refrain he’s given you, like telling Yamaguchi to shut up.  You were used to him hiding his feelings behind his words.

“You’ll be gone all week, right Tsukki?” your freckled friend asked.

“Right.”

“A whole week free of the king of the court and that annoying tangerine,” you said, mocking the way he sometimes talked about his teammates.  “I bet that’ll be fun.  Though you’ll have to work hard, and you won’t get to hang out with Yamaguchi all day, which sucks.”

“You won’t get to hang out with him or me, so who’s the real loser here?”

“Definitely me,” you sighed, leaning against Yamaguchi.  He patted your shoulder consolingly.

“You could always help Kiyoko and Yachi while we practice.”

“I’d rather not work harder than I have to during break.”

“Then you’ll have plenty of time to listen to these.”  Tsukishima tossed the music notebook at you.  You barely reacted fast enough to catch it.

“Hey, I was wondering where this went.”  You flipped to the new list and skimmed over it.  “Did you pick any good ones?”

“Obviously,” he smirked.  “Come on Yamaguchi.”

“Have fun,” you called as they headed off to practice.  “Let me know if you get bored of volleyball and want to hang.”

“Bye Y/N.”  Yamaguchi waved before turning to say something to Tsukishima.  Your taller friend didn’t turn back or spare you a farewell, but that wasn’t uncommon.  You’d message them both later anyway.

You didn’t get around to the new song recommendations until the next day.  After sleeping in a reasonable amount and enjoying an easy morning, you flopped onto your bed.  You compiled the songs into a playlist on your computer, put on your headphones, and hit play.

For your first listen, you always laid back and stared at your ceiling, letting the music spill over you uninterrupted.  The second and third listens were for writing notes and preparing your reviews for the debates.  Anything beyond that was purely for enjoyment.

After jotting your notes for this round, you let the playlist cycle into some of Tsukishima’s past recommendations.  You enjoyed most of the songs he’d suggested lately, and part of you wondered if he was taking your tastes into account or if your preferences had shifted the more you’d been exposed to his.  You flipped through the notebook to revisit the past playlists, laughing to yourself over some of the notes on the pages.  It was amusing to see how your handwriting had changed over the years.

You’d run out of blank pages in the notebook soon.  You wondered if Tsukishima would want to continue these music exchanges, or if they’d fall to the wayside as high school and activities demanded more time and attention.  You began counting how many pages were left when some script on the final page made you stop.

You reread the top line twice to make sure you weren’t seeing things.  Songs that make me think of you.  You sat up and looked at the page carefully.  There were a dozen songs on the list, and from the variance in script and ink color, you knew he must have added songs as they struck him.  When had he started the playlist?  How long had he been working on it?  He hadn’t written any notes next to the titles, so you weren’t sure what his intentions were, but you felt a pleasant squeeze in your chest.

You listened to that playlist four or five times uninterrupted, and each time you felt like you better understood what he was saying through the music.  You could feel the blush rising in your cheeks along with a feeling of happiness.  You’d been keeping your growing crush on Tsukishima a secret.  You never would have guessed he might feel the same, and based on the evidence that he’d been working on this playlist for a while, he’d been keeping his feelings a secret for a while, too.

You spent the rest of the afternoon figuring out how to respond.  Even if it was unexpectedly sudden, you knew you needed to act on this revelation today.  After dinner, you bundled up in your winter gear, grabbed the notebook, and headed over to his house.  You waited nearly an hour, pacing up and down his block, until you finally saw him walking home from the bus stop.  He slowed a little when he spotted you, pushing his headphones off of his ears to around his neck.

“Hi,” you greeted, feeling a little awkward but determined to get this over with.

“What are you doing?”  He was being careful by keeping his tone neutral, but you could tell he was curious.

“I listened to your playlist.”

“Okay.”

“Both of them.”

“Oh.”  You could almost see his guard come up.  You understood him so easily, you were amazed you hadn’t noticed his feelings before now.

“I made a playlist for you,” you said, opening the notebook and handing it to him.  He took it and looked over your selections, keeping his features neutral.  Waiting for him to react was torture, but you let him process the situation at his own pace.  After all, you’d just sprung this on him, whereas you’d had all afternoon to acclimate to the idea of sharing feelings.

“There are too many genre jumps,” he said eventually, and you rolled your eyes as he critiqued the flow of the playlist.  “It’s like listening whiplash.”

“It’s not about the listening experience, it’s about the message of the songs,” you said.  “If I’d expected you to actually listen to it, I would have put in more effort.”

“Maybe I should wait for you to put in that effort,” he smirked, handing you the notebook.

“Tsukishima,” you said.  The seriousness of your tone made his smirk drop back to a neutral expression.  “I know I’m kind of going out on a limb here, but I think I understood what you were trying to say with that secret playlist.  The truth is, I’ve liked you for a while, in a more-than-friends way, and based on the songs you picked, I think you might like me that way too.  So I picked a bunch of songs about falling in love and asking someone out to see if maybe you’d like to be my boyfriend.”

The emotional confession left you a little lightheaded, and you almost couldn’t look at him, but you did, and you saw the way his stare softened a little.

“After you redo that playlist,” he said, walking past you to go inside.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no.”  He turned back at the door.  “Depends on how good the playlist is.”

You knew he was teasing you.  He wasn’t shallow enough to make his decision solely based on your musical tastes, but you were willing to play along.

“Fine,” you agreed with a grin.  “Tomorrow night, I’ll have the best asking-you-out playlist you’ve ever heard, so be ready to be my boyfriend.”

“Whatever,” he said, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a genuine grin as he glanced at you one more time before heading inside.