#i am screaming in a void. i am gnawing on my shirt

[tytangfei]

Because I'm afraid of being lonely... I'm more afraid of you being lonely."

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction Part 11

I wish you a very good reading 💕

Chapter 11 : Let me take care of you

Facing the ocean stretching out as far as the eye could see right in front of me, I inhaled several long gulps of air, noticing inattention that night began to slowly fall across the sky. Many sounds of wings beating the sky reached my ears and very soon, several draflayels began to flutter all around me. Passing close to my head, I felt my hair fly with each passage of one of the animals on my blanks. Nearly twenty of them gathered at the edge of the cliff, flying in harmony, creating dance-like forms of which only they had the secret. The spectacle that the familiars offered me was perfectly bewitching, I could not take my eyes off this almost intimate moment that they let me share with them.

Some then approached me and began to push me slightly in the direction of their circle. Feeling their pressure on my back increase, I decided to let myself be carried away and enter their twirling cocoon. Their songs, akin to small melodious sounds, mingled together with the regular movement of their wings, thus forming a perfectly studied pattern. It was as if they were trying to tell me something.

Closing my eyes, I let my dangling arms let themselves be carried away by their foreign yet soothing sounds. Probably feeling my fears fly away and my soul calm down, they slowed their pace until they came to focus in mine. My hair flew gently all around my face as I could feel their movements hugging mine. I didn't know how long had passed before their dancing ceased. Opening my eyelids, I watched them resume a more anarchic position to finally move away from the ledge, until I flew over the bluish expanse that adorned the horizon. Eyes lost in the dark, I with a dreamy hand withdrew a lock whose course had been stopped by my lips.

I took a few steps back when I crashed into a large figure standing directly behind me, making me jump in amazement. I turned my head to observe my interlocutor, his white hair contrasting with the surrounding darkness.

Lance gently put his hands on each of my arms, his chest hugging my back.

- It’s only me...

The softness of his voice, at that moment, troubled me, and so positioned against him, I felt strangely good, almost safe. His gaze was deep, no trace of the fog that usually darkened him was present. The blush rose to my cheeks without my being able to control it. I turned my eyes away from his, piercing like blades of ice, to focus again on the horizon.

- You are probably not the Chosen of the Oracle for nothing, he said in a tone so low that no one else could have heard but me, of which I did not discern the slightest trace of irony. The draflayels seemed to be trying to communicate with you.

His jaws clenched slightly at the utterance of those familiars the dragon harbored such hatred for, but for once he remained perfectly calm all the same. His hands caressed my arms for a few seconds before sliding down to let go, letting me turn to observe him.

Without my understanding why, no fear was hovering in my heart at that moment despite the presence of my executioner. It was insane, but yet I felt that something strange was happening between us. His gaze ogled me, troubled me. Our bodies were shown to be improbably drawn to each other. My heart pounded as he slid a lazy hand down my cheek, stroking me with his fingertips.

Lance then leaned towards me with suffocating slowness, bringing his full lips intimately to the edge of mine. Totally hypnotized by each of his gestures, I couldn’t take my gaze from the source of my desire, it inexorably approaching me. So, no longer aware of anything, only letting myself be guided by this attraction for too long silent, I closed my eyes as his mouth almost brushed mine, caressing me with his fresh breath.

His hand moved down the slope of my neck until it stopped just above my chest. I felt a smile cut his face as he put more pressure against my rib cage. Unexpectedly violent, the ground suddenly disappeared from under my feet and my body fell into the void. The fear came over me with such force that all my muscles contracted at the same time, causing a sharp pain to explode in my back, causing my head to spin at full speed. With anguish in my stomach, I watched the tar-black water stretch out its deadly arms to me.

My cry stuck in my throat.

Under the amused gaze of my predator.

I jumped up, this time managing to scream so loudly my dry throat burned. Not being able to breathe properly, I grabbed my head frantically and thrust my hands through my hair, pulling out the handles. Cold sweat beaded all over my body, pressing my t-shirt against my skin as my breathing panicked dangerously. Each of my breaths gave me a sly pain in the middle of my back, accentuating the panic that gradually took over me.

I started to cry, maybe loudly, I didn't know anything about it, thus preventing myself a little more from regaining my air. I relived my fall, over and over, until the force of the water hit me next. I felt it all around me, entering my lungs, dragging me into its abysmal depths. I saw his cold gaze penetrate me again, savoring with relish the spectacle before him, of which he alone was responsible. I felt the fear. The treason. My memories mingled with my nightmare, rendering me unable to disentangle the present moment from my subconscious.

How could Lance have done this to me ?

The door to my room swung open, letting in a large familiar figure before closing the door behind it with a thud. Only a few long strides brought it to the foot of my bed but I didn't pay attention, far too lost in the panic that took hold of my thoughts. Forcing into my field of vision, two hands grabbed mine and pulled them gently from my abused scalp, forcing me to lift my head. My tears increased tenfold at the sight of the traitor of my dreams. I tried to push him away in vain, his fingers tightening around my feverish wrists.

- Leave me, Lance ! I tried to cry, drowned in my flood of tears.

His blue eyes, alert and filled with concern, never left me for a second.

- Stop saying bullshit, he said calmly, not moving a millimeter despite my protests.

Releasing one of my wrists, he slipped a hand against my neck and kept my head firmly pointed towards him, preventing me from looking away from his.

- Calm down Andraste, you had a bad dream.

My tears continued to flow down my cheeks, wetting his thumb in their path.

- Why did you do that ? I asked him, my tone heavy with reproach. Why did you hurt me so much ? Why...

I couldn't continue my sentence, my mouth was shaking so badly that I almost made my lip bleed. For several nights, I had been assailed by the nightmares of my past life, waking up more and more often in these states of madness. I felt like I was losing my mind.

Realizing that I was referring to his actions of seven years ago, the dragon clenched his jaws tightly, his gaze fixed on mine and his hands still holding me firmly.

- Listen to me Andraste and let me speak until the end, he began. I can never redeem myself for everything I have done to you and the Guard, you will never forget it and you must not. But know one thing, whether you like it or not, I will do anything to protect you and try to heal your pain. My actions are unforgivable and I don't want anyone to do it, especially not you. So okay, you'll probably always continue to hate me, but that's the price I have to pay for everything I've done to you.

Lance paused briefly, never diminishing his attention from my face. I was so focused on his words that I forgot everything else, my breathing slowly settling on its own.

- You cannot know how much I dreaded your waking up. Hear your voice again, meet your gaze again after everything I've done to you...

His voice broke slightly over the last few sentences. Guilt was gnawing at him more than I could have imagined, even several years later. My throat tightened again but this time not just because of my dream. His words upset me deep inside me.

- So please Andraste, let me take care of you, he said imploringly, his hand sliding up to my wet cheek, creating a slight tingling on my skin.

Looking through his usually frozen gaze, I saw nothing but guilt. It was one of those remorse that never leaves you, of those that wake you up in the middle of the night, hold you so tight, until you never let go.

Lance dragged his past and his actions like a ball hanging from his ankle.

Letting my gaze still wet on him, despite the darkness I discerned a thick white mark that marked his neck. Seeming to come from the back of his neck, it contrasted sharply against his dark skin, drawing my eyes without discretion.

I realized that it was the first time that I had seen him without a piece of clothing that hid the back of his neck, his simple black top no longer camouflaging it.

Looking up, I caught his gaze on me. The dragon had obviously understood what my attention had drifted onto, but he said nothing about it. He seemed apprehensive for any response from me.

But what could I say to him ? I was angry with him down to the smallest part of my soul ! I wanted him to pay for his actions, and yet...

Still, I wished much more vigorously that he hugged me until everything disappeared. Let him kiss me until nothing more reaches us.

Without worrying about the consequences.

Echoing my dream and my silent impulses, which at first were nothing more than the reminiscence of an old memory, I wrapped my arms around his neck whose skin was much rougher where I had believed to guess a bulky mark, and brought urgently his lips to mine.

My unexpected and unreasonable gesture surprised him at first, my heart skipping several beats in anticipation of his reaction, but quickly, Lance responded to my kiss alarmingly, fiercely responding to the assault of my mouth. His hands suddenly framed my cheeks so that they tilted my face, allowing his tongue to find its way to mine, sickly deepening our shameful embrace. Relieved not to be pushed back, I exhaled against his lips, my breath akin to a moan drowning in the strength of his embrace. Tonight, I felt more than ever the need to cut myself off from the flow of my troubled thoughts. I think we were both aware of the madness of our gesture, but its saving power seemed to be vital to us at this moment.

His hands slid down my sides until he lifted my top. Separating us for a short moment, I raised my arms as he pulled the fabric over my shoulders, sending it flying into a corner of the room. Then putting his arms behind his neck, he tugged at the collar of his and quickly sent it in the direction of the first. Our lips found each other without difficulty, sharing the same uncontrollable thirst. In the adrenaline rush of the moment, I could feel his scales manifesting in places as totally exhilarating currents of energy seemed to run between us.

It was gross. Precipitate.

I thrust my hands casually through his hair as he lifted me up to sit astride him, his feet firmly inked to the floor. Caressing my hips, he meticulously kissed my bare chest, savoring every inch, giving rise to goosebumps on my skin with each trace of his licks. His applied discovery of my body made my head spin, I could feel his desire for me pulsing against the inner thighs. No longer holding it, I pulled his hair with some force to orient his face in the direction of mine. A satisfied smile appeared on his lips as he hugged me tightly.

- Do you know that dragons are impulsive in nature ? he whispered against my ear. You shouldn't be playing the most bossy game between us... although I have to admit that you are really, really sexy like that.

I smile in turn as I let my hand run between us, running down the line of his abs to the waistband of his black pants. A low growl escaped his throat as my fingers slipped under the fabric that separated us.

- I don't know dragons well yet, you might need to explain that to me in more detail...

In response, he clapped his hands under my buttocks and lifted me effortlessly to come and lay me down on the bed. I couldn't help but wince in spite of myself at the contact of the mattress against my back, a throbbing pain suddenly seizing me.

Unfortunately, Lance noticed this and immediately stopped his gestures.

- Are you in pain somewhere?

- It's nothing... I lied, trying to find his lips to silence him, but he stopped my momentum and pulled away from me.

- I can see that something is wrong, show me your back, he said in a tone that left no time to reply, straightening up at the same time.

Lying half naked, I huffed loudly as I sat up on the bed, curling up before deftly hugging the sheets to my chest. With my back to him, I allowed him to turn on the dim light on my nightstand, clenching my fists in apprehension. I waited several long seconds in a leaden silence, doubt starting to rise in me at his sudden silence. The dragon crouched behind me before gently letting his fingers run over the thin skin in the center of my back.

I couldn't help but clench my jaws in pain at his unbelievably soft touch.

- Andraste...

- Is that repulsive ? I cut him off, my voice trembling slightly.

I dared not meet his gaze so much shame consumed me. I knew very well what it was and it was probably not good...

- Since when do your wings try to come out ?

- Approximately since our training, I don’t know exactly... but you didn’t answer my question.

Lance sat down next to me before grabbing his fingers on my chin, forcing me to stop avoiding his icy gaze, my tongue loosening in spite of myself.

- I dream that I fall, I began. Again and again. And when that happens... I think my body is trying to call on my wings to save me. But I can’t.

- Since when does it hurt you ?

- About a week, but the pain is more and more present...

His grave expression made my stomach turn, what was wrong with me ?

- Did you see what your back looked like ? he inquired.

- During the first nightmares, yes. They resolved themselves, there were no traces. But now... I don't dare look anymore, Lance.

The dragon slowly let go of my face, casually resting his hand on my lap.

- My angel, you absolutely have to show this to Eweleïn.

(Chapter 12)

[bookquotes-20]

Broken Chord

Fandom: Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jurdan

Rating: 13+

Warning: Slightly OOC but tons of angsty fluff ;)

For as long as she could remember, all that mattered to Jude Duarte was power. The thought had been forged into her mind, hammered by the innumerable hours of training with Madoc where her only task was to find the advantage. Figure out how to gain the power in the situation, and take it. Take it without mercy, without hesitation. Power was all that mattered in the twisted world she could not stop her heart from calling home. She had spent her whole life without it. People dangled it in front of her, taunting her with displays of superiority she so deeply yearned to return them. Each night, as sleep pulled her under, her final thought would be of revenge. Some day, she’d tell herself, some day I would be the one to hold it all in the palm of my hands. She didn’t know how, she didn’t know when. But she could dream, and dream she would. Dream of fantastical circumstances that turned the wooden sword in her hand to steel sharp enough to gnaw through bone, stain her hilt with rich gold and her blade with deep crimson, worthy of respect. Worthy of admiration. Worthy of fear.

She had it all today. Even if only person knew it. The Puppetmaster. The Kingmaker. The Queen, as the Court of Shadows had taken to calling her. Now, there were days the name felt like a knife twisting in her stomach.

Every day she reveled in the bliss, in the thrum of adrenaline that raced in her veins at her newfound importance. She faced each day with her head high, with a grace and ease that should not have come so easily to a mortal amid regal faeries.

But it was as each day neared its end, that her father’s words would ring in her ears.

Power is far easier to acquire than it is to hold onto.

A lesson best learned by experience, she had seen. She loved her role, her work, her importance. But the sigh she heaved as she entered her chambers when all was done, was a stark reminder of who she was, she truly was. Because at the end of the day, she was still a mortal amongst Fae.

Her breaths come heavier and a dull ache settles into her limbs as she closes the door behind her. Another day, another battle. Hearing days were the most tedious. For hours she stood by the King’s side as folk across the land came to him seeking counsel, mercy, or favors. The benevolent king, of course, simply sat upon his throne with an expression of boredom and a glass of wine in his hands. It was Jude who listened to each word that fell from their lips in search of any trickery or deception they may be trying to place on the king or his kingdom. For hours, her mind raced through infinite possibilities of deceptive intent behind their words, and her fatigue was tangible. Her head pounds furiously and her shoulder slouches. Sluggishly, she makes her way to the modest armoire she had allowed within her room. On autopilot, her hands reach in to pull out a billowy night shirt and comfortable pants. Unfastening Nightfell from its spot at her hip, she places the blade in the corner of the armoire delicately. She has just finished throwing on the her night shirt when she hears a soft knock at her door.

At such a late hour, the number of people who would come to her was short. Had it been the King’s guards or her Court of Shadows the knock would have been of urgency. She opens the door with a sigh, only slightly surprised to see the High King standing at her door.

“What do you want, Cardan?”

She expects to see the same bored boy she had spent the day standing beside, not a man with muscles pulled taut and anger shining in his eyes.

“I hear there was a Counsel meeting today.” His voice is calm, controlled in a way that spells danger. Jude raises an eyebrow.

“And this is of importance to you because?”

“Oh really, Jude,” he drawls, “you weren’t even going to tell me about all the important decisions you made today?” His eyes narrow. “Decisions involving me.”

“I make decisions involving you every day, I don’t see what makes this any different.” Yes she did. The decision she had made today was unlike any she’d made before. Well, with the exception of one. One that had disastrous consequences for her heart and self-control. Cardan moves at her with blinding speed, pinning her between himself and the wall.

“Cut the nonsense, Jude,” he snarls. “You know full well why this is different. You decided to just marry me off. To Nicasia.”

She swallowed. The words felt just as heavy in her ears as they did in her throat when she forced them out in front of the Counsel.

“Yes.” It’s the only word she can come up with. His hand slams against her the wall inches from her head.

“Why?” he growls. She knows he’s restraining himself but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s tired and just wants the day to be over. She wants to be done with this, if only just for a few hours.

“Because it’s the best move for the kingdom.” His eyes darken. He’s not pleased with that answer. “We’re treading dangerous waters between the attack on the Court of Termites and Orlagh’s anger with Elfhame. We can’t find a war on two fronts. We both know that Nicasia has wanted to be your queen for years. She could placate her mother and the alliance would strengthen our image amongst the other courts.” She works hard to force the words out of her mouth. “A union between the land and the sea is not easily ignored, it could quiet all the dissent and doubt amid the lower courts.”

“You forget one thing,” his voice is low as his face nears hers. His breath is hot against her skin. “I already have a queen.”

Anger ignites her blood, exhaustion forgotten for just a moment.

“Oh really?” her voice is as sharp as her blade, as is her accusation. “Says who?”

His eyes widen in surprise, and his grip on her loosens. “Jude-“

“To whom, am I your queen, Cardan?” She steps forward and he staggers back slightly. “To the entirety of the court, I am still your seneschal. You made sure of that when you laughed me into ridicule at the time of my exile.” It’s her that anger flares at him now. “So what did you expect me to say when the Counsel suggested a perfectly viable way of resolving our political troubles?”

“So you want this?” Accusation laces his words now. “This is what would make you happy?”

She hesitates. Tries to force out the word. Tries to say nothing would make her happier. When did lying to him become hard?

“Yes,” she says. Her voice betrays no emotion; it’s resolute.

“For once, Jude, stop lying.” His eyes close and his brows furrow in frustration. It seems her hesitation betrayed what her voice didn’t.

“What does it matter, Cardan?”

“It would hurt us both.” She ignores the implication of his words.

“So what?”

“Jude.” There’s a warning in his voice. She doesn’t care.

“It doesn’t matter Cardan.”

“Jude.”

“Just do it!”

“I CAN’T!” he roars. “I can’t.” He sounds broken. His eyes are pleading and desperate. “I wish so badly that I could.” He scoffs out a laugh void of humor. It’s a painful sound to hear. It’s a sound filled with pain. Filled with guilt and regret and hatred but laced with surrender. “I don’t know how you do it so easily, I truly do envy you for it. But even for the kingdom’s sake, for even your own sake, I can’t bring myself to purposely hurt you.”

She can’t ignore it anymore. His words. The meaning behind them. The chord between them that has been stretching tighter and tighter for far too long. Silence fills the room. She’s tired. She’s so tired. She’s tired under the heaviness of the armor she wears, the layers upon layers of metal that weigh on her bones. Her exhaustion coaxes a little more truth out of her. Words that would never have spilled from her lips otherwise.

“It’s not easy,” she whispers. She’s turned away from him now, knowing her throat would close if she were facing him. A stubborn tear drops from her eyes but she doesn’t dare wipe it away for fear that the arms she has wrapped around herself are the only thing holding her together. She imagines she’d collapse if they moved, crumble to the floor like a wooden puppet with all its strings cut.

“It’s never been easy to see you in pain. For the entirety of my exile, I spent the day planning countless ways to take your life. To make you pay for ripping me away from everything I loved, from my home. But every night, without fail, I’d wake up screaming from nightmares. I’d watch Madoc attack the palace and steal Oak away. I’d watch Taryn turn Vivi against me. Rob me of the only support I have left. I’d watch the Roach and the Bomb try to fight their way out of a fire and I’d never be able to save them. I’d watch the people I came closest to calling friends called out for me to save them while I could do nothing but watch them burn. And every single time, the last thing I’d see is you.” His breath hitches behind her, the only sound in the room other than the beating of their hearts. The room around them fades away as she loses herself in the macabre scene that had tormented her for months. “I’d watch Madoc drive a sword through your heart. I could never reach you fast enough to stop him, but I’d always be there in time to catch you as you fell. I’d always watch you bleed out in my arms. What you said always changed. Sometimes it would be the cruel words you used when we were kids. Sometimes you’d just repeat my exile sentence over and over and over again. While I sobbed and screamed and begged you not to leave me, you’d repeat over and over how you wanted me as far away from you as possible.” She turns to face him now. He looked haggard, eyes blown wide and breaths coming heavy. “Your pain has always been my worst nightmare. And I lived it every single day.”

His hand comes to the nape of her neck, cupping the back of her head. He tilts it forward and presses his forehead to hers. His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed as if in pain. She can feel his warm breath fan her cheeks.

“Forgive me,” he whispers so softly it's almost lost in the darkness. The request is genuine, she feels it in the way his body trembles faintly against hers. She lacks the strength to speak. She hesitates and can feel his body coil at her silence. She gives the slightest of nods, one he only registers through the touch of their heads. He exhales slowly, the tension seeps slowly out of his body. The hand at her neck softens and he takes a tiny step forward. He pulls her into him, his free hand wrapping around her back, pressing against her skin with nearly painful intensity. As if decreasing the distance between their bodies would decrease the distance between their hearts. Her arms wrap around his torso and she presses her cheek to his chest. Perhaps it will.

He tugs them onto the bed, still holding her against him. She listens to his heart under her cheek. The steady beat is a welcome reminder that the visions weren’t real. They weren’t real.

She repeats the words over and over again in an effort to convince herself. I don’t know if this is real. Or a dream, she thinks. I don’t care — if it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up; if it’s real, I never want it to end. Her heart finally admits that, at least. Whether my head is brave enough to allow me to embrace the admission, I don’t know. She feels his lips press to her temple.

“You’re here,” he whispers against her skin. He’s trying to convince himself of the fact just as much as she is. “You’re here and I don’t want you to leave. Not again. Never again.” He sounds delirious, repeating the words with a fervor that surprises her. She looks up at him and the sincerity in his eyes takes her breath away. She knows he cannot lie, she knows the words he speaks must be the absolute truth for there is no room for twisting or deception. She sees his very soul in his eyes and is shocked to find no walls. No barriers keeping her out. He lay himself out bare before her, placed his heart in the palm of her heart. He couldn’t know what she would do with it. He did it regardless.

“You’re trusting me with an awful lot Cardan,” she whispered with a lowered gaze.

“I entrusted my heart to you long ago, Jude.” His voice is a low murmur. Her breath catches in her throat. “It seems you simply did not realize it.” He tilts her head up so she meets his eyes. “I trust you just as much right now as I did when I gave you the crown at what turned into my coronation.” The very words he used to fling at her as an accusation now spilled from his mouth with nothing but warmth and sincerity. “Just as much as the day I gave Taryn anything she asked thinking she was you. Just as much as the day I married you.” His thumb swiped away a tear that had strayed from her eye to her cheek. “I trust you with all that I am, Jude.” He smiled at her sadly. “It is up to you to do with it as you please.” She was silent as she kept her eyes fixed on his. She thinks that he must be wondering what she was searching for in the depths of his black orbs. She isn’t searching for him. In his eyes, she is searching herself. Her soul. When it came to Cardan, her head has always been at odds with her heart — she would never come to a decision with either of them. So, she searches for the one thing that could overpower both. Deep within that part of her that had been suppressed for most of her life, subdued by the harshness of her childhood, by the fear of emotion other than rage and pain, of thoughts other than power and vengeance. The visions from her nightmares flash before her. Her heart races and breath freezes and there is her answer. The very thought of life without him shuts down her lungs and the time she spent away from him was spent in crippling pain she hadn’t recovered from in the entirety of her exile.

She tightens her arms around him and presses her cheek to his heart again. “I missed you,” she whispers against his skin. She feels him freeze beneath the tangible weight of her words. “I missed you and I never want to have to again.” A droplet of moisture hits her hair. The air that was caught in his lungs releases slowly. She finally meets his gaze again.

His voice is strangled as he chokes out the word, “Stay.” She brushes her fingers against his cheekbone, wiping away the tear. The metal of her ring scrapes against his cheek. “Please, stay.”

She smiles. His heart skips a beat and he swears it is the most beautiful thing he has seen. “I will, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever,” he says before pulling her mouth to his. He kisses her like he never thought he would get to again. She feels months of yearning in the way his lips move against hers and she can’t help but respond in kind. Her fingers tangle in his soft curls as she pulls him impossibly closer and his arm crushes her to him. They pull apart only when air becomes absolutely necessary and even then he keeps his forehead pressed against hers.

“Jude Duarte,” he whispers, raising her hand and pressing it against his chest right above his heart. “I pledge my heart to you till my dying breath.” Tears prick her eyes again and for once she doesn’t feel ashamed in letting them fall. She brings his hand to her heart as well. He can feel the press of her ruby ring against his hand and his heart races. She’s still wearing it. He feels her heart pick up speed under his touch and it nearly undoes him.

“Cardan Greenbriar, my words may not carry the guarantee of honesty yours do. But I hope you can feel the truth in the beat of my heart when I say, I pledge to you my heart and soul till my dying breath.”

She brushes her lips over his, a feather soft touch. Not of want, not of need, but a promise. The promise of more.

Notes:

This is my first venture into Folk of the Air fanfic after reading so many insanely amazing ones on tumblr and AO3. It’s been a work in progress for weeks and I’m so excited to finally be able to share it!! Please do let me know what you think ❤️ I hope you enjoyed it!!

This takes place somewhere in an altered version of post Wicked King, where Jude comes back from her exile but only Cardan knows they got married and she’s the queen.

Also, a huge thank you to everyone who sent asks!! I’m working on multiple asks simultaneously so I’ll try to have them finished as soon as I can!

Please feel free to send in more, I love having new ideas to ponder and try to write. I’ll try my best to write them! (I really mostly write for Shatter Me and Folk of the Air).

Thank you lovelies ❤️

[silvercrystalwhump]

Their Not so Different Are They?

Here’s some during the time when Vince and Dmitri were just friends

Vincent Shield belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow

TW: references to sex, implied dubcon (being drunk), alcohol reference,

The warm embrace of drowning ichor.

It’s been awhile!

Lights dancing against air

Can you keep a secret?

The way hands brush against skin.

Just for tonight, got it?

Ice cold breath.

You’re absolutely gorgeous.

Poison across sheets.

You’re just perfect.

Boney, empty void.

Vincent wakes up, eyes ripping open to meet the pale tiles of a ceiling. A fan spins above him. Like an omen, it looms over him. His fingers wrap around the fibers of the bed spread. Slowly, he sits up, eyes focusing around the mirror across the room.

He’s in a hotel room.

Why am I in a hotel?

He rubs his temples and leans forward. Vincent, trying to pull together a story around him, glances to his left. The covers of the blankets were tossed off to the side.

Shit.

Vincent looks down at himself, piercing his lips. He is starkly naked.

Fuck.

Vincent glances down at the floor and sees most of yesterday's clothes scattered across the floor. He feels a wave of unease cross over him.

Why the fuck do I even so this?

He throws his legs over the side and scoops up some of his clothes. Vincent can smell the reek of alcohol, regret and something else. Pretending to ignore his mistakes, Vincent throws the clothes on as if this was a normal morning.

No one is in the room with him.

Vincent peeks just about everywhere as he bottoms up his shirt. He's tired, the kind of tired that makes you weary rather than drowsy. Everything feels slightly out of reach, his fingertips too sensitive.

He finds his phone tossed onto the small couch. Vincent sighs and plops down, grabbing his phone, and pulling up his messages.

Vincent rolls through the handful of messages he sent during his haze the night prior and one stands out.

Don't worry about picking me up, I'll have a ride in the morning.

Vincent puts his head back in his hands, dread blooming in his chest.

Looking across the hotel room, he tries to find any clue as to who he decided in his drunken stupor to sleep with. The faint ghosting of hands trailing down his spine forces him to pause ever so often.

Nothing.

The only sign being the discarded bed sheets and the soreness in his gut.

He collapses against a wall and lets himself slide to the floor. A hangover to trump all Hangovers eats as his temples.

Then his phone pings next to him.

Wanna hear something funny?

The text is from Dmitri, which is both a relief and a jab to the gut.

Sure, Vincent responds, rubbing his temples.

Have you ever seen someone fall into four dozen Boston Cream donuts before?

No.

Well yesterday night some guy, drunk off his ass, came in and demanded four dozen Boston cream donuts. He takes them and gets three steps from the door before stumbling over and falling on his donuts. There was just cream EVERYWHERE. Had to help Yasmin scrub it off. Hilarious in hindsight thou.

Vincent tisks at the mental image, cream filling covering tiles and windows. He remembers walking into Yasmin’s bakery before with Dmitri. The place smelled of warm honey.

Staring at his phone scream, he slowly types out a message. His finger hesitates over the send button. He, slowly and tentatively, presses down and the soft ping nearly sends him up a wall.

Can you do me a favor?

Vincent stares blankly down at the phone screen. Anxiety eats at his already pounding skull. His body, a quivering leaf in a hurricane of regret, feels cold even through the heater next to him.

Sure whats up

Can you pick me up?

Vincent’s mouth dries.

…

Sure. Where are you?

Before Vincent realizes it, he’s sliding into the passenger seat of Dmitri’s truck. Looking like an absolute mess of a human, he lets himself sink into the chair.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Vincent says as he messes with his pants. The slacks are so wrinkled that the place where he digs in his nails changes nothing. He can feel the fabric crinkle under his fingers, knowing how much Marie is going to have him for ruined pants.

Especially these ones, they were not cheap.

“I know,” Dmitri responds as his eyes twitch between street signs, “But I wanted to.” Something about how nonchalant Dmitri seems and how disheveled Vincent just feels off. Nobody Vincent knew would be this… uncaring for appearances. Yet, Dmitri, in an almost invisible way, takes no notice.

Vincent leans back, the muscles in his shoulder twisting into coils. He tries to fade into the soft music barely playing through the speakers. “You didn’t---” “You want some coffee?” Dmitri interrupts, as he pulls into an exit.

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

Dmitri blinks as he turns the car into a drive-through, “I know but do you want coffee?”

Vincent pauses, “I- Yeah but I’ll pay.” Vincent reaches for his wallet, vision blurring with every sudden movement.

Dmitri reaches out and stops his hand. He gives him a soft smile and shakes his head, “My treat.”

“I shouldn’t-”

Dmitri pulls into the drive-through and chuckles, “Nope, too late, I’m paying.”

Vincent tries to open his mouth but Dmitri is already ordering. He finds himself sitting tentatively under his own skin as they get coffee. He prayed silently that the cashier does not recognize him, or anyone outside of Dmitri’s truck.

I really don't want to be seen.

Vincent feels himself coil back behind his eyes again. The weight of air on his skin is just too much to bear. Each roll of the air conditioning across his skin feels too much like breath. Everything, even the hair rising on the back of his neck, just adds to the couplings of soft teeth barely grazing his mind.

Then, the air conditioning stops.

“If you were cold you could’ve just asked to turn the AC down,” Dmitri says, ripping Vincent from the flood of sensations.

“I wasn’t cold,” Vincent responds, noticing the coffee sitting in the cup holder next to him. He takes it and brings the cup to his lips, the smell of hazelnut letting him anchor.

Dmitri raises an eyebrow, “You kinda shut off and started shivering.”

Vincent looks up and blinks. They are in a completely different place, driving through winding hills in the middle of nowhere. “No no I’m just a bit hungover.”

“Oh,” Dmitri chirps as he leans back and grabs something from the seat behind Vincent, “Here, drink this.” He hands Vincent a Gatorade and returns to driving, “I have just water if you don’t do gatorade.”

“Why gatorade?”

Dmitri shrugs, “Hangovers are caused by dehydration, the brain doesn’t have enough water and usually other things too so if you drink a lot of liquids the hangover fades faster.”

Vincent reluctantly takes it and opens the cap, “You keep this stuff in your car?”

“Yeah, Samantha, one of my employees, sometimes comes in hungover so I give her one when she needs it. It kinda became a habit so I just keep them in my car. She’s a good kid so I try not to harp her too much about it,” Dmitri says as he drinks his own coffee.

After taking a sip, Vincent realizes actually how thirsty he is.

I haven’t drunk anything other than liquor since yesterday morning… and that was coffee.

“Have you ever gotten so drunk you only remember flashes of what you did the night before?” Vincent asks as he drinks all of the Gatorade.

Dmitri nods, “I did that alot in my twenties, losing yourself in the lights and all that. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve woken up in either a field, a motel 6, or in the ice box.”

Vincent looks down at the now empty bottle of Gatorade, I drank all of that? He places the bottle at his feet and makes a mental note to throw it out when he gets home. A part of him burns slightly with soured memories of liquor, scotch cologne, and envy. He rests his head back on the chair and lets out a sigh.

His thoughts, taking the wheel of his lips, just spill from his lips, “I really shouldn’t be doing shit like this, since now I have to go off of foggy memories of who I even went back there with.” Vince you’re rambling. “I don’t even remember this guy's name.” Vince, shut up. “And I wake up the next morning, knowing that I slept with him.” Shut the fuck up Vincent! “He’s not even there in the morning too, and now I have to figure out who i have to get to keep his mouth shut about me being gay and I just-”

Great, fucking great Vincent Shield, you’ve dug this grave. Now die in it.

Vincent pales, vision whitening around the edges, “I should've said that- I should’ve please don’t tell anyone. I’ll pay you but please---”

“Vee,” Dmitri says calmly, “I get it, your secrets safe with me. I remember when I was far back in the closet.”

“Wait you’re-”

“Gay, yup. I know I don’t exactly scream fruity but I am.”

Vincent feels himself relax just enough to breathe, “I- thank you, I can’t say how-”

“I get it,” Dmitri reassures, “I’ve accidentally outed myself before too. I did it to my Dad. I know the feeling and I would make a peep.”

Vincent crumples under the weight of his words. Like a cord snapping back, the whiplash of emotions feels like a beheading. “Thank you.”

Silence floods the truck. It gnaws at the ends of Vincent's fingers until they go numb. Vincent shakily reaches out and takes the coffee cup. Hoping the heat loosens the sinue of his fingers.

“So am I just dropping you off at your house or…”

“Yeah yeah, at my house.”

[chironshorseass]

angst number 5 for percabeth?

“What’s the point?”

Dear anon, I am sorry that I got a but carried away. Just a teeny bit. 

Read on ao3.

Au in which Percy killed the Goddess of Misery, back in Tartarus.

tw: drowning, implied abuse, mental health issues, mild blood

Percy woke up drowning.

In the back of his mind, he knew that that was not possible. In the back of his mind, he could hear the running water. Water from the shower faucet.

He’s floating, maybe. In the tub.

But that’s not what was going through his mind at the moment. All he felt was breathlessness. And water. But it wasn’t the good kind. This water, cold and dark, did not want him.

No, it wanted to destroy him.

Like Misery.

He’d killed that goddess, once upon a time. Made her choke on her tears, turned her blood to dust.

The running water sounded like her, that wretched being. She was laughing at him.

He forgot why and where he was in the first place. That laugh was the only thing that was certain at the moment. And the water—with its icy breath—filled up his mouth and lungs.

Where was he in his dreams?

Hopefully not here.

His arms reached out, searching for something—anything—that could pull him out of this hell. They could’ve been nonexistent, for all the help they managed to achieve. He felt as if his own body couldn’t even move an inch. He wanted someone to save him.

Maybe you don’t deserve to be saved.

.

.

The memory gushed around Percy, resurfacing from the deepest parts of his mind—well, to be honest, it had always been there, gnawing at him.

Tartarus always came back to haunt him, one way or another.

He was there, right next to the inky abyss, surrounded on all sides by the liquid poison and its fumes. It crawled slowly but surely toward him like liquid honey. He backed away but knew it was no use. He’d die one way or another.

Annabeth screamed at Akhlys, trying to get the goddess’ attention away from him. She had the likeness of one of the corpses that Nico liked to sprout from the ground, not at all looking like that beautiful and vibrant girl he had once known.

Percy lifted his head to look at Misery, the mastermind behind it all. She grinned at him, flashing her golden fangs. Her cheeks were rivers of blood, like the blood he tasted in his mouth as he bit his tongue so he wouldn’t cry out from the sudden pain.

He glared at the poison, its small lakes pooling around him.

Lakes.

Liquid.

Maybe he was mad. But maybe he didn’t have to die right now. The ringing in his ears grew louder; Annabeth’s shouts sounded further away. But he could stop this, he had to try.

He concentrated, feeling the familiar tug in his gut. The poison paused in its tracks.

“What is this?” Ackhlyss’ voice bordered on manic.

“Poison,” Percy rasped, standing up with shaking legs. His motive, however, didn’t falter. “That’s your specialty, right?”

He watched as the toxic liquid retreated farther from him and toward Akhlyss’ feet as if she were a magnet and the poison was metal. It sizzled against her toes, and she jumped, shrieking. She swiped at it, but more came.

“You dare go against me, boy?” But as she said it, tears flooded her eyes; her knees buckled. After many futile attempts, she screeched, “Stop this!”

But he was just getting started.

Her control over her own creation was over, dominated by someone else.

The goddess shrunk into herself, tears flowing like rivers down her cheeks.

Oh, good. More water.

He had the urge to laugh. How foolish of her.

Percy concentrated, searching deeper and deeper into the root of his powers. Soon enough, he had Akhlyss choking on her own tears; it engulfed her mouth and eyes. She clutched her throat, poison burning her legs as it climbed into her as well.

He was dimly aware of Annabeth calling to him—begging, but she didn’t understand this feeling that Percy felt. This glass-shattering sensation against his stomach. How good it felt, to finally control what could never be controlled.

So he didn’t listen. Instead, he clenched his fists and kept it up. See how much misery Misery could take.

He pushed further into him, and Akhlyss’ blood boiled.

Minutes or hours or days passed before her wailing sounds and anguished cries stopped for good. The poison finally encased her entire body, and she lay on the ground, motionless. In the blink of an eye, her remains were turned to dust.

It is done.

“Percy?”

Annabeth walked up to him, taking her time. The look on her face was enough for him to stagger, clutching his stomach.

“Percy?” she whispered, now closer to him.

His name lingered in his mind, a chanting that never seemed to stop. But through the agony in his gut and Annabeth’s muffled sobs into his shirt, her expression afterwards was what haunted him most.

It is done.

.

.

Something broke inside him that day, he knew. Just like right now, when his powers and his heritage served him no purpose.

It was as if he were trapped in an eternal void. His hands, finally able to do something, clawed at his throat, willing his lungs to work.

Why can’t I breathe?

Why can’t I breathe .

He was the hero, the son of Poseidon; this wasn’t supposed to be happening.

What an ironic way to die , don’t you think?

The laughter kept invading his thoughts, ringing across his brain just as horribly as the water.

He gasped out, scouring for any oxygen he could steal.

Water.

Water in my lungs.

Had he always been drowning? Or was this a nightmare?

Perhaps he should just give up. Perhaps the water wouldn’t feel so cold if that were to happen.

But if he listened closely to the chaos, he could make out a muffled scream. Someone crying out, pronouncing his name.

Arms grabbed him by the shoulders, and suddenly he’s sitting up, leaning into someone else. Hands grasped his face, soft and tender. Sobs echoed across the room. His eyes were shut tight, but he’s sure that he’s in some kind of room.

Right, the bathroom.

The laughter stopped.

He tried to breathe again, but he found that he still couldn’t, the door of his lungs yet to unlock. Panic seized into him once more. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like lead weights.

Annabeth. He realized now, that she’d been the one to pull him out. She was here, shaking him, crying, letting the water pour down the drain.

If I could only breathe.

He faintly registered the way she gently pushed him down, making him lie on the cool tub, now free of the water. He felt pressure on his chest. Her hands, compressing and releasing.  

And then, maybe, he could breathe again. His world was still tinted in balck around the edges, though.

.

.

Annabeth had her arms wrapped around him, both of them lying on their sides in the comfort of his bed. She protected his Achilles’ spot, a habit she never could break. As much as her doing this filled Percy with ease and calmness, he knew the truth: she couldn’t protect him. Not really. His true war was with himself.

Her warmth didn’t seem to suffice, either. Or the snug pajamas that she had given him to wear.

He could still remember the bathtub’s chill, after all. And Tartarus.

Annabeth snuggled closer to him. He felt her breathing against his neck, real and alive. She threaded her fingers through his and kissed the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice breaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. That I didn’t realize—”

“S’not your fault. I just...” A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it down. “I don’t know why. Why was I fucking drowning, ‘Beth? Why?”

His eyes bored into the dusty bookshelf in his room, but soon his sight blurred. A tear fell down his cheek and into his mouth. It tasted like the sea. The sea that betrayed him.

“Maybe, maybe you’re just scared.”

“Like you were of me?” He shut his eyes tight. “When I killed her?”

Her curls tickled his face as she shook her head.

“No,” she whispered. “I could never be scared of you.”

“But you were. I know you, Annabeth. And I know you’re scared, even now. And the worst thing? You’re scared of me.”

“No.” Her tone took a hard edge. “I’m not scared of you. Gods you’re the person I love most in this fucked up world. Why would I be scared of you?” Her hand unclasped from his, moving it to his damp hair, combing through the dark curls. “No, I’m scared of what you could do to yourself.

“Especially when Sally’s not here, and we’re alone and I, I assume you’re fine. But I’m not even fine, so it makes no fucking sense that I didn’t try to see what was wrong earlier, and...and…” She broke down into sobs, face smothered into the crook of his neck as he lay there, unmoving. His eyelids were closed, but tears escaped them anyway.

She pressed her damp nose against his skin and took a shaky breath.

“I never…” She lifted her face and swept back some of the hair that stuck to his forehead.

He opened his eyes, and finally looked at her, craning his neck to do so. Her cheeks glistened with tears and her hair was a tangled mess, but he took in her image, gazing at her with new vision.

It hit him—that this girl would forever be his anchor, his haven. This complicated, sweet and amazing girl, with eyes akin to the storm inside him. That she was protecting him. That she wanted him to heal. She reclined on her elbows, softly caressing his exposed cheek with her thumb. Then, she leaned down and kissed his tears away.

“I never—and I thought you were going to die,” she said in a small voice. “...I never knew how powerful you could be.”

He stiffened under her touch.

“What’s the point, anyway? It’s not like my powers work anymore.”

He didn’t dare admit what he yearned to say, that he deserved every last breath of pain. That Gabe, that sorry excuse of a stepfather, had been right. That Percy would amount to nothing, and in the end, he’d end up just like that horrible man. He already felt it inside of him, settling comfortably as if reuniting with an old friend.

“But they do work, Perce.”

“How would you know?” His tone sounded accusatory, but Annabeth didn’t seem to mind. “I was drowning, just like in that prophecy. In Alaska.”

“I know you still have them, because I feel it in you. And now you’re letting it consume you instead of controlling it. What happened down there...you can’t change what you did.”

He exhaled, “I wish I was sorry.”

She didn’t respond, only settled back into him.

After a few minutes of staring at the heaps of comics and the little night light, she murmured, “You’ll be alright. We can work through this. Together. I know we can.”

He could only wish he felt the same way.

Nearing to the edge of dreams in his sleep, he felt the water once again. At first, he realized that it was the same way as in the bathtub. Darkness and cold. Jagged ice.That horrible sensation of panic and helplessness.

Images flashed through the currents. Teeth and golden eyes and blood and choking. Voices whispered to him.

Let go.

What is life, anyway?

It’s useless. That’s what life was.

The water wouldn’t let him breath, anyway, so he sunk into the depths. He was used to this. It didn’t matter.

As he drifted away, a voice came to his mind, so startling and out of place in the coldness that it felt like someone had suddenly spoken right into his ear.  

Remember your lifeline, dummy.

Annabeth had said that, hadn’t she? He wasn’t so sure; he couldn’t remember much about anything.

What was it?

Anchor.

Something pulled him upright. It was a tug, coming from the small of his back. And then the darkness didn’t seem as imposing. The whispers and wailing stopped. A smile came to his mind. A face hallowed in a crown of golden hair. She was by the sea, splashing salty water with foam and laughing.

Anchor.

No, Annabeth wouldn’t want this for him; he could fight to live. He could get better. The water turned blue and warm, like drinking a mug of hot cocoa. He gasped, letting his tired lungs have what they wanted from the start.

She was right, gods, was she always right. Hiis powers still worked. And clearing his mind, he remembered the breathing methods they’d practiced, him and Annabeth.

One in, two out, three in, four out.

Up on the surface, the sun gleamed, sending golden ripples all around.

A hand appeared from the outside, cutting into the water. There was a canoe; he could see the dark silhouette. This time, his limbs moved with ease.

One in, two out, three in, four out.

The currents guided him up, up into the world. When he drew nearer to the person on the other side, he looked up, only to be blinded by the sun. But movement from above blocked the light like an eclipse.

Annabeth.

Always Annabeth.

She beamed, seemingly annoyed and amused at the same time, her yankees cap tucked over her hair. Her arm extended toward him, and she laughed. The echoes rippled even in the water.

“Hold on, Seaweed Brain. You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

He felt it now. It wasn’t the currents moving him toward the sound of her voice, but a cord. A single golden thread.

“Come on. Take my hand.”

And so he did.

[kariachi]

Okay, I was already blaming @petrosapian for this Gwengit run but I am definitely blaming her for this fic because I am not taking the fall for this.

Sweet and relatively soft Gwengit fluff.

~~

The day is Valentines, the first one where Argit and Gwen were maybe kind’ve sorta an item rather than just sharing the one beautiful disaster, and they had agreed to attempt to do it properly. As properly as they could. Which probably wasn’t much, honestly. Of course there have been the presents for Kevin (flowers from both ends, now that Gwen has finally given up on giving their boyfriend anything else to spite Argit and his advice), but for each other had been…

Well.

She’d never admit it, but the generic and cheap gold-tone earrings spoke a lot to Gwen’s struggle to find a proper present. And Argit couldn’t even give her a properly excessive amount of shit about it because not only did they agree to try to tone it down for the holiday, but also he’d straight forgotten it was coming up until Kevin’s flowers arrived, having been ordered exactly one year in advance specifically because Argit couldn’t track dates if his life was on the line. He had nothing- nothing- ready.

Thankfully, he had not- with Kevin’s thoroughly amused help- bluffed his way through several years of gift giving occasions for nothing. Gwen could not be allowed to learn of this weakness, he would never survive. No, he’d sent messages, called in minor favors, to make his first idea work and work fast.

Sat with her arms and legs crossed, having been not-so-patiently waiting on him, Gwen raised an eyebrow as Argit dropped a spare piece of scrap metal dotted with various colors of body paint on the coffee table.

“I swear if this is some sort’ve kink thing,” she said, though her tone was more curios than anything. Still, Argit flopped down on the couch beside her more forcefully than was exactly needed, snapping his jaws in her direction.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Red,” he replied, “it’s-” And he wasn’t really sure how to finish that thought. Kevin was easy, hopelessly romantic at heart with flowers sitting in the sweet spot where receiving them both made him feel loved instead of just setting off those overactive warning bells, but Gwen… Things were new with Gwen, and while he knew the things she liked as gifts the problem was that he tended to give those just, at random. Whenever he found them. She expected more for a holiday, though, and when it came down to it all he’d been able to think of under the time crunch was this. “It’s an Erinaen thing.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Okay,” she asked, looking at him like she didn’t fully believe him, “where do we start then?”

“You start by relaxing for once in your damn life,” Argit said, pushing her shoulder into the couch for emphasis, “so I can work.” She glowered at him, but did as requested. Only once she was relaxed back in her seat, arms and legs uncrossed, did he turn to the paint. She wore blues, mostly, and greens seemed to be popular among humans with her colors, so he would start with those. He gathered up a bold blue on his finger and thought back to his only point of reference for all this, trying to figure out what to do.

“Well,” Gwen asked after a moment and Argit sighed through his nose. His Pa’s, definitely. Both his parents had been horrible, but he would gnaw off an arm before Gwen shared anything with his Ma, even just a painted design. He took her chin in his hand, slowly, and shifted her head so he could get a better look at her face. The look would have to be adjusted to accommodate for the lack of a long muzzle but, he could make do.

“Hold still.” She didn’t, face twitching when the paint touched it. “What did I say?”

“Cut me some slack, I hardly even wear makeup.”

“Well maybe you should start.” She stuck her tongue out at him and he snapped his teeth again, more gently, before going to work. He started above one corner of her mouth, carefully painting a thick blue line around her nose and up over her eyebrow before bringing it back down to curve beneath her ear. Then, he repeated the process on the other side of her face and paused, for just a moment. “Take off your shirt?”

“What?” She gave him another suspicious look. He rolled his eyes.

“I can get the design right either way, but it’ll be easier and work better if I can see your back,” Argit explained, and though Gwen clearly didn’t entirely trust his honesty she again listened, turning her back to him as she stripped off her top. “Thank you.” The bra was still in his way, but that was much easier to work around than a whole shirt.

“So,” she asked as he continued the first line from before, skirting around her hair as he took it down the back of her neck, across the shoulder blade, and down the outer length of the arm, “this is an Erinaen thing?”

“Yeah. Fur makes tattoos unpopular, and makeup too, so you dye it in temporary patterns.” Her foot began tapping with pent-up energy as he reached her hand, running a line down to each finger and spiraling it around them. He couldn’t blame her, and was happy to take his time with the other side so she couldn’t see his tail twitching. This was intimate behavior, a form of mutual grooming, reserved for family, partners.

It was a spur of the moment plan, but that didn’t make it not a big deal.

“Family got hold of some dye once, back in the Null Void,” he continued as she leaned to the side, trying to avoid getting paint on the couch, “parents painted each other up all pretty. Got pissed later when us kittens got into it.” The memory was one of the few good ones from back then, before freedom and Kevin. The youngest litter still in the pouch, he and the rest of his siblings painting each other as best they could with literally no prior experience. He couldn’t help smiling at it, and it showed in his tone. “I was rainbow for a week.”

Gwen laughed at the image, and Argit was forced to join her when all she could say was “Argicorn.”

“Better than Niu, their fur was darker, they looked like an oil slick.” Her snickering got worse and he took the time to wipe the blue paint from his hand with one of Kevin’s handkerchiefs, replacing it with green.

“Reminds me of when I was little,” she said as he began working on her wrists, two alternating, broken lines of green wrapping around each one, “me and one of my cousins once got into grandma’s makeup. Aunt Abigail actually screamed when she saw the mess we made of ourselves, but I’m pretty sure grandma still has the pictures.”

“Kittens,” Argit snickered, “you take your eyes off them for five minutes…” Wrists done, time for some simple circles around the junction where shoulder met arm, and then “Turn around again, and move the bra some, I need collarbone access.”

“’Take off your shirt, Red’,” she griped as she scooted away from the back of the couch and did as asked, ‘move your bra, Red’, I swear if this is a kink for you-”

“Then I wouldn’t just sneak it on you and you know it.”

“I’m going to have to trash this bra anyway, you know.”

“You poor, tortured soul.” The collarbone portion was pretty simple, actually, just one line. Down one collarbone, up the side of the neck, along the jaw, then down the other side to the end of the opposite collarbone. For good measure, he traced out the bottom edge of her nose, around the nostrils and tip.

“So, your parents did this for each other,” Gwen asked as he cleaned off the green and began mixing red and orange to get the accent shade that’d settled in his mind. He mrrped an affirmative. “That’s…” Her foot tapped harder. “It’s sweet. I think the most romantic thing I ever saw my parents do was cuddle on New Years. It’s nice they were so openly in love.” Argit wasn’t entirely sure how much love there ever really was between them, though he certainly wasn’t going to say it. Besides, after eighteen children and how long in the Null Void, who knew.

“Just remember, they made me,” he said instead, taking up some red-orange and quickly painting the webbing between her fingers, connecting her collarbones with a line that swept down between her breast and back up.

“They managed at least one semi-decent thing then,” she replied. Argit started, then hid his brief surprise with a toothy smirk.

“I knew the earrings were a decoy gift.” She mimed swatting at him with a smile of her own, a fitting distraction from her face having gone pink- probably from the strain of sort’ve complimenting him. He just turned to the last order of business, a trail of red-orange dots running up either side of her nose, as far up as he could get them, and

And

Well.

He’d been moving around on the couch, but that was when Argit finally got up from it entirely, backing away so he could get a good view. The lines served to emphasize her movement, especially at the hands, and lengthened her throat, her face, her nose. His head tilted to one side, ears twitching.

“You’re, kinda pretty, Red.” She looked about as surprised as he felt, or maybe that was the paint making every confused twist catch the eye. It was certainly a new concept for him. Sexual attraction he had felt towards humans before- though never Gwen, despite his fondness for her- but aesthetic attraction… Kevin hit some points with his piercings, universally wonderful smile, and exotically dark brown eyes, but Gwen at that moment was a whole different basket of grubs. He couldn’t have told you if it was the familiarity of the design, the way the colors worked together on her, or some deep-seated need for something Erinaen in his life latching on, but Argit quickly found himself crossing the space again, pressing his nose against her throat.

He hated her perfume, was pretty sure that was why she kept buying it, but at that moment it was kind’ve worth putting up with.

“I oughta doll you up more often.” One of her hands fiddled with his mane and he felt a tinge of annoyance knowing his work was getting smudged already.

“My mom would throw a fit.” The smirk came back to his muzzle.

“So you agree with me.” She tugged gently at one of his ears, pulling him away. The shoddy attempt at a frown and glower couldn’t hide the fondness emanating off her, at a level they two of them generally didn’t show to each other’s faces. A level Argit knew perfectly well he was matching.

“Don’t flatter yourself, rat.”

[elsaclack]

set the fire and let it burn

HI SO THIS IS 110% BASED OFF OF @startofamoment‘s ATLA AU IN WHICH JAKE IS A FIREBENDER!!!! WHICH IS AMAZING AND AWESOME AND EVEN THOUGH IT’S NOT COMPLETELY NECESSARY TO HAVE READ THAT PRIOR TO READING THIS YOU GUYS HAVE TO READ IT. RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY I’LL WAIT

okay ANYWAYS this is based on one little snippet from that fic bc i’m a trash goblin and i couldn’t stop thinking about it and erica only encouraged me (read: politely listened while i screamed about it in her dms and then VERY KINDLY allowed me to write and now publish this) so here it is: the firebending angst au spin-off from hell

(titled in my google docs as “i gotta get a new Brand but shit boi!!!!! this au is so good!!!!!!!”)

Beneath a flickering fluorescent light, in the only plastic chair not cracked from years of wear-and-tear, Jake Peralta sits alone in an emergency room waiting area. Between his fingers he compulsively spins a golden ring, fingertips occasionally catching on the green gemstone set along the band; he stares down at it with eyes that do not see, do not process, do not blink.

He’s been waiting here for the better part of an hour now - sitting here, mostly. Except for the thirty seconds during which he’d been certain his inner organs would finally manage to crawl right out of his throat, which also happened to be the first thirty seconds he spent here in this room, manically pacing, borderline running in circles. He’d visited the bathroom after that, because through the anguish clouding every other sense, he’d somehow registered that he needed to wash his hands.

(It isn’t until he notices the water rushing over his hands into the basin below runs red that he fully realizes why.

And in his reflection in the mirror behind that sink, he sees that same red liquid dotted on his cheek. He splashes water into his own eye in his haste to wipe that away.

It isn’t his blood.)

He’s been waiting here alone for the better part of an hour, except for when one of the healers approached him, her expression unreadable, the ring currently twisting around his fingers clutched in her hand intended for his safekeeping.

(It was apparently the only item of clothing salvageable - not that she told him that.

She didn’t need to.

He was there.)

He’s been waiting here alone for the better part of an hour now, and he finds himself wondering how many waited here before him - how many felt anguish gnawing at their throats, how many felt their bones crack beneath the weight of their uncertainty, how many plummeted into the inky black void of grief and heartache and loss.

How many struggled for air through lungs compressed by guilt and shame and the fear that they maybe, possibly played a role in what happened.

He closes his eyes and grits his teeth, focusing on the sharp bite of a band too small fitting snug around the first knuckle of his thumb, banishing the haunting echoes of an hour ago to the furthest corners of his mind.

She hadn’t cried.

He isn’t entirely sure what to do with that information - can’t fathom a situation in which he’d need to know that. But he has it, carved deep into his memories: Amy Santiago did not cry.

She’d screamed.

She’d yelped.

She’d rasped and trembled and gripped his shirt like a lifeline.

But Amy Santiago did not cry.

He cried. He hadn’t even realized it at the time (or afterwards, in all honesty), not with his hands so slick with blood he could barely keep a grip on her. He’d ripped holes in the knees of his jeans from skidding to a stop at her side and he’d pulled her up into his chest, out of the blood quickly pooling beneath her, into an unsteady and panic-stricken embrace.

She didn’t cry when she got shot - nor did she cry when he burned her to stop the catastrophic bleeding.

And really, it felt an awful lot like what he imagines having his very soul ripped out of his body would feel like, to press the sharp heat of his palm against her wound despite her hoarse cries of pain echoing off the towering alley walls surrounding them.

She didn’t cry, but she did pass out from the insurmountable agony of it all; the healers found them there on the ground, his inflicting hand shaking as he stroked her face, desperately begging her to open her eyes again.

And then they left him here, alone in the waiting room. They left him standing on a grimy tiled floor with his hands stained red, his face carved by glittering tear tracks, his heart ripped open in his chest.

She was still unconscious.

Her grandmother’s ring is far too small to fit on his thumb, or really any of his fingers, but he twists it around his fingers anyway, mimicking the movements he’s seen her do countless times before when lost in thought. It does nothing to drown the guilt out.

Years. He’s spent years learning how to control the fire raging within him. Years of intense focus, of tutelage, of unlearning deeply-ingrained self-hatred and suppression - and in the end, he still hurt the one he loves most. He’s certain it will be a lifetime before the look of sheer agony that had twisted Amy’s face the moment his palm pressed against her wound will even begin to fade from his memory, and even then he’s quite certain the sound she’d made - the guttural, heart-wrenching sound that he ripped from her throat - will never leave him.

The ring falls from his fingertips and clatters against the tiled floor between his feet; it’s only then that he registers how heavily he’s breathing, how blurry his vision has become.

Focus, Jacob, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Holt’s says, as clearly as though the man himself is seated right beside him. Benders have emotions, but emotions cannot have the benders. Focus.

He grips both arm rests on his seat and hinges his entire existence on them, eyes falling closed as he forces himself to inhale deeply through his nose. His lungs are rioting between his ribs and the edges of his teeth pinch the edges of his tongue, and he’s real. He’s real and present and his emotions are a hurricane in a cardboard box inside his chest.

He opens his eyes and the world is technicolor once again; the green gemstone on Amy’s grandmother’s ring winks beneath the flickering fluorescent light twelve inches from his left foot.

It’s as his fingers close over the ring that the waiting room doors slide open and a familiar healer steps into the room.

“Is she okay?”

The question springs up from somewhere deep inside him, spilling from his lips without a conscious thought. He blinks and he’s on his feet, clutching Amy’s ring like a talisman, and the healer’s face is kind and gentle where not blurred by unshed tears.

(So maybe he’s still working on the whole focusing thing.)

“She’s okay.” the healer says, and all of his senses fade for just a moment. He is the physical embodiment of relief, teetering on the precipice, seconds from floating away into the heavens at the weight of the world vanishing from his shoulders. “She’s resting now,” the healer says as he slowly comes back to himself, “but she would like to see you.”

“I-I didn’t,” he rasps, and then stops, words lost to the sharp emotions jutting up like icebergs in his throat. “I didn’t - hurt her?”

A look of understanding flashes in the healer’s eyes. “You must be the firebender,” she says slowly.

And for just an instant every last nanoparticle of self-hatred in the universe crashes down upon him like a tsunami rising from the deep -

“Cauterizing the wound was the best thing you could have done for her,” the healer says, voice gentle, and the unshed tears pooling in his eyes finally crest and drip down his face. “In fact, without that, I’m not certain we would have gotten to her in time. You didn’t hurt her.” Her hands close over his, her grip steady and warm. “You saved her life.”

He hadn’t felt himself crying in the alley, but he definitely feels every last poorly-restrained sob shuddering through his chest like aftershocks of an earthquake now. “Saved - saved her life?” he repeats hoarsely as the healer pats and releases his hands.

“Yes, sir,” she says with that same kind smile, “and I know she would very much like to thank you for that.”

He nods, swiping the back of his hand across his face, and shuffles blindly after the healer as she gestures toward the emergency room.

Amy’s sitting up in her bed when he gets to her, and though he recognizes all the signs of exhaustion in her face, her eyes still light up when she sees him.

And if he was crying before, he’s all-out sobbing now.

“I’m so sorry,” he says in a mumbled rush, practically tripping over his own feet to get to her and her outstretched arms. She draws him into a tight embrace without a word, the muscles of her arms straining against him from exertion, and when she falls backwards against her mattress she traps his arms wrapped around her waist beneath her. He buries his face in her pillow, well aware of the fact that it’s soaking up his tears, and Amy’s hands are clumsy where she strokes his hair and shoulders.

She’s looking up at him when he pulls away minutes later, and in her eyes he sees blazing intensity, and her fingers wind around the collar of his shirt moments before she pulls him into a hard and unforgiving kiss.

“You don’t apologize to me,” she says, voice quiet and hoarse and so, so fierce, when he pulls away a moment later. “You saved me. Never apologize.”

He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes as the truth of her statement washes over him. “I know,” he whispers thickly, “but I had to hurt you to do it -”

“I don’t care, Jake,” she interrupts sharply. “I’m alive because of you. That’s all that matters.” Her eyes are still blazing when he manages to open his again. “You’re a good man. You used your firebending abilities to save my life. I love you more than anything in the universe, and -” she reaches up to frame his face in her hands “- I am so proud of you. Thank you, Jake. I love you, every part of you, so much.”

He lifts his hands to cover both of hers and turns his face so that his lips slide against her palm; he presses three kisses there, eyes never once leaving her face. “I love you, too,” he whispers into her skin, “more than you’ll ever know.”

He can tell there’s a part of her that would very much like to argue, a lighthearted and playful part he only sees when they’re goofing around or flirting, but the dark circles beneath her eyes seem to be carved deep into her skull and her thumb strokes weakly against his cheek; she merely smiles, soft and serene, and allows him to gently buffet her to one side of the bed so that he has just enough room to shimmy in beside her. And he falls asleep quickly to the sounds of Amy’s deep, even breathing, her grandmother’s ring snug against the second knuckle of his index finger, his face all but buried in her soft hair.

It’s the best sleep he’s had in years.

[cloudfiveclub]

——————————————————

ahh it’s finally here sorry for the wait anon!

there’s also one more zabdiel request and erick request sitting in my ask box and i am trying my best to get to it but it also depends if my brain will cooperate with me 😣 i promise to get to them eventually though 😅

enjoy this xx

Replacement [Zabdiel De Jesus]

Zabdiel's name fell from your lips like a broken record as your orgasm washed over you. Your thighs quivered as he filled your cunt, both your juices mixing together. He let out a loud groan as he emptied himself inside you, before pulling out slowly to let you savour the feeling of his cock sliding through your walls for the last time that afternoon. You shivered at the feeling of oversensitivity, but let out a tiny and satisfied whimper.

He immediately collapsed beside you in a huff, laughing despite his shortness of breath. "Good as always, amor," he chuckled. Both of you sat up against the pillows and he took the opportunity to wrap his arm around your shoulder, and you let him. But you couldn't stop the feeling of discomfort and guilt from returning.

"Do you want to have dinner tonight, amor? There's a new place at the pier. Some seafood stuff, I think," he suggested. You smiled superficially, breathing out deeply as you sat up further. You lent forward to reach across the bed to grab your bra, which had been carelessly tossed to the corner of the mattress during your activities.

"Uh, I have plans tonight actually," you told him hesitantly as you moved away to reclothe yourself.  Zabdiel frowned when you said that, sitting up as he watched you walk around the room to grab your various articles of clothing. He wasn't going to lie to himself, he was disappointed. It had started off as a casual thing and both of you had agreed that it wasn't anything exclusive. It was just sex and you guys were just best friends. Just something to preoccupy yourselves with and in short, just for fun and for the heck of it.

But as time went by, the physical intimacy with you turned into a craving for emotional intimacy. Zabdiel knew he liked you. A lot. And he could only hope you felt the same way. You liked kissing him during sex, which was different compared to his previous sexual partners. You actually didn't mind when he slowed down the pace to make love to you rather than go hard and rough. He hoped this were tell tale signs you liked him back, but right now he was too much of a wuss to tell you.

"Oh," was all he could respond with. He tried hiding his disappointment, but a slight whine was evident in his voice. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Uh, dinner. And I'm going to the carnival after that, I think," you mumbled as you pulled your shirt over your head. You grabbed your phone off Zabdiel's dresser and cracked a smile at the lockscreen, seeing that the recent messages were from Joel.

hey there, can i pick you up at 6? :)    3:56pm you can pick a later timing if you want   3:59pm or earlier, i don't mind  3:59pm

You bit back a dumb smile as you read his texts. You could practically feel his nervousness through your screen; he was too cute.

"Uh, with who?" Zabdiel questioned further, frowning as he tried his best not to sound too jealous. He didn't want to pry too much either.

You froze up momentarily when he said that. God, you couldn't tell him it was his bandmate. You didn't know if he would flip his shit. You couldn't tell him you were going on a date with his best friend just after having sex with him. You bit your lips, preoccupying yourself with putting on the rest of your clothes as you stumbled over your words.

"It's... uh... I-It's someone. This guy... he.... uh, you-you don't r-really, um, know him," you mumbled unsurely. "Just some friend. Just a dinner."

He frowned, squinting his eyes at your vague answer and you nervously looked at him, awaiting his response. Eventually, he sighed and shrugged his shoulders, reaching over to the bedside table to grab his phone.

"Alright. Have fun," he stated simply. There was a slight edge to his tone, and his response was too snappy for your liking. You worried if you had upset him, but he seemed to have busied himself with his phone, so you grabbed your things, leaving the matter aside, and left him after saying goodbye.

-

"Ta-da!"

Joel shoved a whole box of pizza in front of you, and you couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips. He hopped onto the couch next to you, immediately sinking in dangerously at how bouncy and soft it was. He snuggled up to your side and placed the pizza box down on the table in front the both of you, opening it up and grabbing a slice.

He held it up to you, opening his mouth to get you to do the same. You laughed, mimicking his actions and you let him feed you the slice, taking a bite and catching as much of the stray cheese strands as you could with your mouth and fingers. As you shoved the food into your mouth, you phone went off. You checked it, but your heart dropped slightly when you saw who it was from.

Princesa, you free now?   9:41pm Can I come over? ;)   9:41pm

You swallowed the food in your mouth, sneaking a cautious glance at Joel. Fortunately, he was too preoccupied with devouring the pizza and flipping through the shows on netflix to pay you too much attention at the moment. You typed Zabdiel back a quick reply, saying you were too busy and that you couldn't do tonight. The last thing you wanted was for him to find out about you and Joel. No, the both of you weren't exclusive. Yet, at least. You were hoping Joel would ask you to be his girlfriend soon. You really liked him.

But you were still slightly guilty. You were still sneaking around with Zabdiel behind his back; his best friend and bandmate. And you still needed to find a way to break your arrangement off with Zabdiel. You anxiously gnawed on your nail as you re-read Zabdiel's two latest messages over and over again. You knew he was going to push though, you had never once said no to him when he asked you for sex. He always found a way to get you to do anything for him willingly, especially when it came to fucking. But lately, you had been trying your best to put off your shagging sessions more and more, and you knew he was becoming suspicious.

But this was a date; and you couldn't let him come over to your house now. Especially not with Joel snuggling with you on your sofa.

"Do you want Thor? Or... The Avengers?" Joel asked, bringing you out of your deep ponder. You gave him a stressed smile, trying your best to cover up your jitters as you set your phone down for a second.

"Thor. I haven't watched that in a while," you told him. You wiggled around a little, bringing yourself closer to him and letting him wrap his arm around you. Your phone went off again, and you discreetly checked it away from him. Just as you predicted, Zabdiel had asked you again, followed by a string of messages saying that he missed you and he needed you badly. All in lewd descriptions, though.

Your face burned, and you gazed up at Joel cautiously to make sure he wasn't looking before you messaged Zabdiel back to try and tell him you really couldn't do tonight. But you stopped short and almost screamed when you saw his last text.

I'm coming over.   9:53pm

You gasped a little too loudly at that, which gained Joel's attention. He turned to you in concern. "What? What's wrong?" He questioned, looking you up and down in assumption that he had done something. You shook your head as you stared at him with wide eyes.

"Uh- nothing, no. Muscle twitch. It was a shock," you fibbed quickly as you placed your phone down on the table. "Let's just watch the movie."

You ignored his suspicious look and faced the television to avoid any further questioning, and thank god, he followed along. But you could barely focus on the movie, and Joel's comforting arm did nothing to ease your nerves. You knew your doorbell was going to ring anytime soon, and you were already formulating a plan to kick Zabdiel out before he saw Joel or vice versa.

But the time passed by all too quickly, and only ten minutes later, your doorbell rang and your heart stopped short. Joel frowned and turned towards the door. "Who's that? Did we order more food? I thought everything was here..."

You plastered on a nervous smile, wriggling out from his arms and hopping over the back of the couch. "Nah, probably my neighbour asking me where her cat went again. Crazy, haha," you lied, almost breathless from how nervous you were. You could tell Joel didn't really believe you but he let it go, nodding unsurely and facing the screen again to continue the movie.

You scampered over to the door, yanking it open and coming face to face with your friend. Before he had a chance to say anything, you pushed him out, barreling out the door with him and shutting the door behind you.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you hissed, causing the cheeky grin from his face to be slapped away. He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at frosted window on your door as if he could see what was going on inside.

"Are you actually busy?" He asked gruffily without answering your question. You scoffed in disbelief when he said that.

"Yes," you replied. "And I can't do anything right now." You breathed in deeply, screwing your eyes shut and rubbing your temples. Zabdiel frowned, and before you could stop him, he hopped over to your window. Which you had left wide open and void of curtains.

He peeped in, moving around to see the inside of your house, and you hurried after him to block his vision. But he had seen Joel at that point, and he whipped his head round to face you.

He was clearly confused, but you could see him jumping to all sorts of conclusions in his mind. "Joel? What's he doing there?" He demanded. You opened you mouth to respond to him, but he cut you off before you could say anything. "Are you guys on a date? Is that why you can't hang out with me?"

"Hang out? We both know you just wanted to come over so I could suck you dick," you spat harshly, voice still low to make sure Joel couldn't hear from the inside.

Zabdiel's jaw clenched and he widened his eyes at you. "Are you seeing him?"

You swallowed as you stared at him defiantly. "You don't control my life," you hissed, totally avoiding his question. Truth be told, you didn't know if you could even tell him the truth. You knew he might feel betrayed if you told him you'd been sneaking around with his best friend. Worse, he might feel bad towards Joel. 

Zabdiel stared you down and you recoiled back slowly, and it shocked you to actually see him so mad. "You like him," he said shortly. It wasn't a question; it was a statement. And you realised your dodgy answers had basically just confirmed it for him. You couldn't deny anything further. 

"So what if i do?" you asked, voice going slightly higher as you became more nervous. He scoffed incredulously, mirroring your actions of folding his arms. He brought his gaze away from you, and glared angrily at your window, which you knew was just indirectly aimed at Joel even though they couldn't see each other. 

"Oh come on? You aren't jealous that I might be sleeping with him too, are you? But no, I am not sleeping with him. Joel is actually really nice," you told him, ending off your sentence with a huff. But just like that, a lightbulb went off in your head. Suddenly all the times he chose to go slow and intimate in bed, all the lunch and dinner dates he liked inviting you to, all the possessiveness and short answers he gave you whenever you talked about another guy made sense. He was jealous, alright, but not for the reason you thought. 

"You like me," you concluded, pretty much in disbelief yourself. He avoided your eyes, keeping them trained on your open window, which only meant confirmation for you that you were right. 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second. "I'm sorry, Zab, but we need to break this off. I really like Joel and I don't want to ruin anything with him," you told him sombrely. "We'll talk about this another day. I have a date."

You didn't bother catching Zabdiel's reaction. 

[enna-of-the-stars]

In the Sea of Giants

Fandom: Original Work Word Count: 1.4k Rating: General Audiences Summary: When I was a kid, the world seemed so big to me.

A little snippet of an introspective between an older brother and younger sibling that gets lost.

The world seemed so big to me, when I was a kid. Everyone was taller, bigger, broader and the countertops were always too high without a footstool or someone lifting me up. The giant wouldn’t listen to my cries of denial, despite my wiggling, and squirming, and trying to get out of their grip.

“I’m a big kid, I can do it by myself!” I’d always shout. Nevertheless, the same giant would scoop me up, arms securing themselves around my body like a lifeline before lifting and bringing me up to the world only they saw. Tables would be stretched out like vast canvases across a lake, and the chairs which had always towered high, arched with broad-backed wood designs and stone-cold bottoms would seem to shrink. Even then, I didn’t like those chairs. They were always big, scary, with monstrous teeth and glowering eyes that followed me no matter where I was. It always, always seemed like they wanted to eat me up, gobble me down, turn me into nothing but a void and make me disappear.

“No one would notice.” I’d whisper under my breath. None of those other big giants heard, they were too absorbed in their own conversations. Their foreign sounds filtering in one ear then out the other for me. Giants didn’t like to deal with little ones like me, always thinking I was a hassle. Still a hassle, even to him, the only giant—somewhat giant—who heard.

“It’d be best to be on my own.” I’d always say. And so I was, often, in my own world of towering heights and scary monsters. When, in a strange occurrence, a looming hand would come reaching down from the skies and scoop me up, settling me on those monstrous chairs, I’d never sit still. Wiggling back and forth, making sure the large sharp teeth wouldn’t be able to reach me no matter how hard they’d try; despite everything, I would remain sitting even then, because the giants would be mad if I didn’t. Then again, when did they ever care for me? Only the somewhat giant did, but not always. Sometimes, I could feel the cold, grueling resentment bubble, gurgling in the pit of my stomach, gnawing at my feet and screaming from my bones. Most of the time, I’d sit there, and wait. And wait. And wait. Until someone said the only foreign sound I could understand.

“You can leave.”

And I would, back to my world, alone.

I remember only this from my time before becoming a giant myself—that, and the legs, the ever-giant legs. Legs were everywhere the eye could see. I’d blink and suddenly they would come out of nowhere, spilling from the ground like a never-ending flow of water gushing from an eternal fountain. Big, bold, loud, and always moving legs.

Once, on a fall evening with bright orange leaves and large reddish hues splattering against the brilliant blue skyline, I sat patiently staring at the many legs in front of me. The festival air was ripe with apple-crisp honey, and twilight hanging sun was dripping with golden rays splashing the ocean of legs in front of me. They moved and danced in coming and going waves with the chatter ebbing and flowing too. Sometimes there would be more people on this side than that side. Sometimes they would part, flowing against another pack of legs coming from the opposite direction. It was fun, swinging my own small, stubby legs back and forth to the momentum of the waves, coming and going, coming and going. The ebb and flow of the leg tide soothed my mind and kept me anchored despite my wandering thoughts.

The scent of something delicious, nostalgic now but new then, filled my nose and I leaped off the wooden bench. Into the colorful sea of legs I went, rushing off to join the swarm of a passing school of legs, a faint, faint call from behind me falling on deaf ears. The roar of feet and hips and hands overcame everything else as I tried to push my way through, following the scent that rumbled my stomach and piqued my curiosity. The overflowing ocean of stampeding movement parted for me. It was a rush, the most fun I ever had in a very long time, dashing through the small openings that would appear as if showing me the path I needed to take. I moved without a care, too lost in the fun, an endless cycle of dipping and weaving here and there, wherever I could. In the next instant though, I stopped. Something was off, something was wrong. Too late. Too lost in the fun, now truly lost.

Standing still, the world wavering, flickering. The legs didn’t stop, they moved on. Without me. I was left behind.

Nothing but an obstacle, I was an empty liminal space too few dared to enter. No one looked down as I looked up at them with a wide-eyed stare and glistening starlight lantern eyes. They didn’t want me, didn’t need me, didn’t want anything to do with me. They were large, overbearing giants with gaping mouths moving soundlessly with unseeing eyes. I blinked once. The glowing eyes would sweep, seemed to stop for a moment and pierce into me. Then they would move away, my existence not worthy of their attention. Time flowed without constraint, but yet haltingly, it stopped and started with every blink, every stilted breath. Every scene would change and each time, I was still the center of the universe in a sea of legs. Alone.

The sounds were muted, a filter over them, covering everything up in a blanket of fuzz mush and white noise static. The lights twinkled and winked, dappled everything in its path into sun-dripped beams and warm color rim lights. It was beautiful, it was dizzying. It was terrifying, so, so terrifying. It was so much and too much and really, really too much that I didn’t know, I didn’t think, couldn’t think—I wilted under the overbearing lights.

Squatting down, hands over my ears, head tucked between my legs, I stared down at the ground, unmoving; it was solid, and it was safe. I let the hum of movement and chatter wash over me, part around me. I was a rock in the ocean—sinking deeper and deeper into its depths, legs swarming and trapping—until a voice, sharp, loud, home, tumbled into me like a boat scraping the distant horizon, and I, the great lighthouse just on the cliffside. I blinked, darkness that had eaten at my vision sweeping up towards the light, before finally receding. I blinked again, and in the light, the blurry figure of someone taller, bigger, broader came into view. He said something, tone angry. He rushed over, sweeping me up in his arms becoming my lifeline, still speaking. I didn’t hear anything he said, the only thing audible was the solid, rhythmic thumping of his heart against my ear as I was cradled against his chest.

I blinked again and suddenly, the sound haze mush lifts, just as I too am lifted above the sea, no longer drowning in legs. I breathe. I float. I look up at the giant, I see now, the somewhat giant. It was my brother, the only, only giant looking out for me—that ever looked out for me—I realize. He was the one who would lift me up to reach something high in the world of giants. He was the one who always came calling for me, after the other giants said I should leave. My breath hitches, I clutch at his shirt, tight in my little hands.

He squeezes back tight, so obviously angry, so obviously not. He makes a frustrated noise, because the giants bigger than I, still bigger than him, would not part for us. We were stuck, swimming up a river that pushed back, unrelenting and decidedly against us. The grip around me tightens and suddenly I realize I’m crying, wet droplets stuck on my lashes like the glitter of starlight in the night sky. He finally pushes through, past the legs and giants and ocean and fear. We stop at the side as the current moves on. He wipes my tears and I hold on tight to his shirt, even tighter than before. He clutches me back with the same ferocity, shaking just a bit. Something wet hits my shoulder, I didn’t know what at the time, but I knew it meant something important.  

Looking back now, I realize he was just as scared as me.