#i have a wip that has fought me every step of the way while not letting go of wanting to be written and i could cry in frustration

[curator-on-ao3]

Something that bugs me about a lot of writing advice is the assumption that writing is linear and therefore a writer’s skill will improve and improve and improve.

This is not true.

There are days when the words don’t come, when the “great writing tip” that saved a previous work becomes claustrophobic in a current work, when everything seems more difficult than it used to even though nothing on the outside has changed.

Yes, some of this is higher expectations as we improve or try more ambitious works.

And some of it is just being a writer who, like everyone else, has good days and bad days.

It’s okay.

Writing is an art.

And art isn’t linear.

[nat-seal-well]

Wip Wednesday 💙

Here’s another snippet of what I’ve been working on over the last few days, as promised! It’s long, so beware. All of what I have done right now is over 5,000 words and it still isn’t finished ;-;

(You can find the first snippet here.)

The rating has been changed from General to Teen.

Warning for discussions of past domestic violence. (A lot of it is based on events rather close to home. That’s one of the main reasons I started this in the first place.)

“My parents were married, did you know that?” he says. “They were seeing each other for a little bit, just as a casual thing. Mom was still in school, and my father was… well. I don’t know much. Mom doesn’t talk about him. But it wasn’t supposed to be anything serious; they were barely even dating. I think they were about to stop seeing each other, but they slipped up one night, and… here I am.

“And Mom—you know how she is. It fucked up all her plans. But having me out of wedlock would have fucked them up even more, especially with her own family. And so they sat down and went over everything, and it just made sense. So they got a white dress and a suit and went to the state building to sign all the paperwork, and said some lines in front a judge. I’m assuming. There’s only one photo Mom has, and she’s got it hidden away somewhere back home so that she never has to look at it again. And then she just went right back to what she was doing. And he did whatever he was doing, and they had me.”

For a moment, Damien isn’t in the backyard. He’s in his childhood home all over again, all of six years old, hidden away in his bedroom and crouching down behind the door with both hands clamped over his ears as the sound of shouting leaks through anyway. He can feel his heart pounding, threatening to break through his ribs, wanting to be anywhere but here. Here, where he is too small to be the root of so many problems and fights. And too small to even try to fix any of it.

A goose honks above him, and when he blinks, he isn’t there anymore. He’s outside, and Huxley’s left the garden to come sit on the step below him. How did he get there without Damien noticing?

When he looks down, Huxley’s hand is hovering over his own. Unsure. Damien hasn’t talked about his home life much, hasn’t gone into a lot of it, and he isn’t used to saying aloud the things that linger in the back of his head every day, like ghosts. He flips his hand, palm-up, and wraps his fingers around Huxley’s. Whether it’s for Huxley or for himself, he isn’t sure, but he squeezes anyway.

And then he continues.

“Things… were weird,” he says. “When I was younger. There was always something different about my parents, and the way they acted together, but I didn’t really understand it. And they fought a lot, about so many things. About me, sometimes.” A lot of the time. “I don’t remember when I realized they didn’t love each other. It just… crept into my brain one day. It was just there. They didn’t love each other, but they still tried to stay together, for… fuck, I don’t even know. For the sake of it, maybe. Or to save face. Didn’t want their reputations tarnished, especially not Mom’s.”

He laughs, but there isn’t really anything funny about it. “But the fighting just got worse. A lot worse.”

Huxley squeezes his hand back.

“It was loud, and vicious.” Damien can hear the raised voices through muffled ears even now. “For a little while they tried to… not be together, but stay in the same house, and that was worse. The seeing other people in secret, the fear of someone finding out. I hated being home, because it was always so tense. Everything was just building, and building, and building. Like a pressure cooker. Something was going to happen, I just didn’t know what.”

“Dames…”

Damien keeps going, because he knows if he stops now, he’ll never get that momentum back. Like a boulder rolling downhill, he can’t stop. It’s now or never.

“It all came to a head one night. I remember that—it was a Thursday. I was doing homework in the kitchen. I don’t know what started it. Probably just something small and stupid, but with how things were… it was like a match. Things escalated fast, and it got physical, and I didn’t see it, but Mom says they were on the staircase when my dad grabbed her shoulder and slammed her back against the wall, and fucked it up. Her shoulder still hurts sometimes.”

That was when the police got involved. The unempowered police specifically, to keep the magic world from finding out about it. They put Damien’s father in handcuffs, kept him for a night, and then he was bailed out the next day by a friend of his with a no-contact order and—finally, finally—divorce papers.

He moved out with all of his things, was enrolled in anger management classes by the state, and Damien didn’t see him for almost a year. Even then, it was for a few supervised hours every other weekend, and he dreaded them like he’s never dreaded anything else in his life. They didn’t last too long, though, because soon his father just… stopped requesting visits. Stopped showing up. Maybe he found a family he actually wanted to be around. Damien doesn’t know, and he isn’t sure he wants to, either.

“The fact is, that he’s gone,” he says, the words spilling from his tongue as he remembers. He’s reaching the end of his story. “And it was so long ago now that it’s really just been me and her. But… I think about it a lot. And I know that—that it won’t go that way, like it did with them, but… I wonder maybe what if it does? A marriage is just a… just a legally-binding, recognized union between two people. That’s the definition on paper. It’s just a fucking contract, technically. But it isn’t that to me. It’s… it’s screaming from down the hall, and hiding in the bedroom to stay out of the way, and holes punched through walls in anger, and it’s cops, and it’s… it’s all these other things. The thought makes me sick.

“So… so if that’s what you want to talk about, Hux, then I am so, so, so fucking sorry. But I don’t think that’s something that I can give you. And I hate it, if it is, because I don’t want to hurt you. But I can’t, and I’ve known that almost all my life. I can’t risk it.”

There. That’s it. That’s all of it, the ugly and horrible truth, out in the open. The selfish truth. Damien feels like he’s been scrubbed raw and left exposed.

[themournwatcher]

wip whenever

was tagged by @greypetrel, here is an old wip of a d&d character's backstory featuring an ex-situationship? idk what terms the kids use. thinking abt cleaning it up. sexual content mentioned but like it's not explicit. idk teen rating ig. POV is a trans man btw

————————————

The warmth of K’yokos’s breath on my neck drove me insane. He insisted on holding me in his bed like a lover, when I would rather get up and clean myself off before he grows too comfortable with me in his arms. If he falls asleep, he’ll be even more agitated when I pry myself away from him. His arms were a heavy weight across my side, and a lump I laid against while I pretended to be pleased with his performance. I never am. 

“I need to get dressed,” I hissed when I had enough of him breathing on me. I couldn’t stand it, the warmth on the back of my neck. The feeling of him looming behind me, and holding me down. I threw his arm off from around me and stood up, ignoring his requests to get back into the bed with him.

“Where are you going?” K’yokos complained. He sat up in the bed, not bothering to grab the furs to cover himself. There hadn’t been much need for modesty between us in years. “You come home from your missions, share the bed with me, and then you are gone again seemingly before I have the chance to blink. Is the thought of staying a full night with me truly so horrible?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. K’yokos wasn’t the one who was being sent away to Khorvaire every few weeks. K’yokos also wasn’t the one who had political ground to cover; Larniss had made sure of that when she threw me to the wayside in her grapple for control of the Council of War. 

“I have to speak with Tazdrin,” I said. The one responsible for overseeing my ventures outside Xen’drik, he hadn’t summoned me at all. I just didn’t want to give K’yokos the chance to try to convince me to stay. He always did. Tonight would be no different. Behind me, I heard the bed creak as K’yokos rolled out of it. “He has another task for me,”

“Another one so soon?” K’yokos grumbled. I could hear the irritation in his tone as he joined me at the edge of the bed. I tugged my leather trousers up over the dips in my hips, silently cursing the fact that I could feel his eyes on me. “Did you not bring back that healer? Is that not good enough for them? For you? You could decline to go out again, I know it. Your superiors are pleased.”

At least someone is pleased. I glanced up to the mirror that leans precariously against the wall. I know that K’yokos didn’t care much for vanity. Likewise, I knew that it was something he had acquired for me, after every tryst that I would spend complaining that I could not preen over myself before I left his quarters. It was a thoughtful gift, in more ways than one; at least I could see my own reflection when K’yokos was disappointing me in the throes of his own passions. 

Now I could see the lines of worry etched into his face as he wrapped his arms around me again. I fought a grimace. It was his way of distracting me from dressing. My shirt and my cloak were still abandoned somewhere on the floor, but at least my hair was still tied up, even if terribly disheveled. “You know very well why I will continue to heed Tazdrin’s summons. If I can truly find some way to put a stop to this conflict, they will have no choice but to allow my advancement in the Council of War.”

His breath was against my neck again, and his hands were warm as they roamed my bare waistline, but his tone had turned suddenly frosty. “Again with this political intrigue. You could put it aside. Larniss made a move to advance herself; so what? Why do you need to get back at her so terribly?”

“She was supposed to be my friend,” I snapped. I pushed his hands off of me again and stood up, abandoning him on the edge of the bed. The distance between us seemed suddenly less like a few steps and more like a ravine as I fished my shirt off of the floor. It was inside out from K’yokos’s haste–or maybe my own. I couldn’t remember. I quickly turned it the right way and tugged it over my head. “And it is not about ‘getting back’ at her. It is about restoring the respect and the acumen that I lost when she made a mockery of me!”

“So you are going to keep perpetually throwing yourself headlong into danger until you feel that it has been restored?” His retort sent a flame right into the pit of my stomach. “You are going to get yourself killed one day, Ranaghar.”

“And I suppose you would prefer it if I remained idle and in place, content to spend every night here with you!” Normally I would not be so blunt with my words, but I had enough of K’yokos’s cowardly pining. I wanted him to say what he meant. “Where has your courage gone? Or is that what you are sheathing inside of me on the nights I choose to be with you?”

I could see his reflection in the mirror behind me, but I chose not to. I focused on my own face. My own body. Every inch of it was mine to do with as I pleased, and what didn’t please me was of no interest. I was more rugged than I had been the last time I warmed his bed; weeks and months living abroad and in the wilderness had done that to me. My shoulders were stronger, my arms and hands quicker, my feet lighter, but nothing could wash out the plush weight that gathered at my stomach, my thighs. Not that I wanted it to. It was another form of weaponry, if I so pleased, and I would direct every inch of it at K’yokos until he learned that history meant nothing to my freedom. 

“You’re being mean,” he said softly, and I knew that my words had hurt him. Good. I thought that he would start to understand, and I even collected my cloak up off of the floor, but then he opened his mouth to speak again. “I don’t know what you feel you have to prove to everyone.”

I didn't even have it within me to heave a sigh. A sigh would be passive and resigned. I was anything but those things as I wheeled around to face him. I stepped forward, trapping him back on the bed as I leered over him. “How dare you! You, who has never had to prove a thing to anyone your whole life! You are content in your idleness and your place, and you are content to mold me into a domesticated man, here to welcome you home each night and soothe your aches as you return from battle!”

“I had to fight for every inch I took, and I am still fighting! I am not your lover, K’yokos, and I am hardly your friend; I finally think that you are beginning to understand me, and every time I am left underwhelmed. Not only that, but I will be the one to stop this war, and I will leave this place again and again, if only to be rid of you and everyone who thinks I should simply take the blows given to me!”  The silence after my words was ringing in my own ears. A strange expression overcame K’yokos’s face; remorse, perhaps, but I was hardened to my own pity. I glanced at the mirror again, finally satisfied with the sight. Before he could have the chance to beg me to stay once more, I donned my cloak and left. By any luck, I would be gone again before the sun rose.

FIN

tagging @amatres @bitchesofostwick @demandthedoodles @fenharel-apologist94 @vahingoniloinenlapsi @beastofmoss @oopsalltes @flashhwing

[bluewren]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for tagging me, Mel!! @melisusthewee

This is a card fic that I pick at from time to time.

She watches as Blackwall peal up one side on the each pile cards then releases for his cards to revolve over one another. A beat forms as the cards click clack over one another, Cassandra finds it similar to the sensation of running a whetstone over her sword. “What are you playing?” Blackwalls deals out cards from his hand, more focused on the rhythm of the flick of his hand than the gaze of the Seeker’s curiosity.

“Nothing at the moment.” He mumbles. “This is more a force of habit, from back in the days when I had my own troops to look after. Care to play a round?”

“I must admit that I never dallied with soldiers enough for them to offer me to be part of their games.” Cassandra raises a brow, although still choosing to take the seat opposite of the Warden.

“You’re respected by every soldier at Skyhold, and fought hard enough for everyone to fear you just as much.” One last card gets flipped up, Diamonds, then he places the deck over it. Soldier to soldier, Blackwall extends the invitation with a smile on his lips. “Perhaps it’s time for you to see how the rest of us grunts enjoy ourselves. The rules can be learned along the way.”

“I do find it humbling that you see me as one of your own.” She lets go a short giggle, her neck slants back by shock at Blackwall's comment. ”Deal me a hand.”

He slides over one hand, then places Eight Spades on the table. “The suit of the card at the bottom beats everything. A higher rank of the matching suit beats my card.”

Cassandra watches the card fall onto the table. Her hand slowly extends out with the Jack Spades, cautious as a baby taking her first steps. This past time that she seen on top of crates from several dozen of her soldiers might as well be an Orlesian ballgown to her, awkward and ill fitting for her hands.

Watches Blackwall glides a Jack Clovers onto the table like an arrow flying to its mark.

She looks down at her cards, unfortunately no Clovers. She looks up and sighs. “I am without a card to play.”

“Then you can go pick those up.” Blackwall asserts, his hand flippantly gestures to their board. “They’re your’s now.”

“What has just happened?” The Seeker gawks, flabbergasted by the nonsensical interaction slide up and down between the board and her opponent.

All that Blackwall has for her was dry laughter. Barely an itch on his beard, everybody has started somewhere but she simply had all the tells of a beginner.

“Beginner’s luck isn’t always a thing. Just keep going at it.” He tries with all his might to not widen his smile. “You can take this too.”

A second Jack is added to Cassandra’s defeat.

“Ugh. Nothing about this game makes any sense.” Cassandra blurts out.

“Just keep going at it.” He repeats while drawing three from their deck.

They continue onto the second round. The rules slowly begin to seep into Cassandra’s head, this travesty of a game slowly starts to have some sense to her. Blackwall plays one, sometimes two of the same rank, then Cassandra does the same. This time, she closes six pairs of cards using the cards gained from previous losses. Then Blackwall gathers them all up and castes them aside.

Cassandra places down her own card, then Blackwall does the same. Slowly the exchanging of turns becomes a rhythmic act to one another, the cards demanding less of her attention than the words between two friends.

“It’s feels like there are cards missing. Why have I yet to see a two or a three.” She narrows her brows at the cards in her hand. Feeling bright about her revelation, but also cheated in the same breath.

“I’m not sure how that started, possibly from workers who couldn’t afford a second deck after they lost those cards.” He places down a card to match Cassandra’s. “We’ve been here for a couple months now, how has Skyhold been treating you?”

tagging: @cleverblackcat | @ficbrish | @varric-tethras-editor | @maebird-melody | @manallakhuna | no pressure to participate though!

[agirlnamedhagrid]

Tagged by @ereborne​ what feels like years ago (but realistically was probably only weeks?)

Apparently the game is to post the last line I wrote and tag as many people as there are words in it. But I am 1) very bad at ending my work with a fun/interesting/informative one-liner and 2) truly I am @ereborne’s junior and so I’m going to play the game that way - which means I am choosing a short(ish) snippet of my WIP.

This is from a fairly early scene - a take on the return of the prodigal, but from the escort’s POV:

Maeve rolled her eyes, “Men. Human, magic, you’re all just walking egos.”

“And you have so much experience?” Something unpleasant fisted in his gut. He didn’t want to think about Maeve and other men. He waved his hand, dismissing both the jealousy burning his stomach and whatever reply she was working on. “Forget I said that. Welcome back to Patrick House.”

Maeve turned, hiding her expression as she stepped out of the truck and looked up at the house. Rhys followed, exiting from his side and pausing to take in the view.

The oversized farmhouse still took his breath away, holding itself with the pride of a castle on the top of the hill. A deep porch wrapped around the front and sides while honeysuckle and jasmine twisted together across the railing and up the walls. The mountains that sheltered Shadow Lake provided a dramatic backdrop to the house sprawling across the hilltop with a view of the dark lake below. The town filled the opposite side of the valley, climbing into the mountains across from the Patrick homestead.

Rhys knew the layout of the town as well as he knew his own name. Shadow Lake was his, plain and simple. It would always be home.

He reached in the back to pull out Maeve’s suitcase as she walked up the flagstone path towards the porch.

“Do you maybe want the key?”

She lifted a hand in the air, waving off his question. Bemused, Rhys watched as she easily twisted the heavy bronze knob. He could have sworn he remembered locking up.

Maeve turned and smirked over her shoulder. “One bit of magic that’s never failed me. No one in the family has ever been able to lock me out.”

Laughing, Rhys followed the witch inside. The décor was. . . eclectic. Shannon Patrick may be a famously powerful creature, but she lacked an eye for fashion. Or organization. Mismatched bookshelves lined the walls of the front room, filled with books ranging from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to Contemporary Lunar Herbalism. Small trinkets from around the world peeked out from every nook and cranny. A scarred axe leaned against a small stack of wood on the hearth. An unstrung bow rested in a corner, jumbled up with a daisy yellow umbrella and one blue rainboot. There was no sign of the boot’s mate.

And this little exchange is from the scene I’m currently working on. It makes me smile because a recurring theme/phrase has been the fact that no, there definitely aren’t [supposed to be] wolves here but actually there are definitely wolves and it’s a problem(TM):

“I’m impressed you fought back at all.” A low whistle made sure everyone’s attention landed on Dare. He shrugged, seeming unconcerned by their focus. “Pack battles are dangerous, but a wolf pack against one human? Impossible odds.”

Kyle frowned. “I didn’t think there were any wolves in these mountains.”

The chorus of “There aren’t.” echoed around the table but lacked conviction.

[conron]

warning: work in progress

what’s up everyone B) i think i’m gonna start posting some of my wips and such as i write them bc i want y’all to read and give feedback!!! bc i usually don’t have motivation to finish anything and i need some pls. so ya, hope u enjoy. and here’s the tags!

mikey x reader, bad descriptions of fighting???, baji is a menace LMFAO, reader is in toman, reader has established place in toman obvi, out of character SORRY, uhhh that’s it. no warnings.

he remembers when she asked him to go to her school dance with her. well here they are and he’s about to dance with her. but he can hear the ring of his phone and he answers it to hear draken asking him something. he dreads to see her face when he tells her but she only gives him a smirk as she asks to stop by her house.

when they saw her, they all almost couldn’t believe their eyes. it was against an opposing gang and they were all beat to hell. a lot of their members were absent because of the dances that were all over the place. not even their leader was in the fight as he’d gone with the girl to her dance.

they heard the engine ring through the cold air and draken scoffed. everyone looked to him and baji, and they only grinned.

“it’s mikey’s CB250T…”

the rest of the members gasped and through the night sky, they all saw headlights come into the parking lot.

but what they weren’t expecting….

was a girl holding his shoulders while standing on the backside of his motorcycle. she had her signature smirk as she held onto mikey’s shoulders.

a fancy dress trailing through the air behind her. makeup done on her face and her styled hair being ruined by the wind. mikey himself wearing an unbuttoned suit coat. with his tie being half way undone, lazily hanging on his neck.

both of them having their toman jackets flying through the air thrown over their shoulders. the motorcycle screened to a halt and mikey kicked down his stand. he adjusted the trench coat lazily draping over his shoulders as he sauntered over to the group in his normal boots.

she jumped off and looped her arm with his. she smiled happily as she waved at the guys. her other hand adjusting her own toman jacket on her shoulders.

draken quickly moved his eyes to her shoes because he remembers from when he went with mikey to meet her earlier that night.

she had stepped out of her home with a smile. and draken wondered if this was the same girl he fought next to every week. her dress only was fitted on her torso and the rest of the dress lay wavy just above her ankles.

the torso piece having a floral print and looking beautiful. she had makeup done that made her almost unrecognizeable and her hair was styled and looked it was meticulous. her feet having heels on that she walked flawlessly in as she strolled up to them.

draken elbowed mikey as he coughed and sputtered. the taller boy laughed out kid at his red and flustered face as he looked at his date.

“mikey, you’re supposed to say something about now.”

“ken shut up, you can go now.”

the girl laughed softly as she held mikey’s hand. the boy trying to brush away his flusteredness, he kissed her knuckles. she cocked her head at draken and smiled up at him

“thanks for coming to see him off draken!”

he patted her shoulder and grinned down at her.

“don’t think i came just to see this little menace off. i came to see you too. we don’t get to see our princess look like this everyday.”

she laughed with a blush dusting her cheeks as mikey stared at her.

“aw you’re flattering me, please. you sound like a father.”

draken lightly punched her shoulder and mikey gave him a death stare. and there they both rode off to her school for the dance she asked mikey to go with her on.

draken looked down at her shoes and he could see, they weren’t the black heels she was wearing in front of her house.

they were her ratty black combat boots. the ones she wore everytime they had to fight.

right as he realized, mikey and her sauntered up to their gang. mikey smiled easily and she beamed at the beat up boys she’s grown to call her friends.

“you guys need help?”

she happily asked. baji let out a small tch as he examined her appearance.

“didn’t know we needed our leader and princess to come back.”

both of their eyes glossed over the boys on the ground. most barely able to be standing and their captains bruised but smirking at the two. they both eyes eachother as her arm left his. they both sauntered up to the front of the opposing gang, a lot of them bruised but still standing.

the opposing gang leader laughed at the two dawned in a suit and dress. throwing laughs and taunting words as the rest of the gang laughed.

“you wanna dance, princess?”

mikey said just loud enough for her to hear. a hand lazily put in his pocket as the other held hers. she eyed him as she laughed.

their gang staring up at them as they could only see the wind lightly blowing mikey’s trench coat and her toman jacket. baji and draken only standing on watch to see if mikey called for them if they needed it. she leaned closer to him as her eyes were focused on a certain neanderthal laughing a little too loud at the front.

“you go for the leader, i’ll make a way for you?”

he kissed her knuckles over the laughs of the losers who hurt his gang. a glint in his eye as he smiled into her hand.

“sure thing, princess.”

as if she was itching to do so, she quickly pulled her hand away from his warm lips. her fist quickly shutting up the boy who laughed obnoxious in front of her. the gang had gone silent as the boy held his now bleeding nose.

“what the FUCK”

draken and baji were ready to step in, as she had never taken on an entire gang by herself before. as the boys spat and sputtered at her, she only smirked in reply.

quickly, her unblemished fists getting bloody as she beat down the boys in front of her. her dress getting wrinkled and ripped as she kicked her opponents. mikey only smiling as he walked over the incapacitated bodies and right over to the leader.

true to her word, she lead a path straight to the leader and beat down anyone who tried to come at mikey. to say the least, everyone was impressed. she was savage and nothing held her back even when her dress was so ripped that one could see her shorts underneath.

as mikey reached the leader and the older boy cackled down at him.

“oh? so you need your little dog help you take down my men? since the rest of your gang couldn’t-”

the boy was quickly shut up with a swift kick to his temple. mikey stared down with hard eyes at the boy. the leader now coughing and spitting at the dressed shoes in front of him. he picked up his polished shoe and shoved it against the boy’s face with force. he leaned down close and smiled down as the boy sleazily blinked up at her.

“look around, and guess who the dog is now?”

mikey said with pride as the man under his shoe looked around at the groaning bodies of his gang. she was finishing up with the last few members as they tried to trip her but were quickly over powered. he turned his eyes back to mikey.

“you lost. your gang is now mine. you’re right under my foot.”

the leader muttered nothings under his breath. mikey had lost all patience for the man as he kicked the man’s gut.

“your gang all got beat by one toman member.”

mikey stared down with disgust at the man. he felt compelled to spit on him but thought against it.

“never forget it.”

he turned his head to see the girl give a final kick to a sputtering boy. looking around at her handiwork, she put her hands on her hips. members scattered across the ground and her standing victorious.

she looked back at him with a wide eyed look. her hands were not only bloodied but bruised. her dress was not only completely ripped but dirty. ripped so far up, that you could see her knee length shorts. she had bruises all over her body and a bloody nose.

her makeup barely noticeable now as she smeared her bloody nose and busted lip. her hair absolutely all over the place as she had not pulled it back into a braid like she usually did. the jewelry she meticulously picked out was no longer shining and instead stained with blood.

he felt guilt pool in his stomach. this was supposed to be her night. he didn’t want this for her.

but even so…

even so-

she smiled brightly and walked over to him. she put a hand in her hip and stared down at the groaning leader next to him. her voice, however, came out as beautiful as it did when she talked with him at the dance.

“you all done here?”

he nodded and shouted to the members who could still hear him.

“toman won this fight! your leader is down. these two gangs will now merge. you all are part of toman now.”

the remaining members grabbed their old leader and slinked off. as motorcycles rode away, he turned back to her.

all bloodied and bruised like this. she was so excited for the dance. happily asking him if he’d go with her because she had no one else to go with. someone who only brought destruction wherever he walked.

but still she smiled at him with a busted lip. playfully curtsying at him.

“thank you for this dance.”

he grinned back at her before walking back over to his gang. the boys, not staring at him, but the girl. gasping, as she had forgot that her gang was still beat up, ran to them quickly. she brought her hands close to her mouth as she asked.

“are you guys okay?! broken bones?!”

“calm down princess, i think we’ll live. right boys?”

baji asked the rest of the members. all of them groaning out in agreement. she sighed in relief before draken slung an arm around her.

“though, you-“

he pointed a finger to her chest.

“you really handed those guy’s asses back to them.”

she flushed and bowed her head.

“it- it was nothing at all. i’m sure you or baji could’ve done it in a second.”

draken chuckled and shook his head. walking with a slight limp to face his gang with her under his arm. she stared down at her old combat boots with a blush.

“hey!”

draken’s voice boomed over to the boys and in the sky. she quickly tried to leave but he kept her firmly in place.

“she took down that entire gang for us! be grateful and let this be a lesson for all of you.”

the boys stared up at the two before one yelled out her name. then others began chanting with him. and soon everyone was chanting her name. draken soon began laughing and she could only follow.

baji walked up to the two with mikey next to him. baji had a faux looking despair at her appearance as he wiped fake tears.

“our- our little princess… tarnished! dirtied!”

“i’m surprised you even know the word tarnished.”

“yknow what, i’m happy you got fucked up.”

she laughed at baji’s face as she knocked a fist against his chest. her finger then going to lightly touch his nose. to which he let out a seething breath as he stared with daggers in his eyes.

“aw fuck you too and your broken nose!”

they all laughed as baji tried to poke her own broken nose. the two ran around the empty parking lot as mikey smiled at the rest of his gang. he bid them all to go home and said that they’d have a meeting tomorrow night. they all left with shouts of thankfulness for the girl with the ripped dress. to which she yelled for them to get home safe and heal up as she dodged another one of baji’s hands.

“GET BACK HERE”

“FUCK YOU BAJI!”

the two both laughing loudly as they ran around like children. draken sighed and wondered aloud where they had the energy as he looked down at mikey. the smaller boy having a placid smile as he watched the two chase eachother.

“how was your dance, mikey?”

the boy was silent for a moment. his smile slowly disappearing.

“we didn’t even get to dance before we came here.”

draken cocked his head before sighing and sitting down on the pavement. streetlights illuminating the parking lot. he watched as baji finally bopped her on the nose. but he had jumped across to do it and they both collided with eachother. mikey joined him, crossing his legs.

“it looks like she doesn’t mind.”

her laugh resounded as her and baji lied there with tangled limbs. the boy yelling at her to get the fuck off of him.

“i dunno what she’s thinking but.. she didn’t deserve this.”

to be beaten up in her fancy dress. to be bloodied, on what’s supposed to have been a great night for her. yeah she didn’t deserve it, draken could agree with that. but she was still smiling, even with bruises on her body. she slapped baji on the face with a smile as he called her fat as fuck.

“then make it up to her mikey, it’s that simple.”

mikey was picking at the laces of his dress shoes his sister picked out for him. her squealing at the fact that he was actually going on a date with someone. he grimaced.

“what can i even do..”

draken gave him a hard slap on the back. to which, mikey coughed and readied a fist to punch back.

“you’ll have to figure that out for yourself but…”

before mikey could land his punch, the boy pulled out his phone and showed mikey a picture. it was a picture taken a few hours ago, right before they left for the dance. her standing next to him, just a centimeter taller than him in her heels. she was leaning into the side of his body with their arms linked. she was trying not to laugh at the annoyed expression draken had on whike taking the photo while mikey laughed with her.

mikey slowly took the phone. his thumb lightly tracing her face. he looked back up to see her from afar, laughing. she laughed with baji as they sat next to eachother. draken crossed his arms and smirked at the boy.

“i’m sure, as long as it’s with you, she won’t mind.”

mikey held the phone for a few more seconds before handing it back to draken.

“send that to me.”

“you got it.”

his eyes saw her get up with baji’s help before he picked her up bridal style and ran around some more. she yelled and kicked in his arms, laughing that he’d going to drop her. to which the boy only ran faster and threw her up in the air. mikey was silent for a moment before smiling to himself.

“thanks kenny”

“of course mikey.”

baji was now in front of the two boys as he held the girl in his arms. he dropped onto one knee and she giggled quietly.

“i have delivered you a package m’lord.”

he then offered her body to mikey like it was a sacrifice. the leader smiled at the scene and she waved at him happily.

“sorry if it’s heavy…”

she gasped and stared at the man holding her.

“BITCH-“

the boy cackled some more before dropping her in mikey’s lap. draken laughed at the display as baji sat next to him. the two talking and laughing about themselves.

the girl laid in mikey’s arms as he stared down at her. she smiled at him and he solemnly smiled back. his eyes looked more dead than usual. sensing that something was wrong, she put a hand on his chest. he only sent a small smile back, much to her confusion.

she put a hand on her head and dramatically stretched in his lap.

“your princess of toman is oh so tired from the foes she had encountered. all she asks is for you to take her home?”

“geez mikey i dunno if you can refuse her…”

“let’s make a run for it and leave her here!”

“hey!”

her arm reached over to smack baji’s thigh. the two taller boys only laughed before getting up. draken whispered something to the raven haired boy before he smiled back down at the two.

“have fun lovebirds, we’re gonna go and heal up.”

“try not to pass out on your motorcycle.”

they both rolled their eyes at the girl’s words before waving behind their backs. hearing their engines grow far, she moved her attention back to the boy of the lap she was lying in.

he was sitting staring into the darkness of the night. eyes not focused on anything and her heart was bleeding at the sight.

“hey. mikey.”

she lightly smacked his cheek a little.

“what’s wrong?”

he kept silent for a moment, trying to think of an answer. what was wrong? the fact that she was looking at him with a concerned look even though she had a black eye. he felt terrible.

it was when he realized that she was precious to him. that he was upset she was hurt. that her feelings mattered to him.

“do you feel bad?”

his thought were silenced as her voice asked him one question. he brought his head down to stare at her. she was smiling softly at him, her busted lip drawing blood again.

“it’s alright mikey.”

he slowly wrapped his arms around her body as he ran his hand through her hair. his face being brought closer to hers.

“this was supposed to be your night.”

he stared into her eyes, hoping he’d find anger. disappointment. anything.

but…

“and it still is. did you see everyone cheering for me?”

“that doesn’t count.”

“to me, it does.”

he could only see satisfaction in her eyes. she spoke happily and was sure if her answers. he thought about what people normally think a princess was.

royalty. regal. mature. fancy and poofy dresses and an always clean face. always with a prince or suitors. always being saved by a knight.

well to him, a real princess was sitting right in his lap. she was childish and definitely was not royalty. he can only remember her wearing a toman uniform. she was bloody and you could always see her with bandages on her face.

she qas their princess. the tokyo manji princess.

he laughed softly and looked at her with care in his eyes.

“you’re really something else, princess.”

“mmm you too, leader.”

she rubbed her cheek against his chest and he felt his heart squeeze. how could he hold someone so precious? something so beautiful.

he slowly stood up and jostled her in his arms. he held her in his arms like she was fragile stamped on her. burying his cheek in her hair, he slowly walked to his babu. sitting her down, he sat down in front of her.

her arms going immediately around his waist as she rubbed her face on his back. he didn’t care that his suit jacket was getting bloody. didn’t care that it was almost midnight.

he drove at a comfortable speed, letting the spring air fill his senses. the wind blowing his hair as her warm hands made his stomach do flips.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Search No More

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Words: Guessing cuz I’m on mobile again, 1.5k?

Summary: Andy has a new job and needs you to save him from forced camaraderie.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex), alcohol consumption by adults of appropriate age, Neal Logiudice (cuz fuck this guy), SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: Another one from the WIP folder that is specifically for @imanuglywombat’s “Is that even a sex position?” challenge, week three. I figured a nice soft position would be perfect for our favorite floofy lawyer boi. Please check out the other great fics this challenge has given us and enjoy!

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!!

It had been a slow night at the bar, so your staff practically insisted on sending you home early, Jesse shoving out the door as you protested feebly.

“Take a night off, boss.” He grumbled amicably as he ushered you towards your car, handing you your coat and bag as a light snow started to fall. “Maybe go snuggle with that boyfriend of yours that’s always hanging around. Where is he tonight anyway?”

“There was a new faculty mixer.” You said with an eye roll. “You’re sure you’ll be fine, Jess?”

“We’re always fine.” He said dismissively with a wave of his hand as you climbed into your vehicle.

You texted Andy as you started your car to see where he was and he practically begged you to come meet him at the party, whining about how sinfully boring law professors were. You got the address from him and headed out, arriving in the posh Newton neighborhood in a little under 30 minutes.

There were a few partygoers hanging around outside, and you cursed to yourself when you saw them wearing cocktail attire. Leave it to Andy to forget to mention a dress code. Thank god your dry cleaning was in the back.

You tried to find something relatively conservative and settled on a simple satin sheath that was probably a little shorter than was appropriate but it’s not like you had a lot of options. You started to awkwardly disrobe in your front seat, shimmying out of your jeans and pulling your sweater over your head. A surprising knock on the window made you yelp while you were bent over the console with the back of your dress unzipped to grab your emergency heels.

“Ma’am, we’ve gotten some reports of an extremely attractive woman getting naked in a 2003 Acura, any chance that’s you.” A gravelly voice said behind a blinding flashlight.

You growled and opened your driver’s side door into Andy, almost making him drop his phone in the street. He let out a chuckle at your scowl as you stepped out of the car and straightened up, starting to pull the zipper of your dress up your back.

“I would’ve changed at the bar if you let me know this was a cocktail party asshole.” You snarled at him, turning to let him help you draw the zipper up the last few inches.

“Or, you would’ve gone back to your apartment to try to find something else to wear, and I would’ve been stuck listening to professor McDrones-A-lot talk about torts for god knows how long.”

“Aww, are your new coworkers boring, babe?” You teased him as he wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you inside.

“God, they’re so fucking boring.” He murmured into your hair before turning to introduce you to some ancient man with elbow patches. “Professor Donaldson, this is Y/N.” He said, throwing you a wink. “She was just telling me how interested she is in tort reform.”

“Splendid! Are you a lawyer my dear?”

You shook your head and did your best to listen politely as you glared at Andy over the old man’s shoulder. He gave you a stupid grin before heading to the bar to grab the two of you some drinks.

“What the fuck are you doing here, sweetheart?”

You cursed under your breath and turned to glare at Neal Logiudice, the absolute last person you wanted to see.

“Hello Neal.” You grumbled.

“Get out of here, Wally.” He said, dismissing the professor he had very rudely interrupted. “Go find some other asshole to bother.”

The old man just huffed and gave you a sympathetic pat on the arm as he hobbled away.

“That was rude.” You said, your eyes roaming the room in search of Andy. You didn’t feel like dealing with Neal’s bullshit tonight. “Why are you here Neal? I thought this was a faculty only event.”

“Alumni are invited too. And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.” He growled, stepping closer and invading your bubble. “Cuz you’re definitely not alumni or faculty. You work your way through all the lawyer dick at your bar and come looking for more?”

“Lovely.” You said dryly, frowning at the smell of whiskey that enveloped the man. “You’re drunk.”

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder and turned your head just enough to see Andy scowling behnd you. He slotted himself beside you and wrapped his arm around you in a protective embrace as he and Neal stared each other down.

“Logiudice.” He said menacingly, and you rolled your eyes as the levels of testosterone in the room shot up suddenly.

“Barber.” The giant said with a sneer. “I see you’ve moved on to the leftover dregs of the Newton law community. I hear that pussy’s had every defense attorney cock in town.”

Andy let out an absolutely feral growl and you just managed to hold him back as you glared at Neal.

“Jesus, Neal. Glad to see you’re not bitter.” You said with little humor as your arm strained against Andy’s chest.

“No bitterness here, sweetheart. Just waiting for you to work your way to me.” He leered at you, giving you a lascivious wink.

You let out a sigh as you started to shove Andy away from the idiot, grateful for all your experience manhandling drunks as he fought against you every step of the way.

“He’s not worth it, baby.” You murmured once you had achieved a good amount of distance, your hands smoothing his jacket over his chest in a soothing gesture as Neal let out a guffaw behind you.

“I dunno, I kinda feel like punching him in the face is definitely worth it, sweetheart.” Andy said as he took some deep breaths and turned his gaze back to you.

“Maybe not at your first event for your new job though.” You teased him, tugging softly on his beard and making him grin at you. “Where’s my fucking drink?”

“Shit, I got distracted. I’ll be right back.” He said apologetically, starting to turn away from you.

“Oh no, you are not leaving me by myself again. All I need is to get cornered by some crazy professor who wants to tell me all about bird law.” You said as you tagged after him, the two of you weaving your way through the partygoers as you made your way to the bar.

“What the fuck is ‘bird law’?” He beamed at you after ordering your drinks, leaning against the bar and cocking one eyebrow at you.

“Jesus, I think you might be too classy for me, Barber.” You teased. “We’ve gotta work on your pop culture references.”

The two of you managed to have a relatively pleasant evening, even though you had no idea what anyone was talking about most of the time. But you loved watching how relaxed Andy was around you, and how passionate he got whenever he started to debate with one of his new colleagues. He was in the middle of a particularly heated discussion about the evolution of laws regarding sovereign immunity when he noticed you gazing at him, and his face broke out in a grin.

“You’ll have to excuse me, guys, I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten and I worry I’ve been neglecting my date. Let’s continue this on Monday?”

He made his way through the party, saying some quick goodbyes as his hand rested on your lower back. You let out a soft moan when you reached the foyer and he pressed you into the wall, his lips brushing against yours before he broke away to find his coat.

He returned after a few minutes and wrapped his arms around your waist, his mouth moving against yours hungrily as he guided you out the door.

“Jesus, Andy!” You whined when he lifted you slightly as the two of you made your way to his Range Rover. You bent your knees so your toes wouldn’t drag along the pavement.

“I dunno what you expected when you were looking at me like that, sweetheart.” He teased as he wrapped one arm around you tightly and brought his other hand to fumble through his coat pockets in search of his keys.

“I couldn’t help it.” You murmured in his ear as he pressed you against the driver’s side door, working to open the door to the back seat. “All that law talk does things to me.”

“Yeah?” He muttered around a grin, finally getting the door open and setting you down across the back seat. “You didn’t find it boring?”

“Not when it was you, Professor Barber.” You said in a husky voice, winking at him as he climbed on top of you and pulled the door closed behind him.

“Fuck honey.” He growled as he tossed his coat in the front seat before burying his face in your neck. “You’re gonna need to call me professor more often.”

“Mmm, professor.” You hummed as he ran his teeth over your throat before sucking a bruise over your collarbone. “I had some questions about affidavits I was hoping you could help me with.”

He gave a dark chuckle against your chest as his mouth kept moving lower, his lips brushing over the swell of your breasts as his hands moved under your back to unzip your dress. Once he had it open he yanked it off you and tossed it aside, bending over you again to nip at your skin as you dragged his suit jacket off over his shoulders.

“Why do I feel like you just want to hear me say affidavits?” He teased as you drew his tie off and started to work on his shirt buttons. He wrapped your thighs around his hips and ground himself into you, making you whimper as a fresh rush of arousal flooded your panties.

“Fuck, say more lawyer words, professor.” You whined as he drew the straps of your bra down your shoulders, drawing your breasts out of the soft lace and wrapping his lips around one of your nipples.

“Amicus brief.” He teased as his tongue laved over your nipple and you felt your pussy clench around nothing.

He moved to give your other breast the same soft attention as you worked on undoing his belt, your breath coming in shallow gasps as he worked you over. You finally drew his belt off and he sat up to remove his slacks, his lust blown eyes never leaving yours as he dragged his pants and boxer briefs down over his legs, tossing them on top of the rest of his clothes in the front seat as his cock bounced up against his abs, making your mouth fill with saliva at the sight.

You didn’t give him a chance to dive on top of you again, instead climbing into his lap as he knelt there and sucking his lower lip into your mouth. He groaned against your lips as you brought a hand down to wrap around his dick. You dragged his length through the slick that had soaked your thighs before shoving your panties aside and guiding him to your entrance.

Andy let out a deep sigh as you sank onto him, taking his full length in one smooth motion until he was fully seated in you. His tongue pressed between your lips and curved against yours as you wrapped one hand around his neck and the other around his bicep.

“You’re so goddamn perfect, baby.” He muttered against your lips as he started moving his hips at a languorous pace. “So fucking warm and wet for me.”

“Mmm, Andy.” You moaned as you nipped at his lips softly. “I love having you inside me.”

“Yeah, pretty girl?” He murmured as he started to move a little faster. “You love feeling my big cock in that tight little pussy?”

“Fuck, I need this cock, baby.” You hissed, resting your forehead against his and staring into his eyes. “Nobody fucks me like you do.”

“Shit. You’re squeezing me so good, honey.” He muttered as he ground against you. “I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

“Fuck, I’m so close, Andy.” You whined as his hips thrust against you even harder. “God, right there. I’m gonna cum”

“Do it, I wanna see that cream all over my dick.” He buried his face in your neck and gave one last violent push of his hips.

You let out a cry as every muscle in your body went rigid, your fingers digging painfully into his neck and shoulders. Your pussy clenched around him for a beat before fluttering in your release as your torso rolled against his and a wave of intense pleasure washed over you.

“Jesus, baby.” He murmured as you came down, straightening his legs one at a time as he held you to him tightly.

You were still kneeling and the new angle had him hitting you even deeper than before, making stars burst behind your closed eyelids. Andy bent his knees slight behind you and leaned you back to rest against them as he moved his mouth to your breasts, making you whimper as his tongue brushed against your nipple.

“God, I could spend all night like this.” He murmured as he started pulling you down to him over and over, making you devolve into a mewling, whimpering mess. “My face buried in these perfect tits and my cock buried in that perfect pussy.”

You felt yourself clench around him at the praise and dug both hands in the hair at the base of his skull, pressing his mouth to your chest as you arched into him. His cock twitched inside you in response as he let out a deep groan, his hips meeting yours desperately.

“I’m gonna cum again, shit. You close, baby?” You felt him nodding between your breasts as his hips stuttered. “Fuck, I wanna feel it fill me up. I love when your cum inside me.”

“Goddamn it.” He hissed, and that was it for both of you.

Your knees squeezed his hips painfully as you tugged at his hair, a moan coming from deep in your chest as your orgasm ripped through you. Your cunt fluttered uncontrollably as your muscles spasmed around him, milking his cock for everything he could give you. He shouted your name against your chest and dug his fingers into your waist as his spend filled you up, painting your velvety walls in hot ropes that mixed with your own release and seeped over your thighs in a thick mess.

He collapsed back against the seat with a groan, taking you with him as he still held you tightly. You nuzzled into his neck as aftershocks still shook through you, your pussy clenching around his softening cock at random intervals.

“Well, fuck me Professor Barber.” You teased as he buried his face in your hair.

He let out a groan and grinned at you as he brought his face to meet yours, his tongue slipping between your lips as he kissed you deeply.

“God, I fucking love you.” He whispered without thought as his hands ran over your spine. His hands stopped suddenly as he realized what he’d said and his held his breath as he waited for your reply.

You just buried your face in his chest hair and sighed before whispering “Love you too, Andy.”

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[joyfulexperiment]

Joyful Experiment Day 5: "Facial Proportion Studies," & Day 6: "Alain," charcoal

And you are going to get me into the Circle of Fetes.”

“Bloody likely.”

“Likely bloody. But nonetheless, we’re going.” - My WIP, The Brilliant Hour

(More sketches, art diary, lamentations, etc. below the cut.)

Shivers of horror. The last couple of days have not been my proudest of the experiment thus far. I did watch some informative videos on the mathematics of the face, and while the studies that resulted are not precisely lovely, they were helpful for cementing the principles in my head.

Today I tried to draw my secondary character from my WIP, Alain Renaud, and... did not even get close to accurately portraying him. Noemie was not very accurate either, but somehow I was more okay with that. Alain here fought me every step of the way, which makes sense for a young man who's depending on disguise for his very life.

But I will introduce his character anyway, even if these visuals don't capture him at all. Alain is a difficult character to introduce since the details of his identity form an important part of the intrigue of the first few chapters of the story. He's a twenty-one-year-old chatterbox who fancies himself a philosopher and a wit - but is actually thrives and is much more his true self the more practical and salt of the earth things get. In truth, he does his fastest thinking in an emergency. He has no natural dexterity but nonetheless must pass himself off as a professional juggler. He loves the newly popular coffee, a good laugh, whatever is most up-to-date, and this unusual chance to be insanely on his own in his decisions. He and Noemie are foils and friends, and I love playing with their dynamic.

Now to scrub those drawings out of my mind.

That one pair of eyes, though actually love kind of like his eyes - I'll count that as a win.

[onbeinganangel]

for @skeptiquewrites who sent me a prompt from this list of kisses for me to work with! the prompt was 'we're with family and can't kiss but let's sneak into your old room for a minute' and she asked for a little bit of Perciver. this got a bit out of hand (who's surprised, not me) and it features discussions of coming out to one's family

not beta read and tbh barely edited, this is just straight out of my brain and into your eyeballs since these prompts are meant to be a warmup to working on The Big WIP, so my apologies in advance for any dumb mistakes

harder than i thought

(percy/oliver, 1.3k)

They’ve been dating for almost a year when Oliver decides he’s coming out to his parents and bringing Percy home to Glasgow for the first time. All for his birthday party, because when it comes to one Oliver Wood, it’s always go big or go home.

It’s weird that it’s when Oliver brings it up that Percy realises he’s never been to Oliver’s childhood home. Percy has met the Woods before, of course. Percy and Oliver had graduated the same year, fought the same war, and been generally inseparable way before their relationship crossed the line over from platonic to romantic.

Percy hasn’t been out to his family long either, so it all feels a little fragile, despite it being the surest thing Percy has ever had in his life. Coming out to his family had been slightly underwhelming, after all his overthinking and the practicing of his speech. He had made a big show of clinking his fork against his glass at Sunday dinner, pushed himself up with his sweaty palms flat over the dinner table and announced, as loud and as proud as his shaky voice allowed it, “I’m gay.” His mum had reacted with a casual “as long as you’re happy, love, do you want more roast potatoes? Oh, and do bring Oliver over next week” and that had been only after Bill coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “yeah, we know.” Despite the subdued reaction, Percy had felt lighter for it.

But Oliver has his own plan to air things out with his parents, and Percy will do the same as always until Oliver is ready: pretend they are just friends.

It’s not as easy as it seems. They do it plenty in public, whenever Percy goes to Oliver’s matches or they’re out with friends. But it’s different at home. It’s different because they’re too casual, both at theirs and at the Burrow now.

They wake up tangled up in one other, like one creature with too many limbs. Oliver gets out of bed first and goes for a run and Percy is up and ready to leave for work by the time Oliver is back. It’s way more than the freedom of going on dates in the Muggle world. It’s the way they brush hands softly even while doing the most mundane of things, the way Oliver puts his feet on Percy’s lap when they watch tv together, the way Percy wraps his arms around Oliver’s waist and places his chin on Oliver’s shoulder when he’s cooking or standing in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea. It’s the temple kisses, and the forehead kisses, and the knuckle kisses, the neck kisses, the kisses right on top of Oliver’s gorgeous hair that always smells fresh and minty. Percy’s fear is that he’s too used to all of that. And he’d have to survive Oliver’s birthday party and pretend they’re just friends for as long as it takes.

He takes a steadying breath and fusses with the collar of his shirt for the 900th time. It’s fair that he’s trying so hard. Meeting the parents, even if you’ve met them before, is a big deal.

“You ready?” Oliver’s voice comes from the other room.

His worry must be obvious in his face when he steps into the front room because Oliver’s mouth curls into a small frown and he says, “You don’t have to come, you know? I’ll say you’re a wee bit under the weather.”

“Merlin, no! I don’t want to miss your birthday party,” Percy argues. He really doesn’t.

Oliver crowds in on him, lips brushing Percy’s. “We can celebrate properly when we come back home,” he says, voice low, lips parting and puffing hot air against Percy’s.

“Will you behave, please? We just have to survive a few hours without touching. Stop making it harder than it is.”

“Oh, I could make it harder,” Oliver says.

“Bloody hell, you’re a hazard,” Percy says and pushes him away playfully. “Let’s go, okay?”

“Aye, let’s go.”

*

It’s nice. Nice, in the sense that Mrs. Wood hugs him as if he’s her own and asks about his parents and siblings. And nice in the sense that he can point at ridiculous photos on the walls (most of them featuring Oliver on a broom or posing with one, some featuring a rosy cheeked chubby baby) and say stuff like “Circe, is that what you looked like?” just to receive a deadly stare from Oliver.

It’s torture, though. It’s torture because more than once he finds himself reaching for Oliver’s hand or about to call him “love” before he reins it back in. It’s torture to make small talk with Oliver’s dad because Percy is saying “Yes, sir, I’m the Deputy Department Head now” and making jokes about if they ever have issues with their Floo, he’s the man to get in touch with but what he’s really thinking is “will you hate me when he tells you?”

Dinner is gorgeous and followed by a giant chocolate cake with pieces of fudge on top. Percy is fidgety the whole way through, even after a healthy dram of whisky. The quiet gets to him — a side effect of growing up in the loudest household in Britain, probably. But it’s weird, when it’s just the two of them, Oliver’s parents and his gran, and it’s weird because there’s not much to distract Percy and he just wants to hold Oliver’s hand and squeeze, and not entirely selflessly. They don’t touch but Oliver keeps looking at him, those gorgeous big brown eyes melting through every single one of Percy’s defenses and making him want to touch him even more.

He ends up in Oliver’s room and he’s not even sure how. They’d moved to the living room after lunch, with a Quidditch match on on the Wireless that Percy tried to pay attention to. The quiet had started seeping into Percy’s bones like when you walk into too-cold water at the beach.

Oliver pushes him into the small room at the top of the stairs, follows him inside and closes the door. The room is decorated in shades of blue — the walls, the duvet, the cushions on the bed, the shaggy rug — and covered in Quidditch paraphernalia — posters on the walls, more Little League trophies on the desk than he can count, more photographs of Oliver and his broom.

It’s so Oliver that Percy wants to drown in it. In all the blue of it, all the cosiness and that smell — that smell that has never left, despite Oliver not having lived at home for years. Spicy and minty and homey.

Oliver walks past him, leaving Percy at the door, still observing, committing every detail to memory and walks over to the desk, cocking a hip against it.

When Percy looks at him directly again, he’s smiling.

It feels a little like they’re about to kiss for the first time ever, excepted when they had, months ago, had been tentative and shy and had none of the fire this has. Percy crosses the room and lets himself be pulled against Oliver’s warmth. They just kiss for a while, a steady rhythm that tells Percy he’s not the only one struggling with the pretense.

“Not touching you is harder than I thought,” Oliver says against his spit-shiny lips.

Percy smiles and he sees the moment Oliver’s eyes light up and he realises what Percy is about to say, just before he says it. “Oh, Oli, I could make it harder.”

“You’re a bastard, you know?” Oliver says, but laughs.

Silence stretches comfortable, just slightly tinged with a hint of fear.

“You okay?” Percy asks, after a while, as Oliver tucks his head under Percy’s chin, his breath hot and tickly against the skin on his neck.

“Yeah. They’re not going to have a problem. They’re sound,” he says, and Percy squeezes his hand tight, watching the way Oliver’s eyes fill with apprehension. “It’s just hard, saying it, you know?”

“I know. I’ll be here,” Percy says, for lack of a better answer.

“I know.”

[nightwingshero]

WIP Tag

I was tagged by @minilev and @simonxriley, thank you!!!

Tagging: @strafethesesinners @water-writings @pen-in-hand @theknifegame @chyrstis @smithandrogers @lilwritingraven @chuckhansen @fadedjacket @geronimo-11 @scungilliwoman @shellibisshe @witchofinterest @witchesconstellation @aceghosts @archetypesinthefog and whoever wants to share!

So...my Far Cry 5 babes are coming back.

Wren’s first Baptism and, if you look closely, Randy’s cameo/debut. 

“Don’t kill her! John wants them alive, use the bliss bullets!” Bliss bullets? I pulled my pistol back out, taking aim from around the tree to return fire. I didn’t understand what they were talking about, all I knew was I needed to get the hell out of here, and quickly. I was outnumbered and injured, clearly at a disadvantage. I was trying to come up with a solution, anything, that would help me get out of this mess. A panic attack was beginning to work its way in, and I fought as hard as I could to keep from hyperventilating. I reloaded and my vision swam. Reds and greens becoming vibrant, making anything solid turn blurry. Small lights danced in my vision, I couldn’t tell if they were stars or lightening bugs, or something else entirely. Was I going blind? I began to feel tired, my body becoming heavy. I stumbled from my cover, my mind trying to tell me that that was a terrible idea, but I suddenly couldn’t remember why.

“Ow.” I said as I landed on my knees, my hands palm up as I began to attempt to study them. My body teetered off balance, and I tried to catch myself, rocks and twigs cutting into the very palms I was looking at merely seconds before. I heard cheering far away, but I couldn’t remember where I was or whom I was with. I finally collapsed, my body now too much to hold up. My arms and legs were jelly, my brain like static. My eye began to close as I felt hands lift me. I tried to reach for something before everything went completely black and I was gone.

 “This one?” a male voice echoed as I fought against heavy eyelids to see a blurred night sky. I saw a man in the corner of my eye with a wool sweater and messy hair, pointing to something on the ground.

“No. This one.” Another male voiced, his voice deep and well-spoken. Had it been any other situation, I would dare say it was soothing.

The scruffy man found his way to me, leaning over as he studied me with confusion. “Doesn’t seem very worthy.”

“It is not for us to judge.” The other man came into view, and he was much more put together than his companion. His dark hair was neat, and beard trimmed. He donned a trench coat, giving him an air of importance. “Deliver her unto the waters. The Cleansing begins tonight.” The grungy man reached for me just as I faded back to blackness.

The falling out with John that leads to the Atonement

“I warned you, Wren. I told—”

“Yeah, you told me to stay away. And maybe then it’ll keep the resistance from Jacob’s region, right? That’s what it’s all about, right?” I demanded as my heart tugged painfully. His brow furrowed and suddenly, just like that, I was looking at a mask.

“My brothers mean everything to me, Deputy. I’ll do anything for them.”

“Except open your heart, right?” I sneered as I ignored the jab that I felt at him using my title. “Joseph asked you to love, but you can’t, can you? That’s what he had said to you that night you almost drowned me. ‘You have to love them, John.’ How’s that going for you? How’s Hudson?” He said nothing for a moment, just stared at me. That only made it worse, my insecurities screaming at me, forcing my panic and anger to grow.

“She’s right where you left her.” He replied lowly and my breath staggered as I felt the preverbal punch in the gut. I clenched my fists as tears pooled in my eyes.

“Right. That’s on me. How stupid of me, right? It was so easy for you, wasn’t it?” His brow furrowed a bit before he hid his confusion once more, but it was enough to keep me going. “That’s all it was to you, some fucking game. The ultimate conquest. Get the Deputy to fall in your bed, make her fall for you while the resistance suffered for it. I should’ve fucking known better.” A flash of hurt crossed his features and my mouth went dry as I regretted it immediately. But he only just glared at me and took a step forward.

“What happens between my brothers and I is none of your concern. I wanted you to join—”

“Oh, right. How could I forget about that? Manipulating me by luring me into your fucking bed—”

“I didn’t hear you complaining!” he snapped.

“No, I suppose you didn’t because for once in my fucking life, I believed that someone could fucking love me!” I screamed. “I thought I finally found someone who didn’t ask me for anything, who didn’t want something from me. God, I was so fucking wrong! You’re just like them! You manipulated and lied to me to try and get me to join this stupid cult of yours, so your brother wouldn’t kick you out!”

“I have never lied to you!” he snapped, and he took another step forward as he pointed at me. “I may be a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them. And don’t you dare use Joseph against me. You don’t know anything—"

“Oh?” I laughed bitterly as I took a step forward, forcing him back a step. “I know that you’re scared, John. So fucking scared because Joseph tied our fates together, and I’m still running around causing hell. You were so scared that you fucked me, manipulated me, thinking that it would keep me on a leash, but guess what? It didn’t work, did it?! No! Your brother is fucking insane—" He caught me off by chuckling, dark and bitter. He looked at me with a twisted smirk, anger burning in his eyes. There was a darkness coiling, I could practically taste the wrath coming off him in waves, and I knew then that the line had been crossed.

“What if Joseph was right? Did you ever stop to think about that?” He taunted lowly. “Everyone thinks he’s crazy, but he’s not. Look around you, the world is on the brink. You can feel it in your bones. Look at the headlines. Look at who’s in charge!” he yelled suddenly, making me jump a bit. He grabbed his key, making a show of it. His knuckles turning white as he held it tightly, I thought for sure it would break. “You want this key because you think you’re saving people, but they’re already safe. We have a plan. You don’t understand. You don’t believe. You don’t CARE!” He screamed as he turned away from me, knocking a stack of files to the floor before placing his hands on his hips. His heavy breathing making his shoulders rise and fall rapidly. “So fucking wrathful, you’re looking for every reason to unleash it on anyone who gets a step too close. I don’t think you care about anything else. It doesn’t fucking matter to you, it never did. Our fates being tied…what consequences that come with it. You’d rather let it consume you, even after everything. You’d rather have the emptiness than…this…and that is disappointing.”

My heart broke, shattering into pieces as the silence hung heavy. I took a step back as the tears fell. I turned, grabbing my gear, and ran out the door. I fished out the keys from my pocket as I jumped into my jeep. My fingers shook as I fiddled with my seatbelt. I jumped as I heard the slam of my passenger door. Turning I saw Randy as he put his seatbelt on, giving me a quick nod once he was settled in. I wanted to ask but thought better of it. I just needed to get the fuck out of here. I started the car, put it in drive, and slammed on the gas. Something in me wanted nothing more than to turn around, to apologize. I wanted him, wanted to take it all back. Kiss him until we were both forgiven, everything forgotten. But I couldn’t. There was nothing to go back to.

“Deputy!” Jess called over the radio. “We’re heading to the Jessop Conservatory. You coming?” I looked at Randy and he looked back. John was expecting me to go to Jacob’s region. If he were to send anyone after me, he would send them there. For once, I was thankful for Jess’s timing. I sighed as I picked up the radio.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

Wren’s fight with Faith

“He had to choose, you know. Between saving a Herald—the sister of the Baptist…or you. He chose you.” I turned back with eyes wide, and her tears finally fell. “I thought the Father was taking from me in the beginning, taking who I was away from me. But that wasn’t true. He was giving me the chance to help others the way he had helped me. He offered me salvation. And I want the same for you.” She tilted her head slightly. “I know you see John in the Bliss; I’ve known for a while.” She looked back over my shoulder once again. “If you kill me, Wren, you will have to kill the others because that’s how it has to be. There would be no going back, the choice would be made. It would hurt him; it would hurt John deeply and put things so far into motion that you won’t be able change it. You know this, don’t you?”

I look at the river, flowing swiftly and offering a soothing melody. “Yes,” I whispered. “I can feel it.”

“Which is why you’re standing here in front of me.” She whispered. “I know that you feel it, and we both know that Jacob would be next. Instead of just hurting one side, you will hurt both. You will ruin John, while destroying yourself in that process. One path will lead to John, the other to heartbreak. Is it worth it? Because if it is, continue. Kill me, I won’t fight you. But you can go back, it’s not too late. It’s not too late for both of you.”

[canariie]

under the blue moon

Rating: K+

Synopsis: One of their first meetings at night: though they may have been on different paths in school, under the light of the blue moon, they found themselves coming back to a home they both didn’t know they needed.

Word Count: 3050 words

Setting: Shinigami Academy Days (post Bleach Chapter -16 & somewhere in between Bleach Drama CD Track 08 'Flashback')

Prompt: Hitsuhina Week 2021 Day 2 - Dream / On a Field of Ice 

Authour’s Note: I’m here! I’m here! I know it’s been a while but I have been loving all of the posts that everyone has been doing for this weeks celeberation!!  So lovely to see the hitsuhina community alive :)

Sorry this was late but this has been sitting in my wips for about a year? And I had most of it written but it was harder to finish since it had been so long! However, when I saw the themes for this year’s @hitsuhina-week​, I knew I had to finish it up!

Special shout out to Aoi Tori & Still With You being the songs that I played continuously on repeat to finish this up :)

Enjoy!

—

Momo clutched the fabric of her uniform as she looked dejectedly at the final report. No matter the amount of times that she stared at the red marks on the paper, they didn’t disappear. Her vision blurred as an onslaught of tears pricked at her eyes, making her head hurt. For once this semester, Momo was glad she was alone so her roommate wouldn’t see her in such a sorry state.

At the end of the fifth year were the practical’s that determined what concentrations one would focus on in their last years of study before graduating from the Academy. Momo, Renjii and Izuru were all studying different paths to focus on: Renjii in physical swordmanship, and Momo and Izuru with the demon arts, hers in combat and his in healing. For the past couple weeks, the trio had been studying and practicing almost every waking hour that they were not in class. Also, as part of the advanced class, there was an expectation that one would pass all the practical’s in the first round before continuing on. If not, one had to wait until the next semester before taking the exam again.

Unfortunately, the brown-haired girl had pushed herself to the point of exhaustion. On top of the near sleepless nights, her anxiety had grown inside her, almost crippling her. Momo had usually preferred taking written tests over the physical tests since she could pull things easily from memory. However, the thought of failing the exam had left her mind at a blank when she tried to remember the incantations for the written portion of the exam. The fear of failure haunted her still to the physical component where they practiced different spells and she found herself missing the target—and almost singeing the hair off her professor’s head.

She didn’t wait a second longer after the dismissal and ran to her room, ignoring Renjii and Izuru’s concerned looks. Momo locked herself inside, hiding herself underneath all her many blankets. There was no need to look at the practical results posted outside the Grand Assembly Hall as she already knew it in her heart—she didn’t need to physically see it.

Momo sighed as she looked at the clock in her room, signaling it was way past the time she usually went to sleep. Even the sight of the blue moon illuminating a path on her bed couldn’t cheer her up, and Momo tucked her feet in, pulling her knees tight to her chest. She didn’t know how long she had cried but now she felt exhausted and spent. Skipping dinner didn’t really help her cause and it only left her to focus on the bitter thoughts that replayed and occupied her mind.

I’m so pathetic…how am I ever going to become a vice captain if I can’t even pass the practical’s.

The wind howled outside and she could hear the branch of the tree hitting her window, reminding her of windy nights in Junrinan.

I wish I were home now with Obaa-san…and Shiro-chan.

The tree rapped at her window persistently.

How can I face them with marks like this? What would they say?

Louder and louder the noise grew, competing with the roaring outside.

What a disappointment I am…

The noise grew louder and it as almost as if something knocking urgently at her window. Momo turned her head just as a white tuft of hair popped up, follow by the two scrawny arms of her childhood friend.

“Shiro-chan!” Momo gasped. “What are you doing? You can’t climb in through the window!”

“And why not?” Toushiro retorted as he pulled himself on the ledge. “There’s no one here to stop me.” He looked around, noticing the empty room. “Where’s your roommate?”

“She went home for the weekend,” she responded quickly, distracted by the way the boy was perched on the window sill. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you should have used the dorm entrance! You could have gotten hurt!”

“I climb trees all the time back home,” he replied offhandedly, “Climbing up to your window is no different.”

“That doesn’t matter Shiro-chan! You can still get hurt!” Momo could feel her anxiety pick up as she shook her head furiously, her pig tails whipping around.

Toushiro gave her a pointed look. “Hinamori, didn’t you say you would call me ‘Hitsugaya’ by now?”

She bit back a retort as she did realize, yes that she had agreed to that when he had entered the academy. “It’s still taking me a while to get used to,” Momo mumbled.

He scoffed and settled himself on the ledge. A part of Momo wanted to urgently grab him and pull him inside, for fear of him falling. However, what rooted her on her bed was the knowledge that her deeply inquisitive childhood friend would immediately notice her dried tear tracks—and she did not want him to see her in such a sorry state.

Though she seemed anxious of his safety on the outside, inside she was elated that he was here. It had been a while since they had properly seen each other, with the last time being when she introduced Toushiro to Izuru. The first year was extremely busy Momo remembered, and she had hardly seen Toushiro except for quick glimpses of his white hair moving through the hallways. Their lunch schedules were also different as she had practical’s during the first-year lunch slot—so even those moments were hard to come by. Now looking at him in his uniform, it was the first time that Momo realized how much he had grown into his clothes. It didn’t hang off his slender body, like his clothes in Jurinran did. Almost as if…

“You’ve gained weight,” Momo stated softly.

The boy turned his head sharply towards her. “What?”

Her eyebrows rose in shock, suddenly realizing the misimplications of what she just said. “No-no! I mean you look healthy! It’s a good thing!” Her warm brown eyes crinkled fondly. “I’m happy you’re able to eat more here.”

Toushiro’s eyes widened, before he narrowed them. “I had enough to eat at Obaa-san’s. Not that you would know.”

After he said it, he immediately regretted it when he saw her face fall. Momo grabbed her arms, tucking her them further into herself.

“You’re right,” Momo admitted. “I wasn’t there often for you and Obaa-san.” She sighed dejectedly. “I’m such a terrible person…” 

A silence stretched in between them that no one wanted to fill. Toushiro didn’t know what he had planned that night—words of comfort weren’t really his forté and he didn’t want to get too close to her in case he hurt her. But he knew inside, he had to make sure she was alright.

“I saw the results posted outside the Assembly Hall.” He looked at her with his dark jade eyes. “…how are you?” It was just above a whisper, but something inside her broke.

Her eyes glimmered with tears and could feel a sob crawl into her throat. Though she had not wanted to alarm her dear friend, when she looked into his eyes, she found herself retelling everything. From the hours of study to the actual exam day, as Momo recounted everything she could visibly see Toushiro soften with a look of pity. “I’m so pathetic,” Momo commented as she picked a stray thread on her bed spread, “if I can’t pass the practical’s, how can I even think of becoming a vice captain?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be here…” she turned her face into the pillow, refusing to look at the boy.

Toushiro remained rooted on the ledge, frozen and unsure what to do. He had never seen Momo this dejected before and yet, he didn’t know what he could offer for comfort.

Though it was a couple steps, it felt like a mile-wide gap. His shoulders tucked into himself and he could feel his resolve crumbling. The necessary distance to keep her safe was pushing her further away. Toushiro could see Momo receding back into a shell that was not the confident girl he knew—and it ached inside to see her in such a sorry state.

“And-and I could feel the anxiety in my stomach,” Momo lamented softly. “My mind blanked and I couldn’t remember anything…it was like I was paralyzed.” Even now thinking about it again made Momo want to curl back into a ball and hide away from the shame. Clutching her head, she moaned, “And now my head just hurts…”

All of a sudden Momo felt a cool touch on her forehead. Like a sigh of clarity, she could feel her mind slow down and the dull ache that was throbbing in the back began to dissipate. What felt like a tempest of anxiety inside her chest dulled to a breath of fresh winter air.

Momo looked up in wonderment. “…How?”

Just as quick, Toushiro pulled his hand back, almost as if he had burned himself. “I can’t control it well but that should help your headache for a bit.” His jade eyes flickered anxiously at the proximity. “However, I shouldn’t stay close,” he said as he began to move himself away.

“No!” Momo yelped as she scrambled to pull his hand in. “Please don’t go,” her voice broke at the last note. She couldn’t handle being by herself for another moment longer. Momo looked up and could see an inner storm inside the boy’s eyes. For as much as his body was stiff with shock, his eyes gave it away that he fought a battle within to bring himself to stand by her bedside.  

He sighed in defeat and Momo could instantly feel a lightness in her chest. “I’ll stay…” he managed out weakly. “Just until you fall asleep.”

Time seemed to stretch out infinitely for even the hanging blue moon wouldn’t say what hour it was. What initially was an anguished long sleepless night became a comfortable quiet accompanied by the soft whistles of the wind. Her eyelids fell heavily though Momo struggled to remain awake, determined to be as present as she could now that her friend was here. However, she could not resist the quick falls of slumber, especially when she began to sense soft sapphire lights after she closed her eyes.  

“Your reiatsu…I can start to see it now.” Momo sighed in content.

“Really?” He was shocked as he had just started to work on controlling it. The first years were required in their core classes to practice channeling their reiatsu before proceeding further in the rest of the Shinigami curriculum.

“I don’t think I ever realized before how…blue it was.” She smiled to herself. “It’s like snow—like the first day that I met you.” He too remembered that day well; it was the first one in his memories.

Toushiro was apprehensive as he laid the back of his hand on her forehead. “Does it…hurt?”

“No…It’s actually comforting.” She closed her eyes as she whispered. “It reminds me of home.”

At that point, Toushiro was glad that it was the dark of the night for his ears felt as if they were on fire–and he couldn’t imagine how red his face was. Momo’s breaths had evened and he could see her chest move up and down peacefully. He was glad to see her eyebrows relaxed and a peaceful expression of sleep on her face.

He trailed the back of his fingers down her cheek and could feel the dried tracks of her tears. “Stupid…” he muttered, “don’t keep everything to yourself.”

This was the first time since coming to school that he had tried channeling his rieatsu. Since he had almost unwillingly froze his grandmother to death, Toushiro isolated himself from the rest of his class— in case he had hurt anyone unintentionally. He couldn’t risk hurting anyone so he shied away from handshakes, familiar gestures and cornered himself in the back of the crowd—never close enough to touch another soul. Even now today, he second guessed coming here. It was only seeing the results pinned on the door that cleared his doubts and he took off in the night.  

This was the first time that he was so physically close to someone.

It terrified him to be beside Momo.

It shocked him more that she was comforted by his reiatsu.

He hadn’t seen her for a long time since she was so busy studying. Even though they were now in the same school, he felt even more distant from her. A part of him resented that she had not come home more to visit him and Obaa-san. A small voice would coax in his ear that she had abandoned him and solely him by moving on to new friends. He knew it was irrational to think so but it was difficult to deny himself that bitterness. That being said, he couldn’t fight the feeling of making sure she okay—which as long as he was in school, he could do.  

Toushiro wasn’t rushing to finish his studies; as long as he could control his rieatsu and powers, that was the main reason he would stay.

Well….He looked down as he felt Momo clutch his shirt in her hand.

Maybe that wasn’t the only reason.

--

The dreams had not stopped since he had entered the academy. From the moment he closed his eyes, he could feel himself falling back until he hit hard ground.

It was always the same world.

White plains stretching as far and wide to meet the sunless horizon. There was no sense of day and night. Only the dead spindly trees piercing the sky indicated that life couldn’t continue in this hopeless place. Toushiro always felt like these were the premonitions of his inevitable future, a feeling that knotted at the pit of his stomach.

However, he was never alone. A thundering noise always echoed in the distance but he could never place it. Though far, he could feel its intensity at the tip of his fingers, as if beckoning him to grab a hold of it.

It was only when a grand ice dragon appeared in front of him that it turned dark with a winter storm.

Toushiro had to draw his arms up against the torrid bursts of biting wind. Though it did not move, Toushiro could feel its ancient presence of powers from far before him, holding his stare and rooting him to ground. It was crushing him and embracing him—as if thunder was falling in his palms.

“Who are you!” But a loud burst of wind obscured the thunderous roar of the dragon. “I can’t hear you!” And again and again he would call out, wanting and yearning to learn of this beast—but never would he get far before waking up in a cold sweat.

Until tonight, when the storm receded and the quiet came.

The dragon stood, as if waiting for Toushiro to make the first move. Throwing back his head, he gazed up and stared into his blood red eyes. Maybe he should’ve been afraid of dying a cold death. But instead, he felt a kinship to this icy beast—almost as if they had the same soul. Looking into the beast’s eyes he could recognize loneliness.

And it ached inside him.

“There are things I want to protect with this borrowed strength…”

The desperation clawed from inside of his chest; a deep well of pent up feelings brimming to the surface so much so that he wanted no more than to fling it out as much as he could.

“I want to protect…”

A desire grew inside for the energy that thrummed inside, to take it and use it. To let it consume him and envelop him whole for a now clear goal.

A flash of warm brown eyes appeared in his mind.

“I want to protect her!”

The dragon roared again but this time Toushiro could feel its power resonate inside him, as if he were the one calling out to be named.

“My name is…Hyourinmaru!”

His eyes flew open in shock and his could see his breath appear in a puff of frost. Immediately, he turned his head trying to look at the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Mmhh…Shiro-chan.” He looked down to see Momo’s head against his chest, clutching his shirt tightly. Somehow, in the middle of the night, she had pulled herself onto his chest and tucked herself right under his chin. Toushiro’s visceral reaction was to push her off before she caught hypothermia from him. However, right as he grabbed her shoulders he felt immediate warmth flow into his hands. It traveled through his whole body, alleviating any anxiety that Toushiro had.

Is she countering my rieatsu with her’s?

He could sense a soft red orange glow and warmth emanating from Momo. As she breathed softly against his chest, the warmth grew in intensity, like a candle that flickers during a cold night. It reached inside him to his soul and sent welcome heat throughout his body. Toushiro closed his eyes in content and wrapped his arms around her instinctively.

What was that about?

As if frost had melted off a glass pane, his dream was clearer than ever before. Instead of the sound of thundering obscuring its name, Toushiro had been able to heed the voice of the dragon and even feel it resonate inside his soul. Hyourinmaru...even its name echoed immense power.

For now, many questions were running through his mind. However, a realization as clear as a bell in the night ran through his head.

Toushiro looked down at the sleeping form, blissfully unaware of all that had transpired. Though they were in complete darkness of the middle of the night, the blue moonlight only highlighted her features. Long thick lashes that were once spiked with tears rested gently against his chest. Her mouth slightly open as she sighed in content. Toushiro had never seen Momo look so at peace, which he realized, quelled the inner storm of his world.

This power, it’s meant to protect her…

In the back of his mind, he could hear the roar of the dragon, almost as if in assent.

And with that he closed his eyes—ready to face a new day with his resolution in his arms.

—

Authour’s Note: This was inspired by a post I had seen once talking about how Momo’s fire rieatsu counteracted Toushiro’s icy one -- which was one of the reasons that Obaa-san started to freeze after Momo left. (headcanon post by @alexiethymia) I loved the premise though, especially that I can totally see it as canon that their powers both balance each other out and they really are stronger together :)

I also definitely headcanon that through some revelation concerning Momo does Toushiro finally overcome whatever inner block he has and is able to learn the name of his zanpaktou. Definitely inspired by the drama CDs, I think there’s such rich material that expands on the hitsuhina relationship. In my mind, she’s kind of the like the defroster on his frosty glass that is his mind hahahaha

See you all in the next one :)

[sharkfish]

love ‘em, can’t live without ‘em: early-career writers!

[masterpost of rec lists]

new content creators are the lifeblood of fandom, so here i present stories by folks who have five or less destiel fics published (...so far) as of december 2020!!! 

please give them some love!!! 

under the cut since it got long~ 

the burden of belonging by Newtondale @soft-klaus (8k)

Dean doesn't know where he's going, he just drives.

He meanders. Takes whatever road he wants without worrying about efficiency or speed. He watches the landscape change around him as he heads east, towards the sea. Sometimes he listens to music, and sometimes he doesn’t. Most of the time he just thinks, the way he has always thought best; with an open road ahead and horror close behind.

Cas always comes back to him. Cas has always come back. Whether it takes minutes, or weeks, or months - Cas comes back to him.

But Cas hasn’t come back. How much longer is supposed to wait? Minutes? Months? How long is he supposed to live like this, like there’s nothing else that matters except the space beside him where Cas should be?

So he just drives.

Dean Winchester’s 12-Step Guide to Inebriated Online Retail Therapy for Fallen Angels and Judgemental Brothers With Bad Hair (Suck It, Sammy) by justholdingstill @justholdingstill   (3k) 

Alternatively titled Dean Wayne: The Life & Legend

Dean gets drunk. Dean orders things online. Hilarity ensues.

Hang-Ups by anupalya @anupalya (2k)

A slip of the tongue while hanging up a zoom meeting with Castiel leaves Dean in a panic.

****

Jsksdjdjskal

I'm starting to think you're letting Blueberry walk over your keyboard again.

i'm moving to Thailand

?????

I have to

Dean

I have no choice

... so I take it the meeting went well?

dream root & fumbling through the darkness by visionsofyerface @omnishamblegreg (1.3k)

Dean takes dream root for some fun angsty wanderings into Cas’s head, and then actually goes to the Empty, but Cas doesn't believe it's really him.

How Long? by MinxyOne93 @substitutesalt93 (WIP - 37k)

Dean has been going on reckless hunts by himself. Cas confronts him and all those years of unresolved pining come to a boiling point.

_

"Dean. How long?" The angel said, still quiet but so raw with emotion, eyes still wide with shock.

Dean looked down at the floor and sighed. "Since... always. I knew it for sure in Purgatory. But always." He then added in a near whisper, tears threatening to spill from behind his now closed eyelids, "I'm sorry, Cas."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Castiel felt dumbfounded. The constant loneliness and longing he had sensed from Dean that seemed to grow worse and worse with the passing of years made so much more sense now.

"Dean," was all Cas could say before releasing his grip on his collar and gently, slowly, deliberately, kissing the corner of his mouth. A shocked gasp left Dean’s mouth of its own accord and he melted into Castiel's tight embrace.

It's The Thought That Counts by oceaxe @oceaxe-ifdawn (3k)

It’s Dean’s birthday and while angels have no birthdays, Castiel has a) been around human cultures for long enough to be aware of the nearly universal customs of celebrating the anniversary of a loved one’s birth and b) has been living with humans for long enough that he’s been included in some of those celebrations. But the art of gift-giving continues to elude his comprehension.

Lucky Winner by natmoose @natmoose (32k)

Dean wins a trip to Paris. In and of itself, that’s an amazing thing, but the problem is: he isn’t in a relationship with Lisa anymore, and the trip requires a romantic partner. The obvious choice is Cas, his roommate and best friend of 3 years, but coming with that are some very very complicated feelings and things Dean absolutely doesn’t want to deal with.

But Dean isn’t selfish and also really wants to give his overworked best friend a well deserved holiday, so the only and best solution is to take Cas to Paris, romantic theme be damned. What Dean doesn’t know is that their whole trip will be documented by a photographer from the company - so to avoid their vacation being cut short, Dean and Cas will have to convincingly play a couple.

Once Upon a Falling Star by GrandestBlood @grumpy-mccat (WIP - 3k) 

Alternate outcome for season 5's Endverse where Castiel never lost his grace but he was tricked to retreat back to heaven with the other angels, leaving Dean behind in the refugee camp.

Prompt for this was: The world has ended 500 years ago. You finally went back to Earth and discovered a voice message. You learn a shocking secret about 500 years ago.

Sending A Message by ivebeenpossessedbysatan @ivebeenpossessedbysatan (WIP - 15k)

Castiel Novak didn't expect to be kidnapped. Sure, he'd seen it happen before, but that was all in movies. Just because his mother had married into money didn't mean that someone was actually going to kidnap him and try to ransom him for money.

Only apparently it did, because here he was, tied to a chair in the corner of the most cliché warehouse he'd ever seen.

Why was this is life?

so leave me // at the roadside by LinkInThePark @saminzat (3k)

”This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone out on his own at all, but he was tired of sitting around in the bunker, where the walls seemed to close in on him and the halls were too empty at the same time. Where everything reminded him of what had happened, of the battles they had fought and the people they had lost.

Of the words left unsaid.”

Dean is taking the Impala on a ride, trying to escape everything that's happened... And, in the process, is finally forced to confront his grief. 15x19 coda.

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, but Words Might Get Me Laid by Mrs King of Hell (Slytherkins) @slytherkins (3k)

When Dean's name calling goes too far, Castiel decides to teach him a lesson in manners.

"Take a Sad Song and Make it Better" by Shishquah_CustardTree @shishquahcustardtree (WIP - 27k) 

After being bought and abused by Alistair for many years, Dean Winchester finally gets another chance at life and love by the means of a car crash and a bullet.

The One (1) Time Dean Winchester Tried Something New by archangelgabe @3dg310rdsupreme (2k)

What fun is a relationship that doesn't start with the gross misunderstanding that your crush is hitting on your kid brother?

The one where they get heaven-married by mercurialkitty @mercurialkitty (1.3k)

First a quick chat with Sam in the Impala, then it's off to find Cas.

A finale fix-it where Dean and Cas get heaven-married

There'll Be Peace When You Are Done by diaryofageekgirl @diaryofageekgirl  (5k) 

Somehow, in the middle of severing vamp necks in the dead of night in a run-down barn in Ohio, Dean had a revelation.

Or: nothing stays dead on Supernatural.

This is heaven by madbrilliant84 @madbrilliant84 (800)

“Come on dude! Don’t tell me you don’t know what your legs look like! I bet you could crush melons with those.”

Cas seemed incredibly amused by this. “And that’s something that turns you on?”

Dean smiled while biting is bottom lip. He slowly nodded. His playful tone dropped to something more heated.

“Uh huh. First thing I noticed when I saw you sitting on that bar stool.”

You're Not Alone by Wordsintothevoid @deancas-stan (15k)

Dean has an imaginary friend. Sure, that's weird as hell but he doesn't care. Cas has been there to support him during every horrible thing in Dean's short miserable life and he is not giving up Cas. Sure, Dean may also sorta kinda be in love with him. Oops. And it hurts but Dean will keep it platonic. But then Cas leaves. And then Dean breaks.

We’ll All Arrive in Heaven Alive by invisibledrugs @reasonsweweresinging (1k)

The Winchesters are finally dying, and for good.

But that's okay, because Dean knows what - and who - is waiting for him.

last but definitely not least, @uncastiel doesn’t have any fics yet but is taking prompts! 

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 4 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: The Hoardless Dragon

Summary: Thorin has been waiting his whole life for something interesting to happen in Erebor, and when Tharkun arrives with a “dragon expert” to warn of Smaug’s survival he thinks he may have gotten his wish. However, Thror falling in and out of the gold madness its beneficial to Erebor’s defenses, and it may be that there is more than one dragon to fear.

Tharkun has always been a curious character. Thorin may only be twenty-three, but he knew enough to recognize at least this fact. First off, he carried himself as neither man nor elf. Thorin has always been amicable to the men of Dale, much to his grandfather’s chagrin. Even to a lesser extent, his own father seemed hesitant over his friendship with Girion’s son. Flawed they may be, Thorin would describe men as a race as being unchiseled rock. Rough, but hiding their true value deep within. He would never use this to describe Tharkun.

Likewise, the elves had an almost ethereal, and in Thranduil’s case, haughty air about them that also didn’t apply to the wizard. Tharkun carried the same wisdom and experience as the ageless race, but he was also warm and wizened like he came to expect of men. He could even argue that Tharkun was secretive and stubborn like his own people if his battle of wits with his grandfather was any indication. Yes, Tharkun was odd. However, he was also kind. He encouraged Thorin’s curiosity of what lay beyond the gates of Erebor with tales of stone giants and great eagles. Battles fought long ago, and hidden lands of green hills and little people.

Thror may look at the eccentric being and sneer, but Thrain and Thorin were in near agreement that Tharkun was a true Khuzdbâha (dwarf-friend). That’s not to say Thorin was blind to the fact that Tharkun was a meddlesome interloper who preferred to speak in riddles. Thorin was third in line for the throne after all, and he knew how to watch for a politician’s half-truths. Still, when the herald rushed into the throne room to announce the arrival of the grey wizard, Thorin found himself fidgeting beside his grandfather’s throne in excitement.

Thrain’s eyes were twinkling as he looked over his father’s head at him. Still his words were reprimantory. 

“Thorin, behave.”

The young prince ducked his head trying his best to calm himself. He still wasn’t quite used to throne room behavior, and was constantly being reminded to behave. His mother was in fits that he had to attend open court at all thinking him still too young. He was proud of the fact that his father was already training him in his duties to the crown. However, he knew his father wouldn’t have sprung it on him at all if it wasn’t for his grandfather’s declining health. 

It was something Thrain and Fris did well to hide from their children, but Thorin wasn’t blind. The days of Thror encouraging Thorin and Frerin in their mischief as they tried to sneak by his office or taking him into the forge to experience his first taste at smithing were far behind him. Now, he could barely catch his grandfather’s attention so absorbed was he in his gold. Even raised to appreciate the might and beauty of Erebor, Thorin had a hard time understanding why his grandfather spent so much time with his gold and gems. Even his smiles and laughter were now replaced with ice glares and harsh words. Thorin loved his grandfather, but he was not so sure that his grandfather loved him anymore. Whatever strange inflection has taken Thror, Thorin hoped Tharkun held the cure.

The doors to the throne room were thrown open once more as Tharkun was escorted down the path with four guards stationed inside. A new precaution his grandfather deemed important to take as of late. Tharkun made no motion that the blatant display of distrust bothered him as he swept his way to the bottom of the steps with a deep bow and wide grin.

“Hail Thror, son of Dain. Hail Thrain, son of Thror. Hail Thorin, son of Thrain. It pleases me greatly to see the sons of Durin in good health and prosperity.”

Thror was content to glare down at the wizard so Thrain took it upon himself to greet their guest.

“Hail Tharkun! If we had known you would be arriving, we would have already pulled out the good mead. As it is, if you intend to join us for dinner tonight, I would see it done.”

“You do know how to tempt me, dear friend. As much as I would like to revel in pleasantries, I believe business must come first.”

“Yes, what storm follows in your wake this time, Tharkun Amsâlakhzar (bringer of bad luck)?” Thror mused.

The room was immediately filled with tension as Tharkun’s eyes narrowed on Erebor’s king in tight scrutiny. He’s never actually seen it in action, but Cousin Fundin, used to tell Thorin stories of Tharkun’s raw power, and how you never anger a wizard. The dwarf prince was half-afraid he was about to get a firsthand account.

“Ha!”

The sudden noise seemed to startle everyone in the room as Thorin turned his head just noticing for the first time that Tharkun did not arrive alone. The strangest being Thorin had ever seen in his life stepped out from behind the wizard. He stood merely an inch or two taller than Thorin which was on the small side for a dwarf. His beardless face, large wooly feet, and slightly pointed ears hidden by bronze curls stood in stark contrast to what Thorin was used to with his own kind having never seen another species of their height. Even his fashion was bizarre with the short trousers, perfectly tailored vest, and a velvet jacket of all things. That’s when Thorin remembered Tharkun’s stories of the little people on the other side of the world. This creature must be a halfling!

“I suppose you had every reason to fear, Grey Wizard, I’ll give you that much.” The halfling snorted, deriving some sort of depravatated humor from the situation.

“And what is this?” Thror demanded.

“Not what, Your Majesty, who. You can be knee deep in a dragon spell, and still have some manners about you.” The smaller male mocked.

Thorin had a detached bewilderment as he watched the impending mine-collapse. His own father didn’t speak to Thror so brazenly, and by the tightened grip on the stone throne, this matter would not be taken lightly. Still he couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘dragon spell’?

“How silly of me!” Tharkun forced the diversion even as his hands tightened on his staff. “King Thror, Prince Thrain, Prince Thorin, allow me to introduce Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

At this the halfling gave a small nod of his head raising the ire of his grandfather. The smaller male would be lucky to leave with his life if he continued on this way. However, Master Baggins' attention then swept over to Thorin himself, and the halfling seemed caught off-guard for the first time tilting his head just slightly as he blinked slowly. The halfling’s hand immediately went to the golden band on his right hand, and he began to fiddle with it while narrowing his eyes on Thorin. 

“Why is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire in my mountain?” Thror snarled, pulling Thorin’s attention back to his grandfather and the wizard.

“Bilbo has been my traveling companion as of late.” Tharkun smiled, seeming to think the conversation was back on his terms.

“Not voluntarily, mind you.” The halfling grumbled earning a small whack on his back from the wizard’s staff.

Thorin had to duck his head to hide his mirth at the scene, but when he looked back up the halfling was watching him again. This time with more fondness, as he gave the prince a wry grin and a quick wink.

“You see, I asked Mister Baggins to join me because I noticed stirrings to the north.” Tharkun remarked casually enough.

“Stirrings of what?” Thrain asked curiously.

“That my Prince, is the right question.” Tharkun smiled brightly before his face and tone fell grave in the blink of an eye. “The fire-drake, Smaug, is awakening from his slumber, and he seems to be sniffing out a new hoard to bed in even as we speak. If you do not take precautions, I fear his sights may fall to Erebor.”

The wizard’s warning was met with silence. Thorin wouldn’t lie. There was a small part of him that thought this was fantastic news. Nothing exciting ever happens in Erebor! The entire time he’s shadowed his father, it’s been nothing but boring council meetings, numbers and figures, even their trips down to Dale had become tedious. Now, though, there was something exciting to occupy his attention, and he couldn’t deny that part of him that wanted to charge headfirst and face down a dragon to earn his epithet. Thorin Dragonslayer, they would call him!

Outwardly, he portrayed the same concern he could see on his father’s face. Then his grandfather burst into fits of laughter.

“You have told some tall tales, Wizard, but this one steals the prize! A dragon! Next you’re going to tell me Durin’s Bane itself is knocking on my doors.”

“It is no jest, King Thror.” Tharkun insisted with a tight expression.

Thror sobered up some, but still seemed to discredit the grey figure’s words.

“I have been chased from my home by a dragon before. I know the signs. Erebor is prosperous, it will not fall. Especially to a fire-drake that has been extinct for ages!”

“You ignore the signs.” Mister Baggins stepped forth once more. “They are all here, King Under the Mountain, and the fire-breather Smaug lives as well as a few that your people refer to as cold-drakes. Why, it wouldn’t shock me to find Eisigem still sleeps in Dain’s Halls.”

“Enough, you impertinent imp!” Thror cried, jumping to his feet.

Thorin’s hand fell to his sword at his waist along with the other guards even though he was conflicted about attacking Tharkun and his companion. Still, the hobbit offered his grandfather great insult, and he was not about to deny that.

“Who are you to question the word of the king?” Thror demanded.

Mister Baggins’ lips were pressed in a tight line, and once glance at the dark look from Gandalf sealed his sour mood.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” Mister Baggins replied in a clipped tone. “I am but a simple hobbit, and it is clear that I overreached my station.”

“A simple hobbit, in the service of this ustar (interferer).”

“Gandalf is an...old friend. He called on me for a favor, and I found myself in the position of being able to fulfill his request.” Mister Baggins offered in response.

Thror gradually seated himself once more, and Thorin relaxed the grip on his blade. Tharkun stepped in at that point, half shielding the smaller being behind his person.

“Bilbo, you see, is something of a dragon expert.” The wizard offered. “I thought his knowledge would benefit Erebor well with the terrible news I’ve brought.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo with renewed interest. A dragon expert? How many of the beasts had he slain to earn such a title? Thorin found himself hungry for the halfling’s story perhaps more so than he ever yearned for Tharkun’s own.

“Aye, a dragon expert.” Thror huffed wryly. “Why he looks more grocer than warrior. Axe or sword, Mister Baggins, what is your choice?”

He smirked darkly in response to the king’s blatant mocking as he continued to fiddle with the ring on his finger in agitation. “Neither. I’m more fond of using my bare hands and teeth.” 

Thror huffed, not impressed with the hobbit’s jest even as Tharkun shifted uncomfortably. 

“Your Majesty, I have not brought Bilbo to advise you on how to slay dragons, but on how to prevent their arrival because Smaug is coming. Perhaps not any time soon, but the treasure beneath your feet will be far too alluring, I fear.” 

A tense silence fell over the room, and Thorin wanted to shut his eyes against the storm he knew to come. If there was one thing he had learned very well, it was that you did not mention gold in Thror’s presence.

“I see.” Came the unexpectedly calm reply. “You have not brought a dragon expert, but a burglar in my mountain. And use your insane theories of dragons as a front to rob me blind!”

“Your Majesty…” Tharkun began before Thror cut him off, banging his fist on his throne.

“SILENCE!” Thror roared. “I ought to kill you now for such insolence.”

“DO NOT THREATEN ME, THROR SON OF DAIN!” 

Like everyone in the room, Thorin shrunk away from the shadows that manifested outwards from Tharkun. Thrain broke protocol to place himself protectively in front of Thorin, and the guards stepped in front of the royal family. None approached Tharkun as they were quickly reminded the wanderer was in fact a wizard of great power.

“I’m not here to rob you!” Tharkun continued before the shadows suddenly died down, and his expression turned soft. “I’m trying to help you.”

There was no movement that followed as all eyes watched the king to see what he would do next. Thorin’s grandfather looked taut as a rope in a pulley. His eyes narrowed as if weighing his chances against the wizard in battle. Thrain’s hand squeezed Thorin’s arm in a reassuring manner, but his eyes remained on Tharkun just as his war hammer remained in his other hand. Thror finally got up and walked to the edge of the dais using its height to tower over Tharkun.

“Get out of my kingdom. You and your abrâfu shaikmashâz (descendent of rats).”

Tharkun’s chin jutted out proudly at the king’s order. Thorin’s eyes sought out the halfling to see how he would react to the slur. Only, the smaller being was no longer behind Tharkun’s cloak. He seemed to be the only one to realize this as his eyes darted over the chamber before finally landing on the halfling’s form. Thorin made a strangled sound in surprise as he jumped away from the throne. All eyes, including Master Baggins’, fell on Thorin as he merely stared in open mouth shock at the being standing on the king’s throne holding the Arkenstone close to his mouth. Almost as if he were speaking to it though Thorin couldn’t make out the words.

“T-THIEF! H-HOW DARE...AKLÂF MENU (curse you)!” Thror sputtered before coming to life and heaving his sword high above his head to smite the halfling.

Thorin could only watch in horror as Bilbo Baggins, dragon expert and friend of Tharkun, remained resolute in his execution, still whispering to the gem. Just when he was about to be struck down, the halfling’s eyes bore into Thror’s own, stopping Thorin’s grandfather in his tracks. It was as if time had been frozen around them. Thorin felt the itch to take a step forward, but Thrain still had his arm securely wrapped around the other. The guards also seemed uneasy about this strange spell being wove around their king and whether they could interfere. Tharkun only watched on with a narrowed, but unsurprised gaze.

Only a few seconds had passed, though they felt like a lifetime, when the Arkenstone’s light dimmed, and iron clattered against the ground. Thorin looked around wildly, but every adult had dropped their weapons and were staring at each other and the halfling with an awed fascination. Thorin looked up at his father as even he loosened his grip breathing deeply as if it were his first out of a long sleep.

“What did you do?” Thrain murmured softly.

The halfling merely hopped off the stone throne, straightening out his vest and jacket before approaching Thror. The king had sunk to his knees, but his blue eyes, the same eyes Thorin had inherited, looked brighter and troubled all at once.

“This is not a jewel, Your Majesty.” Master Baggins began still looking only at the king as he held out the Arkenstone. “This is a petrified dragon heart.”

Gasps rang throughout the room.

“While not as potent as a real dragon heart, it’s been weaving its spell over you all the same. The effects will lessen, though not disappear completely until it’s destroyed. At the very least, I wouldn’t advise putting it back above your head.” The halfling continued to explain as he shoved the stone into Thror’s hands.

“Don’t dragon spells come from locking gazes with the beast?” Thorin asked curiously.

Master Baggins flinched before turning to Thorin with a hard look. His voice, however, was soft and encouraging.

“No, Your Highness. That’s unfortunately a myth. It’s the heartbeat that lulls you.”

“Yes, but...what did you do?” Thrain repeated again.

“I spoke to it in its language and convinced the heart to sleep. Like I said, not a permanent solution, but I do hope it stops the irrational yelling and weapon drawing.”

Thror and Thrain just stared at him dumbfounded.

“You spoke to it…” Thror repeated.

“I did say our friend here was a dragon expert.” Tharkun used this moment to speak up, surprising many who had seemed to forget he was still there.

Thorin watched the hard glare that passed between the two before Master Baggins walked right past the wizard.

“Right, well, if you need me to silence any other madness-inducing gems, I’ll be down in the market. I’m famished.”

The halfling spun on heel, gave a deep bow to the royals, before disappearing out of the hall before anyone could so much as say a word in protest.

“Now, about Smaug…” Tharkun began.

Thror winced as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. 

“Peace Tharkun, it’s been a rather...eventful morning. If you are willing to wait until tomorrow...Erebor would be proud to host you and Master Baggins.”

Thorin stared at his grandfather in shock before a small smile began to split his face. Could it be? Did Tharkun and Master Baggins truly fix Thror? Tharkun’s approving smile managed to give Thorin hope that they had achieved the impossible.

“As His Majesty wishes.” Tharkun bowed.

Thror looked to be trying hard not to roll his eyes as he stepped out through the side entrance. Thrain immediately followed, dragging Thorin along behind him even as the younger prince turned to wave goodbye to Tharkun. Once they were in the relative privacy of the royal halls, Thror wrapped Thrain up in a hug.

“Makkê, birashagammi (My son, I’m sorry).”

Thrain didn’t say anything in return. Just clutched his father a little tighter and if either of the dwarrows were crying, Thorin pretended not to see. Instead he was practically vibrating in his desire to be dismissed so he could tell Frerin, Narvi, and Falvi. Obviously something as amazing as meeting a dragon expert was too big to keep from his best friends in the whole mountain.

“I have no patience to keep up appearances for the rest of the day. I would like to retire and actually enjoy my family once more.” Thror’s voice brought Thorin back to the present conversation just in time for a large grin to split his face.

He may just get his wish after all.

[maggiec70]

The Fictional Take on Jean-Claude

As I've said before, fiction often presents the opportunity to write really nest things and in an engaging way that non-fiction, especially the historical type, rarely allows. So here is yet another scene from the Longest-Running WIP, this one about Jean-Claude, and what Jean-Boy thinks of this entire mess for which he was responsible:

Mariana sat opposite Jean in a small paneled study tucked away at the rear of the house. The two south-facing windows stood open, midmorning sunlight falling across the country pine table, a faint breeze stirring the edges of papers spread out in front of him. While she went to Mass, Jean spent his Sunday mornings with account books and other documents. She knew how little his extravagant properties in Paris and Saint-Germain-en-Laye meant to him, and he cared nothing about their management. He’d bought them both at Louise’s insistence and the emperor’s decree, as he’d often reminded her. Yet his acres, vineyards, farms, and other properties here mattered very much. She had felt his deep-rooted attachment from the first day she’d come to Lectoure and walked into this house. For a long, peaceful moment broken only by the scratching of his pen and a dove cooing on the window ledge, she pictured Louise living luxuriously in Paris. In contrast, she and Jean lived here in simple bucolic harmony. A perfect dream—she and the seigneur of this lovely hill town, the lord of a small realm who didn’t care if he got dirt on his hands and his breeches and who could—and did—pick grapes with the best of his tenant farmers.

“I waited for you before having coffee,” Jean said, and her sweet fantasy popped like champagne bubbles. “How was Mass?”

“Spiritually refreshing, as always. You should go,” Mariana replied and rose to fetch the coffee. She returned a few moments later and set a tray on one end of the table, away from the inkpot and the account books. “I saw a young boy, perhaps a year or two older than Augie, after Mass,” she said, pouring the coffee from an earthenware pot and sliding a cup over to Jean. “He must live in that house across from the cathedral, the one with the three iron balls over the gate. He was playing with an enormous fluffy white dog in the courtyard.”

Jean set his cup aside, untouched, and gazed out the window. His face was suddenly as featureless as a frozen plain scoured by a cruel winter wind. “Nothing unusual about that. There are plenty of children from one end of town to the other. Plenty of dogs, too.” He spoke to the windows, not to her, and his tone was flat.

Mariana swallowed half her coffee and leaned forward, the cup cradled in her hands. “This boy looked so much like you that I stopped where I was and stared at him. He saw me and grinned back, as you sometimes do, with a little wave more like a salute. Who is he? Do you know him?”

Jean stood in a single fluid motion and strode to the windows, his back to her. The silence spun out, no longer peaceful but heavy with something she couldn’t identify. Dread, perhaps, or anger, even fear. She could almost see a dark aura settle around him despite the bright summer sun, and leaned back in her chair, coffee forgotten, everything forgotten. He turned from the windows and crossed to the door, shutting it so hard with his fist that the wood rattled in its solid frame. Dragging a chair around, he sat opposite her, very close, almost touching. She didn’t move, waiting for whatever he chose to tell her, the chill of unease growing in her breast.

“We won’t speak of this again, ever. Do you understand?”

She gazed back at him. The blank expression and flat, unemotional tone had gone. Now his eyes were dark, as stormy as the Irish Sea when she had crossed it eight years ago. The lines on his face cut deep and stark, his voice harsh. Suddenly she wanted her coffee, but the cup was out of reach, and she dared not move.

“I understand.” Her voice was no more than a dry whisper, the best she could manage.

“I told you once that Polette, my first wife, was a flirt and liked anyone in a uniform. Do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“She married me because of my rank, the amount of gold braid on my uniform, and because I told her a good story. She told good stories too, and so did her mother, as it turned out. Afterward, all Polette wanted was money, status, and a big house, the biggest in town. Our marriage was already in ruins when I met you. I told you that, but not in any detail. It didn’t improve later that summer, when she insisted on coming to Lombardy—” Her gasp interrupted him, but only for a second or so. “She got nothing from me then, Mariana, other than some jewelry and a gown or two to wear to Bonaparte’s festivities at Mombello. Nothing—do you understand that?”

When she nodded, past the ability to speak, he continued. “It ended in Egypt, or rather because of the Egyptian campaign. We didn’t get much news in the desert, but we got enough. Some member of Bonaparte’s family cheerfully wrote him of his wife’s presumed infidelity, and my brother Bernard wrote me that Polette had given birth. Bernard was cagy about the date, but he swore it wasn’t my child, that she’d been carrying on with someone even before I’d left. Several nights later, Bonaparte drank too much wine—he rarely did, then or now—and told me women were worthless, faithless sluts, and we both would do well to cut ourselves loose the moment we returned to France.”

Jean glanced away from her to the earthenware pot beside their abandoned cups, and reached for it. He poured quickly, his hand steady, and slid her cup toward her. He did not touch his. “This isn’t Bonaparte’s story, though. It’s mine. By the time I reached Toulon in October, I was outraged, and I hated Polette, truly despised her. I’d gotten another letter from Bernard, this one telling me my mother had died. He wrote that she’d been distraught over the erroneous report that I’d been killed at Saint-Jean d’Acre, and very upset with Polette’s behavior. So I went straight to Paris with Bonaparte and left the matter of the divorce to Bernard and Dominique Montbrun, an attorney here I’d known all my life. Montbrun was a snake, utterly ruthless and doubtless unethical, but he succeeded, and that’s all I cared about. He beat Polette down at every turn, playing on her naiveté, producing witnesses who swore they’d seen her at one time or another with every male in town over the age of sixteen. No one would believe a thing she said, even when she fought back and told the truth.”

He stopped and picked up his cup, draining it in two quick gulps. Mariana was surprised he didn’t choke. When he set the empty cup down, his hand shook badly. She didn’t move and didn’t speak. It was not the time to say anything. That much was evident in his eyes, still stormy, but something else hovered there too, something she didn’t recognize. Hands clasped in her lap, tighter now, she waited for him to tell her the rest of what was already a sordid story.

“I divorced her for adultery. That was easy, and I never regretted it for a moment. I still don’t, although I often wonder if the divorce was even legal. But I never took the final, separate action that would have declared her child a bastard, deprived him of my name, and any rights to whatever I owned or would own. Montbrun hounded me about that, so did Bernard and everyone else I knew. I didn’t listen to them, and I didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.”

She understood in a flash of painful clarity why he had not taken that final legal step. And now she recognized what had been swirling and growing stronger in his eyes—guilt, and shame. She clenched her hands tighter still and said nothing.

“Polette had traveled to Toulon before I left for Egypt, not because I wanted to see her but because she was her usual willful self. So there she was, saying she wanted to see me, be with me, before I left for what she described as the ends of the earth. I suppose the empty-headed daughter of a minor bank official from Perpignan did think Egypt was the end of the world.” He looked down, but there was nothing to see but their knees nearly touching and the tips of their shoes touching. Her nails, clipped short, dug into her palms, and every finger ached. She had no idea how she managed to breathe quietly, steadily, while at the same time, her heart lurched from side to side, and her mind raced in frantic circles.

“I slept with her, Mariana, somewhere north of Toulon, in a nondescript posthouse I don’t recall to this day. And not just once. I admit that to you now just as I admitted it to myself then. Yes, I could count. For selfish purposes, for wounded Gascon pride, for whatever pointless reasons you can imagine, I refused to acknowledge that child publicly because I hated his mother so much that I wanted to get rid of her at any cost. Because I knew the real possibility—the real probability—that the child was mine, I couldn’t sever that last legal tie. Now it’s too late.”

She forced herself to tamp down the emotions roiling up and clamoring to spill out in a loud and messy pile in her lap or his. She breathed steadily, certain that her nostrils were flaring like Odysseus’s did after a hard gallop, and struggled to keep her face calm, expressionless. Surely he could see what must be flashing in her eyes. If he did, he should run from it.

“Polette remarried a year or so later to a respectable and prosperous man who treats them both well. Jean-Claude has a step-father, two step-sisters, a step-brother, and a mother who dotes on him. He’s happy and cared for. He always has been, I believe.”

Mariana stood so quickly that her wooden chair rocked on its back legs and crashed to the floor. Stepping around it, she moved to the windows, where the warm breeze cooled the heat rising from her breast and up her neck to her cheeks. She unclenched her hands and flexed her fingers, not caring that her breath came in short, audible puffs.

“I was afraid you’d be upset—”

“Upset? Oh, yes, upset, and furious,” she replied, whirling around to face him. “Not for the reasons you think, you and your stupid male pride. I’m not angry because you had sex with your wife after you’d made all sorts of promises to me. I’m infuriated because you allowed Bonaparte to influence you—again—and poison your mind. You never stopped to think for yourself. You didn’t weigh what your brother said or what your lawyer did and come to your own conclusions. You let other people make intensely personal decisions for you. Worse, you never thought about how your dreadfully cavalier actions might affect other people, especially that little boy. That’s what makes me so furious with you. Sweet Mother of God, has Louise ever seen him?”

“She doesn’t know about Jean-Claude, and she’s never seen him.”

“That’s something to be grateful for, I suppose.” Mariana remained by the window, thumbs hooked in her sash. Even from this distance, she saw that shame was writ large on his face and was glad. She had many things she wanted to say, all of them sharp and hurtful, and none of them serving any useful purpose.

“How do you think Louise would handle a challenge to your estate from this young boy if anything happened to you?”

“I’d hate to think of what she’d do to protect Augie and the boys, even little Joséphine, from anyone challenging what she believes belongs to them and to her. She’d be lethal, like a lioness with new cubs.”

“So, Jean, because of your pride and pigheadedness, six children and two women may well find themselves in an impossible legal situation at some point. Of course, you won’t be around to see what a disaster you’ve created. Did this never occur to you? It’s not as if they would be squabbling over a ten-acre vineyard, either. People unused to wealth, status, and possessions often lose their reason when those things become part of a vast inheritance.” She picked up the chair and collapsed onto it, hands on her knees, and concentrated on catching her breath from the last outburst before beginning the next. Judging from Jean’s expression, she would have ample time to recover. Beneath the guilt and shame, a slight glint of hope swam to the surface of his eyes. She had seen this before, not often, but enough to know he wanted her to make it right and patch up—or clean up—whatever mess he’d made of something. Not this time, though, and not the way he wanted.

“I can’t help you with this. It’s a matter for lawyers, a roomful of them. It’s also up to you, and only you, to decide if you will acknowledge him as your son, perhaps not in the legal sense, but in the most elemental, personal way. But it might be too late now for even that.” She rubbed her forehead, over her right eye, where a headache had taken hold. “What would you do, Jean, if I had your child, unlikely as that may be?”

“Take care of you and of the child. You know I would, so why ask?”

She stood, her anger spiking along with the persistent throbbing in her temple. “Polette might have thought you’d do the same for her and Jean-Claude. She was wrong, as it turned out. I asked because we’ve spent the past half-hour discussing a child you didn’t take care of. You’ll do it, now, though, by all the saints, you will! Somewhere in these books and papers you care so much about is a tidy inheritance for Jean-Claude. You probably can’t touch what the emperor’s given you, and it wouldn’t be fair to Louise and Augie. But these lands and properties are yours to give. So do it, and do it now. I want to see what you’ve drawn up, ready for a lawyer’s finishing touches, when I get back. I will choose the lawyer for this task, however. No more unethical snakes.”

“Where are you going?”

“To light a candle for your son and an even bigger one for you.”

[wannabeauthorclive]

[Image ID: Dark blue banner of the ocean with four pirate ships saying “Over Land and Sea” with “Camp NaNo WIP Update” underneath. End ID]

I have been really bad at giving updates about how nano is going for me. I said I would do one of these every Sunday, that failed. I’m only doing this one because I finished!! I did it! I hit my goal!!

Project — Over Land and Sea

End Goal — 30,000 words

Daily Goal — 1,000 words

Total written — 30,162 words

Overall Notes — I’m absolutely loving this project and how it’s coming along! It has been difficult juggling all my characters, by it’s a struggle I am willing to do. I also made Desmond a protag (along with Black and Silver) cause I love him too much not to, and it fits the story. I was able to reach my daily goal almost every day and I’m really proud of that! Some days were definitely harder than others, but that’s ok, it’s all part of the journey. I’m changing a lot from my initial outline so I’m glad I kept it in a way that I could change it if I wanted. 

Thank you every single one of you -- I don’t think I could have made it this far without you. You’re all wonderful friends and are so so supportive and I love you! Thank you!

~~~ Four of my favorite scenes under the cut! ~~~

Desmond’s POV

He looks over at Captain Black, still a good fifty feet away, and sends her a wicked, wicked smile. For a split second, he could see the panic in her eyes before it’s gone again, wiped away and leaving the Captain Black everyone knows and either hates or loves. She shoots him a wicked grin of her own and his smile falters before returning full force. This will be fun.

He would go and greet her halfway, but alas, he must stay in-between the crew and the ship. She walks right up behind her crew and moves to stand in front of them defensibly. Her posture never sways and her face never softens as she stares at Desmond. Part of him thinks she’s staring into his soul, which is impossible. Impossible.

“We haven’t gotten the chance to properly introduce ourselves.” Desmond starts, holding out his hand. Captain Black doesn’t take it, doesn’t even glance at it. He withdraws his hand, nodding in acceptance of the refusal. “I am Desmond Ponsa.”

Captain Black’s crew’s eyes go even wider while Captain Black herself just snarls. “I know exactly who you are, Ponsa.”

Silver Sterling’s POV 

The newspaper. That’s how she found out about Black in the first place, no letters from her or Desmond, and certainly no espionage agent. Could the press be able to track pirate better than a chase could? Someone who has seen the Queen of the Seas lately would sure to report it for good money, and people pay good money for information. But if she tracked Viras’s press, she’d have to catch Captain Black before she moved on. Would Silver be fast enough?

She straightens in the tub, her relaxed posture fully gone. Maybe if she was already moving, maybe if she could find where the Captain would probably stop for supplies. It’d be a wild goose chase, trying to find a pirate. It’s a wild goose chase trying to find someone who has roots, but a pirate? It’s nearly impossible.

That’s what she loves doing, though. The impossible. Proving people were wrong to say she couldn’t do something. That’s what she has been told her whole life. “You can’t do that.” “Only men are able to do that.” “Berian women don’t do that, it doesn’t fit with society.”

And every single one of those things people told her she couldn’t do, she did. That’s one reason why she loved her sister, she didn’t even ask if she could do something or not. She just did them and by the time people could tell her she couldn’t do that, she had already gone and done it.

“The impossible is only impossible to those who are afraid.” Her sisters voice whispers in her ear. That was her motto, said before every risky thing they did. And the words solidified Silver’s idea further.

Captain Black’s POV (TW: mental health problems, serious anxiety)

“No, no, no. No.” Black repeats, her voice quavering but leaving no room for argument. Leaving the wheel, not seeing her crew, not watching for the National Guard, not commanding her ship would be sure to send her into a panic attack. If her anxiety is getting to hard for her to captain her ship properly, she shouldn’t be here at all.

But whatever happens, she’s not gonna let her anxiety and memory blackouts take control over her and dictate wether she is capable of captaining her ship. She’s gonna find a way to put an end to all of it before it gets to that point. Black won’t risk the safety of her crew but she won’t give up being captain unless she is fully incapable. And that’s not gonna be any time soon.

“Black!” Black jerks out of her stupor. “Black, god, you can’t do that.” Ironside whispers, relief and worry and scared blanketing her tone. “You’re here one moment and not the next and something has to change. We can’t be in battle and that happening.” She says forcefully.

This is why Black loves Ironside, she doesn’t step around anything. Straight to the point. Black doesn’t respond, she just keeps staring out over the sea. Waiting for the National Guard give a surprise attack on this bright and cloud-free, sunny day.

Ironside sighs. Her friend’s mind is breaking. It has been for a long while, this is the first time any of them noticed it though. She glances behind her at the faces of the crew, gathered around to see if their captain, friend, and family is alright. A spike of guilt hits her, she should have seen it. But none of them did and now, now Black is paying the price.

It’s like Black’s sanity is slipping out of her fingers like sand and it’s so hard to watch. So, so hard. But she has to, it may be the only way she can help.

Captain Black’s POV (TW: violence, death)

A quick second is all it takes for Black to notice the pistol aimed at Lakoma’s head. A quick second for Black to realize that blood is gonna be split. Not their blood, not if Black can help it. And by God, she can help it. She isn’t losing anyone today. A borderline wicked smile replaces her grin and with a flick of a wrist, two daggers are in her hands.

She sees the panic in her crew’s eyes as the entire Viras Treasury surrounds them. Too many people. They’ve never fought this many before. “Keep going!” She screams at them. She has. She’s fought this many people.

Another flick of the wrist and the dagger is flying through the air. It finds its target in the belly of  the same guard with his pistol aimed at Lakoma and another dagger is flying. Another dagger, another guard down.

Tons of weapons can be hidden among the folds of her dress and Black is ever grateful for her weapons. Two more daggers come out, two more daggers hit their mark. One in a throat, one in an eye.

Out of the corner of her eye, Braveheart is beating down one after another soldier, Lakoma is throwing daggers faster than Black can see while gun shots ring out from Tonya.

If only Captain Black had her Cutlass sword, this would all be much easier. She is unstoppable with her sword, no one can get out of her way. But alas, her sword is a size too big to fit in her dress.

A moment in her head and a guard was able to get too close. He throws his weight into his rapier to slice her — obviously not well trained, rapiers are stabbing weapons, not slashing ones — and she quickly ducks under him. With a swift kick to the balls, his rapier is now hers and she demonstrates how you really use a rapier. A stab though the gut. Or heart, but she goes at the gut. The pain lasts longer.

Taglist: @baguettethebooklover @a-completely-normal-writer @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @hysteriwah @tiredlittleoldme @the-writing-avocado @vellichor-virgo @radiomacbeth @wildwrites @crowewritesstuff @crystallized-ink​ @strangerays​ @47crayons @ladywithalamp (ask to be +/-)

[jonah-aesthetic]

Fallin’/ Jonah Marais  WIP

Jonah X Reader 

Plot: Corbyn had set the rule: My sister is off the table. Before he let her hang around the band, Daniel soon became her best friend after various piano lesson. It also wasn’t long before she started to become very fond of the oldest out of the band, Jonah. But the one and only rule Corbyn had given rang in her head every time she thought of him in a non-platonic way. 

Word Count: 3834

A/N: Hello hello I wrote this awhile ago it’s definitely a work in progress as it’s not finished. Haven’t edited or proof read it since I began to write it. I’ll try to finish whenever I can until then enjoy!

---

The October wind had a shiver run down your body and your teeth began to chatter as the wind grew harsher. Causing you to pull your black teddy jacket tighter around the waist. Picking up your pace towards your brother’s house. well it was more of a compound rather then house from how massive the place was. Corbyn shared it with four other roommates who he happened to be in a band with. They had been doing fairly well and were pretty well known internationally. 

The tall white palace came into view and small smile made it’s way onto your lips. Watching leaves twirl amongst the pavement, you silent dawned on yourself for not driving. Or wearing something warm enough to stop your obnoxious chattering teeth. 

Walking up the driveway fast almost into a small jog. The cold weather nipped at your ears and nose. Hands hiding in the sleeve of your jacket as you raised one to ring the door bell. The door was of frosted glass and a metal dainty pulling handle. Dipped in gold or made of gold you didn’t exactly know the structure to the house. 

You could hear footsteps through the door, too faded to know whose they belonged to. The door opened letting the warmth lick at your face and body through your coat. Eyes connecting with gorgeous pools of green, a breath caught in your throat as you took in the man in front of you. 

Dark eyebrow brought up in question as he leaned out the door a little. Looking left and right as if trying to spot something or someone else. His gaze locking on you again confusion written on his features. The day dream of him escaping your mind as he asked “Did you walk?”  Stepping away slightly so you could finally walk into the warm place. 

“Yeah I did, nice to see you too Jonah.” You say playfully rolling your eyes at his observation of your absent Jeep. He closes the door behind you with an almost soundless click. “I don’t think you should be walking when it’s this cold outside.” 

“Sorry dad I’ll ask you next time when I want to leave the house.” The sarcasm filled with venom as you hated when he showed he cared for you. It was hard to keep your growing feelings for him at bay. Walking off towards the den where you knew the rest of the guys were. 

“That would be most reasonable.” Jonah spoke behind you, heart pounding  inside your chest almost making you halt. Controlling your breathing you fought the urge to drop every thought of your older brother, to walk back to Jonah. Grab him by the collar and smash your lips to his. 

“Well if it ain’t our little groupie.” Zach’s voice caught you by surprise as you hadn’t realised you made it to the den. Too caught up in thoughts of the oldest member of the band. 

The den was one of the bigger rooms in the house, with the leather black ‘L’ shaped couch Where Zach was seated. A tv hung on the wall right above a gorgeous fire place with flames that flourished inside, producing natural heat. Entertainment systems laid a upon the mantle. Controllers, remotes, and various dishes rested on the coffee table. Along with magazines with the band on the covers. An elegant piano sat in the corner on the right of the room. A few of their favourite guitars lined the left wall. The same massive bean bag chairs scattered around the den. 

With a lazy smile towards the youngest of the band. You reached out and messed up his natural chocolate hair as if he were an annoying sibling. “You wish little one.” You teased him, sitting down in a white bean bag beside Daniel. Who had a black acoustic guitar decorating his lap. 

“Oh come on y/n just admit it, you’re in love with me already.”  

“Not this again.” Daniel chuckles at Zach’s joking declaration of love towards you. He did it often, but he didn’t like to when he was seeing someone. It was harmless flirting but he didn't see the honour in it. 

Jonah sat down on the couch next to Zach. Curling his thumb and pointer finger together, before flicking him in the centre of his forehead. “Behave yourself.” Jonah says like Zach was a misbehaving puppy. You and Daniel gazed at each other, the look you gave each other before you burst into laughter together. His blue eyes glittered in the light. 

Zach closed his eyes pressing his lips together not expecting the flick. His expression humorous causing your’s and Daniel’s laughter to sync together perfectly as if they belonged. 

“Haha, Very funny guys.”  Zach says mockingly. 

“To be fair I thought it was funny.” The familiar voice cut your laughter short, but you smiled once your eyes landed on Corbyn. When he first dyed his hair black your weren't too keen on it. After awhile you got use to it, noticing how in brought out his eyes and the sharpness in his features. And the new hair made him glow with happiness.

Corbyn’s eyes locked on you and his expression changed, “What are you doing here?” His voice rough as all eyes fall upon you, feeling immensely small and the happiness you felt a few seconds ago gone. Did he not want you hanging out here while he was absent? Which didn’t make sense since you’ve done it several times before. 

“Ah-I can leave..” Your voice trailed off weakly, Daniel’s eyes shining with concerned as he rarely saw you this vulnerable. When Cordyn sounded angry and gave you a stern expression like he was right now. You couldn’t help but feel weak and helpless, You looked up to him too much in your music too upset him. 

Corbyn’s eyes softened at your reaction, feeling guilty for making you feel so little. He hated seeing you that way, he always saw you as his sassy-I-take-shit-from-nobody-little-sister. But he also knew you starved for his approval. 

“No, god no. I didn’t mean it like that, Your Jeep isn't sitting outside so I didn't think you decided to come over.” The tension in the room eased at his words, Daniel reached over into your lap and intertwined your fingers with his. The comforting feeling washed into your veins calming your nerves. You silently thanked god Daniel knew you so damn well. 

Over the years Daniel learned you didn’t find comfort in words, but physical feeling. It was hard because every time he saw you upset he tired to talk to you, but you locked him out. He still tired and every single time you ran from him, Corbyn told had told him to leave you be. You’ve always been that way, never wanting to talk about what has been eating you alive. 

One day you fumbled into his room tears trailing down your cheeks. Eyes red and puffy as if you’ve been breaking down all weekend. Hair pulled into a greasy ball a top your head, wearing one of his older hoodies he gave you. Heart break was written all over you demeaner as he sat up instantly at the sight of you. 

It was the first time you came to him for comfort, the first time his hoodie hadn’t been enough. He said nothing as you fell into his lap utterly exhausted, Daniel didn’t want to scare you off. Dreading breaking the tender moment you decided to share with him. 

Daniel shifted himself in a laying position pulling you to his side. You curled into him as if you belonged their, resting your head on his chest. He began to hum the melody to ‘Something Different’ as he rubbed your back gently, Daniel knew you finally let him in. he knew you found comfort in his presence. He knew you were his best friend. 

With the soft and delicate moment you let your emotions fall out, sobbing silently into his chest. Vibrating vigorously against him, Daniel’s throat grew sore as his eyes began to brim with tears. It hurt him to see you like this, broken, despite it he continued to hum to you. Feeling your sobs turning into light snores. 

“The Jeep was a gift and I’d appreciate if you used the gift.” Corbyn said with a soft smile. Daniel pulsed his squeeze in your hand. 

“Of course.” 

Is not that you didn’t appreciate the gift, but you no doubt did. It was your dream car, a white manual four door Rubicon Jeep. A vehicle you couldn't turn down, especially during Christmas. All you got him that year was a pair of holographic  AF1′s. You adored your car, but you knew it was something you couldn’t pay back to him. There fore you only liked to use it when you needed to, like coffee runs, appointments, work, and school. You felt a deep guilt when you used it for anything else. 

You could feel Daniel lean towards you, pressing into your bean bag. Jonah Stared at you two across the room with his jaw clench. Corbyn glanced over at him knowing he had a soft spot for you. In all honesty he didn’t mind but he wanted too see if Jonah would betray his words. You are oblivious to all of it as you felt Daniel’s hot breath tickle against your neck. “You don’t have to feel guilty taking it for a joy ride, It’s yours.” 

Looking at him you watched as the smile never left his pink lips. “How’d you know?” You asked his accusingly giving him a suspiciously glance. He shrugged “Well I don’t know, but being friends for the last four years might’ve done the trick.”  

---

You woke up heaving, breathless as if you just got back from a run. Which you didn't do often enough. Sweat coated your body as your heart thumped hard in your heart, aching slightly. You didn’t remember exactly what happened in your nightmare just fragments of it. 

Running.

Jonah. 

Green eyed wolf. 

Glancing around the room your body slowed your breathing without you realizing it. Spacious room, too much bed, big windows, a tv, and two massive bookshelves. Telling you were currently in the guest bedroom of the Why Don’t We compound. It was really more your room than a guest bedroom. Over the last year you made it your own, once Corbyn practically said you could move in.  You still had your own place though not ready to give her up just yet. 

The darkness in the room made you reach for your phone, the bright screen displayed the time 4:12am. Squinting your eyes and groaning you turned down the brightness. Staring at your screen that had a picture of you and Corbyn at a movie premiere last year. You were his plus one. 

Ripping the duvet from your body you made your way to your closet, it was a small walk-in closet. you grab and older band t-shirt you snagged from Daniel a few months ago and a pair of shorts. Stepping into the shower you were relived to wash the sticky sweat down the drain. You stood there with your eyes closed, feeling every single drop cascade down your body. It relaxed your mind and your body like nothing before. 

30 minutes later you were out of the shower and dressed, you didn’t crawl bad into bed but made your way to the kitchen. With the way your body reacted to the nightmare you knew you wouldn't be able to fall back a sleep. Opening the cupboards you spotted Jack’s favorite cookies that were calling your name, you swear it. y/n eat me, eat me! You grabbed five, hoping he might not notice but he definitely would. he counted each cookie before going to bed. You caught him doing it once before. 

The white piano glistened in the moonlight, giving it an extra glow. The last time your fingers touched it wasn't too long ago, maybe a week ago. you didn't remember. Sitting on the cold bench you set the the cookies a top it after popping one in your mouth. Your hands grew closer to the keys and started to play. It was almost like your fingers had a mind of their own once you heard the melody. 

You hummed the lyrics, warming your vocal cords before you sang them. You were a singer but you weren’t as famous as the boys. You were known locally with three songs out, you did preform at café once a month or so depending on how crazy life decided to try you. 

 When I’m around you I fee it in my veins

something about you that’s making me go insane 

we have a storm to weather 

my litte sweet surrender

The thought of Jonah entered your mind, making you lose yourself to the song not aware of the man behind you. Watching you with adoration and smile spread across his lips. The thought of his light brown natural curls, his green eyes the sparkled in the summer’s sun. His smile that felt the closet thing to home, the way he made you melt with a glance. He knew it too, because you also knew his mind went soft when you looked at him. 

oh baby I can feel the rush of adrenaline

 Im not scared to jump if you want me to

lets just fall in love for the hell of it

maybe just keep fallin’ 

If you didn’t respect Corbyn the way you did you’d probably would’ve been in Jonah’s arms for the last year. Falling in love with him everyday, making memories, sleeping in the same bed, kissing him, being vulnerable with him, sharing a life with him. Deep down you knew that can never happen, Corbyn set that rule. You loved him too much to break, to break his trust and a friendship. 

Did he know how much it would hurt you? To watch Jonah be with other girls, to kiss them and touch them in music videos? maybe he didn’t, but you were too scared to tell him you were in-love with his best friend. Cruel isn’t it? why couldn’t you like someone else? Someone who wasn’t one of your brother’s best friends? Because nobody was Jonah and nobody could make you feel the way Jonah does.

Oh you are my muse I feel so reckless

At the first note his vocal cords released, you mind froze and your body tensed. Missing a key as if you put the song on paused. Trying to brush it off you turned around, coming face to face with a tired looking Jonah. Who only wore grey sweat pants that hung dangerously lose on his hips. His v-line has become more defined since he started working out a few months ago and it definitely has done his body justice. 

A blush starts creeping from your neck as you noticed you’d been ogling him for a bit too long. Glancing to the left the heat began to drain from your cheeks. “Sorry, d-did I wake you?” 

“Ah no you didn't, I couldn’t sleep, came down for a snack when I heard you playing.” Sensing him you looked back up as he sat beside you on the piano bench. “how did you know it was me?” 

“Daniel didn’t answer my texts..” He trailed off, 

“Oh” You looked down at your fighting hands, nerves getting the best of you. “besides..” His hands came into view, reaching out for yours. “...I know when it’s you...” His touch is warm and comforting you as he holds your hands, stopping the fidgeting. “..You're more gentle with the keys...”  Jonah brought your hands to his lips and kissed each finger. “... And your voice is softer then Daniel’s.” His eyes grew darker as his glace drank you up. 

A delicate smile spread across you lips as you took in this intimate moment being shared between you two. You lost yourself within him, not an ounce of Corbyn on your mind. 

Jonah raised his hand, delicately capturing your chin in his palm. Heat danced around your jaw and cheeks, he guided your head to the side and leaned in. His hot breath exploded against your throat, sending a cluster of shivers all over your body. 

“Can’t stop my heart from beating, why do I love this feeling.” He sang into your ear making you giggle as his breath tickled your neck. He pulled away and connected his eyes with you, wanting to see how he effected you. 

“Make me a promise, tell me you’ll stay with me” The lyrics slipped from your lips without any need to process it all. He gave you this unknown feeling that engulfed you a delicious ecstasy. 

“If I’m being honest, I don’t know where this leads.” Both of your voices intertwined in perfect harmony as if they were meant to be sung together. Genuine smiles sprang to life before both of you erupted into light giggles. Glancing from his lips to his eyes made your laughter die down. Pink and inviting, you wondered what they tasted like. 

His eyes grew darker again, as he leaned in glancing at your lips as well. You hands snaked around his shoulders, finding themselves behind his neck and into his hair. Pulling him closer to you, he smashed against your lips with a grunt as your teeth clanked from the impact. His hands found their way to the small of your back, pressure through his fingertips as he drew you even closer to his body. 

he tasted of stale peppermint and honey, you know longer had to wonder. Mind hazy as the kiss grew hotter and faster. Lost in him completely, Forgetting you were both currently swatting spit in the den. Where any of the boys could see you in plain sight. 

The sound of someone cleaning their throat had both of you coming to realization. Wide eyes as you yanked apart as if the both of you been burned by the other. Falling off the piano bench you connected with the floor. Yelping as the pain was felt through your tailbone. 

Jonah glanced at the curly blonde before rushing to your aid. Helping you to your feet, you felt extremely small in this exposed situation. 

“I knew it was coming, I just didn't expect to just stumble upon it.” Jack spoke, his expression a little surprised to find you two. On instinct Jonah took a few steps in front of you, Protecting you from god knows what. You looked at the floor as you hugged yourself, a little ashamed of yourself getting caught. 

“We were just talking,,,” It was a lie, but what else could Jonah really say to him. Jack shrugged, “You do-are those my cookies?” He cut himself off, furrowing his eyebrows as he pointed. Following his line of vision you spotted ‘his’ cookies you snagged from the cabinet atop the piano. You didn’t remember moving, but you must’ve. 

Grabbing them you started for the stairs, “You don’t have to worry about it, it’ll never happen again. The cookie-napping or Jonah and me, ‘cause between us nothing happened.” 

“Y/n...” Jonah called after you but you continued towards your room. Leaving both of the boys in the den. 

--------December 7th update 

Loud obnoxious voices grew as you carried yourself to the kitchen. Anxious about what happened last night almost made you turn around, but the aching groans in your stomach made you continue your slow route. 

stepping over the threshold of the gorgeous room.You swallowed your expressive anxiety down and replaced it with a tired smile towards the boys. Pretending last night didn't happen, pretending you didn't have a taste of Jonah, pretending you didn't betray your brother. 

“Morning” you spoke praying to the gods your voice didn’t have a chance to break. You immediately noticed the absence of Jonah and Zach. Most of the anxiety lifted from your shoulders, calming your psychotic nerves. Still you silently wondered where he went off to. 

“Finally.” Corbyn is the first to greet me, “At this rate I was beginning to think you were Sleeping Beauty” Jack chimes in as if it was a normal day, like he didn’t catch you all over his best friend last night. You cross your arms and roll your eyes at him as if it were a normal day. 

“Nice shirt,” Daniel comments as you go on your toes to reach of a bowl on the second shelf. 

“Thanks, got it from Seavey’s, one of my favourite places to shop.” a smirk reaches your lips, Daniel always knew how to distract your mind from anything that unsettled you. 

Grabbing the fruit loops a top the fridge was usually easy with a jump or two. Today they were set back a bit too far, one more little jump and your finger tips grazed the smooth box. Pushing it back farther. You couldn’t but curse your damn height, Maybe just one more powered jump you could latch on to it. 

The feeling of someone coming behind you was comforting, Daniel pressed against your back. Breath fanning along your neck as he reached over your head. Grabbed the red cereal box you couldn’t. Placing it in your hands you were shocked to see green eyes staring into yours instead of the safe blue ones you were use to. 

Fuck. 

messy curls framed his expressionless face, pink lips brought into a taunting smirk. non-heavenly thoughts entered your mind as if you two were the ones there. 

Be normal. Be normal. Be normal. 

It was a dream, all of it! 

“I think you guys should invest in a stool, So I can reach your damn fridge!” Turning away from Jonah you tend to your bowl. stunned how you managed to handle yourself around him. 

“You do know you’re the only one who eats cereal in the house right?”Corbyn asked. 

“What’s wrong with fruit loops?” 

“Absolutely nothing.” 

After fetching a spoon and asking Jonah to return the box to the fridge. You joined the boys at the island, stuffing your face with the fruity goodness. making Daniel laugh, “You didn't wait for the bowl to hit the table top before the spoon was in your mouth.”

“You’re just jealous that you don’t have a Seavey’s and this amazing cereal. Seriously it’s like an orgasm inside your mouth.” 

“settle down they’re not that good little sister.”

“This is why you're not my favourite sibling.”

“Shot fired.” Jack speaks, Corbyn sends him an icy glare across the island. 

Feeling eyes watching you, you glance to the left to see Jonah’s green eyes locked on you. As if you were the only thing in a five mile radius. He wasn’t an ounce subtle about it and not to mention you were stuffing your face at the moment. So attractive, You didn’t mind, Jonah’s practically seen every side of you. 

What bothered you was that Corbyn could catch him at anything given time....