#it was in like the autumn months so not that cold but still kinda cold

[jamminvroomvroom]

second time around.

ln x fem!reader

in which he’s quite desperate to have a second kid.

staying in my active era! there is honestly no excuse for this one, i just simply couldn’t help myself. it’s porn, yes, there is plot, but it’s just. porn.

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! where do i even begin? smut, more smut, breeding kink (kinda the whole point), choking, overstimulation, general sex acts, public sex, car sex, shower sex, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of the kid they already have, lando being a little shit, sex somewhere unhinged in the mtc, a brief moment of angst, dom!lando, rough sex? yeah.

3.9k words

take: 1

the season is coming to an end.

somewhere between italy and singapore lando decides he wants another kid.

it’s a warm day in the middle of september when he proposes the idea to you. you’re watching your daughter toddle around the garden, soaking up the last remnants of sunlight before the darkness of autumn encapsulates the warm beams until march.

she giggles, pushing her toys around in the grass. you let her play, lost in her own little world of wonder. lando turns to you, scanning your side profile, watching you watch the little girl. he’s awestruck, enamoured totally by the family he’s created, by the woman he loves. he doesn’t think, he just opens his mouth and let’s loose his big idea.

“want another one?” he cooes, sliding closer across the bench, until he’s nosing at your cheek. kisses are pressed to your puffy face. it’s still early.

at first you think he’s offering you another coffee, so you hold out your almost empty mug to him. you’d been nursing the drink, letting it go cold in the naturally cooler air. he laughs at you, and that’s when you clock what he’s actually asking.

you turn to him, facing each other now. lando looks excited. you wonder if you can find a way to mirror his expression.

“lando…” you start. his face drops at your tone, letting him down easy. “it’s not that i don’t want to, it’s just-“

“i’ll be home more. i’ve worked it all out. if we get to work now, baby will be here around the summer break.”

you mull over his words.

your first baby was a shock to you both, and you didn’t fancy doing that again. you loved lando with every fibre of your being, just as you did your daughter, but being away from him so much in the lead up to her arrival shot every one of your nerves to pieces.

but another baby would be on the agenda eventually - you both desperately wanted to add to your beautiful family - and you supposed that if he’d done the math���

“by get to work now, you mean…?” you cock an eyebrow at him. he lights up like the christmas tree you’d be putting up in a few months.

“she’s going down for her nap soon.” lando smirks, voice edged with that excitement once again.

-

his head is between your legs mere moments after he shuts your bedroom door.

you’d been waiting for him, stripped bare in anticipation. your baby girl would be down for a good few hours, more than enough time for him to draw out everything you had to offer and fill you back up.

his tongue runs over your flesh; he’s messy with it. you’re choking out whimpers as he licks and laps and tugs with his teeth. your pussy clenches around nothing and he notices, sliding his fingers all over where you ache. they’re quickly wet enough to slide inside of you, and he grinds them deep, luring traces of an orgasm into the pit of your belly. it’s familiar, the way he winds you up, and you want him like this every minute of the day.

“getting you ready, honey. gonna get you so fucking ready.” lando is slurring words into your cunt, letting them get lost to your sodden folds. you hear every word perfectly. they make you shake and shake until you’re undone.

when he looks up at you, his mouth is glistening. his fingers are, too. he hates wasting a drop of you, so he laps up the mess you’ve made while he shuffles up the bed. when he’s finally hovering over you, he’s desperate, but you’re worse. you could cry from the urge.

something carnal is taking place; he’s staring into your soul, finishing up the remnants of your taste, and you’re begging with your eyes, hands slinking all over your own body. you must be dripping by now. your body is restless and you raise your hips, inviting him close, deep.

when he thrusts into you, he’s pinning you down into your shared mattress. you’re completely at his mercy and he fucking loves it. you love it more. you go slack underneath him, and he starts a slow grind. he’s not thrusting, not yet, he’s just rolling into you, deeper, deeper, deeper. you feel the first tears threatening to fall. he feels so good, it’s unbearable.

he nudges at your most sensitive spot, over and over and over. you whine carnally and he swallows it, licking into your mouth. his curls tickle your forehead, you’re pressed so close together. he sees the pools in your eyes and then he looses it completely.

hand on your neck for leverage, he starts thrusting, harder and harder, faster than you can ever recall. he knows you can take it, knows how bad you want it, and that thought alone spurs him on. you have the same goals, the same shared instincts. you feel nothing but pure fucking bliss everywhere.

“you want me to fill you up? you want my baby, honey? want me buried nice and deep?” you hear him grunt, but he sounds so far away.

you are lost to the void when you come. you can’t even try and resist, not when you can hear how wet you are, not when you can hear the quiet whimpers he tries to fight at the way your pussy convulses around him. you cannot see anything but the stars in his eyes.

you go limp and he spills, fucking it even further into you. his eyes are trained on where you’re still joined, and where he’s still fucking you. you’d be screaming if not for the hand wrapped around your throat. the most delicious piece of jewellery you own.

lando needs to know he’s gone as deep as he can, that you’ve come as hard as he can make you. he feels unhinged when his fingers find your clit, switching between short spasms of his finger on the nub, and grinding down on it with his palm. you’re both overstimulated, soaked with sweat and other things. you’re gripping his cock so fucking tight that he can’t stop the rush of moans, your name mumbled like a prayer between expletives.

but still, he needs to know it’s deep enough.

an hour later, you can finally move, and you sink deep into the bath.

your head is on his chest, he washes you gently. you wonder if it’ll be a boy or a girl.

-

date night

almost a month passes. no sign of baby number two.

it’s fine, you tell yourself. you tell lando, too. all the more reason to keep practicing.

every opportunity he gets to bury himself to the hilt inside of you is a win in both of your books. he grabs every single one of those opportunities with both hands.

you’re dressed up nice for dinner, little black dress hugging you well. you watch the scenery flick past you. lando’s in the drivers seat, making small talk, his left hand heavy on your bare thigh. you’ve just dropped your daughter off with her grandparents, your mother hugging lando tight. he’d been gone a while.

fingers skim higher up your thigh. you want to let him carry on but this car is new, untainted by his adventurous personality and your willingness to comply. your legs snap shut and you watch him smirk out the corner of your eye.

“later.” you whisper.

his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

“i know. don’t you worry, honey.” he doesn’t sound convincing, no, he sounds like a man with a plan and you dread to think of what he has in store.

the restaurant is tiny. a hole in the wall. it’s intimate, exclusive, slightly extortionate, but lando likes to treat you. you order, and he behaves. you sip wine, and he behaves. you drag your heel up his leg, and still, he behaves. you know something is brewing behind those stormy eyes.

he launches his attack during dessert.

vanilla ice cream hits your tongue when he strikes, leaning back in his chair. his thick neck captures your attention, the dim light accentuating him just right.

“would your prefer we take this to the car or the bathroom? it’s pretty spacious back there, you know.”

lando speaks so casually, and slightly too loudly. your cheeks are aflame.

“lando!” you hiss in warning. you’re sputtering over his boldness, catching some ice cream with your tongue. he watches the way it moves over your lips intently.

“actually, as tempting as the bathroom is, we still need to break in the new car.” lando sounds like he’s talking about the weather, or a shopping list, not the location of your next sexcapade. you swear you see the old lady at the next table over wink at you. “your choice, honey.”

you’re staring daggers at him. he leans in closer, elbows resting on the table and a shit eating grin contorting his pretty face.

“i’ve been gone too long, i need to remember what that pussy feels like.” his voice has dropped an octave but it’s still too loud. you inadvertently grind against the chair. the candle on the table flickers from the force of the shaky breath your expel.

“if you shut up now, you can have me anywhere you want me.” you mumble, bringing your napkin to your lips. the ice cream is melting and you have more important things on your mind.

“i’ll have you anyway, honey. because no matter what happens, we’re gonna go back to the car and you’re gonna crawl into my lap, aren’t you? you’re not gonna be able to help it.” he keeps going and you want the ground to swallow you up. maybe you want to crawl over the table and jump on his lap right here. you fight every natural instinct.

“lando.” you try to scold him again but it comes out breathier, a feeble attempt at shutting him up. it’s hard to be convincing when you want nothing more than for him to bend you over in the middle of this restaurant.

“and after i’ve had you shaking on my lap, i’m gonna fill you up, yeah? you’ve been waiting for weeks, poor thing.”

you usher over the waiter, and ask for the bill.

-

he’s got you home in one piece and all the way up to the shower.

you’re still delirious from the car. he’s still dripping out of you.

he pushes you against the shower screen, your cheek resting on the fogged up plastic. the combination of yours and his first orgasm is enough to slick him up and he slides right back inside of you, as if he’d never left.

your head is spinning, car lights and nail prints in leather seats flashing through your mind.

he’d been right in the restaurant. you’d crawled straight into his lap and he’d been waiting, seat pushed back, cock slapping up against his tanned belly. he’d swiped his fingers through your folds, determining that you were wet enough already, and then you’d sunk straight down on him.

at first he’d just watched you lose control, bouncing and grinding and whining on his lap. you were growing tired when he stepped in, pushing you back against the steering wheel, the angle change making your eyes roll back. you came twice with his fingers on your clit and his other hand holding you down so he could grind up into you. he’d released deep into you, all you could do was shudder, collapsing into his chest.

now, he’s taking you again, the hot water cascading over you both. you’re almost limp, caught between the cold screen and his hot, restless body. this it was three weeks apart does to him, and the urge to claim every part of you is at the forefront of his mind.

you’re writhing. there’s no room to move; he’s pressed so tight against you, breathy moans sounding straight into your ear and you want him impossibly closer. you always missed him so much it hurt, but that pain had increased tenfold lately.

you try to roll your hips back into him, needing him deeper, somehow. you’re so wet and tight around him, and your attempt at moving on him has you clamping down on him.

lando whimpers when he lets go, marking you as his.

he washes your hair and you fall asleep together naked.

-

the fear

lando is due back from qatar.

any minute now, he’ll be walking through the door.

he’s taken a podium, so you are expecting somewhat high spirits, despite the slight issue that had been the sprint race.

a podium is a podium, you’d tried to tell him on the phone late on saturday night. you knew that a podium was never just a podium.

you’re cleaning the kitchen up, your sweet daughter tucked up tight in her bed upstairs. a random playlist is sounding from the speakers and you flit around in just his hoodie. it hits mid thigh and it’s keeping you shielded from the biting october air.

you hear keys in the lock somewhere in the distance. you grin stupidly. god, you always fucking miss him. you turn to face the doorway, eagerly anticipating his face, longing for one of his speciality hugs.

instead, a storm enters your kitchen in the form of your boyfriend.

you raise and eyebrow.

“lando?” you question.

your hips are in his hands before he can answer. he’s walking you backwards until the granite of the counter is digging into your lower back.

“turn around.” his voice is gravelly, commanding. you do as you’re told.

the hoodie is bunched around your waist, your panties are tugged to the side. you can hear the rustle of fabric, assuming he’s getting himself ready. two fingers gloss through your folds while he pushes you down, bending you over for him. he’s rubbing circles into your clit and you’re keening into his touch.

“you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” you manage to choke out. he grunts in response.

“just need to get inside you.” is all he replies. well, okay then.

lando rearranges you, hiking one of your knees up so that’s it’s resting on the countertop. your other foot barely touches the floor when he fucks into you, ruthless. you cry out, reaching blindly behind you for him. you graze his hip and he shivers, pushing into you even harder.

he’s frantic, messy with it, thumbing at your clit. there’s hardly any room to move his hand, so he’s grinding the pad of his thumb as best he can. the pressure builds in your belly embarrassingly fast. you love when he gets like this, but you will pry what’s wrong out of him later when he curls up into his chest.

“gonna give you another one. s’all i can think about. fucking you full.” he mutters. your back arches into him.

“please.” you whimper, slurred. it’s all you can think about too.

your plea ushers along his orgasm, and he drops his head against your back. you’re shaking when you finish; he stays buried deep for a moment, silence washing over you.

when he helps you stand up, he kisses you deep. he brushes the hair from your face, says hello properly.

“wanna go see her.” he mumbles.

-

when you finally manage to climb the stairs, you see straight into your daughters room.

lando is stood over her crib, watching her sleep in the lamp lit room. he’s cooing something to her that you can’t make out. your knees are weak at the sight. you want to fill this house with children that look like him and laugh the way he does.

he catches you watching, sending you a wink, a promise that he’ll meet you in bed. when he finally does, drawing back the sheets and dropping into bed beside you, he wraps himself around you instantly.

“talk to me.” you command, toying with his hair in a way that you know turns him into mush in your hands.

“can’t win a race, can’t give you another baby. just- fuck.” he sighs, voice so small. you tear up but you push that aside for now.

“stop, lando. don’t do this to yourself.” you try to sound firm, attentive.

“just- am i good to you? am i good to her?” he needs to hear you say it, that’s the only thing that will talk him down from this spiral. he’s exhausted, and this is often a consequence.

“sometimes i think you hung the stars in the sky.” you hum, kissing his forehead.

gentle snores lull you to sleep.

-

quickie

you go with him to austin.

it seemed logical, after the events of qatar. your daughter has been stolen away by lando’s dad, who is showing her the paddock and introducing her to mechanics. you watch on, momentarily, because then lando is stealing you away.

“haven’t you got fp3 in a minute?” you ask, coy smile on your face. he’s pulling your jeans down and kicking them away.

“this won’t take long.” he smirks.

you crave the upper hand for a change. his race suit is already undone, so you make your move. you tug down his fireproofs, taking his cock in your hands. he’s hard already, glistening for you. he groans, but doesn’t make you stop.

you’re watching him through your eyelashes, his head tipping back in pleasure. you work your hand around him, up and down, applying pressure at the base and around the tip. it’s flushed red, wet in your hand and he looks too pretty to stop. he can have you later, in your hotel room, you think. right now, you’re having him.

lando is panting, thrusting into your hand when he comes for you. you’re soaked through, and he can probably see the damp patch on the panties. his release hits your stomach, painting your flushed skin white. your eyes scan the room for something to clean yourself with, but he beats you to it.

thick fingers swipe through the mess he’s made. your panties are tugged to the side and then he’s fucking you with said fingers. you cannot produce a thought, mouth gaping open in the shape of an ‘o’. the sight before you has you gushing, and he uses that leverage to speed up.

“you think i’m gonna let it go go waste, honey? silly girl. pretty, pretty girl.” he mutters.

your hips are bucking into his hand when he pulls out of you, collecting more of him from your belly, and then he’s thrusting them in again. you tear up from the pleasure coursing through you, white hot. he’s crazy, you think, but he’s so fucking beautiful, teasing glint in his eye as he curls his fingers deeper.

“want it so bad, don’t you? gotta keep you full for me, don’t i?”

you’re sure you can be heard from the garage when your orgasm hits.

-

office party

a burnt orange dress clings to your hips and a curly haired man clings to your hand.

the mtc is lit up for another gala that you and lando have to attend. the season is over and they’ve had a great run, so a toast must be made to celebrate that.

you watch him get passed around the room between sponsors and other important people, proud of what he’s achieved. you hate sharing him, but it’s a necessary evil, so you drink champagne with oscar’s girlfriend, lily, and natalie pinkham.

when lando comes back to you, his PR smile is dropped and that genuine, boyish grin returns that you have so missed in his momentary absence. he introduces you to some people, proudly showing you off, sinking drinks as he does.

it’s nearing 10pm when his actions become questionable. his hand stays on your ass, his words whispered in your ear are filthy and his sly kisses on your neck stop being quite so sly.

you remove him from the main event, just for a moment, just to try and get him to compose himself before you jump him against one of the vintage racing cars. he sees this as an invitation, however, and then everything goes awry.

he’s dragging you into the lift, kissing you against the closed doors. when you stumble out a floor up, you can still hear the function in full swing. he’s pulling you down a hallway and into what you assume is an office. when he has you sat on a desk, you realise where you are.

“is this zak’s office?” your eyes pop out of your head, bewildered.

“maybe.” he shrugs. he’s smirking like a bastard.

“you’re insane.” you shake your head, standing from the desk, but his lips ghost your ear and you’re putty in his hands.

“you’re driving me insane. coming here in this tight fucking dress. can’t stop looking at you, thinking about this.” his hand rubs over your lower belly as he speaks, and then you’re back on the desk.

lando’s on his knees, peeling the silky material over your thighs until your barely there panties are in his face. he mouths over them briefly, and then they’re gone and his tongue is buried to the hilt in your cunt.

it doesn’t take him long to get you off, the alcohol and the thrill of being in the one place you should never have sex pushing you quickly towards your orgasm.

the glass wall of windows is too inviting for lando to pass up, so on shaky legs, you’re pressed up against them, looking out over the pond and the fairy lights when he pushes into you.

he’s kissing over your shoulder, your neck, holding your down on him while he thrusts up into you. you turn your head to kiss him, to let him swallow up your noises that could give you away.

“you’re so fucking good for me, honey. letting me have you here like this just so i can give you a baby.” he slurs against your lips, pussy drunk and ravenous.

he finds your clit, fast fingers making small swipes against it and you want to cry.

“gonna make this time count, yeah, honey? gonna keep it all inside of you until we get home?”

you try to nod, try to say something but you’re choking on air and dripping all over him. a couple more thrusts and you’re the perfect vessel for him to release into, throbbing and hot around his cock.

“beg for it, honey, come on. tell me how much you want it.” lando mumbles right in your ear.

“lando, please. please, please, please.” you whimper. “come for me, baby, need it inside of me.”

you leave the office a lot more composed than when you entered it. well, aside from the remnants of him that are running down your inner thighs.

-

a month later, lando’s laughing. he’s actually laughing, while you cringe, burying your blushing face in his chest.

you’re holding a pregnancy test in your hands, finally a positive one.

when you do the maths, you realise where baby norris was conceived, and you try and make him promise never to tell anyone that it was in his boss’s office.

“it’s a funny story.” he tells you. there are tears in his eyes.

“you’re so lucky i love you.” you roll your eyes. you are also dangerously close to crying.

but truthfully, you’re the lucky one. he carries you to bed that night, claiming that now you had a baby on board, you had to be careful!

you dream of him, that night. the man that hung the stars in the sky.

-

once again, idk what came over me i’m sorry lmfao

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239

removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #5: CADMIUM COLORS

(also on bandcamp and spotify!)

Once again, welcome back to the Constant Companions Closeups - a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions! Last time, I wrote a whole diatribe about my OCs while talking about I Wish That I Could Fall, and today, we're eating paint! Cadmium Colors featuring Soneji of Project Mikan!

Consider this a content warning: this post will discuss the pandemic, struggles with mental health, and suicidal ideation/attempts. I'm hoping it'll ultimately be uplifting, but the discussions at hand are incredibly heavy, and it wouldn't do this song right to be vague. Please be warned.

---

Let's talk about COVID.

At the beginning of 2020, I was in the midst of a long-term break from making music. It wasn't completely cold turkey, and I might not have even called it a break if you'd asked me at the time, but things were dire. I was still dealing with the burnout I'd sustained from the making of Autumn Every Day; I'd had my ego bruised by a live performance at a house party that went so hilariously bad it'd hurt even the most stoic performers (imagine watching an entire packed room of people clear out in 5 minutes flat from the already hyper-exposed vantage point of being on stage in front of them and knowing you single-handedly caused that lol); I had just moved across the country, and was preoccupied with trying to make ends meet as a 22 year old dealing with pure adulthood for the first time.

I was working a shitty minimum wage job at a discount clothing store I will not be naming, slogging through late-night shifts that wouldn't get me home until 3 am some nights. I had friends and roommates, but they were all just as overworked and exhausted and dealing with their own shit as me. I was mentally ill and unmedicated. Suicidal ideation was rearing its ugly head at my lowest moments.

Then, as I turned 23, a global pandemic shut the world down, my grandpa died with me being unable to attend his funeral, and I had a catastrophic mental breakdown that suddenly turned the voices in my head into a deafening cacophony of self-inflicted malice.

In hindsight, I think being 23 kinda just does that to you

---

Fast forward to 2021. I was back at my retail job with the pandemic raging in full force, my sense of self was held together with duct tape, positive self-talk essentially didn't exist for me, and I was the loneliest and lowest I had ever been. I was working the fewest hours I could get away with, and still, almost all spare time I had was taken up either by work or by my recovery from it.

This was around the time I got an email from Crypton, of all places - the people that make Hatsune Miku, for anyone uninformed. They wanted a remix of the song Happy Synthesizer for a Digital Stars compilation. I could not for the life of me tell you how I lucked into this or why they reached out to me of all people, but they did, and I was deathly determined to prove myself worthy of it.

This was August of 2021. I was staring down the barrel, languishing in what felt like only half of a life, fantasizing about death and trying to twist my thoughts into something that could at least keep me blearily shuffling forward another couple days. It was untenable.

(I'd also recently been diagnosed with OSDD 1b - this is a whole can of worms I can't really open until we talk about Breeze Blows, but it's important to at least mention that coping with this was a significant part of this turnaround.)

It's melodramatic, but I had only two options - make things again, or die.

I finished that remix within 24 hours of getting the stems, and I will gladly toot my own horn about it - it's really fucking good, in my opinion. Bittersweet ended up coming together in a mad dash over the next couple months as well. I was making music again.

Even though I was exponentially busier, things paradoxically got easier. I made the creative process a priority in my life, and not only did it give me an outlet for everything that had otherwise been eating away at my soul, but it struck a chord with other people who had been struggling as well. Things just... started getting brighter.

So I kept making music and living and yadda yadda blah blah here I am. This is all a lot of words and very personal stories of mental health struggles to say this:

One: The line between being an artist and being one of countless people forced to work jobs that go nowhere, that put their life at risk, that force them to strip parts of themselves away - it is a faint and transparent line built on circumstances of class and privilege and luck. Making Art and being an Artist aren't magical elevated states of existence, but something anyone is capable of if given the space to nurture their creativity. I believe the world should be a place where any person can do this.

Two: It's easy to convince yourself that art is meaningless in the face of the world at large. And yes, revolutions aren't fought by poetry and paintings, and people aren't fed through songs. But art is a source and a medium for connection; Art is how we find beauty in a disorganized and entropic world; Art is what we come home to and what words we write and pictures we paint and songs we sing to remind us that people matter to us and love is real and life is worth fucking living. Maybe that's corny and stupid, but it's true.

Three: So help me God, I will never work retail again in my entire life.

---

This is another song that is heavily inspired by artists like Prefab Sprout, Peter Gabriel, Kate Bush, and other artists of that ilk - very 80s, very flowery and sentimental lyricism, focused on telling a story. I greatly admire songs that aren't afraid to paint otherwise banal or ordinary scenes in abstract reverence!! I wanted the verses to contrast heavily with each other in that way, with verse one's relentless poeticisms (prosaic practice of depravity) and idioms turned on their head (suspending innocents above their disbelief) against verse two's incredibly straightforward depiction of a factory worker's circumstances.

The flowery language might have worked against me somewhat, though! I've seen a lot of folks that thought the ending was darker or much more defeatist than I intended, and while some of that is just inevitable with a work of art, I want to be clear.

Translator's note: this means "don't kill yourself, you idiot"!!

As you may have picked up from the previous post in this series, this song does heavily feature a leitmotif or two predominantly performed under pudgy pretenses. I'm not going to go on that whole novella-length spiel again, but rest assured knowing that this song, too, is one that makes me think about my OCs. Since it's something many people missed, however, I will take a moment to point out that this song quotes none other than Autumn Every Day off of my album of the same name!

Painting and visual art have been something of a reoccurring obsession of mine in my own art. I grew up around visual artists, have always been friends with many visual artists, and generally have a really intense love of it as a medium and a mode of expression. However, there's also always been a sense of... well, I don't want to call it jealousy, but it's jealousy. I've tried many times to start making visual art of my own, and I have made some things, but it's been a struggle, and I worry sometimes that my eye has permanently outstripped my ability.

However, in my quest to toss out grand expectations and simply have fun making art, I did recently pick up a cheap little drawing tablet! I'm excited to be a beginner at something artistic again...

Finally, I want to thank a couple people: Soneji of Project Mikan for the gorgeous, soaring saxophone solo; friend_xp for the mindboggling MV editing; and especially my good friend Que for the GORGEOUS painterly art that goes along with this song! Que's style was just perfect for this, and really tied the whole thing together immaculately!! There's no joke or deeper lore or anything I just fucking love Que's art go follow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And with that, I think this post is complete!! If you have anything else you wanna know about, ask away in the replies! Tomorrow will be Breeze Blows with Marcy Nabors and Marlow Jacobs!!!

MAKE ART AND BE GAY

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part I

Word count: +4300

Warnings: SA, abuse (kinda Cinderella vibes), almost rape, seriously 18+ please🙏

This was written only because few scenes, that will be in the next part, is occupying my mind for weeks now and I need to get rid of that to make space for anything else. At this point I have no idea what to do with this anyway. I have potential villain/s and that's it. Nothing more - I still didn't get much further, only a hazy outline of story that could work, but it's still more than I had when I started to write Heal me

This most likely isn't up to everyone's taste and it's a bit raw and harsh (like winter), but who knows. You might like it nonetheless

Hopefully it will help me get rid of whatever is eating on me since August, so I can again be productive and write something..different Anyway, enjoy🫰

Edit: as I read it after a long time I surprised even myself.. in many ways =_= Where did this come from - seriously? Sorry if there are still mistakes. I usually do at least five rounds of checking before posting anything, but this.. I can't possibly do another round. Don't tell me I didn't warn you. 18+ really!

Let's start new year with angst 😵‍💫

Part II

I stood by the window, wrapped in warm fur. My eyes roamed over the crumbled ruins of houses disappearing under layer of heavy snow behind the inner walls, icicles longer and thicker than my forearm, glittered in sun. Silver snowflakes danced above that graveyard of half-fallen stone walls that were sticking up like black fangs surrounded by pure whiteness.

These lands used to be prosperous and lively, dozens of families lived under the governance of my father, the lord whose family was assigned to protect the border with Autumn Court. Because of the good relationship with the lords on the other side of border, father's family used to be one of the strongest and most important in entire Winter Court. But that was story of past.

Everything started to crumble when my father took a lady from Autumn as a bride. Like ice and fire, people of Winter never fully trusted the wielders of fire from Autumn, despising them; looking down through the fingers at my poor mother. Rumours spread faster than plague, infecting every heart on its way. Nobody cared they were true mates, it didn't matter.

The day I was born was the day when everything went to Hell. People started to leave, moving to who-knows-where. When my powers manifested for the first time, they started to run away in big groups until just few were left behind, mostly only vassals and families of staff at our castle. Fire wielder born in Winter.. it was as if my father brought in a demon disguised as one of them. As soon as I started to notice and understand the side glances, the disgust and even the rage on faces of faeries around me, I swore to never again use the magic circling in my veins and buried it deep down. Of course, every act against the nature demands a price to be paid. My price was almost constant migraine and often nose bleeding, yet it was better than using the powers.

I was three when my mother suddenly died. She was weak and unwell ever since I was born and the harsh blizzard that hit whole Winter Court that year, was too much for her; or that's what I was told. She was always cold and it caused her a great suffering - something we had in common.

During the following months my father was rapidly withering and aged a lot during that time, refusing to eat until I burst into tears, scared he would leave me, too. That broke him and finally, he ate. He started trying, living to take care of me.

In his efforts to protect me and save the name and position of our family, when I was ten, he married a widow with son from prestigious family. The boy was eighteen at the time. Ever since they started to live with us, I felt his intensive gaze glued to my back anywhere I went. I tried to ignore it, really tried, but it was getting worse and worse lately.

Faint sounds of jingle bells scared away pictures of the past and all dark thoughts and I straightened up, watching the horizon. At first I saw nothing, only blinding whiteness. I squinted, listening carefully. No, it wasn't a cry of cold wind, that were really jingle bells and they were quickly getting closer. And then I finally saw it.

Pair of reindeer passed through strait between the steep mountains that were protecting this valley, hauling huge sleight seemingly made of the polished ice. When they reached the first ruins, I recognised the emblem of High Lord's family at the sleigh's side. I immediately rushed from my bedchambers and ran to father's study at the ground floor. By the time I reached its doors, the sleigh were already passing the gates.

"Father!" I heaved. "We have guests! Message from the High Lord!"

Father looked up from the stack of documents, slightly startled, putting down the glasses. "It must only seem to you, sweetheart. There's no way-"

"Guests! We have guests from capital!" My stepmother shrieked as soon as she opened the doors. Then she noticed me and wrinkled her nose in disapproval. Despite my father's belief, she never liked me nor considered me her daughter. She managed to suppress her hate in presence of him, but she never omitted the oportunity to hurt me, verbally or physically. "I thought that you are unwell when you didn't join us for the breakfast," her lips curled into cruel grin. "You look well to me."

"I saw royal sleigh from the window," I mumbled, averting my eyes. She hated when I even merely looked at her. Once she claimed that the disgusting fire in my pale eyes burnt her and punished me for it. Whether it was true I didn't know. Except of the fire magic, I looked like a normal High Fae of Winter Court. My long white hair had slightly silver shade, my skin was pale and eyes had color of frozen river.

Father stood up and swiftly headed to doors. "If it is so, we have to welcome them accordingly. Where's Zima? Are maids preparing the refreshments?"

"I instructed them to brew the best tea we have and prepare some warm refreshments on my way. Zima is training, but I sent butler to call him in," Morena replied as she hurried after father. I followed after them, keeping my distance.

The second she mentioned him, her son appeared. He observed the situation and his cold, almost white eyes landed on me. He took his time as usual. It felt as if he was trying to peel off all of the clothes from my body. Cold shiver ran down my spine and I tugged the fur cloak even closer.

"I was told that we have visit from capital. Is it true?" his raspy cold voice caused that I instinctively cringed.

"Yes, dear," Morena looped her hand to his arm, excited. "Royal family's ignored us for years now! This has to be some good news finally!"

My father sighed. "I have bad feeling about it.."

Chirping, Morena led Zima to the foyer. I matched my steps with father. "It certainly will be okay. No need to worry," I smiled gently.

Father only pressed lips into thin line. We arrived just as the sleigh stopped at the stairs and importantly looking male in thick fur cape got out.

"I'm Isen, High Lord's main advisor," he said without paying any respect to us. He was looking down the length of his nose at us with frown, then his eyes slowly wandered all around the mostly empty, dark and cold hall. Compared to the High Lord's castle, ours had to look like a nest of poor villagers to him. That much was clear from the strict lines around his mouth that only deepened. "I brought a message from His Highness. Can I have a word with you, lord Cherith? In private, of course." His gaze stopped on me and one of his brows raised as he surveyed me from feet to head with almost interest.

I held my breath, looking down as ethics dictated. However, he wasn't the only one looking at me. Morena's rage was staging into me like daggers and my stepbrother's sick possessiveness made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Father's brows knitted with worry and he cleared his throat.

"Yes, sure. Please, follow me to my study."

"How about a cup of warm tea?" Morena offered with sly smile.

"There's no need of tea. I don't plan on staying here long," the adviser declined coldly.

Morena paled and froze on spot. "As you wish, your-"

They were gone before she finished the sentence, the soft click of doors echoed in hallway. She turned to me, baring her teeth.

"What was that? What have you done to catch his interest? You little witch!"

"I did nothing," I tried to defend myself, already knowing what would follow.

She grabbed my elbow harshly. "Come!"

I was resisting, but she pulled me all the way to the closest lounge. Zima followed without word with perverted grin. He loved to watch my punishments. He locked the doors and warded them.

Morena pushed me to the table. "Pull your skirts up!"

"But I did nothing bad, I-"

"You dared to look at me with your dirty eyes today. That alone is enough good reason for punishment! Hurry up, if you don't want it to get worse."

Tears stung my eyes. No matter what I would do, I wouldn't get out of here without punishment. Even if I tried to call for help, all staff at this castle ignored me. I couldn't ran from this, so I did as I was told.

Zima stepped away from the doors for better view and his mother took out thin wand she was hiding in her skirts. As usual, she whisked the back of my thighs until she drew blood.

I bit on my lower lip, suppressing the cries of pain, my fingers fisted the edge of the table. I wouldn't give her such satisfaction. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks - that was the only sign of my protest.

When Morena was done with me, she simply left, immediately losing interest in me. Though, my punishment wasn't over. Zima was still in the room. I suspected that his mother knew very well what he was lately doing to me, yet she never stopped him, never told him anything.

"Don't dare to move," he hissed as he stepped even closer.

His trousers fell down and I could hear strange noises from behind. Thankfully, I didn't see him nor what he was doing there. Nevertheless I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, the worst part was just about to come yet. My fingers balled into fists. I could feel his hand on my legs, his fingers digging into my flesh as he groaned. And then it started. He pressed his hips against my clothed back, rocking back and forth as something thick and hard poked me, sliding down my underwear and between my thighs. Both of his hands landed on my sides, holding me down. I held my breath trying to block his disgusting moans and groans. Once a single sob escaped me, I was unable to stop the following ones.

I didn't know how long it took until he finally groaned for the last time, something wet covered my inner thighs and he pulled his trousers up. He leaned over me, whispering into my ear, slightly breathless. "One day, you will be mine. Truly mine. You can't escape me. I'm looking forward that day."

The doors closed behind him and I shivering pulled my skirts down and fell to my knees. I curled into a ball on the floor and cried. The stinging pain of beating slowly subsided as the shallow wounds healed. However my soul was behind the point of mending for years now. I had enough of this. I couldn't take it anymore, but what could I do? Where could I go to get rid of my stepmother and especially of her disgusting son. Bile rose in my throat and I crawled to the window, pushing it open.

The freezing cold air filled my lungs and few snowflakes landed on my cheeks, mixing with the tears that already started to turn into ice. This kind of pain was welcome. At least for a moment, I could forget. I sighed heavily. What kind of life would I have if my mother didn't die? I wondered. She for sure wouldn't let anyone treat me like this. For her, I wouldn't be nuisance nor the monster.

The sharp pain split my head and my vision went black. I hissed, massaging my temples even though I knew it wouldn't work. A wave of nausea made me empty my stomach. I again closed the window and wrapped myself in the fur cloak. Slowly breathing in and out, I sat down and waited until it got a bit better.

After a while I heard hurried steps at hallway and dared to peek out. It seemed that the lord Isen was done here, leaving. I hurried to the foyer, wiping my mouth and adjusting my appearance.

"I hope that you understood the instructions and you and your family will act according the High Lord's will," I heard his reserved voice as I got closer. My stepmother and her son were already there, waiting. Morena seemed to be confused, but she didn't even look my direction as I joined them. Her son narrowed eyes on me in malice. However, it was my father who worried me. His shoulders were slumped, he was paler than usual, terror and pain marking his face.

"Yes," was the only thing he said. Lord Isen immediately turned away without second glance at my family. His eyes landed on me for a short moment though and he was off. Reindeer shook their heads, ringing the jingle bells and the snow creaked as the sleighs moved.

"What did he come for?" Morena asked the second the entrance doors were firmly shut.

My father only shook his head and his sad eyes searched for me. "My sweet little girl, can you accompany me for a while?"

I was already eighteen yet he still called me like that. My heart filled with love. "Sure, dad." I took his big, warm hand and he led me back to his study.

"What's going on?" Morena demanded, following us, her son at her heels.

"Later. I'll tell you later," father stopped them with a simple gesture.

We walked down the hallway in silence. Father locked the door of his study and pulled me into a tight hug. He let out a shuddering sigh.

"What happened?" I asked softly, holding him just as close.

Father was still silent. When it already seemed that he wouldn't answer, he took a deep breath. "High Lord thinks that it's time for his heir to get married," his voice was strangely raspy. "And he chose you to be the bride."

I froze in disbelief, lump raising in my throat. I felt sick again. "Me?" My voice was weak and shaky, mirroring my terror. "Why me?"

"I thought it's long time forgotten and royal family already crossed out our name from the family tree," he sighed, leading me to the small sofa near to the hearth with flickering flames. "Long, very long time ago, royal family needed someone reliable to protect our Court from the Autumn as the natural barrier of mountains didn't seem to be enough. The High Lord decided to entrust such important task to his cousin who he was very close with. He gave him new name and extensive land at the border. It's a position that is inherited in our family for generations now."

Even though I understood what he was implying, I still didn't see the reason why to choose me. Father had to read it in my eyes because he squeezed both of my hands in his big one and smiled sadly.

"High Lord needs to strengthen the position of the heir and the royal family. Unfortunately, there isn't any suitable lady between their close relatives, so he decided to call upon our ancient bonds and wants you. The noble families in power aren't very reliable these days and keep plotting against the royal family. But we, despite everything, still keep on our oath and serve well, so High Lord counts on our loyalty now."

I swallowed hard. "Do-.. Does he know about..?"

Father nodded. "He knows about Evalyn, your mother, but that's all. He, as the rest of the court, has no idea about your powers. By your appearance, he probably assumes you took after me."

"If he finds out..?"

"I tried to object," father sighed heavily, tears shining in his eyes. "Unfortunately, it isn't a proposal. It's an order. You are the only reminder of my beloved Evalyn I have. I swore to protect you, my little girl, but the moment you get married, I won't be able to fulfil the promise... I can't even imagine what will happen once young Kallias or his father finds out about your magic."

He pressed face to my hands, cool wetness trickling into my palms. "I thought I have enough time to find someone kind who would love you and take good care of you somewhere far from this Court. Somewhere where you could live freely without being looked down. But I failed you.. I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry, my precious child.."

His words were breaking my heart and I wept with him. He was trying so hard for me all these years. Because of me he lost almost everything, yet he never blamed me for it and always thought so dearly of me. And now, he was even apologising.

"Please, don't, papa." His shoulders trembled and he started to cry even harder. "You protected me whole my life."

Suddenly, he raised his head, pale eyes wild. "You have to go. I'll send you to your family in Autumn Court. They will hide you - royal family won't be able to forcibly take you. Not without risking a war. We can say that you ran away. Yes. That could work." He stood up, pacing.

"Papa, no," I stood up too. "You can't do that! Royal family could take it as a betrayal and punish you for that."

"Who cares what will happen to me? As long as you are safe, everything would be okay."

I hugged him, crying to his shoulder, willing him to understand.

"I care, dad," I sobbed. "I won't allow it. I'll rather go to Mountain Home and endure it. I will live as up to now and-"

"You can't not use your powers for the rest of your life. It's too dangerous. It could kill you. It's already causing you so much pain."

I looked him into the eyes, determined. He was my only living family, the only person I held dear in my life. I wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. I couldn't. "No! I can do it. I wil go!"

* * *

It was already late at night when I finally returned to my bedchambers. I was exhausted. It took some time to persuade my father, but at last he agreed. It hurt so much to see him in such a state, so sad and broken. However, there was no way around this. I had to do as I was ordered by High Lord and marry his son, Kallias.

At dinner, father broke the news to Morena and her son. Morena made a big scene, but over all she seemed happy to get rid of me. Zima took it seemingly calmly. He didn't say a word and frowning stared at his plate with dinner he hadn't touched. I had a bad feeling about that, his words still ringing in my ears.

One day, you will be mine. You can't escape me.

Maybe this wedding was the getaway from this situation I prayed for, given by the Mother herself. The question was whether it was reward or different form of punishment though. Anyway, I had no saying in it and had to obey.

After the dinner, I spent the rest of the evening at father's study, talking with him about everything and nothing. He wasn't a drinker, yet he opened a bottle of wine and offering me a glass, we gazed to the flames in hearth until we grew too tired and called it a night.

I reached for the door handle of my bedroom, the metal cold in my hand. I twisted it and opened the door, already excited to dive under the thick and warm comforter while soft crackling of fire would lull me to sleep. I halted as the gust of freezing cold air rolled out from inside, biting into my flesh. I suppressed the urge to tug the fur cloak closer and looked around, or at least tried to. Curtains were closed, the room was completely dark except of few last coals in hearth. I heard movement from somewhere near my bed, soft rustling of the sheets. Someone or something was here.

A pale big hand with long fingers shot out from the darkness, grasped my arm and pulled me in. The door closed with loud click, followed by the sound of lock. I was trapped. I was so scared I couldn't make a single cry as I was nudged backward and fell on the bed. The person straddled me, trapping me under their heavy body, hand on each side of my head. The smell of strong alcohol filled my nose.

"You can't escape me."

I cringed at the hoarse deep voice, the voice I knew. Whole my body started to shiver. I clenched my teeth, but even that couldn't stop their chatter. It was Zima, my very drunk step-brother.

"You are mine and you always will be."

His cold fingers wrapped around my throat, slightly squeezing as if testing it. Then they slowly slid down to my chest and under the dress, leaving a burning pain wherever his skin met with mine. He yanked on the collar with such strength that the fabric had torn. The freezing cold clenched its claws into my skin and I cried out in pain and horror.

"I won't let some brat to take what is mine. To touch what belongs to me. This all is mine, only mine."

He sounded like a crazy man. His cold hands cupped my breasts and pushed them together while his face nuzzled between them. His wet tongue licked my skin and sucked on my nipple and I cried and screamed. The pain his cold touch caused me, was agonizing, much worse than the horror of being so helpless. I tried to push him away, punching his ribs and anywhere I could reach, yet it seemed he didn't even notice.

I was dizzy and nauseous. Just when I thought I wouldn't be able to take it anymore and faint, the doors in connected sitting room opened and a maid called out.

"My lady, your father is sending you a tea! I brought also your medicine!"

Zima stilled, listening.

"My lady?"

He cursed and his weight disappeared. The window on the other side of room opened, letting in even more of the coldness and he was gone. I managed to sit up and pull the fur cloak over the torn dress with trembling fingers just before the door opened and maid peeked in.

"My lady..? For Mother's sake!" she wailed. "Why it is so freezing cold here? My lady, are you okay? Why is even the window ajar?"

It was Lucy, a young maid who began to work here just recently. Unlike older maids, she was very kind to me and often came to help me dress or brought me a tea. She immediately ran to the window and shut it close, locking it. She turned on few lights and add logs to the hearth. When the fire came to live again and flames started to dance over the log, she rushed to me.

"My lady, are you all right? You are so cold and shivering. What happened?"

I tried to hold it back, but when she started to rub my arms and back to warm me up, I burst into tears.

"I'm so happy to see you, Lucy."

"Everything is okay now," she comforted me. "What happened?"

I cried even harder. I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone about this. Who would believe me anyway. And the moment my father would find out.. I didn't even want to think how he would react. It would break his weakening heart for sure. I didn't want to lose him. He was my only family.

Lucy just pressed her lips together and brought in the tea.

"Here. Drink this, my lady. It will warm you up."

I reached for the cup. The fur cloak a bit loosened and Lucy gasped.

"My lady! Your neck! You have frostbite all over your throat!"

The breath hitched in my throat, panic rising. I had to come up with something and very fast. If she noticed that it was in shape of a hand, that my dress was torn and the wounds on my chest.. She was clever girl, she would piece together what happened.

"I-it's nothing. It will heal in no time. Could you prepare me a bath, please? I'm really cold."

She nodded, but her gaze lingered on my neck, brows furrowed.

"It's only good that you will leave soon," she mumbled and left.

I swallowed hard. She knew. With such, all servants probably knew, yet they never said anything. They never helped me nor said anything to my father. When it came to the servants who worked here since before I was born, it wasn't so surprising. They couldn't care less for me. However, when even those who came recently, didn't say a word.. well.. It had to be because of Morena. She most likely threatened them all.

Dread washed over me. Maybe after all it was really good that I would leave soon. If only to get rid of Zima and his mother. But what about my father? What would happen to him after that? More I thought about it, more restless I grew. If only father could stay in the capital with me.

That night I couldn't sleep. The bath helped a great deal and warmed me up, yet I couldn't stop shivering, jolting at the slightest sound. The wounds healed really fast, however my heart needed much longer.

Most of the time before the day of the wedding, I spent locked in my chambers or with father in his study. I couldn't relax even when Lucy told me that Zima left the castle and wouldn't be back before I would leave. Last days at my home I spent in constant state of alarm and haste, preparing to leave my old life and to survive the new one in capital with faeries I'd never met.

And at last, the final day of my current struggles came.

[ennie0123]

Shadows In The Street Lights <3

A/N: Finally it's here. I don't know if this should be a series or not, but in the meanwhile I think about it, I hope you enjoy this little creation of mine, which was inspired by my childhood favourite movie, Starstruck. I hope some of you have pleasant memories of the movie as well, and now, welcome to live your own Starstruck movie in a form of this text. Also for the plot, if your native language is Dutch or English - now it's not. :)

CW: smoking, cursing, idk the basic stuff.

F!reader

This doesn't have any smut, fyi horny motherfuckers ;)

Word count: 3k ish

Have a nice day.

-E

(Gaat het? = You okay?)

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

It was over. Something you had planned and waited for months was now over. But you couldn't be happier. You finally got to experience the one and only, Joost Klein live show. And it was so much better than anticipated. You walk out of the venue with your friends, the cold autumn breeze of Amsterdam hitting you, but you don't mind. After being inside a venue that you swear was at least hundred degrees Celsius, this felt nice for a while.

You hug your friends at the bus stop in front of the venue, saying goodbye as their bus arrives. The promise of never complaining about anything else again when you get back to your car crosses your mind as you curse your choice of clothing, thinking of the hoodie you decided to leave in the backseat. The night really was getting a bit cold, and even though everything was perfect, the cold air of Amsterdam and lack of cigarettes in your possession kinda made you irritated. You look at the ground, shoving your hands deep in the pockets of your thin jacket, as you walk to the direction where you left your car, turning the corner without watching where you're going. Mistake number.. whatever it is. 

A door was opened right in front of you, and nearly hit your head, but your shoe stops it, and you nearly lose your balance.

"Oh, sorry! Gaat het?" You hear a male voice speak as you regain your balance. "I'm fine." You chuckle, as you look up at the man in front of you, shocked. Holy fuck. "Joost? Oh shit, sorry, I mean, like, that was my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going." You ramble without thinking. Taking in the features of his figure, a tall Dutch man in front of you, your heart skips a couple of beats. Black jeans that has some kind of wavy seams as a decoration, Ed Hardy hoodie with the hood pulled up, and some shades covering his eyes. However with a simple outfit like that, he manages to look better than ever, making it impossible to look away. The man looks to the side as he notices you eyeing him. "It's alright," Joost laughs lightly, "as long as you're not hurt, we're good." You smile at his reassuring words, still a bit dumbfounded.

"You were at the show?" He continues, noticing your eyes on him, recognising who he is. With a slight chuckle leaving his lips, he takes his sunglasses off, putting them in the hoodie pocket. 'God it should be illegal to see those hazy, blue eyes without glasses framing them,' your thoughts racing as well as your heart. "Yeah, I was." you smile back at him, trying to regain your composure, mesmerized by the blonde in front of you. "How did you like it?" He decides to small talk a little bit. 'Why not,' he thought, since there was no other fans around, a little small talk never hurt nobody. "It was so good, you're so good!" You babble, immediately regretting it. He laughs, a warm comforting smile forming on his lips, making your worry about your overly enthusiastic babble fade away. "I'm glad. Are you here alone?" He asks, looking around you guys, not noticing anyone with you. "Yeah, or like… I was there with friends, but they left like five minutes ago." You gesture to the side with your head. "Ah, alright, alright…" He says in an awkward voice, trying to continue the conversation somehow.

"You're not from here." He states, bringing up the fact that you're talking in English. You shake your head, telling him where you're from and he nods, urging you to continue. "I just moved here, still struggling to learn Dutch." A laugh leaves your lips with that sentence. "That's fine, I know it's not easy." Joost answers with an understanding smile, "Duolingo lessons done?" His comment making you grin. "Yeah, definitely."

A silence following it, not quite knowing how to continue, not wanting to ask for a photo or ruin the nice interaction with your favourite artist, and the tiny voice in your head is screaming at you for not knowing what to say next.

His facial features look beautiful under the dim street light, and those damn ocean eyes staring back at you make you think you would die if you kept looking at them any longer. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you began speaking, wanting to escape the awkward silence before it's too late, "Listen, it was so nice meeting you. I- eh, I need to-" He cuts you off, "You here by car?"

You nod, confused, his eyes still staring into yours. "Yeah it's parked behind the corner at the parking lot." You point at your right. His eyes following your gestures, looking at the direction you're pointing at. "Mine's there too, come, I'll walk you to your car." He says, quite enjoying this normal interaction with someone, and not wanting it to end just yet. You shake your head, "No you don't need to, I'll be okay-"

"It's not that safe in this area during these hours," he explains, worried about your safety, "there's been a lot of weird shit happening here lately…" You listen to him talk, as he gestures for you to walk with him. Before you even acknowledge it, your legs start moving on their own, agreeing to his request by following him. The silence settles down on you two as you wonder how the hell you ended up in a situation like this, and how on earth could you ever explain this to your friends later.

You agree silently by following him, as he gestures you to walk with him. A silence falls on you two, but this time it doesn't feel as awkward.

He pulls out his cigarette pack from his pocket, taking one and offering the pack to you. You gladly accept, taking one. He reaches out to light your cigarette that's hanging between your lips, before lighting his own. "Oh my, you're a saint. Thanks, this was very much needed." You laugh as the smoke fills your lungs, your thoughts sidetracking somewhere, possibly containing something about the man next to you. "What made you move here?" He suddenly asks, bringing you back to the present from your thoughts. "Oh, uh, I guess I just needed some change, you know? My job has multiple locations around Europe, internal transfer making it easy to relocate basically anywhere." You explain and he nods, blowing out smoke as he starts speaking again, "What do you do for work?" "Short answer is media," You say, deciding to go a little bit indepth with your answer, "and the long one is graphic design and editing for bigger corporations and managing their public image on social media."

Joost looks at you, raising his eyebrows as you two turn the corner. "Oh. That sounds so interesting. If I hadn't gotten into this music thing, I would've probably gotten into graphic designing as well. I like drawing on my iPad and doodling."

"I've seen your doodlings online, they're good." You admit, taking the final drag of your cigarette, before dropping it on the ground and stepping on it, while trying to still keep up with Joost's pace. He slows down for a few steps, seeing you got left behind, looking at you. "Thank you. That means so much. I want my art to be seen, either music or some doodles. I want my art to inspire people, help them or just for them to enjoy it in general. I guess it's somewhat a dream of mine..." He rambles. But you don't mind. You like listening to him. He drops his cigarette and steps on it putting it out, and is about to say something, when your phone rings. "Sorry." You mumble to him as you take the call, "It's my friend." He listens carefully to the foreign language you speak. While he doesn't understand a single word, he still manages to pick up two words - "Joost Klein". 

You say goodbye to your friend, putting your phone back in your pocket. "She called to make sure I'm alive and on my way home," you explain as you feel Joost's questioning look at you, "and I told her I'll be okay, that you're walking me to my car." His smile visible on his face, feeling good that he's able to provide the feeling of security to you, so you wouldn't need to walk alone in a sketchy neighborhood.

You reach the parking lot, the only two cars remaining are yours and Joost's, funnily enough, parked only one car length away from one another. "That one yours?" He points out at your car, somewhat amused, "Because if it is, mine's right next to it." You chuckle, "Yeah, that's mine. But don't judge, she's old, I know." You continue talking about your little Volkswagen Polo that has seen it's better days... almost two decades ago. "Hey, not judging," he throws his hands up, "as long as it gets you home tonight, it's good." His warm smile making your heart skip a beat. He leans against his car's passenger side door. "Well, I think I really need to thank you," you start as you open the car door, sitting down while putting the keys in the ignition, "for making sure I'd get safely here." You continue as you turn the key - but nothing happens. "No worries, honestly. It was my pl-" Joost starts but quickly stops seeing your frustrated expression. You try again but all you get is flashing lights on the dashboard. "Everything okay?" He asks, worried, pushing himself away from his car, taking a couple of steps to your way. You groan in response. "Well she's not getting me home tonight, I guess." Your laugh comes out unamused, as your head falls back against the headrest. He leans his elbow against your open driver's side door, cringing, "I'm sorry, I think I kinda jinxed it..." 

You shake your head, sighing, "No, not your jinxing. Just a horrible battery, which was supposed to be replaced way too long ago. A fucking ticking time bomb the whole car..." You laugh, not knowing what else to do, "I think I need to call and wake up my roommate." He shakes his head, "How far away do you live?", the blonde man asks, furrowing his brows. You groan and step out of the car, leaning against it, "Like half an hour away." The cold night air makes you shiver, so you decide to grab your hoodie from the back seat and throw it on. Crossing your arms, feeling the comfortable warmth your hoodie is providing, and you sigh. Joost puts out a cigarette you didn't even notice him smoking before this. 'What a chain smoker he is...' you think and mentally chuckle at that. He keeps fidgeting with his car keys and looks away for just a second before returning his gaze to you. "I'll drive you." The words come out of his mouth suddenly, surprising even himself with that, but for some reason, he really enjoys your company. The first normal interaction he's had in a while and to be honest, who wouldn't enjoy being accompanied by a pretty girl who's polite. You're not taking photos of him, asking about music, demanding something - quite the opposite, as you once again decline his offer, shaking your head. "I can't accept that, I'll call my roommate, she'll come pick me up." He huffs, "Seriously now, I really don't mind. I feel guilty for jinxing that-" "Joost." You stop him, letting out a little laugh, "It's fine." He rolls his eyes jokingly as you pull your phone out of your pocket, ready to dial your roommate. "Absolutely not." He chuckles as he pushes your phone down. "You're home much faster if you let me drive you. It's getting late, c'mon now." He says, giving you a sympathetic look.

God what a dream come true, Joost Klein _begging_ for you to be his passenger princess. But something in you just won't let him do that. Drive an hour extra so YOU will get home. It doesn't feel like a right thing to do. And you're pretty sure he's just suggesting it to not sound selfish. "Joost I absolutely can't-" "Get in." he cuts you off smiling, opening the passenger door to his car. You sigh, pushing yourself away from your car, grabbing your bag from the driver's seat, slamming the god damn stupid door shut and locking the car. "There's no point arguing, I'm not leaving you out here. It's fucking scary - even for me." He says as you reluctantly sit down in his passenger seat. He gently closes the door for you and walks around the car, getting in the driver's seat, starting the car. "Thank you. Like for real." you mumble quietly as he puts the car in drive and steers the car to the exit of the parking lot and onto the main road. "I owe you one." You say as he laughs, handing you his phone. "You can pay back by being the DJ, so I can focus on the road."You take his phone from his hand, your fingers gracing his hand, sending shivers through you. 

You don't know what to play, since all you've lately been listening to is, well, Joost. You test the waters of his music taste as you press play, and the first chords of 5 Seconds of Summer's Youngblood starts playing. He starts humming along, and a surprised look lands on your face, but you don't say anything. It feels weird. Sitting in the passenger seat, while the driver is literally your favourite artist. A silence falls among you as the music keeps playing, neither one of you knowing what to say. You know too much about him considering the fact he knows literally nothing about you. Of course it's all just public information, in his songs, or on his social media. Online in general. You're not a stalker either way, but it doesn't feel like you should know that much about someone you just met. You seem to notice Joost humming or singing along with you to almost every song you play, and smile to yourself, knowing he vibes with the same music as you do.

"Take the next exit." You give directions to the man next to you. He nods and proceeds to take the next exit. The landscapes flash by as you drive in silence. But this time it's not an awkward silence, it's a comfortable one. The music is still playing in the background as his phone sits on your thigh and you once in a while keep adding more songs to the queue. At some point, you started playing some of your favourite songs in your native language, knowing he probably doesn't understand much of the lyrics, but he still keeps vibing, nodding his head along to the music.

"And turn right from there." The words come out nervously, as you slowly overcome the shock of the situation and realise that Joost Klein is actually driving you home.

"You know, you have a great taste in music." Joost's compliment catches you off guard, "Thank you?" You don't mean the answer to come out sounding like a question, but it does. "And I don't just mean my music, you know?" He states, chuckling a little, "It's refreshing to know someone else too has as huge of a range of favourite genres." You feel a smile tug on the side of your mouth. "Well, your music isn't bad either." The joking tone in your voice gets more visible as the fan-artist barrier breaks down a bit by bit. All the small talk is becoming more natural, which warms not just your heart, but Joost's as well.

As you continue giving him directions, the surroundings start looking more and more familiar, meaning you'll soon be approaching your neighbourhood. The nearest grocery store gets left behind as you pass by a pub of some kind you have yet to visit, and then comes the intersection where you guide him to take a left into a road that leads to your house. A tiny pang in your chest tells you that you won't want this night to be over.

"It's that one on the right." You point out and he pulls into the driveway in front of a gray coloured small apartment complex with bushes framing the walkway up to the door. Lights and decorations could be seen on almost every balcony out of the six that were in sight on the front side of the house. "What a pretty place, I like the lights." He admires the decorations. "Yeah, I quite like it here..." You hum agreeingly, but tired. A nice silence sets between you guys for a few seconds again, and Joost definitely doesn't want to be the one breaking it.

You hand his phone back to him, your hands touching again, but you brush off the butterflies in your stomach, and grab your bag from the floor between your feet. "Listen, so, I wanna thank you, this was really nice of you..." You smile at him, not really knowing how to continue. "You're welcome, I'm glad to get you home safe." He returns your smile with a nod. As you open the door to step out, you feel devastated that this interaction with him is over now. "How much do I owe you?" You ask as you get up and lean forward, leaning your arm against the door. He laughs and shakes his head, "I'm not a taxi, you don't owe me anything. Besides, I really liked this. You're a nice girl." His words make you blush and you look away. "Alright then. Thank you, for real, Joost. And you're pretty nice too." You smile at him and he nods, "Goodnight. Hope your car gets fixed soon." "So do I... Goodnight." You decide against prolonging the pointless chit chat, and close the passenger door as you walk towards the front door. Joost stayed in the driveway, watching you walk up to the door, put in the door code, and walk in. Only after that he allows himself not to feel worry about you getting home safe, as he sees your figure walk up the stairs through the windows at the staircase. He let's out a sigh, puts his car in reverse and starts moving. As he backs out of your driveway, he realises - he never asked your name.

[7ndipity]

Army of One

Jin x Reader

Summary: You've struggled with depression for a long time, but Jin will never let you fight on you own...

Warnings: angst, depression, mentions of scars but nothing detailed, not proofread

A/N: This is kinda messy, but I’ve been going through some stuff and just wanted to get some of it out, and decided to share it on the chance that maybe it’ll make someone else feel a little better or comforted too. It’s loosely inspired by my favorite Coldplay song of the same title. Love y’all💜

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

It was well past midnight, everything washed in grey-blue light, the only sounds that permeated the space around you was the distant white-noise of the traffic outside and the faint sound of your own breathing.

“Hey.” His voice was so soft you could almost miss it, not wanting to disturb the peace around you.

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing up?” He asked.

You shrugged.

“Couldn’t sleep.” You kept your eyes fixed on the window in front of you.

The view over the city had been one of your favorite parts about this place when you’d first moved here, able to sit and watch thousands of tiny lights flicker through the streets below, each one its own tiny universe.

He sat down next to you, careful not to disturb you. “You wanna talk about it?” He asked, already knowing the likely answer.

“Not really.”

He nodded. He knew you weren’t always comfortable sharing what was going on in your mind. He was the same way, it was part of what had made him feel so at ease with you early on, the two of you understood what it meant to communicate without speaking, through half-smiles and quiet hums of acknowledgement. It was for this same reason that you had also made it easy for him to open up, to let the mask fall and show his vulnerable sides.

You had given him a safe place to show his true self, but he noticed that you held back from doing the same, at least in full.

You had told him a bit about your struggles, about the shadows that haunted you, clinging and lurking close, no matter how hard you tried to ignore their cold, clammy grip, waiting to pull you down at the first sign of weakness, but you had tried to protect him from the worst of it. You hadn’t wanted him to know about the days when they won, when you could barely drag yourself from your bed, when everything seemed to fade out as if viewed through fogged glass, close enough to see and hear, but never able to make full contact, the warmth never able to sink in.

The first few times it happened you had tried to hide it, saying you just weren’t feeling well or that you were busy or whatever else was fague enough to sound convincing, at least to you, but Jin was far from clueless.

He’d noticed how tired you were sometimes, the distant look in your eyes, but he hadn’t wanted to pressure you to talk about things you weren’t ready to share yet, you’d only been dating a few months after all, but after your third day of single sentence texts, he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d shown up at your door with food and an overnight bag and the statement that he refused to leave you to suffer on your own.

A statement that had turned into a promise.

“The flowers have started to bloom.” Your voice almost startled him, pulling him from his thoughts.

“I noticed.” He said, watching you attentively.

“It’s spring.”

It’s a simple statement, but Jin understood its underlying meaning. Another winter passed, another year survived.

His hand came to rest over yours where it brushed over the faded marks of the past, reminders of the storms you weathered before and survived.

You’d been through enough autumns, waiting to wither away like the leaves around you, that you had started to believe that they didn’t faze you anymore, until you noticed the tremble in your hands as he held you, reminding you that you were still very much connected to this world.

Do you ever regret it?” You stared down at your intertwined hands, the way his fit so neatly over your own.

“Never.” He said without a moment’s hesitation, with a certainty that you feel reverberate in your chest.

“Even when I’m like this?”

“Especially when you're like this.” He said, leaning closer to lend you some of his warmth.

“Why?”

“Because, you’re worth fighting for.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“You are to me.”

You still struggled to believe it, but that was his truth. If he could, he would go into battle for you, fight till his hands were ragged and bloodied to protect you from the things that hurt you, from the thoughts that ambushed you and tried to lure you away in the middle of the night.

But he knew he couldn’t fight this battle for you, not entirely, but he did the best he could to help you, to arm yourself against the darkness. He gave you his time, his strength, his patience, his love. He would give you everything he could think of, until he feels you revive, until you win.

“Thank you.” He said softly, bringing his face to rest against the juncture between your neck and shoulder, breathing you in.

“For what?” You ask, staring out at the ocean of lights spread below you.

“For staying, even when it was hard." He said. "For fighting for yourself, and for us.”

You said nothing, squeezing his hand as the tears you’ve been fighting back finally began to slip down your face.

He pulled you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he wiped your face.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters

[grim333z]

Aurora ~

Carl x gn!reader

Word count : 8417

{this is so very towl inspired}

TW: brief mention of a suicide attempt, blood-loss, scars, usual twd gore.

Angst with an itty bitty bit of fluff

[I just kinda died for you

You just kinda stared at me

We will always have that chance

We can do this one more time]

You only had one goal at this moment in time, clearing the camp of walkers, their god awful rotting figures nearing in on the camp, nearing closer to each and every community you'd fought with everything in you to simply just keep up and running; the bridge you'd spent the past three months on a direct route to each community, oceanside, Alexandria, the kingdom, hilltop, the sanctuary. And Walkers simply couldn't be the thing to take it all out, take everything you'd fought and lost so many for.  Your heart thrums in your ears as you scramble to find something that  could help, your fingers fiddling around to find the smooth polished wood of the handle of your gun, sitting in its worn leather holster dangling from your hips; perhaps it was the sheer adrenaline running through you causing the fiddling.

The moans from the dead whom should be buried echo in the trees around you, the groaning and stumble of undead feet ringing through hardened soil. You spot a few lone stragglers far off in the distance, their rot darkened and decaying flesh blending in with the trees. It had been so long since all of it started you'd yet to grasp the reasoning behind why they're still standing, surely they'd have rotted or starved over the years, but hell you still didn't know why they even started standing in the first place. 

The smell of damp moss, soil and long-rotting flesh pierces your nose, still fumbling for some clue on how to drag yourself out of an unfortunate situation, till the faint nickering of a tied up horse rings some where in the distance. Scrambling to your feet, heaving yourself up on a log bench, stumbling towards the source of the noise. The animal could've been surrounded in the horde, part of you knew you it was more than likely a pile of half chewed flesh and organs awaiting. Still you cling to the small glimmer of hope lingering within you that the horse was still living, it was a start. 

They were called walkers for a reason, they walk. On a horse going at a steady pace you could easily lead the mass of dead somewhere far enough away to at least deal with later, with time to formulate a plan, gather the masses to assist in whatever needs to happen. You'd diverted plenty of hordes before, they had some kind of...migration pattern? seemingly surrounding the community's during early autumn and migrating off during the spring, albeit in a smaller group. Over the past few years most of the groups had grown accustomed to how the walkers behave, finding longer trips easier in winter when their movements pull to a halt each time they freeze, ending buried beneath snow and ice till they thaw in the warmth of a January sun.

The growls grow louder...like the horde is seemingly getting closer. Then you spot it, you'd taken the wrong route, having stumbled upon one of the more unsteady bridges, large metal rods poke out from where they'd warped and broken over years of unmaintained usage large chunks of brittle concrete fall into the river below. The horse lets out a sound of something that can only be described as fear, before the cold searing pain of metal violating through flesh rings through your body. No longer looking down at the pale path around you, though the sky, the warm sun beating down on your face hot against your skin, before the growling once again hits your ears. 

The cold crimson of blood graces your hands as you feel for the wound, part of you cant even fathom if its even really their, or if the heat and your lack of water is playing tricks on you. But know, the sight of your hand dripping in none other than your own blood, seeping into the cracks and valleys of your hands. Your eyes will themselves to look down, to be met with the sight of a thick jagged piece of shrapnel sticking itself out of your side, surrounded by a mass of throbbing flesh. You knew it was never a fantastic idea to pull a what you'd been stabbed with out, right now that piece of metal was keeping a fair amount of blood inside of you. Though met with a horde of nearly a thousand walkers you decide dealing with a gaping hole was an issue for later, and avoiding being eaten alive a more pressing issue at the moment. 

The rumbling of the horses hooves are long gone by now, just the hungry wines and moans of the undead, the drumming of their feet, dragging on the floor as they walk. seemingly refusing to rot. Your eyes dart around the environment, searching for something to almost hoist you from your compromised position...without causing anymore damage; the task feeling practically impossible. 

The vibration of feet against ground draws closer as the thrum of your own heartbeat raises in your ears, fingers fiddling with your belt having spot a rusty piece of metal sticking out from above you, wincing as your adrenaline fuelled movements jostle the wound awkwardly. Having paused for a breath you throw the  belt up to the jagged piece of metal, watching the worn leather loop over the top of it. 

Inhaling deeply through your nose you pull yourself up and off the metal which had violated its way through your throbbing side, the sudden movement and blood loss sending you dizzy, a sharp nausea raising in your throat as you try and pull yourself together. Swallowing down the sick feeling, unsure if its the sheer adrenaline running full force through your veins or the fact you're actively bleeding out. The sweat on your skin has suddenly grown heavy and your eyelids are all too aware of their desire to close, and your willingness to keep them open. 

Trudging along the paths in hope to make it back to the camp to at least patch yourself up. You manage to keep up a pace to go just faster than the hungry masses behind you, god knows where you're leading them, full circle would be worse than never ever starting. Though a distraction, diversion really could buy you some time to inform someone from some community that you're fucking dying surrounded by a horde.

Then you spot it, the same pale white horse you'd been perched upon before she'd decided to throw you onto a piece of sharp metal, chewing grass beside a small worn down shack, grinding each blade between her teeth like there's nothing to fear. 

You huff in relief, horses were faster than nothing. Lumbering over to the horse and pulling yourself up fighting back unconsciousness. The red stains the horses coat as you lurch forward, deciding holding yourself upright and facing the dizziness simply wasn't worth it. You feel the blood ebb from between where you'd been fighting to almost hold it inside, seeping from the shallow valleys between each finger. Your fading sideways vision of your surrounding ripples and flows in and out darkening as you feel your eyelids grow heavy. You keep telling yourself not long now... not long till what exactly? you're not sure. Death? perhaps or help? forcing yourself to simply keep going, it was the least you could put mind to doing. 

Slipping from conscious, you see the prison? far off in the distance, the group sat around a small fire in the middle of a once walker infested field, chewing on something Daryl must've caught, You're in the circle but you're not seeing through your own eyes, Beth is singing, her voice doesn't sound how you remember it though, quietened by the distance and muffled, like theres some static buzzing constantly trying to drown it out. 

Though pulling you back to consciousness is the almost sweet earthy sent of rot is never ever far behind, the groans whom fade in and out of your mind, like your ears are giving you short reminders of what needs to happen. 

and you're back again, though knees pressed into the cold sharpness of gravel as Negan sings his speech, and yet you're looking at yourself, sat along side the rest of them, his words almost echoing around you. Then there's the hard crack of wood against skull. You blink... and you're once again surrounded by masses of walking dead, hunched over on the bony back of a horse as you stain its snow white coat with a cherry wine crimson. 

Then their it is, the camp... the tents soft fabric fluttering in the wind and the sent of a long put out fire stings the air still... You hoist yourself off the horse, watching the large animal head to where it knows its meant to be. 

The ground beneath your feet feels like its moving when you know its not, the feeling of cold damp sweat forcing the fabric of your clothes to stick to your skin. Theres a strange fuzzy feeling in the ends of each limb, and a weird static feeling ringing like its near enough to be right next to you or far enough away to be humming continuously in the distance. 

Then someone calls your name, fuzzy and muffled by the sudden pounding in your head and your astute knowledge that you're in some serious shit. 

Your own head feels heavy on your neck and the blood has yet to cease its stream, pulsing from you with no intent to stop. You can't figure out who's called your name, their voice muffled and distorted by what can only be chalked up to as your blood loss. Each breath that goes in is deep and heavy but never satisfying to what you need, like you cant keep up with the pace your heart is beating at. 

Then theirs more voices, and it's unclear if its one persons words echoing in your mind or that of several peoples, hell who knows if you're even actually hearing it. The source of the voices is soon spotted to be a huddle of sort of familiar faces, on the bank across from the bridge, looking up at you, as you stumble over your own feet, staggering around like you're not far of joining the huddle of walker friends behind you. 

Shit the walkers, you huff in before willing your legs to just fucking move, letting your feet fall to their own rhythm, your lips realising fast sucked in gasps after each movement. The shuffling of uncoordinated feet and never ending snarls thrumming behind your weak frame is more than enough to push you forward. You weren't dead yet, so you had to keep going. After making it this far, death quite simply wasn't on the table for you. Taken out by walkers was not the way you planned on going out. 

The opposite side of the bridge approaches faster than you expect it to, turning to face the sea of snapping teeth and rotting limbs. Knees feeling like they're inches from caving, sending you too the floor. A small lingering yearning for this to simply end sticks in the back of your throat. Wondering if giving in to the snarling jaws of the dead would be easier than pushing through, forcing your knees to keep you upright. You'd never wished for an easy route before though. Why start now? 

The dizziness somehow grows, your jaw hanging limp as you force more air into your lungs, feeling the saliva build in your mouth and your face grow pale and clammy, coughing out in attempt to rid yourself of the sickness building within. 

Looking around for some kind of solution... something to wrap your wound or divert the walkers, a flare to fire in the distance maybe or a bomb... you spot them, fallen from a cart on the bridge, the bright red coating lighting up light a heaven sent solution. Your fingers fiddle for the handle of your gun, hell going out this way was better than being eaten alive. Gripping the cold handle as your arms raise aiming at the explosives.

"What the fuck? what are you doing?" Carl...? Sure you'd seen people on the bank but had you been imagining them...? then it is again, his voice and you know for certain he's speaking to you. "Don't be an idiot..." He Yells, voice laced with a thick layer of panic as you tilt your head to look at him, the dizziness punishing your movement.

The boy looks over at you, being held back by both Rick and Michonne, fighting the two grown adults grip, like he'd nearly got himself killed to reach you. "Let me go, they're clearly hurt" His voice is strained and hopeless as he writhes in their grip, trying his best to yank himself from their restraint. 

"Carl..?" The word falls from between your lips, Shakey and pained. He wont have heard it, though he probably gathered from the look on your face as your lips fell ajar. 

You force your gaze away from him, back on mission. Pulling the trigger before you even allow a chance at second thoughts, The blow is hard and fast, hot against your already clammy skin. 

 You find yourself waking up once again in the same plainly decorated bedroom, the cold grey light pours in through the one small window, the same three wind turbines spinning as they have each morning for the past god knows how many years.  The gentle hum of the air con blowing cold stale air around the four suffocating walls. You'd never not felt like a Guinea pig being tested on or a rat in a cage; the freedom they pretend you have is an illusion. 

You haven't truly been in the moment since that day happened, each person you knew seemingly fading from memory till all you see when your eyes shut is the snarling teeth of dozens of walkers Infront of you and the cold metal of the trigger of your gun. The faces are the first to go, then the voices, its hard to match what someone sounds like when you can't imaging their lips moving as they speak, it wasn't one person at a time, more like chunks of memories, fading leaving the scenes empty in your head. 

Sat around a campfire you were sure someone else was sat with you, maybe a group...maybe someone singing. Or the end of a train tracks, there was a sign though the letters no longer form, and theirs just the cold ghost of a group you're not sure if you imagined or not, wandering around each empty community, no one to be seen. Just to wake up in the same place, do the same training, wear the same uniform and act the same. 7am wake up, 7:30 breakfast, 8am morning meeting, 9 am close contact training, 10am helicopter training, then back for lunch at 11 just to be swept back to the outer edge of the compound to plunge a hand designed spear into the mushy brains of roaming rotting hunks of flesh what were once humans. 

Each squelch of flesh and crack of skull, ticking off another one and another one till your last name ends up painted onto the brick wall with the top kills number written out next to it. A big 97. Most kills in this section. 

They knew what you were, what they had planned for you. Labelled as an "A". They had labels for their civilians, Bs and As. Bs are people simply trying to stay alive and are let into the community via the Consignment Program. Survivors who are encountered by the group are let in, though not for free, having them do janitorial work, clearing walkers to earn their place, However they killed As on spot, fearing their ability to organise and inspire a revolt, risking uproar in the community's. They lacked mercy, finding removing potential threats before they become threats easier. 

That didn't stop them from mischaracterising you initially, hell that was the only reason you weren't amongst the hoards of walking dead, listing you as a B. Unsurprising in the state you were in, bleeding out on a river bank. They figured you out not long after, pulling you into a secrete developing part of the Military. 

They called themselves the "CRM" or the "Civic Republic Military." a high tech community somehow hidden from any one else, you'd grown to know their dirty secrets over time. Bombing the city's near by, ending every community to discover them. No one could leave for fear they'd be discovered, cause some type of dispute. You'd tried to escape nearing on five times. Surprisingly they asked you to join the military They had plans for you, to pick and scrape at your flesh and mould you into the very leader they needed. 

Part of you couldn't grasp why they still want you around, you'd pulled some shit trying to escape over the years, nearly loosing limbs, pulling stitches from past attempts. Just to wind up back in your same room, staring into the same blank wall, feeling the cold of a shard of glass between your fingers and drawing it to somewhere with a surface level artery ; though never being able to will yourself to actually do it. 

So when you find yourself in the passenger seat of a helicopter, plummeting towards the ground. You don't panic, seeing it as an easy way out. You fall asleep each night wishing that explosion had taken you out, or that you'd let the dead sink their teeth into your flesh. Years without a familiar face, years without any closure. The people whom had ceased from your memories could be dead, their names unable to fall from your butchered tongue. Finding everything you do or say robotic, accidentally slipping into the mould they'd chiselled out for you.

Feeling the soil greet you isn't something that you dread, closing your eyes as you make impact, just to hit the ground and fucking live. Crawling out of the wreckage, huffing as you pull your frame from the mess of metal and blood. Lurching forward on your knees as you attempt to pull yourself into the moment, each event feeling like you're watching from a distance, like what happens wont really affect you. A numb kind of comfort though. You don't fear death, it can't be much worse than this, can it? 

You're blinking, you can feel the weight of your eyelids as they shut, and the sting of salty air from the river not far. and a person? In the corner of your eye, wielding a sword, some clearly very worn tilted back on a head of long almost curly almost wavy hair. The black mesh of your military required helmet blocks your view, not to mention how out of it you feel. The person is pulling the masks of each individual, slicing their throats. They're out here and have clearly been out here. No point in running, so you sit back, knees pressed into the hard rocky dirt, silently waiting. Theres no fear, no nausea rising in your throat, nothing. 

You see yourself, like you're looking down, hands limp against your side, each breath shallow and purposeless, the person moves from solider to soldier with a vengeance not to be messed with. Till their cold pale fingers have latched onto the bottom edge of the helmet, pulling it from your head, swallowing slightly as the cold looking, bloodied blade is raised.... and theirs no kingdom come, the cold sharp metal hovers just under your chin...before falling to the floor.

"Holy fuck-" Holy fuck... 

You look up, greeted by a familiar blue eye, peering down at your limp form, kneeling as if you're ready to go, like theirs nothing ahead of you. "Carl." You breath, and you're back in your own flesh and bone again, seeing from your own two eyes. a feeling foreign but not unfamiliar grows in the pit of your gut, rising up in your throat. Dirt and stone crunches beneath your feet as you hoist yourself up to his level 

"I- I found you..." He breathes, awestruck as he looks at you. He doesn't question your compliance to the blade, the lack of any fight or flight at the feel of the cold metal against your neck. He's too overwhelmed with joy to pay any mind to it, just looking into your eyes. His face is older, more adult, and he's not wearing anything over his scar, deep rippled flesh revealed to the world. "You did..." You hum, unsure on the right thing to say. 

Then his mouth is against yours, warm and welcoming, hands wrapping around your armour clad waist. The cold wet of his mouth moving against yours as if you were drinking dry the river Lethe, forcing the years of a yearning thirst for this to simple oblivion. His lips curl up in a gentle smile as he breathes you in, undisturbed by your changed form. 

Finding your finger tips laced in the warm gentle curls of his hair, the lack of a flinch when you accidentally brush over his scar fills you with a undiscovered warmth, almost pride. You're the first to pull away, sucking in a breath through your teeth as your head lands on his shoulder, "Carl..." You breathe, garnering your own name back, said in the same breathless manner. 

"How'd you find me..." You hum, feeling an overpowering longing to investigate him, ask him how is everyone? how he knew where to look? to just keep asking until he's too overwhelmed with words to form a response. "I- I don't know..." He breathes, not truly believing the luck behind it all. Your head draws back meeting his eyes. 

The look on his face must mirror yours. Years of longing to be in one another's embrace, too feel the gentle warmth of his finger tips as he absentmindedly traces your features. Or the hiss he'd make when you'd snag his hair accidently after you'd begged and bargained with him to play with it, knowing he'd never admit how he drank in the quiet intimate feeling of the warm pads of your fingers as they weaved small braids or dragged across his scalp. You'd never really put to mind how easy he is to need, to be around. 

Your name falls from his lips, pulling you from your thoughts. The whispered word relighting the burning embers you were sure had been buried deep within you, blown out the moment you'd woken up surrounded by white clinical infirmary walls, leaving you with nothing but ash and ruins. His gentle gaze dragging you from the depth of the hole you'd found yourself in, the hole you'd always intended to be a grave, now all you can see is life, nestled deep within his soft expression.

The moment is interrupted by the loud whirr of high speed helicopter blades, far off in the distance. You knew what they're here for. Destroy all evidence, rescue any remaining. It was simple protocol. However this gave you less time to figure out what to do with  Carl. He could run now or join you. And though you yearn for him, his embrace. He isn't fit for this place.

"You either run or do what I say." The words tumble from your tongue, he pulls back slightly nodding, his feet don't move more than a few steps away from you, awaiting your instructions. "They can't know I know you." You urged, a faint shakiness in your voice, prying its way through the cracks, he's made his decision to stay without knowing what they'll put him through. 

"Pick a new name, make up a story, act like you need to rely on someone... And don't call them walkers I call them that." His chest rises as he sucks in a deep breath of mid summer air nodding. You raise your hands, looking to him to follow. You pull your military appointed gun from its holster, aiming it at him. Hopefully setting the scene well enough for the military to believe Carl was just someone trying to survive. The raised lump in his throat bobs as he forces down the bubbling nerves with a swallow. The whirring grows louder as the helicopter approaches. 

You eyes meet Carl a couple days later, his slender frame clad in the usual brown and orange uniform, a Bs uniform. three embroidered inter-looping circles on the back. You pick up the pace slightly, the once heavy unform now weightless as your feet hit the ground in an attempt to catch up to him. 

Pulling him aside into one of the military's vehicle storage ware houses, situation yourselves between two large black CRM trucks, the type they hauled large amounts of artillery or food to different parts of the republic. He'd made it into the consignment program, unbeknownst to him, you had to pry at Thorne to let him in. "They're gonna put you on missions soon." He nods, silently awaiting a continuation on what said missions are; letting his pale pink tongue dampen his lip in thought, "We fly out to overrun chunks of land, clear and secure it." His eyebrows twist uncomfortably at your unusually methodical way of speech, every word seeming to just get the point across, plain and clear. Your expression falters slightly at this revelation, blinking before setting yourself back on task. Slipping a small, neatly folded piece of paper into his pocket. "Wha-" You sniffle pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before slipping your helmet back on and walking out. Re-joining the group of fellow soldiers headed off. 

Carl's left with the weight of your note in his pocket, and an overwhelming amount of confusion. Fingers just grazing the folded edge but unwilling to pull it out and read it, for fear he'll loose you once again. He spends the rest of the day meddling with the idea of reading it, sat in his tiny military assigned room, eye on the dark edge of a letter peeking out through the folded gap. He fears whats on the page, but the curiosity threatens to bubble over the surface. Leaning forward to snatch the paper of the desk, fumbling as he opens it out, gliding over each letter. 

"I can't go, but you need to. I have a plan but I won't be their to execute it with you. My bit is done, this is your part. Theres a boat, just down the river, slightly out of view and off any route, Theres food, water, a with the route to home. The guards change over at 4, there's a blind spot, but its only open for fifteen minuets max, in-between 3:50-4:05. Go then, Go tonight, they'll notice what I took is gone by dawn. You found me, but you can't stay and I can't leave. I love you." 

Scrawled in your messy handwriting and signed with your initials, he runs his top teeth over his lower lip as he scans over the words again and again, but he cant will himself to even put the thoughts to set your plan in motion. Slumping back against the firm barely worn in mattress, staring up at the blank white ceiling as he allows the paper to fall from his grip.

You wake up, the same as each morning, pull yourself back to your feet and go. There's no sign of Carl at breakfast, you take it as he did as you'd told him, he'd be gone, nearly half way back to Alexandria by now. You head back to your room as per routine, slip into your uniform and find yourself clambering into a helicopter, slipping the headset on before looking at Thorne, she states most the key info, where you're going, and what you're doing, clearing walkers on the outskirts of the city, she does however drop some info which peaks your interest, "They're taking a trainee in the other one..." Your eyebrows twist and contort in confusion at her words? A trainee? You let out a quiet mm in response, a quiet acknowledgement of her words not wanting to overwhelm her with questions, trainees were never put on missions like this. It was one of the riskier areas, worn down buildings with bits of metal sticking out, chunks of brittle concrete threatening to fall and unsteady soil, with roots ready to rip out the ground taking the rest of the tree with. Trainees were put on smaller missions, in clearings with just a few stray walkers. 

Looking out at the community as it grows smaller beneath you, the surrounding area lined with pine trees nearly two dozen deep and vast hills which seemingly stretch for lines beyond the horizon line. 

The stretch of land you'd be working on grows near, the faint movement through still trees makes you certain you're not gonna go back very clean, mentally preparing to scrub dirt and blood off your skin until it is red and raw. 

The loud constant whirring of the blades dies down as the vehicle lowers to the ground, slipping your helmet on as you clamber from the seat, there's another solider, and who you assume is the trainee, his uniform hanging off his frame like they'd given him one just close enough to fit. Seemingly unprepared for his debut mission. He slips the helmet off to look at Thorne and you as the Rules and plan for the Mission get reeled off, "G.Rimes, you're sticking with me. We can't have you getting killed on your first go, Group one is on walker duty, Group two on fence duty," Thorne states. G.Rimes? You hadn't looked at the trainee, he wasn't in your group, so he wasn't yours to deal with. It was a silent agreement between you and Thorne, you could both each handle your own. 

And their Carl stood, holding the helmet to his hip, making soft subtle glances at you. Blinking you force yourself back on task, telling your group what they're doing. "Group one is on walkers, we need to get in their weld up what we can, and replace what we need to, there's three breaches and I'm assigning two to each one, Me and smith on the first, Byrne and Lincoln on the Second and lastly Carlton and Gurira on the third, you each know what you're doing and you have each other for help. We all know protocol? So get to it." You affirmed, wracking off each word to ensure the mission goes smoothly, following protocol. Having to shove down every word that threatens to escape your lips in Carls direction, you had a job and you wouldn't let emotions overtake the importance of the task at hand. Though in the overwhelming anger you don't even grasp the fact he chose to not go home, to not see his family again, For you. He'd rather keep up the act of an innocent survivor, live under intense rules and protocol to simply just to be in your space. 

The mission goes as planned, each breach repaired and nearly every walker in the area gone. Theres a gentle nudge on your side, its Thorne gently trying to get your attention "The trainee want's a quick run through on how the helicopters work, he's really adamant to be shown... And look I would but Beale wants me in for a meeting about some promotion..." She rambles, before heading off. Not leaving you with much choice in the matter. Spotting Carl stood next too the empty helicopter, a faintly sad blank expression on his face. Watching you climb into the drivers seat, following you. 

"You don't want me here do you?" He asks but the contents of the letter you'd given him made the answer already clear. You'd arranged an escape for him, with the intent for him to take it. He knew there had to be a reason why you needed him gone, and a reason you hadn't told him. 

"I don't think its a good idea for you to be here." You state matter of fact-ly. Eyes focused on getting the two of you back to the main facility. He's chewing on his lip slightly, looking out at the solid concrete facility buildings, ant sized in the distance. "Why." He asks, blue eye staring at you with a new glint of longing lace in his sad expression. "I can't- Carl, you should've ran when I told you to." You huff, knowing that this was for the better. 

As the helicopter nears closer to the community he pipes up again, "At least show me how to use this thing, like I'd asked for." He spits, playing with the button on his holster. He'd been given a black, crm embroidered eyepatch, his fingers going to adjust the fabric, having grown used to not wearing anything over it. The twinge of insecurity he was sure was gone had weezled its way back into his mind, maybe the fact you refused to look at him, or the urgency behind getting him something to cover it up with. He's slowly starting to wish he'd never even bothered coming to find you. 

You start listing off the controls on the large dashboard in front of you, a mass of flickering lights, knobs and switches. He sits and pretends like he's listening, nodding and humming to your words, like he gives a fuck, in all reality he's buying time with you, formulating a plan on getting you both out of there. You're hovering over a sectioned off area, an old research building which got swarmed just on the edge of the river bank. There was intent to reclaim the building from the dead, expand the walls across to it. Though they never found time, and figuring a way to wall of a chunk of river without interrupting the flow while simultaneously not having any gaps was too much work for one research building.  "What does that one do." He questions, hovering over a button. "Carl, do not press that." You urge, you'd already told him what that one does and yet... he still pressed it, sending you both plummeting towards the muddy river bank. 

You feel him pulling you out with him, rolling onto the dirt as the vehicle crashes into the river. "What the fuck?" You yell, pulling yourself away from him, dragging your muddied form to a stand. Looking at him from the ground. His eyes staring up at you, a less than happy expression on his face. He sits himself up, wincing as a mud covered piece of shrapnel plunges into the palm of his right hand,  quickly moving it away. Looking down at the wound as it slowly starts too ooze red, its not deep, not deep enough to need stitches at least. 

"I'm getting us out, us. Both of us." He snarls bringing himself to his feet. "They'll come find us, they're probably heading out right now." You respond. "We'll tell them, it malfunctioned or something." He scoffs, heading away from the scene of the crash, towards the upwards slope. "All the reason to get going then." He states, starting to climb the bank, and you have no choice but to follow. He glances around before deciding to head towards the old research facility. "Its overrun." You state, though his pace doesn't slow. "I can deal with Walkers." He urged, slipping the gun from its holster.

The two front glass doors are locked with a black chain, the CRM's lazy attempt at keeping whatever's inside contained. "Carl." You scolded, hearing the click of the metal as he cocks the gun, before one deafening shot rings through the air, breaking smashing the smooth glass of the door. "What are you doing...?" You hiss, watching him duck as he slips through the door frame. "We need supplies, so I'm getting them." He clicks a torch on, looking around. 

Rotted walkers sit slumped against the walls, some almost skeletal, most of the dead are in old clothes, not a uniform, a clear final claw at survival before they let themselves end. Part of you chalks the down fall of this place up to starvation. The way windows and doors are boarded up, they'd fought to keep walkers out, not realising nothing else could get in. The bottom floor is empty, research rooms, beakers with brown dry blood encrusted to the bottoms and an open fridge stinking of rot, heading upstairs...its cleaner, obviously the accommodation floor. Bedrooms with the doors open, a few empty, some locked with "DEAD" scrawled across the wooden surface in spray paint. "Carl..? what are we doing." You ask, slowly feeling like any control you have over the situation slipping into Carls grip. "Some of these rooms are secure, supply's and stuff, these guys weren't attacked. Their downfall came from inside." He ushers, slipping into one of the larger bedrooms at the end, it wasn't really a bedroom, more a small apartment. Some kitchen utility's, a bathroom and a small bed. "They have power, I saw the solar panels. We could get our shit together here." He states, setting his mud covered helmet down on the counter. 

"My shit is together back there. and your shit is at home, in Alexandria." You hiss, watching him look for something to clean the oozing wound on his palm with. "My shit hasn't been together since I lost you." He hums, finding a half empty bottle of rubbing alcohol popping the cap and pouring it over the wound, "Fuck..." He hisses under his breath. Theres the hum of a long range walkie talkie ringing from your pockets, the muffled voices of two undistinguishable CRM soldiers, stating they've yet to find the wreckage and for you to respond in the event of your survival. 

"Give it here." Carl offers his un-injured hand out towards the device. "What..?" You say, passing it over.  He takes it, bringing it to his ear for a moment before letting it fall to the ground, hitting the floor with a bang before his boot meets the smooth plastic surface, a crunch and it's out. He'd lost his in the crash, and now you'd lost yours.  "What was that for." The crushed plastic glistens up at you from the floor. "We don't need to communicate with them." He responds, looking for something to wrap up his hand with. Though unable to find something. 

"We can't just let them win, this isn't life." He hums, searching the cupboards. 

"They won the moment they found me, Carl." You spit, stood unsure how to respond to both his words and erratic movements. 

"You can't say that." He utters, still franticly scrambling for something of use, moving on to the wardrobe, pulling out some non-uniform clothes. 

"I tried to escape, I can't. They'll kill everyone we love, They have to keep themselves hidden." You spit, "Remember, early on. When they bombed Atlanta. Yeah? That was this. They can and will take out Alexandria. "He turns at you, clearly not knowing the full extent of the CRM's capability's. 

"We can get their first, evacuate everyone. There's gotta be a way to make this work." He rambles. "We can't" You scoff, running a stressed hand through your hair. 

"I should've said I'd be at the boat, then maybe you'd have fucking listened and we wouldn't be in this situation." You spit, feeling an unfamiliar anger, bubbling deep inside you. He looks at you with an unreadable expression. 

"If you'd have just Fucking gone, then I could ensure you and Alexandria's safety. I'm doing this for you, not us. Their is no us anymore." He nods, running his tongue over his lip as he pulls himself together, gaining some form of composure. 

"This isn't you." He sates, looking at you blankly. "This isn't me how?" You bark back.

"What did they do to you, please..."He huffs, a longing for answers carefully laced in each word. "Carl, we should head back" You state, unwilling to put to words what they've done to you. "Then why can't you leave, do I not deserve answers? Its been eight fucking years and you can't even give me something, who are you?" his words are dripping with anger and hopelessness, he needs something, even a crumb of information. 

"We've spent years, loosing people. Loosing our homes and our lives, These people are powerful. and they trust me, I'm working towards a future while all you can do is cling to the past." Your eyes cant will themselves to meet his, gaze lingering on the smashed walkie talkie "What future is this." You feel his eye on you as each word drips from his lips. "I have to do this Carl. I have to." You cry, trying to express the importance of this too him. 

"So I'm going, I tried, I really did try. I found you, But I didn't find who I came looking for." He sates as the sound of a knife being pulled from a draw wrings out, followed by the slam of a door. Leaving you alone, in a cold empty room. "I tried, don't think I didn't." You call out.

Carl pauses in the hallway, feeling a twinge of longing tug at his gut, before turning back, pushing the door open, but unwilling to enter the room. 

"What did you try for? Did you try to join them? Did you try to find me? You're a prisoner and you can't see it. The doors open, take it. " He urges, feeling the desperation build inside him. You stammer over your words till you deem them worthless, standing and looking at him. 

"I don't know you, and I sure as fuck can't trust you. You're lying to me and most definitely yourself." He spits, on the fence about leaving, going home to his family. Or staying, just to see the person he loves distort into someone he'd never want to stay around. Though the look on your face changes, you'd never expected to hear those words from him.

"I can see you trying still, who I knew is still in their, you could've picked up that walkie talkie and told them exactly where we are, but you didn't." He fiddles with the cold handle of the knife in his hand. "You say you can't go home, but I don't think you can just go back either." He states, his voice softer than it was, like he knows something about you that you don't , hitting a nerve. He was right and you knew it, but still the past 8 years spent being drilled with this idea were hard to erase in one conversation. 

"I learnt how to die, while still breathing..." You breathe, realising he didn't plan on letting down, deciding it would just be easier to tell him why you've become the person you've become. "at the start, it was just making it to the next day and I'd have the comfort of my memory's. I'd dream about when we first found the prison, and the train tracks, finding Alexandria. All stuff from years ago... but it started fading, chunks of people gone, you were gone. and suddenly I was by myself in these scenes, and I started doubting if they were ever real." You look up at the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the quiet ding of a blade being set down on a counter, Carl doesn't dare interrupt you, silently encouraging you to continue. "Then, it was nothing. I couldn't see you, or the group or even the place, just the dead. I replay their mouths coming at me, and I can hear the moans, smell the rot. I'd hoped it was a sign or something. Every mission after one of those dreams, It felt like that was it, I'd miss step while clearing some walkers, and it would be it for me."

He inhales, giving you space, an open invitation to be vulnerable with him. "And sometimes I'd hope it would be, and then it wasn't to the point I nearly just did it myself, got sick of waiting. I didn't. And if I go with you, and I loose you again, what if I can't die again, I don't want to" You find yourself sobbing the last few words, unsure on where the hot tears falling down your cheeks came from. 

"So I wont let you lose me." He says, stepping forward, pressing a gentle thumb to your cheeks, brushing away the dampness. "And theres never not gonna be an us." He hums pecking your lips, gentle and sweet, like they'd always been. "We hunker down here tonight, we go tomorrow. Both of us, home." He breathes against your lips, unwilling to open his eyes as his lips find yours again. You pull back, "Can I take a look at your hand" You whisper looking down at it hovering beside you, "Not yet." He breathes finding your mouth again. 

You find yourselves intertwined in the small bed, his head limp against your shoulder as you gently clean his wound, more carefully this time. The soft orange glow of the lamp illuminates the darkened room and his skin, the callous on his fingers from the trigger of his gun, and the small scars where he'd nicked himself accidentally while sharpening his knife. Noticing he still has his eyepatch on..

"Thought you didn't wear one of those anymore.." You breathe gently, reaching to slip it from his face, throwing it into the pile of CRM uniform you intended on leaving behind. He lets out a gentle hum against the warm skin of your neck, his eye meeting yours. You finish cleaning his wound, wrapping it with an strip of an old shirt you'd found in the wardrobe. Letting your fingers slide through his over grown hair, feeling his breathing deepen as he dozes off against you. Not long followed by you, letting your head fall limp against the top of his. 

The morning starts of slow, awaking to the quiet shuffling of fabric as Carl clothes himself, finding a backpack hidden in one of the AC vents, having clearly spent a decent chunk of his alone time checking every inch of the bedroom for something of use. He smiles softly at you as you sit yourself up in the bed. Not long after going to find yourself something to wear, getting distracted halfway though at his lips against yours, "Carl..." You chuckle against his lips as his uninjured hand wraps around your waist, after a while of basking in it, you eventually push him off to finish getting ready.

The door clicks shut behind the two of you, a knife in either of your hands, taking out the stragglers left over from when you'd entered the building initially, finding two that look similar enough to each other slipping them into your abandoned uniform and setting them up to look  like they'd been eaten alive. Before finally dragging him into the cold metal elevator at the end of the corridor, and throwing yourselves against the far wall, watching as one of the mushy heads of a toppled over walker gets crushed as the two doors shut. "Jesus, eughhh-" Carl exclaims, turning to look at you. However you don't give him much warning before tugging him closer and slamming your mouth into his, at the innocent ding of the elevator making it to the ground floor. You're thrown back into the world you'd grown to know. 

Having to battle through a gaggle of a dozen walkers, before finding a Car parked neatly in the back. Carl slides into the drivers seat fiddling with the few multi coloured wires under the dash board before the engine comes roaring to life. He smiles at you, leaning over to kiss you. "Let's go home." He breathes against your flushed lips. 

Your fingers entangle themselves with his as he draws out the car park, the crunch of concrete beneath your feet, and his warm musky boyish smell, the knowledge that the CRM was long behind you.  

"G.Rimes? " You huff a laugh breaking the silence remembering the fake name he'd chosen "Carl." He glances at you momentarily, "What?" he holds back a smile, he knew what he was doing in the moment. "You could've been more creative...?" He nods, letting the laugh slip from his lips, his thumb gently going to caress the side of your hand, the empty road in front of you. You had a new start, a new chance to live. And live, not survive. Live. And you had all the intent to keep your fingers firmly linked with Carl for whatever the world decides to throw at you next. Or hell, what you decide to throw at the world. "Don't go blowing shit up when we get back, please" He chuckles, and you can't help but smile back. 

You take a moment to look at him, the way his eyelashes fall against the gentle flushed hill of his cheek and the way his mouth hangs slightly open with his glistening tongue poking out the corner as he navigates the surroundings, the soft warmth of his hand. His eyes still glistening as he stares out at the world ahead of him, the sun lighting up the green of the trees and the deep enticing brown of the far of hills, and the blue of the sky, revealing colours to you, you'd feared you'd never see again. Both love and terror graces his complexion, a fear for the future but the will to embrace it. You knew in this moment that you had no choice but to love him, any version of you that could've ley dead and buried back there. 

Looking out into the early morning sun, with the gentle breeze blowing in through a gap in a window, you knew your only goal in this moment was to go home. 

[krisdreaming]

a little birdie told me you wanted fall themed fic ideas, so here I am!!

I feel like a cute fall themed idea is a coffee date and then a walk through the local park where you admire the colors of the leaves!!

And turns out the day is quite windy, but the reader didn't bring their jacket, so the character gives them their own jacket so the reader won't be cold😭😭❤❤

Is it kinda basic? Yeah, but I feel like you could make this into something really cute

Thank you for believing in me, because I actually came up with a pretty cute idea for this :')

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x gn!reader

WC: 769

A/N: In Japan around this time of year, they celebrate Tsukimi, aka the moon viewing festival. I really love the idea of it, and so the idea to incorporate it into a fic popped into my head! And of course, who better to write it for than our own Tsukki?? The play on words is, of course, that Tukishima's family name contains the character for the moon (Tsuki).

"Look at this!" The poster just catches your eye as you're leaving the coffee shop. It's advertising a Tsukimi event at the nearby park, and it's this evening. "This month has gone by so fast, I almost forgot that it's Tsukimi already!"

Kei leans in to get a closer look at the poster and merely hums in acknowledgement. You tug on his hand. "C'mon, why don't we go? It's only a few blocks away, and it's such a perfect evening." You gesture up at the clear sky, already in its full sunset glory.

"You sure?" He raises an eyebrow. "You don't even have your coat," He points out, and you shrug your shoulders in your t-shirt.

"It's not even cold today! Don't try to make excuses just so you can be a stick in the mud." You pause, donning your best pleading look. "Please?"

He sighs, but his grip on your hand tightens. "Well, alright," He agrees, and you grin. "Only because you said please."

You laugh softly. "Thanks, Kei." You swing your linked hands lightly between you. The walk to the park isn't far. When you get there, you find it strung with soft lights, and a few small food and drink stands are giving off delightful smells.

"I guess you want some dango?" He gestures to the nearby stall, and you nod quickly. It wouldn't be Tsukimi without dango. With your snack acquired, you soon make your way to one of the benches set up throughout the park. You have a clear view of the sky once seated, and you look up into the darkening twilight.

"How soon do you think the moon's going to rise?" You ask, glancing at your boyfriend.

He shrugs. "How should I know?" He slides his arm around your shoulders, and you gladly settle in closer to him. Now that the sun is gone, the warm autumn day is turning into a cool autumn night. You try not to shiver in the cool breeze, not wanting to prove him right about the jacket.

You try to keep up a conversation, but it isn't long before you're clenching your teeth to keep them from chattering. "You're not cold, are you?" Kei asks with a smirk, and you shake your head stubbornly.

"I'm fine." You force out.

"Sure," He says, pulling his arm away and letting even more cool air against your skin. You can't help hugging your arms around yourself. Before you can react, he shrugs out of the jacket he's wearing and drapes it across your shoulders with a click of his teeth.

"I don't want you to be cold," You mumble even as you pull the jacket tighter around you, relishing the body heat still clinging to the fabric.

"It's not even cold today," He mimics your earlier words in a squeaky voice, and you immediately punch his shoulder.

"You're so mean to me!"

"Only because you deserve it," He shoots back, sliding his arm around you again and giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze when you pout. His fingertips skim your arm through the fabric of his jacket, and you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

Soon enough, the moon does make its appearance, and you lift your head to look up at it more fully. The autumn moon really does look larger than normal, and seems to shine just a little bit brighter through the crisp night air.

Eventually, you can't help it. You shift your gaze from the moon in the sky to the man beside you. The moonlight softens his features, and your eyes trace the curve of his nose. You feel warmth swelling in your middle the longer you look at him, taking a few moments to memorize his moonlit face in this moment.

"What are you doing?" He finally turns to you, as if sensing your gaze on him.

"Viewing the moon," You answer nonchalantly with the beginnings of a cheeky smile. He rolls his eyes.

"I was wondering how long it was going to take," He sighs at your joke, his exasperated look almost strong enough to disguise the soft smile quirking at the corners of his lips.

"What?" You ask innocently, and reach to sandwich his face between your palms. "You're my moon, Kei."

"You're insufferable," He replies softly, but he closes the gap between you and presses his lips to yours. His fingers soon come up to cup your face, and he deepens the kiss.

"But you love me anyway?" You ask when he finally pulls away.

"Yeah," He says in a low voice, thumb grazing your cheek. "Unfortunately."

[modevernon]

rainy days # chwe vernon

pairing: vernon x gn!reader genre: f2l, comfort warnings: cursing, mentions of food word count: 1.25k

ever since autumn fell into your hands like a stale, unwanted gift, vernon had been acting strange. well. ‘strange’ was difficult to define. vernon was, by nature, pretty strange.

rather, he ceased to act in his normal, strange way, and that was what bothered you — where were the out-of-the-blue “fried chicken, my place, shrek” text invites? where had those gone? where were the absurd, vine-reminiscent tiktoks and goofy screenshots of infinite challenge? where were the multitude of beanies strewn across your house? where, and when had he taken them back? where was he?

yes, seasonal depression existed. but he had explicitly told you, as you were munching on a cinnamon roll for breakfast three months ago, that fall was his favorite season. and yes, you two had only started hanging out this year, so it wasn’t as if your friendship had ever been set in stone. but even so, you didn’t deserve to be ghosted, or slowly distanced from until he had erased you from his life.

and yet, you could pinpoint the day, the moment, the very conversation during which his demeanor shifted so precisely that you figured something must have gone wrong then, and maybe it was your fault.

so you ran back the dialogue to the best of your recollection: it had been a rainy saturday, the kind of humidity that simply begged you to stay inside, and vernon had been making cold hot chocolate (“so… chocolate milk?” “no, you don’t see the vision!”) as you drafted emails at your desk.

when he completed his little concoction and entered your room with a mug of it, you were enjoying a self-proclaimed break, perched on the edge of the table, scrolling through instagram.

“bro, you have to see this,” you called to him casually, hearing his footsteps approach.

he did approach — slowly. stopping before you, he placed the mug on the table. “am i your bro now?”

eyes still glued to your phone, you knocked jokingly at his arm. “sorry.”

after a beat, you looked up, as if finally absorbing all of what had been said so far. “wait.” vernon gazed back at you patiently. “you’ve never complained about that.”

he opened his mouth slightly, some unforeseeable sentence at the tip of his tongue, then closed it and glanced away. “yeah, well,” and he took a step back, “never said i was complaining.”

then you had taken a sip from the mug, and said to him that it tasted just like chocolate milk, but lukewarm, and he had laughed softly without a rebuttal, and you had showed him the instagram story you had found funny, and he had laughed again without comment, and half an hour later he had left from your apartment and the rain had kept falling and everything had seemed eerily quiet. the end.

except it wasn’t the end — it couldn’t be the end, when vernon’s pretty little face was all you could think about even as weeks, months passed without his presence.

today, you were feeling especially fed up, inhaling a cinnamon roll from the same café you’d visited with vernon in the heat of summer. it was suspiciously warm for late october, as if the weather was actively forcing you to reminisce, and it stayed warm until the sun slipped down and suddenly it was cruelly, unbearably cold — and rainy. wrapped up in blankets, you stirred your (real) hot chocolate, watched the downpour vandalize your windows, and wondered what to do with your fraught, ambivalent heart.

vernon was surprised to get a call past midnight, and more surprised that he was on his phone at the exact minute to pick up. he swiped right, forgetting to read the contact.

“hello?” he spoke first.

“hey.” vernon could tell by one syllable that it was you. he checked the screen to confirm anyway. you continued, voice inexplicable: “what’ve you been up to?”

first question, and he was already feeling guilty. “work,” he replied, with faux detachment, “kinda tiring.”

“tiring?”

“mm-hmm.”

“busier than usual?” your tone was veering from innocent to interrogative.

“yeah, you could say that.” what excuse could he give that wasn’t the reason?

“you still could’ve kept in touch, you know,” you hit back. quiet on the other end of the line. “i had to watch bottoms without you.”

“oh, that’s a great movie,” vernon blurted, then immediately regretted.

he could almost see your eyes narrow. “so you watched it on your own?”

“… yeah. on my own.”

you let his response hang embarrassingly in silence. after a beat — “do you have anything to tell me, hansol?”

oh. hansol. shit was getting real; but vernon tried to dodge the fact. “do you have anything to tell me?”

“stop acting cheeky. it’s not cute.”

“no, i’m serious. you must’ve called to say something.”

“i can’t just call to say hi?”

“that’s what you wanted to say? hi?” the words came out far more acerbic than he had intended.

and for the first time, your voice faltered. “didn’t… didn’t you miss me?”

to answer that would be to burst a dam. he felt no choice but to fall back on old tricks. “did you miss me?”

you huffed. vernon knew he was pushing your limit, but it was all he could do. now it was quiet on your end, and he was contemplating a better way to weasel out of this when the bell of his apartment abruptly rang.

perfect. “um— hey, so sorry to cut this short, but i just— there’s a friend coming over, they’re at the door—” and he walked hastily toward it. “we can talk later.” and he hung up before you had the time to reply, simultaneously opening the door to find you, drenched, no umbrella in sight, staring daggers into him.

he was so stunned that he couldn’t exclaim. you kept staring until you grew tired of it, and blinked away. with your hair dripping so much, it was impossible to tell whether your face was wet with tears or rain.

just as vernon began to take up his hand to wipe your cheek, you spoke again. “really hard fucking way to get me to ask you out.”

his hand froze. to what? “of course i missed you, hansol. i missed you so much, i couldn't do anything else. i missed you so much, i ran here while it was pouring, and you know i hate going outside when it's like this. i missed you so much, it’s been driving me insane! what the hell did i do that was so wrong?” your voice was breaking, fracturing. “can’t you tell me?”

the way vernon stood made him look like a film on pause. only his eyes trembled, ever so slightly, drinking you in with excruciating care because heaven knows how much he missed you too.

before he could think of what to say back, his body moved reflexively into yours, arms wrapped around you, head buried in your neck. you were so cold against him, so tense with emotion that his embrace left you melting.

“i thought you didn’t want me,” he breathed, still enveloped in you, “the way i wanted you.”

you sighed, somewhere between relief and exasperation. “why would you assume that, idiot?” it wasn’t really a question. “someone who’s usually so slow to act.”

at that comment, vernon peeled — slowly — away from you to face you again. “i’ll be fast this time,” he vowed, and you tilted your head in puzzlement. “you’re asking me out? my answer is yes.”

a/n: excuse my like two month hiatus. kung chi pak chi summoned me back.

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 6 - Tomorrow you'll know

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

sixth chapter synopsis: It was a difficult choice, but Aerin made it for you. Now with nothing holding you back, you already had the answer Thranduil longed for: yes. Now your only concern is the anxiety about the reunion. [7K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug.

glossary: Vendë: Maiden┆Rae, dimwë. Tolo, govano ven: Smile, sad girl. Come, meet us!┆Maenwë: Clever girl

Few things are eternal in this life. Lands can disappear after earthquakes, seas dry up with the seasons, stone fortresses are invaded and conquered. Not even the star that lights up the day, so far away since the prime of its creation, is a certainty. There is no way of knowing whether it will stay there tomorrow.

You are not an exception. Your face has changed, the same for your body and mind. Your hair continues to grow, clothes continues to wear out, skin continues to collect scars. Things keep changing. Now your mouth speaks a new language, just as your mind carries the weight of friendly words and your body knows the excruciating pain of near death.

And your endless gratitude reached its limits.

In the silence of the dawn, you knew exactly where to step on the flooring so it would not wake anyone. You crossed the room, stepping on your toes where the wood was older, and held the doorknob. Slowly, carefully, you locked the door. Part of your anguish permeated the wood.

You closed your eyes and tried to ease your mind. You do not know how long it took, but you were able of creating a thick layer of ice on it. How does someone who freezes a river finds it difficult to do something like that? Although eternity is a completely impossible target to hit, your ice will be capable of lasting a few hours.

It will be enough. 

It was easy to pack. But to see everything you knew, all those things that for so long were part of your life, and just leave them behind… You do not have time to waste. Not with those you cannot carry, or with people you do not want near you.

You folded your clothes carefully, so it will not wrinkle during your journey, and approached your table. You knelt down and touched the underside of it, removing the letter you glued there. The last one. You tucked it between the pages of your most beloved book.

It seemed right to put the two together.

Ready to leave, you opened the window and sat on the frame. You looked at the place that for fourteen months had been your home. “Goodbye”, you whispered. “Thank you.”

Despise your anger, despise your spite and grief over the things you lost, you left something behind. Something that proved that even your certainty was not enough to freeze your heart. That even all that pain you carry is not enough to make you forget about everything. You left two letters behind. One addressed to Gandalf. The other for Aerin.

It was a goodbye. Or something close to it.

To wander in the early hours of the morning was strange. The cold fog made it difficult to see the path, but you already knew it. You had crossed it so many times, but never you felt so lonely doing it. Not even your memories accompanied you. All you had was your handbag and yourself. 

And still, you did not looked back. Not even once.

The sun showed signs it had not decided to disappear when you arrived at the village. Heat made the fog rise. Seeing lamps being lit, bakers waking up, you understood that what you felt was not a clinging loneliness. 

It was fear. 

Was it from the dark and what could be hidden between the trees? Or maybe it was about Aerin noticing what you did. It is easy to run away and leave a letter behind, but to face her? Perhaps you feared arriving safely at Luthien’s house. Because if that happens, it means that all you can do now is to wait.

The sun set so the moon could shone in its place, and all you did was watch the fire turning your letters into ashes. There you where, motionless, staring at the remains of your treasures. She did not need to do such a vile thing. To burn them before your eyes. Aerin was cruel. She chose to be. So you made your own choice without thinking about her.

You chose the unknown future. You chose incertitude. You chose a life of joys, peace, harmonica. You chose a life of sadness, wars, losses. You chose boredom. You chose heroism. You chose evil. Parsimony and excess, eternal nature and imminent death, painful truth and necessary lies. You chose a life where you will be afraid forever and evermore.

You chose tomorrow and whatever it has for you.

That night after the fireplace ceased you came back to Luthien’s house and asked her to send a letter for you. The letter she send was marked with tears and written in a hurry. It was made of lies. It said you were spending the last few days at Luthien’s house because of the bite. It was also made of omissions. It said nothing about what had just happened to you. And it was the truest, more honest letter you ever wrote. 

Because it started with a yes.

Even though fear hurts you soul, you have never felt so determined to live. Any fear is better than a life of imposed limits. You prefer a million butterflies in you stomach than a withered certainty. Infinite looks nice and all, but you want more than just that.

And Thranduil offered you so much more than that.

Does he knows that he did that? That he gave the possibility of learning more about you powers, about the nature around you, and also the chance of a fresh start. Thranduil gave the unmissable chance to discover the world beyond the valley. But Thranduil also changed old certainties.

You were so sure you would never see him again. Now the only thing separating you from him is the path ahead. Is time. There it is. The true reason behind your fear. Knowing that you will see Thranduil again, and it means he will also see you.

He lingered with you. The way Thranduil hides his harshness on his politeness. Or the way he never, not even once, treated you like you were lesser than him even though he is a king. And his accent, so hard and projected, different than anything you have ever heard. His handwriting showed you the care and effort he put onto making his soul clear for you. Thranduil, despise anything he may think about himself, is so kind. 

Does he miss you as much as you miss him? Does Thranduil knows that even if he could not help you with your powers, if his realm had nothing to add in your life, if you had nothing to gain with that: it would still be worth it? Does he imagine that seeing him again is enough for you?

Does he feel the same way about you?

Absorbed in your own memories, you did not even notice that Luthien was waiting for you on the stairs of her house. “Did you get everything you needed?”

“Everything I have”, you showed the handbag you carried.

“Does that have space for more?”

You nodded, and Luthien entered her house without closing the door. You waited outside, glaring at the sunrise. The sky was golden. There were pink clouds, orange lines in the sky, but everything was golden. After such a dark dawn, you could not help but feel hopeful for the daylight.

“I will miss you”, you dealt with the elephant in the room as soon as you heard Luthien returning. “I need you to know this. Because I really will.”

Luthien gave you two different ointments. One was greenish, very liquid, and the other was almost transparent. As you held them, Luthien caressed your hands. “If everything works out for you I will never see you again”, Luthien whispered. “I need you to know that I am counting on it.”

The hug you gave her almost crushed Luthien’s ribs. You could not care less. She helped you wrap the jars and put them with the rest of your things. And until the carriage arrived, you talked as if it would not be the last time.

You did not know what the carriage looks like, you had only saw three or five during your life, but just a look at the one approaching was enough for you to be sure it was the one Thranduil warned you about.

It was a double-decker carriage, drawn by four horses, and the charioteer who drove it wore clothes as beautiful as the two guards sitting beside him. The red paint covered the cabin perfectly, the curtains hiding what was inside it. Above it, the Woodland banner roared. 

“Until never again”, said Luthien.

The charioteer took your handbag. You felt a little bit guilty that he left his post to help you with something so tiny. The man opened the cabin’s door, and gesture for you to enter it. Both the guards greeted you.

You approached, and he extend his hand for you to get on. For the first and only time that morning, you looked back. You had tears begging to roll down your face, but you smiled anyways. “I hope so.”

And the moment the door closed, you could only wonder if your choice was the right one. You already have the answer for the question, and is such a simple one: maybe tomorrow you will know. And everyday for the rest of your life the answer will be the same: maybe tomorrow you will know. 

Now all you have to do is wait.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

If the Elvenking’s Halls staff were forced to vote — and if they were also guaranteed their right to privacy — ninety-eight percent of them would decide that life was easier when Thranduil was away. That equation has a two percent margin of error.

Ancient tapestries telling stories from other eras have been brushed. New chair were ordered from the royal carpenters, tables were sanded in all their details, and every wall was cleaned with warm cloths. For days anywhere someone could walk would have part of the staff working until exhaustion. Until it was perfect.

And the Elvenking was never satisfied.

Thranduil made a point of personally analyzing each room, and his criticisms were cruelly honest. In the moment he finally said that it was perfect, the praise was already accompanied by a new order. Tidy up the stables, brush the horses, check the library’s organization. Royal painters were invited to spend the next few months at the Halls, just as the best singers will be part of the dinners and dances.

No part of the Halls were left untouched. Not even the Elvenking’s chamber.

The curtains were washed, the table organized, candlesticks replaced with new, more polished ones. But what really mattered was not his chamber, but who lives on it. Thranduil took measurements for new robs to be sewn, new jewels were cast into rings, his hair was brushed to perfection. 

What changed the entire staff’s opinion was the Elvenking’s concerned proving to be million times stronger when it came to that empty chamber. When Thranduil could not sleep because he needed to chose whether the bed sheet should be golden or navy blue, it was easy to come to a conclusion.

The Elvenking was reduced to a man in love.

And even that he made it everyone’s problem, it was a good change. It made the Elvenking become obsessed with every minor detail, but it also made him younger. It made him want something new than to just endure. And Greenwood seemed to blossom with its king.

Tuor followed the carpenters carrying furniture to the once empty chamber, dodging workers trying to gather dust and maids removing curtains. That room was busier than war trenches, but the dark-haired knight continued until he was at his king’s side. Tuor watched him instruct where the cabinets should be placed, warn about the room needing to be warm all the time, say that blue is definitely the best choice.

“There are more important matter to discuss, your grace. Things that will last longer than a braided cloth”, Tuor whispered to him. “And it should be golden.”

Thranduil sighed. He knew it was the wrong choice the moment he spoke. “Golden it is.” Thranduil hesitated before turning his head towards Tuor, his eyes still glued to the chamber in front of him. “The sun runes were translated?”

Tuor took a step back, indicating that they needed privacy. The king led the way, following the passages of wide halls carved from living trees. The corridors became emptier as they moved away from the chamber, and after a few minutes of silence Thranduil stared at him. Tuor was tall, but he needed to look up to speak to his king.

“How much they know?”

“Everything that matters”, Tuor sighed. “How our watch shifts works, where the wall is weakest, our combat strategies. They even traced spider’s nests near us. I just do not understand, your grace, why sun runes. They are goblins, orcs, vile creatures. Should not it be moon ones?”

 Thranduil crossed his arm. “Tell me: why is the Halls under the ground and not high on it? Would it not be more difficult to attack something you cannot reach?”

“In some cases, yes”, replied Tuor. “But this does not mean our defense will be at loss. It is impossible to enter without us knowing, and from below we can evacuate the entirety of our realm without arousing suspicion. Even if our enemies were stronger or more numerous than our army, our passages are deeper and safer. Our trees are strong, your grace. And those creatures we fight have not even begun to understand that.”

Thranduil agreed, noticing how quickly Tuor turned his thoughts into words. There is no way for him to be a great ruler if he is not surrounded by great minds. “It means you understand that not everything is as simple as it seems. Think again. Why sun runes?”

Tour hesitated. He opened his mouth, but could not think of anything smart to say. Not when he felt so cornered. Then the realization came. There is a reason for those maps to not be written in a way those monsters could understand. “They are not meant for them.”

“Exactly”, The Elvenking moved towards the council hall. Thranduil already knew the amount of work they would have for the next weeks would be equivalent to the work the Halls’ staff had for the last few days. “Do you understand what that means?”

“What, your grace?”

The doors to the council hall opened. He turned to his old friend and gave him a smirk. “It means that our traitor will be easier to find.”

This friendship is old enough for Tuor to be able to understand the things Thranduil prefer to not speak out loud. Easier to find? It was just Thranduil’s way of saying it will be easier to kill.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was easy to fall asleep in the carriage cabin. The benches were comfortable, there were soft blankets inside them, even the constant movements of rocks and holes on the path turn it into the perfect environment to rest. You had two books with you, but with the movement your eyes ache trying to read it. 

You started to spend nights awake and days asleep. It was easy to get lost in your imagination just to realize you were actually dreaming.

Going down the mountain and away from Rivendell, both the climate and the river changed. There was less water for the threes, and also more heat. The light green faded, thick branches thinned, colorful flowers had not yet bloomed. You tend to blur your vision so you can see a smudge of colors. 

If you were not sleeping, you were appreciating the view. Not even your fertile imagination could create all those different places. Every idiosyncracy was marked in your memory, and even the most common scenarios meant something to you. It was a reminder that whatever happens from now on is part of your deal with tomorrow. 

A few times you placed your head over the window, eyes closed and winds ruffling your hair, stretching your hands as far as you could. It was as if you could uproot one of the distant trees and bring it to you. The guards always ordered you to keep your entire body inside the cabin, but you could not help it.

You could, you just did not want to.

Not when you feel so light, almost as if the right wind could make you fly away.

Your mouth stays shut for most part of your days. The charioteer is kind, and both guards are way to invested on guaranteeing you are safe, but they are away from you. Inside of the cabin, all you can do is hear. The world around you — sometimes, at the middle of the night, you swear you can hear its engines turning —, but also at what the three elves chat about when they think you will not hear.

The charioteer is anxious about his daughter pregnancy. One of the guards, Lhoris, fell in love last spring with a singer. Your heart almost melt inside your chest when he called her a siren. The other is more reserved. It took you two days to hear him speaking for more than seven seconds. 

There were a few times when they whispered about the Elvenking. About how he spend so long away that some feared Thranduil went to the Undying Lands. About how he bravely chased monster after monster and no elve under his protection fell down. About how Greenwood seemed to blossom after his arrive.

Maybe because you know nothing about kings, maybe because you heard a few things about Mirkwood, but you thought Thranduil’s subjects would fear him. Your opinion changed, but it still surprises you that what you heard was gratitude. Relief. Recognition.

It happened during sunset. They thought you were sleeping, at any other day they would be right. But green leaves just turned into faded brown and you wanted to see it all. Bari, the quiet guard, wondered what made his king chose him to this task. To protect someone so dear to him.

That made you heart fluster. Dear.

You also got interest on the things they do not say out loud. 

Like how the two guards follow you closely whenever there is a stop. Or how whenever you need something in your handbag the charioteer takes extra care so you will not stretch your arms. Your clothes do not show the scar across your shoulder, but you think he was informed to be careful about it. You think Thranduil warned them about it.

Sleep, observe, listen: they all are just ways of stopping you from spending your time thinking about him. Every day makes you a little bit more anxious, because every day that passes get you closer to him. Thranduil, Thranduil, Thranduil. That is not just a name anymore, it is a intricate melody for your mind.

How should you act when you finally see him? The right thing is to bow, you know that, but that feels so wrong. And to hug him… would a king feel offended by that? Should you have asked him what was the proper way to behave on court? Or would that too be offensive?

You woke up when the carriage suddenly stopped moving. You had just got on your feet when the charioteer knocked on the door. You fixed your hair before opening it. “Another stop?”

“No, unfortunately no”, Tanyl reached for your hand.

 You thanked him as get out of the cabin. All four horses were free from their restraints, and now saddle by the guards. Walking towards them, you saw it. You saw everything.

“Apparently rained in Greenwood last night, and some trees fell and blocked out path. We need to follow the Elf-path on horseback, vendë. We lament for the inconvenience.”

What was in front of you, around you, was way more important than anything else. Than anyone else.

It was autumn. 

You know it has just begin. The citadel reported the change od seasons a couple of weeks ago. Cold wind became more common than the warm one, leaves started to fall, fruits stopped growing. Summer ended, autumn begin, but this… Even someone who only heard what autumn is would recognize it.

This place was autumn itself.

It seemed to be a faded orange, but every other tone revealed itself for those that payed attention. Burgundy leaves, twisted brown branches, greenish swallows. A speck of blue shook the branches, and soon the butterflies separated. Its blue wings became multi-colored with the sunset reflection. Wind made everything feel so alive. Of course plants are living being, you know that, but they seemed to breath.

Some may only see an orange spot, but they did not pay attention to the singularities of the world around them. To all the beauty, and life, and sweet melodies. Those who can not see its colors are simply unable of perceiving beauty even when its right in front of their noses.

That made you blood boil. Your fists clenched, as if you would start a fight with anyone who dared to say something bad about this realm. And maybe you really would. You have never been on a fight, but for this place you would.

Mirkwood. How dare them? This place does not deserve such a horrendous name. How did those bad rumors made a way into everyone’s mind? Mirk. It is a land invaded by spiders, with cursed waters and intoxicating air, but it is much more than just that. It is beautiful. Delicate. And it endured for so long.

That word will never escape your mouth anymore. You swear on this. From now on, it is just Greenwood. As it should. As it deserves.

“Do not lament it”, you gave a beaming smile. Without waiting for instructions, you got near the horses. “Are we close?”

Lhoris guided the group, he knew the path better than any of them, and made sure your horse would stay close to his all the time. “A few hours more, and you will be able to rest inside the Elvenking’s Halls.”

Time never took so long to pass. It was a beautiful view, a stunning one, but at every corner you expected to see his palace. To see him. And at every corner all that waited for you was more of the marvelous forest.

Within time you noticed it. The enchantment on the path. Gandalf showed you something similar, and smaller, before. Aerin tended to be mad at you whenever you spend the night reading, and when you told him that… All Gandalf heard was a chance of mischief.

He made it so easily. When you are on you armchair, you are protected. No one can see you, or notice what you are doing. You feel like a child whenever you use it. Like a rebel.

Your excitement disappeared. You thought about your past as if it was your present.

“Rae, dimwë”, an intricate harmony woke you ip from your thoughts. You looked around, but the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. “Tolo, govano ven!”

Bari, after seeing how startled you got, rode to you. “They are welcoming us.”

You remember hearing once about how music is important to elves. It is used to spread knowledge, to make people feel better, to mock others feelings. “What did they sang?”

“Smile, sad lady”, Bari recited. “Come, join us.”

You tried to force a smile, and after a feel seconds it felt real. They were welcoming you. Why get sad thinking about yesterday when you could be thinking about the present? Welcoming. “Does that mean we are near?”

Tanyl nodded. “Almost there.”

You almost went faster than Lhoris. The only thing that stopped you was the fear of taking the wrong path and ending up in trouble. Your hands sweated against the reins, and the birdsong was replaced by the strong beating of your heart.

The trees were old deep in the forest. So long, bigger than houses. Even your horse took a good few seconds to cross the entire length of one. And they were so high the sky had already disappeared. As the minutes piled up, the long bridge came into view. It was perhaps older than those trees. And passing over the waterfall, it led to the gates that separate the forest from the Elvenking’s Halls.

So that is a palace. You have seen engravings in books, but nothing would make you understand how tall it would be. Just the entrance, the placid blue windows and the heavy gate that could only be touched by those allowed to do so, was a luxury you never thought possible to witness.

And inside the Envelking’s Halls, you finally understood what Thranduil meant by a birdhouse.

It was as if the trees were born for this. All the bridges, stairs, walls and ceilings: everything was alive. Everything was a plant growing and expanding. The engineered columns, the perfectly sized doors, the constant moat that showed that the great asset of it was not the height of the palace, but its depth.

This place is definitely not worthy of being called a birdhouse, but you cannot think of a better way to describe it.

Your traveling companions left to look after the horses. You followed new guards, who welcomed you by name and instructed you on the path. Your nails were at the brick of penetrating your skin. They opened a door, and inside the room was the first person that was not a guard to welcome you.

And it was not Thranduil.

It was a woman. A beautiful, elegant woman. When her eyes met yours, they seemed to shine like a million stars. She got near you, took your hands between hers, and squeezed them lightly. “It is so nice to finally meet you. Please, call me Lorie.”

Her hands felt so warm on yours. “It is nice to finally be here, Lorie.”

“You must be so tired.” Lorie stood next to you, and you imitated her as she started to walk. Some part of you feared that you would not be treated well, but she quickly made those thoughts evaporate. Lorie took you to a staircase, and climbed it slowly. “Three days, right?”

“Four”, you answered. “I am pretty sure Bari, Lhoris and Tanyl are way more tired than me. All I did was wait.”

“You will not fool me”, her laugh made your smile grew bigger. She had such a alluring way of being. “I saw you. You rode til here, and that I know is so exhausting. Horses see me as the enemy. That is why I am the one welcoming you.”

“What do you mean, Lorie?”

 Lorie turned into a corner, and you tried to make yourself pay attention to her face but everything was so beautiful. So different than anything you ever saw. “You deserve to rest. And to bath, and eat. It would not be very polite of a king to welcome a guest that would rather sleep on the floor than to be part of a conversation.”

You licked your lips, and hoped your voice would not change with his mention. “When will I… see the king?”

Lorie smirked. She guided you to another stair. “At night, during banquet.” 

Lost in the immensity of your thoughts, it took a few seconds for you to notice the silence. In an attempt to take the attention away from yourself, you turned to Lorie. “Why are you accompanying me?”

“Our king has granted me the honor of being your lady-in-waiting”, Lorie seemed very happy about this. !I hope to meet your standards.”

You thought about saying you did not have any, but that sounded a little bit rude.

At some point she entered a corridor, turned at a crossroads, climbed another staircase. You were too caught up in the conversation to pay attention. The only thing that made you take your focus off Lorie was her stopping walking.

The tall door had elks carved into it. You felt tempted to touch them. “Ready?” Lori asked, holding the doorknob.

Sun reached your eyes. The long balcony allowed you to see the forest from above. The sight moved you. All the colors and sound that accompanied you were even brighter and louder from there. There was a mountain in the distance, the river that led to the waterfall in front of the gates, the immensity of that corner of the world. 

The room was large, bigger than any room you had ever been in until today, and so warm. There were candles scattered throughout the room, candelabra decorating each piece of furniture. You followed the lights, circling the room, and slid your finger through one of the shelfs on the wall. They were all books with the common language and elvish in it.

A long tapestry telling a ancient story covered the floor, and it broke your heart when you had to step on it to reach the wide bed in the center of the room. If Lorie was not there, you would have jumped on it. Instead, you sat on your bed and caressed the golden bed sheets. “So pretty”, you whispered to yourself.

“Everything is perfect?” Lorie closed the door behind her. She got closer, hands supported at her bottom back. “We can change anything. From the curtains tissue to whatever book you may desire. All you need to do is inform us.”

You hid your smile behind your hand, but it had already reached your eyes. “It will not be necessary.” You took a deep breath. It smelled like pomegranate and cinnamon.

A knock on the door made you get up from the bed. Lorie opened it, you could not see who was on the other side. The person handed her a handbag, and Lorie closed the door one more time.

Lorie placed it on your bed. She walked away and opened the gigantic closet doors on the wall in front of your bed. Carefully, you took out your books from your handbag. You placed them on a shelf, making sure they would not get wrinkled, and when you turned to you bed you saw Lorie snooping through your things.

“What is your favorite color?” Lorie asked you. “It do not need to be a eternal answer, tell me just about today. What is your favorite color today?”

You thought the change of subject was strange, but you enjoyed the way Lorie worded her question. It was so much easier to find an answer. “Green. Why?”

Lorie nodded towards the closet, and only then did you realize that it was not empty. You could have come without any bags and it would not have been a problem. “I thought it would be easier for you to chose.”

“Is all this mine?” Lorie agreed. “All of this?”

Lorie approached, and squeezed your shoulders while you admired everything. It was one thing when Thranduil gave you a dress as a gift. It was something occasional. But this… So much jewelry, gold, chains. Silk, velvet, cotton. All the colors of the rainbow were there, just as those that are not part of it. This is a treasure hidden inside a closet.

“I think green will suit you perfectly”, Lorie whispered. “Shall we get you ready for tonight?”

Your heart flustered once more.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Thranduil is usually responsible for making meetings last longer than they were first supposed to. He does not accept leaving one without all the answers he wants. And even when he has them, the Elvenking is not so easily satisfied. You do not reign for so long without being able to gather all the knowledge necessary to make the best decisions.

In a moment as disastrous as this, with the discovery of something moving between the free kingdoms and gathering information for the Enemy, it would be expected that the Elvenking would not stop until he was sure that he had done everything he should.

Watch shifts have already changed, blacksmiths have been informed about the creation of new weapons, fighters will be trained in different, new styles. But that is not all. It is necessary to find a way to stop the spy, to ensure that he is not inside Greenwood, to protect this realm from any harm.

To endure, no matter what.

And still, it was Thranduil who ended the meeting.

As soon as he was informed, Thranduil did not allowed the discussions to continue. He gave his advisors no choice. Thranduil just got up and headed to his chambers, not caring about the frustrated grunts and whispered complaints behind him. It is over, they can mourn it if they so desire.

Thranduil has more to do.

Centuries are mere blinks in an elven’s life. Hundreds of years are nothing more than brief moments for his kin. Still, the few hours that followed from the end of the meeting until banquet never took so long to pass. It had been so long since Thranduil became so aware of the passing of time. Aware of how slow it actually is.

The banquet hall had been built so that moonlight can penetrate the roots of the trees and take a seat at the table. Surrounded by depth, it functioned like an island in the middle of the ocean. All the residents of Elvenking’s Halls who were invited had already arrived, and the musicians played in one of the layers above so the sound can reach the whole hall. Everything was perfectly splendid.

But one person was missing.

“Calm down, your grace”, muttered Tuor. The words were gentle, but the tone mocked Thranduil. “Do you fear she has runned away? It seems a very likely concern to me. A lady with good instincts would make that decision.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “I think it is better that you move to the end of the table. Distance makes you more bearable.”

With a dry laugh, Tuor slid his fingers across his glass. “Would you rather be alone with your thoughts?”

Thranduil downed his wine. For Tuor, it served as an answer.

When the doors opened, all the guests stood up. Thranduil should not have done that, a king does not need to get up to welcome someone, but he was still the first to get up.

And the first thing Thranduil saw were your eyes. They had not changed. Weeks passed, the world came between the two of you, and still you have not changed. There were violets in your eyes. They flourished. You flourished.

Thranduil will never forget the first time he saw you. Your dress wrinkled and muddy, lossy hair framed your face with freedom, the lightness of your smile illuminating the inn. 

He had never seen anyone so beautiful. Not in all the millennia of his life.

The silk dress adorned your body like running water. So smooth, so liquid. The fabric hung from thin straps, folded over your body, joined your skin as if they were one and the same. It was the color of emeralds, and the belts had diamonds sewn into it. The tail glided over the stairs as you descended it, shining like hundreds of stars.

Thranduil’s opinion remain the same.

With your hands hidden behind your back, you swallowed hard as you felt all the eyes burning into your skin. You blinked a few times, your hands sweating, and looked up at the spot you feared the most. You looked at Thranduil.

His robe was made of noble silver and black brocade, with silver piping and light gray embroidered vines. The burgundy coat was so different from anything you did ever seen him wear. So much stronger, more imposing. More natural.

Thranduil was at home. 

But you only noticed the difference on his presentation when you were trying to sleep, turning over in bed with your head preventing you from closing your eyes. Only alone in the middle of the night you stopped to think about that. But at the moment you saw him, with ocean blue eyes deep on your soul, all you did was smile.

And so you bowed.

Thranduil called your name, and his voice gave you goosebumps. You lifted your posture and when you looked at him again, a bros smile occupied Thranduil’ serious face.

“Welcome”, he took a deep breath. Thranduil pointed with an open hand to the armchair on his right. “Join me.”

You bit your tongue. You were afraid that if you started to smile, if you let the happiness of your soul take place on your face, your cheeks would tear. Your next steps were slow, your lugs unable to do anything more than that, but sure until you were next to Thranduil. You almost forgot how tall he was.

One of the servants pulled out the seat for you. Without looking away from him, you sat down. “Hi.”

Thranduil sat on the edge of his armchair, not even noticing how his posture had bent. Conversations resumed for the rest of the table, which meant the two of you had privacy in some way. “How was your travel?”

“Stunning”, your eyes shone. “Greenwood is so beautiful. I must have almost left the path a few times because I got distracted admiring it.”

Thranduil sighed. “We were not able to clear the path after yesterday’s storm. I am sorry you had to complete the path on horseback.”

“Do not be”, you bit your bottom lip. It felt strange talking to Thranduil when there were so many people around you. It felt wrong that your conversations were not private. That they were not yours. “I loved it. Truly.”

He let out a giggle. “Will your honesty always continue to amaze me?”

“I imagine so”, you replied. “At least I hope so.”

Silence has never been so profound. Thranduil’s eyes seemed to look deep into your soul, and perhaps they really could. It was strange and new, but it did not bother you. Not in any way.

You removed your hands from behind your back, revealing the book you were hiding. Holding it with both hands, you showed it to the Elvenking. “A gift.”

Thranduil would normally have accepted vehemently, but without caring about it. Anyone else would have received an empty thank you. But upon hearing your words, Thranduil felt his heart skip a beat. “You do not have to.”

“Maybe”, you answered him, shooking the book lightly. “But I wanted to.”

Thranduil took the book, his fingers brushed against yours. He prolonged the contact for a second, an infinite second, and then he leaned back. He ran his thumb across the leather cover, reading the title in gold. His heart barely let his mind function.

“It is about an exiled soldier. I will not tell you too much about the story, but he is on a journey to prove his innocence and avenge himself”, your toes curled under the table. Your happiness was not contained withing your body and was trying to escape wherever he could. “It is my favorite. And I thought maybe, you might like it. I did not know what to give a king, and I do not think there is anything you need, so maybe it is not-”

“It is perfect”, Thranduil reassured you. He was not lying. He would not lie to you. “Thank you, maenwë.”

You giggled. “It is been a long time since someone called me that.”

Thranduil remembered the terrible way people got used to not call you by your name. It made him burn with anger for a moment, but he chose to turn it into something more useful. “Was it difficult to say goodbye to Aerin? It is a shame that you had to make this journey alone.”

Your peace of mind was shaken. Lying to him was necessary. You may not have known Thranduil for a long time, but you do not think he would react well to what Aerin did. Or that he felt good letting you travel for so long without anyone to support you. Still, just because it was necessary does not mean it was right. “She is a very busy woman. If I had to wait for her, I would never come here.”

The banquet was served, and for a long time the number od employees walking around the room made it impossible for you both to talk. Your cup was served with wine, your plate had the greatest variety of food, and there were so many different foods that a thousand dinners could be given and there would still be leftovers. 

But as soon as the staff left and you started eating, you just waited for a hint that it was acceptable to talk during the meal in that part of the world. The food was magnificent, but that was not the reason why you are here.

“Were you able to rest after your arrival, vendë?” The man next to Thranduil asked. He had a dark, velvet skin, and kind eyes. You have a weak point for things that look delicate.

“This is Tuor, and old friend”, Thranduil introduced him. Looking at Tuor, he hoped the elve could understood to not put him on shame.

“Nice to meet you, Tuor”, you smiled. “And yes, I managed to rest. I did not realize I was so tired until I approached the bed.”

“If I am not mistaken”, Tuor began. “Those chambers have golden sheets, no? Was your sleep comfortable?”

“Yes, they are golden. Very comfortable. As well as beautiful.”

Tuor’s smile made Thranduil roll his eyes. “I am glad about that, maenwë.”

The rest of the night passed with the two of you eating and talking. More talking than eating. Sometimes Tuor was part of the conversation, but mostly not. And you both talked about everything. 

You questioned Thranduil about his quest, if he had not been hurt. He told you stories of how he hunted the creatures, but only because he noticed that you would like to hear them. You are the kind of person that does not mind hearing disgusting stories over dinner.

And Thranduil asked you about your recovery, if you wanted something to change in your chambers, if you needed anything for that matter. Thranduil heard you talking about anything that you wanted to. He did it gladly.

Over time, the guests left. One by one, the hall shrank. Music continued to play throughout the night. But you did not noticed any of those things. You only paid attention to Thranduil, the raspberry pie stirred on your plate, and the glass of wine that was never emptied.

Thranduil accompanied you to your chambers. That made you feel relieved. If you needed to find your way alone there you would never be seen again. “Now I understand. Birdhouse”, you heard Thranduil sighing. “It is actually a good comparison.”

“You are too kind”, Thranduil stopped walking. You only knew it was the door for your chambers because of the elks carved into the wood. Now, a little bit affected by the wine, you touched it. If feels nice. “Good evening, maenwë.”

So you got the chance to say something you have spent weeks fantasizing about saying. You took a deep breath, jut to make sure it came out exactly how you imagined. With a smile, and a polite bow, you looked at him. “I see you tomorrow.”

And this time it was not a fantasy. It was just a fact.

[Seventh Chapter]

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM TAGLIST: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @h0ly-fire @whore-of-many-hot-men

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[prettyacd]

david the cupid

a rwrb meet-cute one-shot inspired by 101 dalmatians kinda in david's pov

It’s December. David doesn’t know the exact date, but he knows it’s that time of year when humans make everything shine and sparkle. Alex brings a tree inside their apartment, which David finds somewhat unfair. He’s never allowed to bring home the big sticks he finds in the park, even though they always call him a good boy when he brings them over. Then, cruelly, they make him abandon his treasures for some other dog to claim. But the tree? That’s special, apparently.

That said, David loves the day they decorate the tree. He gets to help. Henry kneels beside the cardboard box full of shiny balls and tells him to ‘choose’ one. David dives in nose-first, retrieving whatever he can grab. Henry always thanks him with a fond praise, sometimes even scratching the sweet spot behind his ear.

Later, they string up those colourful, blinking lights. David isn’t asked to help, but Henry still looks over and says, “It looks good, doesn’t it, Davey?” David wags his tail and barks.

One day, Alex takes him for a walk, and it’s the best walk. The white ground crunches under his paws, and the air is sharp and cold. Snowflakes dance all around him, taunting him as he leaps to catch them. No matter how fast he snaps at the air, they vanish just before he can close his mouth. David doesn’t understand the sorcery, but he keeps trying.

When they return home, there are more shoes than usual. David immediately investigates. This is his territory, after all. He sniffs every pair carefully, his tail wagging faster as he recognises the scents. These are good people, the ones who always pet him, sneak him treats, and call him the best boy.

Sure enough, when the humans see him, there’s a chorus of greetings, pats, and ear scratches. David soaks it all in happily.

David recognises everyone except for one person. “It’s so nice to meet you, Matthew. Bea has been going on and on about you these past few months,” David hears Henry say to the stranger.

Dinner smells incredible. David plants himself beside Alex’s chair—he’s the softer touch when it comes to sneaking him bites—and listens as Alex asks “Is this safe to give to David?” before slipping him endless tidbits. December is a good month.

After everyone is full, they settle on the couch. Flames dance in the fireplace, and David sprawls in his bed near the warmth, his eyes half-lidded. The humans’ laughter and chatter lull him into a pleasant doze.

“So, how did you two meet?” Matthew asks. David perks up immediately. He likes listening to Henry and Alex tell the story of how they met. It involves him, so it’s a good story.

Henry and Alex exchange a smile, the kind that makes David’s tail wag without him thinking about it. “It’s a really good story, actually,” Henry says, leaning a little closer to Alex.

“It was autumn. Everything was turning orange, leaves were falling from the sky,” Alex begins. “I had just finished a job interview at a big law firm. I felt jittery, so I thought I’d go for a walk in the park.” Henry shifts, puts his head on his shoulder. “I used to walk there all the time. It was good for David, and I liked reading out in the fresh air.”

David knows what’s coming now. Despite the warmth of the fire, he stands up, bites down on the edge of his bed and drags it closer to the couch. He’s determined to be part of this.

Henry laughs. “I swear, he always knows when we’re telling this story.” His owner gets up and helps David reposition the bed by their feet before settling back down with Alex, who’s grinning as he pulls Henry close.

“Anyway,” Alex continues, “I decided to walk toward the lake. It’s beautiful there in the fall. I didn’t notice them at first—David and Henry. I stopped to admire the view. All of a sudden, this beagle was circling me, and I felt the leash tighten around my legs.”

“I got distracted for just a second,” Henry admits, leaning down and scratching behind David’s ear. “The next thing I knew, David had walked in circles around us, tying Alex and me together. He just kept on going.”

“I'm convinced he knew what he was doing,” Alex chimes in, laughing. David loves hearing them laugh. “One second, I was standing there. The next, this handsome British guy is pressed against me, frantically apologising.”

David tilts his head, letting out a single bark of pride. He remembers that day.

“I was panicking,” Henry says with a grin. “I tried untangling us, my arms around this stranger, which only made things worse. We were stuck, wrapped together,” Henry says as he leans back. “And then David saw a duck.”

David confirms it with another bark. There’s laughter from everyone. Matthew gasps. “Oh, god. What happened?”

“What do you think happened?” Alex says, smiling fondly. “David bolted for the duck. And we—still tied together—went straight into the lake.”

“I was mortified,” Henry confesses. “Apologising nonstop while trying not to drown.”

“Oh, the water wasn’t that deep. It was ridiculous, though,” Alex adds, shaking his head fondly. “I couldn’t stop laughing. And then Henry started laughing too.” The two of them look at each other, both smiling, the corners of their eyes crinkling.

David wags his tail lazily, it thumps against the couch. It really is a good story.

[fuckmelifesucks]

You Saw

Pair: Elriel {For Elriel Month 2023}

Summary: Elain pours her heart out to Azriel. 

Warning: Angsty, no specific POV so kinda messy.

Words: 3.6k

Characters: ACOTAR; Sarah J Mass.

~~~~~

“I did it.”

The soft murmur was heard from the doorway of the living room in the empty Townhouse. He stilled, every muscle in his body going taut as the soft words floated over to where he stood in front of the unlit fireplace. He registered the words, mulling over the meaning behind them. She did it. Had she done what he thought she had? Or was he getting ahead of himself? She couldn’t possibly have done what he thought she had.

No, she wou –

All thoughts ceased as he turned to face her. His mind went silent at the look on her face as she stood there, chest heaving and cheeks red. It was the look of utter relief. The look of finally doing something one was too afraid to do, thinking that there would be severe consequences. It was the look of relief he knew he once donned himself when he had been released from the shackles of that prison of his childhood –that small dark room where the very shadows became his only friend.

The shadows that twirled around him stilled as well. For a moment, nothing moved, as if the whole world itself held its breath to see what came next.

“What?” The word came out so low, he wondered if she even heard him.

Elain took a step into the room, then another and another until she was well over halfway in, her dress of soft pinks and violets rasping behind her, so at odds with the dark leathers that he donned and the shadows that surrounded him, circling his hands and weaving through his fingers, the massive wings that peeked over his shoulders imposingly.

“I did it. I talked to him. I told him – ” She paused, gulping around the thick ball of emotions lodged in her throat, hands clenching the fabric of her dress into fists, “I told Lucien that I did not want him. That I could not be with him and that I wanted to break –reject the bond. I wanted to break it even, if that were possible.”

Azriel didn’t know what to say, what to do with his clenched hands and tight jaw, what to do with his mouth full of cotton and head heavy as lead, his wings tucked tightly against his back. So he stared. Stared as he had so many times before when he thought no one was looking. Stared with the same longing that tightened around his chest like a vice and the same pain that choked him like a noose wrung around his neck every time he was reminded that he could not have her, that she was mated to another. That didn’t seem to deter Elain much as she went on.

“We talked, really talked about everything. He told me how he was happy in the human lands with Vassa and Julian and I told him how I was happy here, in the Night Court, with my family. I told him how I felt like I finally had found a purpose for myself. I told him everything that I felt ever since the bond snapped into place. And – ” She took in a breath, as if to collect her raging emotions, “I told him that I could never feel for him the way the bond wanted us to feel for one another. I told him that I could never give him my heart. And that with me, he would always be miserable. We would both be miserable if ever we were to accept the bond.”

She took another step in Azriel’s direction, watching him stand there, as still as a magnificently beautiful statue. Though, his shadows belied him, dashing from one spot to another, swirling in tight circles, clinging to him, as if to help hold him together. His wings flexed.

“And Lucien – ” The backs of her eyes burned and Elain was sure the tips of her pointed ears were glaringly red, “ –agreed.”

The breath was knocked out of Azriel’s chest as she uttered those words in a gentle voice of relief. In a tone that felt like the spring finally coming after a cold, harsh winter. He couldn’t seem to grasp what she was saying and yet he could.

She had decided to reject her bond with the Autumn Fox. For a moment he felt like he was still asleep, passed out from sheer exhaustion and that this was one of the many torturous dreams that made him never want to wake up from his slumber again. He almost pinched himself to make sure.

“We agreed to reject the mating bond together,” Elain said softly, her doe eyes flickering.

Elain watched Azriel finally move, taking a few steps towards her, eating up far more distance between them with only a few strides. She wanted him closer. Wanted for him to rush toward her and pull her impossibly close to him. Wanted for him to wrap her up in his arms and cocoon them in his wings and kiss her until she was breathless and then kiss her some more.

“Why?” There was not a crack of emotion on his face as the syllables left his mouth. Though, Elain knew him. She saw him and saw beyond that hard unmoving mask he so often hid behind. She saw the uncertainty. Not in her or in them, but in himself. Elain felt her heart burn for him.

Azriel watched Elain tilt her head slightly, a small furrow between her brows and thought to elaborate, “Why can you never feel for him that way? Why can you not give him your heart?”

Deep down, he knew the answer all too well and yet he needed to ask her, needed to hear it from her own mouth, in that sweet, delicate voice of hers that felt like feathers softly gliding down his skin. Like a cool salve to his injured heart. He needed to hear her say it to believe it for self-doubt always gnawed at his insides like termites.

Elain let out a soft breath of air, “Because… I only have one heart and it already belongs to someone else.”

Blood rushed to Azriel’s ears and for a heartbeat, he couldn’t hear anything other than the pounding in them. He said nothing but the small distance that separated them held enough tension that even a blind person could feel it. Behind him, his shadows lashed out in a frenzy, some dancing, some gliding, some rushing, some darting around. He resisted the urge to spread his wings –peacocking them, as Elain so very generously liked to put it.

He felt so much and yet, not a single thing showed on his unmoving face as Elain gazed at him. He was feeling far too much and he didn’t know what to do. And so, unknowingly, he let that mask of icy stillness that he wore so often to hide the turmoil within him fall into place. He had never been good with such feelings and emotions, after all.

And yet, Elain saw right through it. No matter what mask he hid behind, somehow, Elain always saw through and looked solely into the Azriel hidden beneath. Her brows furrowed as she took a step closer to him, tilting her head once more, though no milky sheen took over her eyes as it did whenever the Seer within her came out.

“Take your mask off when you are with me,” She said in a soft but firm whisper of honey and jasmine.

Azriel blinked, and then a moment later, all that he felt, the surprise, the relief, the happiness, the uncertainty, the self-doubt, the worry, crossed over his eyes like white clouds passing over a field, turning grey as a storm brewed. He let that mask drop and laid himself bare for Elain to see. To see what he’d never let anyone get a glimpse of. He let her see all that he was and all that he felt – his emotions wrecking him from within.

“Oh, Azriel…” The sound of his name from her lips threatened to leave him undone, “Had you really thought I could ever leave you behind for a bond that I didn’t even want?”

Sorrow coated her doe-brown eyes as she neared him, stopping only when there was barely any space between the two. Elain watched as the shadows that so tightly wound around him backed away, instead circling the two of them in a ball. She bit her lip as she brought a hand up to cup Azriel’s cheek, soothing a thumb across his honey-brown skin.

“Did you really think that I could give my heart to anyone but –” Her voice wavered at the anguish in his eyes, “ –but you?”

Had anyone ever chosen Azriel the way she chose him? Had anyone ever been willing to give up something as sacred as a mating bond only for him? Azriel knew the answer to those questions and felt like he was going to break into a million pieces right there, only to have Elain pick each one up and put him back together with her loving hands that took such care of him just because she wanted to.

He parted his lips and yet nothing came out. Thoughts swirled like a hurricane in his mind and yet he couldn’t seem to open his mouth and word them. He feared that the hurricane might just sweep him up within it and leave him lost and ruined. But one look at that soft face of Elain and her knowing gaze always pulled him back. He watched her eyes flicker and knew that she knew all that he wanted to say and yet couldn’t know how to.

Azriel knew he was done for. Knew that his heart solely belonged to the soft and gentle yet fierce middle Archeron sister. Knew that he would carve out his own heart and present it to her on a platter of gold if only she asked. He fell to his knees then, feeling heavy in body and in soul, his legs feeling useless as they refused to support his weight upright as such emotions threatened to consume him whole.

A soft gasp left Elain’s lips as Azriel fell to his knees before her, his head bowed and shoulders hunched, wings lying limp behind him. And in that moment, Elain couldn’t find it in herself to see the fabled Shadowsinger or the feared and ruthless Spymaster of the Night Court in the male before her. In that moment, all she could see was the scared little boy in that cold and dark room, who suffered through what no child should’ve gone through. In that moment, he seemed so impossibly small and vulnerable. Elain felt her heart shatter for the boy who was never loved the way he deserved to be loved.

She was kneeling in front of him in a heartbeat as the organ within her chest threatened to burst out. He refused to meet her eyes as Elain took hold of his hands, stroking the rough ridges on the backs of them in gentle caresses. Azriel’s throat tightened and it felt like someone had shoved thorns into his mouth. His eyes burned as dams of emotions thrashed within him to spill over.

“Azriel.” The soft whisper wrapped in a delicate voice seeped into him like a drip of warm honey. “Look at me, Azriel.”

Had he ever shied away from anyone’s gaze in such a way? Had he ever been so vulnerable that he couldn’t meet someone with his eyes? He was not sure. And yet, as Elain asked that very thing of him, he couldn’t find it in himself to look into her eyes. He knew that if he did, he would spill, tipped over like a weak boat in a sea storm.

“Please.”

That soft plea coated with such tendrils of desperation had Azriel’s heart almost stopping, his gut wrecking at the anguished tone. Finally, as he looked up, Elain’s breath hitched at the sorrow etched onto his beautifully carved face. At the wetness that rimmed his sharp eyes –such bright hues of magnificent greens and browns and yellows and greys swirling in them.

Elain brought a hand up to cup his cheek, golden-brown skin smooth like marble under her touch, and Azriel leaned into it, craving the warmth of her palm against him. That mere touch felt like the warmth of the sun and the sweetness of care. It anchored him like nothing else had.

“My sweet Azriel.” She stroked her thumb across his cheek like a lover’s caress, “How could I ever even imagine choosing anyone over you? Giving my heart to anyone who wasn’t you?”

Azriel didn’t know how long he would last before the dams tipped over. He brought his hand up to hold onto the one Elain had so softly placed onto his cheek. A cord had wrapped so tightly around his lungs, he almost couldn’t breathe. He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. His mouth felt full of ash wood dust.

Cauldron! He didn’t know what to do.

“I have loved you for so long now. So long, I do not remember my heart belonging to anyone but you.” A tear slithered down Elain’s flushed cheek, “I chose you, my love, so long ago.”

“How long, Elain?” He spoke, at long last. He needed to know. Because deep down, he knew that he too, had chosen her long before he even knew he had. Deep within him, he knew that he’d chosen her when she had tried to wield a fork against Cassian that first time he’d met her. Oh, how lovely and beautiful she had looked, even as a human.

Elain cracked a small smile, a misty sheen spreading across her sweet brown eyes, as if she were recalling a distant memory of hers, “Ever since you saw me when no one else would.”

He had seen her when no one else would. Azriel knew what she meant. All he knew was that he had looked at her and hadn’t been able to look away. How could he when the sight of her always reminded him of beautiful summer dawns and warm peaceful sunsets. She was everything good and pure, it made him wonder, how could anyone ever look away from her. And yet, he knew that her words held a much deeper meaning to them.

“You would really go through with it then,” He rasped weakly. “You would really choose a bastard like me over a mating bond with a High Lord’s son.”

“Yes, Az! Mother above, yes, I would,” Elain huffed. Her soft eyes bore into Azriel’s as she continued, “I would reject a hundred mating bonds as sacred as the Mother herself if only it meant that I could be with you. I would choose you in every lifetime. Do you want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you saw me. And you heard me when no one else would. You were always there, at every step of the way. You became my friend when I so desperately needed one. You spent time with me in the gardens even when you didn’t have to –not to get me to talk but only to sit in my silent company. You listened when everyone turned a deaf ear, not giving any mind to the riddles I uttered. You pulled me back from the brink of insanity,” Her voice cracked with the emotions running rampage within her.

A tear leaked from Azriel’s eye as she spoke, “Do you know, Azriel, even in those murky days, you were always real. You were always real even when nothing else was.”

Elain went on, “You saw me, Az, for who I really was. You looked past the pretty face and lovely dresses and saw what lay beneath. You saw the ivy and dirt and thorns hidden beneath the flowers and you accepted them. You saw and were not disappointed. You looked and did not look away. Only you. And day by day –” a wet laugh slipped Elain’s lips, “ –bit by bit, I fell madly and so very deeply in love with you. With all your good and all your bad. With all your scars –inside and out.”

“I fell in love with the male who had become my closest friend. Most importantly, I fell in love with a male my own heart chose worthy of its affections instead of someone chosen for me by some magical pot.” Elain calling the Cauldron –the thing that was life and death itself – that had Azriel’s lips curling humorously, despite the fullness he felt in his chest by her words.

His shadows had thickened so densely as they swirled and circled around the pair tightly, Elain was sure none who entered the room would be able to glimpse them. And yet, not one of his shadows came in between them. Not one dared to conceal him from her. They stayed away, just like Elain had wanted them to. After all, they could never hide him from her. She could read him like she could read the back of her hand.

Elain brought her hand to the back of his neck and leaned forward, their foreheads touching, and closed her eyes for a moment, pulling air into her lungs. His scent of night-chilled mist and cedar enveloped her like a soft comfortable blanket on a winter night. She never wanted to leave.

“You always believed in me, no matter what. Like how you believed in me when you lent me your most prized possession, Truth-Teller. The very knife that helped me kill the King of Hybern. You never saw me as a fragile flower to be kept sheltered.” Gratefulness rang heavy in her soft voice.

“You were never a fragile flower. Anyone who thought that was a fucking gods-damned idiot.” At that, Elain let out a weak laugh and Azriel smiled at the glow on her tear-stained face.

“Yes,” she opened her eyes to look deeply into his, “Yes, they were.”

They gazed into each other’s eyes as such emotions hung between them, content in their own little haven, away from the outside world of politics and war and strategies and unwanted bonds and unsteady alliances. Neither of them wanted to leave but they had to. They knew they had to and so, they cherished each and every little moment they could snatch like hungry lovers who met only in the dead of night, in nooks and crannies, with only the moon and the Mother as their witnesses.

They had been sneaking around for so long, going behind their family’s backs because of the shadow of the mating bond looming over them. The same one that would soon be rejected. The pair couldn’t express how elated they felt at the prospect of not having to shadow their love under the pretense of a mere friendship and finally being able to be what they truly meant to one another.

Two lovers with a love for each other so strong, it could surpass even a mating bond. Theirs was a love not meant to be hidden in dark corridors like secret sins. Theirs was a love that scholars preached about in books of great wonders for centuries to come. Theirs was a love that young hearts dreamed of witnessing.

“My heart solely belongs to you, my Azriel.”

“And you hold mine in the palm of your hands, my love.”

Azriel smiled at the sweetness of love that shone like a hundred suns on Elain’s soft, lovely face, bringing his palm up to the smooth, long expanse of her neck, caressing the skin and then moving up to her cheek, stroking his scared thumb gently across the flush that adorned her.

“I will love you to the ends of the worlds, my doe-eyed Seer,” Azriel vowed in a low voice of complete and utter certainty.

“We will forge a bond of our own,” Elain said with such conviction. “A bond so strong, no one could break it. Will you make it with me, Azriel? Will you help me forge it? Will you bind with me? For eternity?”

Azriel blinked. How could she even ask him that? How could she not know the answer that his very soul screamed to tell her? He almost felt like he just might burst from the happiness that exploded within him. There was only one answer to her questions. An answer he had known for a very long while.

He slammed his lips against hers, his hand wounding around her waist to pull her closer, pressed to him, while the other crept up to fist her hair, tilting her head the way he wanted, to deepen their kiss. He kissed her hungrily, jasmine and honey flooding all his senses, and so did Elain, pouring her entire heart out into that kiss as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He wanted to devour her and she wanted to consume him. Like two eager lovers uniting once again after a long while.

He kissed her like a starved male having his last meal and she kissed him like a thirsty female finally finding water. Together, they both drowned in one another and came alive.

“Yes,” he whispered against her lips, holding her delicate face in his hands. “Gods, yes. It will be the greatest honor I will ever, in all my centuries, receive. I want a bond with you and you alone. For eternity.”

And then they crashed into one another once again. Hands roamed and clothes ripped. Lips whispered silent prayers of worship against skin, and in a tangle of sweaty bodies and pleasured moans and satisfied grunts, it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended.

~~~~~

@elriel-month​

[godfrey-the-chaos-duck]

Webby Week Day 3: Nightmares/Daydreaming

Webby often had her head in the clouds.

On those lazy days in the early autumn, those mild afternoons where there was nothing to be done except to live, she would sit outside with a sketchbook, watching the clouds go by and maybe drawing something.

Since the Shadow War, though, those daydreams had darkened.

She would be staring into the middle distance, and all of a sudden, out of absolutely nowhere, that awful, awful memory would pop into her brain, unannounced and uninvited.

Lena sacrificing herself to save her.

Lena being banished to the Shadow Realm.

Lena disappearing, never to return.

And the weirdest thing? This happened even after Lena had come back. Even when she knew it didn't matter anymore.

She often felt like crying - after all, who wouldn't, when the moment her best friend had all but died kept replaying itself?

"What do I do?" she would ask herself, whe it happened, "Who could possibly help me?"

She'd told Beakley, of course, but Beakley didn't seem to get it. How could she? She'd never had it happen.

But Scrooge had.

Ding.

She gave a tentative knock on the door of Scrooge's study.

“Yes?" came his voice, slightly muffled.

"It's just me," Webby said, "I kinda need your help with something."

"Come on in, lass," Scrooge opened the door to let her in.

"Do you ever still think about Della leaving?" Webby decided that the direct approach was the best one.

"Sometimes," Scrooge answered slowly, "Why do you ask?"

"I keep getting flashbacks to when Lena..." Webby trailed off.

"Oh..."

"And I don't know why!" she continued, "She's been back for ages now, I know she's okay - why can't I stop thinking about it?"

Scrooge paused.

"Memories are a strange one," he said eventually, "Even months, years, decades after the fact, they can still come back on you. The fact that this is happening shows just how much you care for her. And I know it's hard, but the best thing to do is to talk about it."

Webby gave a sad little nod.

"About a week after Della came back, she and I had a talk," Scrooge went on, "I was as confused as you are - I didn't know why I still woke up in a cold sweat at two in the morning, remembering that night. But it's just one of those things that doesn't go away so easily."

"I guess," Webby tried to smile.

"It'll get easier in time," Scrooge reassured her, and the two of them held each other in that office for a while.

[teriwrites]

Beyond the Grave: Winter

My Live Reactions to Reading Through My 2021 Novella (pt. 2)

So Isla's beginning to try wrecking her own headstone

'The work was slow going. Time would one day erode the carved names and dates of all the graves in the cemetery, but, until that day, it seemed stubborn in clinging to the stone.' yk, most people wouldn't be upset about that, isla

Apparently ghosts can feel the cold

But also they can't really be uncomfortable ig so it's just a weird sensory experience that's kinda driving her crazy

Christmas is approaching, and apparently that's the time of year when the other ghosts typically rise from their graves to hang out

Which, if this is based in like Christian holidays, you'd think they'd be more about All Saints Day or All Souls Day or smth, but sure, Christmas, why not

Every year Meredith gets a lil wreath as a necklace from the caretakers that's so cute

'[Isla] felt a little guilty, like she was abandoning Meredith to the boredom of her guard, but this was something she excused through constant reminders that, once she was done, Meredith would have to face many nights alone at her post. It was almost enough to make Isla hesitate. But she couldn't allow even the strangely hollow thought of leaving her friend behind to keep her from fulfillment. If Isla was forced to stay in this churchyard for eternity, she would never truly know peace.' (girl is Stir Crazy)

It's Christmas!

The first time Isla and Meredith have hung out in a minute, and Isla was late to their usual meeting because she insisted on working until the other spirits began to 'wake up'

'Where have you been?' Meredith asked quietly, barely more than a whisper. A question that Isla had been dreading. She could pretend that she didn't hear, but it was useless. The frown that tugged at the edges of her mouth were giving her away, and any attempts of that sort of deception would've only been an insult. But that didn't mean she was going to tell her the truth. 'I have been tending to a small garden near my plot,' Isla claimed. 'The little place where I found the autumn daffodils. I've also recently replanted a few snowdrops as well, and I'm hoping come spring, there will be a variety of flowers that I can introduce into the small grove to brighten the place up. I think my struggles with the colder months can mostly be blamed on how dour the grove becomes once my trees have lost their leaves.' (surely there is no way that this lie could possibly come back to bite you, Isla, dw about it)

Not Isla promising to 'pick her a whole bouquet' omg girl you don't have any flowers back there!

'Christmas had gone and gone, and the new year had blown in with blustery gusts of wind, fierce and howling as they rattled the trees and tore through whatever gifts had been left behind.' i wanna work more on my atmospheric/nature writing, and this feels like a nice starting point

For awhile, she still hangs out nightly with Meredith for a few hours, but it starts getting so tense and awkward as she clearly wants to go back to her grave that she eventually gives up and cuts it back to like once a week

Isla absolutely refuses to confide in her because she knows Meredith will be against the idea, but Meredith's not an idiot, she knows something's up

'Meredith turned her head and opened her mouth, as though to say something, but she looked away again. 'What is it?' Isla asked, though she knew she wouldn't want to hear the answer. 'Nothing.' For being a guardian of the cemetery, Meredith had always been the kind to avoid difficult confrontation. Isla couldn't blame her, she was the same way, but it meant this awkward, prolonged conversation that led nowhere. 'You can tell me anything, you know.' Meredith's voice was so sudden and so gentle that Isla almost mistook it for the wind. 'I don't know what you're hiding, but you can let me know.' I wish I could, Isla thought. But she said, 'I'm not hiding anything, Meredith. It's just been a long winter.' Meredith sighed. 'Well, hopefully the spring will renew you.' It wasn't said maliciously, but Isla internally flinched away from it all the same.' (There's so much I could build into this relationship that simply didn't really happen in this draft)

Winter is passing quickly man, it's already March

March being the deadline for when she has to wreck her grave, if she wants to join the west wind in June

She's getting desperate and frustrated and is fully blaming the east wind for it lol

The problem is, I don't think I'm emphasizing enough in this that Isla's restlessness is not necessarily meant to be like an aspirational, ambitious, positive thing. But it's not wholly a stubborn denial of her situation either. It's meant to fall somewhere in between. She's driven, but not necessarily for the right reasons

'A breeze kicking up blew through her hair, and it fell into her face, obscuring her vision. Isla brushed her hair back, turning her head to embrace the gust. 'Your brother thinks he's fooled me, but I'll figure a way around his trickery,' she whispered into the wind. 'The next time the east wind blows through this churchyard, he won't find me here.' The breeze said nothing. Isla wasn't even sure it heard her, that there was anything there to hear. But her declaration refueled her determination, and she nodded to herself.' (idk man i don't have commentary, i just love the wind being a character)

It's now been a fortnight since Isla has gone to see Meredith smh

'When she had first started ignoring her traditional visits, it had been easy to blame Meredith for not being supportive, or remind herself that, once she left, she would need to grow accustomed to her friend's absence. But the longer time went on, the hollowness that Meredith usually filled wasn't closing, wasn't even shrinking. If anything, it was growing larger.' :(

'If there were only some way to convince Meredith to join her and leave her post, then everything might've worked out fine. But Meredith - loyal, stubborn Meredith - would never leave St. Mary's. She wouldn't even leave her pedestal.' :( :(

She's strolling along the back fence of the cemetery when she stumbles over a broken slat - literally

Where there's a gap, she steps through, and manages to get her entire body out of the boundary of the graveyard and onto the moor - except for her foot, which won't move and keeps her tethered

And that momentary near-freedom will only make her work harder to earn the real thing - if that's what leaving the grave actually means for her

Ending Thoughts:

While this story is far from being the strongest in this project, I like what I've been reading. I think there's a strong foundation for a story here, even if it needs a little more developing before I could try tackling it again. Frankly, I almost find Isla's role the least compelling. I want to see more of Meredith, of the wind. I think it'd be good to have more of those clashing perspectives - the stone guardian who remains in her place, and the wind that has no particular place. Isla's struggle between the two isn't clear enough in this draft, but it's present enough that I can see where I would take it if/when I returned to this story.

[2030kamenriders]

Life updates:

Dude from that one giant project has completely ghosted me for a week now (let alone barely doing anything beforehand). The professor said I should just present my part of the project under the assumption that he doesn't show up. And if he does show up but only at the last minute, the prof will deal with it

Meanwhile, in a different class that also has a giant group project: we are thriving with flying colours! This is the highlight of the entire month. Words cannot describe how rejuvenated I feel

Meanwhile in another class, I did very terribly on a lab report, which sucked. (Once again, writing too little was the source of my downfall.) But the class seems to agree that the marking was too harsh and kinda questionable, so there's that.

These days when I go outside I can feel the cold autumn wind on my face and it makes me feel recharged and ready to deal with all the struggles. Like Kamen Rider or something

I saw Desk 2 today. I am not sure what's gonna happen to it. But that's a whole other long story.

Days since last mental breakdown: about a dozen. This is good. They still happen, but a lot less often.

[ok-ish-life-series-headcanons]

To me, every traffic life season has a very specific season it takes place and this is how I will alway picture it. 

Third life is Winter obviously, because well, Red Winter. I imagine it starts out in the early winter months with no snow yet, and then when Ren gets beheaded the first snowflakes start to fall. The only place that doesn‘t get affected much by the snow is the desert. But it is still hella cold there, which is part of the reason why Grian finds Scars habit of not wearing a shirt or armor concerning. Before the final battle, Dogwarts is painted white with snow and I imagine them hudelling around a campfire between fights. The cold makes the war even more difficult but when you’re a red life, can you even feel it anymore?

Last Life is Fall/autumn. Mostly because I‘m like 90% sure it is actually fall because they reference halloween during it. But also because Last Life generally has a more dark and spooky vibe to me because of the lore and the constant fear of the boogieman. Perfect for fall. I also imagine its always a bit misty. To add to the spooky ness. And the final fight at the end is during a thunder storm which makes Scott being killed by lightning at the end a bit more natural. 

Double Life is spring. Early spring. Mostly because spring is the season of love and double life is all about soulmates. Maybe also because of the nature and animals, like the jellie reserve and the ranch. At the beginning there is still snow laying at some corners and hills. It slowly starts to melt as the game goes on. The snow stays the longest at Pearls place. When double life ends all the snow is gone. Spring also always feels way to short to me and double life was the shortest series out of them all.

Limited Life is late summer to me. It always feels like summer is over way to quickly, especially summer vacation and thats kinda like time running out. You want to enjoy as much of summer as possible. Also the Mean Gills whole base wouldn‘t really work that well if it was winter. I imagine it as a stormy summer though. Being up on sky net can be risky during a storm. ( i dont really have many thoughts on limited life yet tbh) 

Thanks for your submission anon!

Honestly I absolutely ADORE the idea of each life series taking place in a different season, it works so well for what the series stands with.

It's absolutely incredible!!

[oceangirl24]

Find the Word- We're back!

Thanks so much for the tag and for doing this @axolotlsupremacyowo!

Find the words you're given somewhere in your works. Then give the people you tag a set of words to find. No worries if you can't find them all.

My words: tile, gown, foundation, fuss, overlook, sniff, infinite, trouble, clay, personality

Your words:

chowder, clatter, visage, eternal, skeptical, irate, jaggernaut, lime, superhero

Tagging: @justanotherpersonwhowrites @tsunderesalty @mrsmungus @fattybattysblog @danceswithdarkspawn @udaberriwrites @the-orion-scribe @amberlide @stealing-your-kittens @violetrose-art @winterlovesong1 @aleksandriel @kayedium-writes @bees-and-sunshine @sliebman10 @mikaharuka @axolotlsupremacyowo

This is an open tag for anyone who wants to play. If you wanted be tagged and I missed you, throw something at me. If you'd like to be included in future tags, let me know!

The Return: The Christmas List

"Like, would you date someone Jon's age?"

"It would depend on the person." She could not be direct any more than he could be.

Shawn scratched his fingernail across the tile of the kitchen island, unable to look her in the eyes. "What if the person is Jon?"

The Return: Cult Fiction Revisited

The way Jon laid in the hospital bed was same the way he laid after the motorcycle accident. There were wires stuck to his chest coming up through the neck of his hospital gown. An oxygen cannula aided his breathing. The only the casts and bandages were missing.

Jon was as still and lifeless as he was back then.

Saudade: Fishing for Answers

It took Riley a long time before she could give voice to her fears. "That they'll start fighting and being unhappy with each other. I'm afraid they'll end up divorced."

Letting out a slow breath, Maya watched her breath dissipate in the cold air around them. She didn't want to admit that Riley's fear was attaching itself to her, but it was. If the foundations of two of the most solid relationships in existence could be shaken and cracked, what hope did her mom and Shawn have?

The Return: Questions and Answers Part II

"Yeah, I know the job's been bad," Cory admitted. He had been holding back his own concerns for the past several months, not wanting to alarm those close to him if he was wrong. "Listen, I'm only tellin' you this- Topanga would kill me if she knew- but sometimes I create problems at school that force Jon to come down and deal with."

Shawn didn't know whether to laugh or be upset. "Seriously?"

Cory gripped his knees with hands. "Yeah, I mean, nothing major that would cause real problems for anyone. I just make a fuss knowing he won't ignore me."

"You are kinda of hard to ignore when you make a fuss."

Saudade: Preparations

Shawn forced his attention away from the bike; they had to leave for the hospital now. He stood and pulled the key out of his pocket that Audrey had left him. The key was still on the same Pentagon keyring Jon had way back then. He checked the bike over once more to make sure everything was ready to run. That's when he noticed something was missing.

He smiled as he recalled the time he tried to take the bike to Audrey's but couldn't get it started because he overlooked a small but important detail-the key.

The Return: The Keys

"Cor, look around." Shawn gestured to the crowded place they were in. "Who don't you see here?"

Cory looked around suspiciously, then looked back at Shawn, and shrugged. "That blonde lady from the park," he said, repeating how Riley had referred to Miss Tompkins. He drew curious looks from both of the men at the table.

Shawn sniffed. "You're welcome."

Autumn in Philadelphia: Cory and Shawn's Miracle Soap: Tuesday

(the closest I have to infinite is eternal)

An ear-splitting scream shook the Matthews' house early Tuesday morning. Amy grimaced at the eternal shriek as she set a plate full of hot cakes down in the center of the kitchen table.

Birthday Wishes and Valentine Kisses: Accidental Discoveries

Shawn spun around ready to fight. This was an instinctual reaction to being approached from behind. Growing up in the Pink Flamingo Trailer Park taught him that being ready to fight was the only way to avoid being pummeled.

It was good thing he repressed the urge to blindly swing, however. If he had, he would have connected with Brad's stomach.

And he would have been in a lot of trouble.

No clay. Hmm...

Flashbacks: Better Days

While he favored the bikinis worn by the girls on MTV's Beach House, he knew Audrey would not be comfortable in one in public and they were also going to a family theme park for young kids, not the Jersey Shore. Begrudgingly he put the suit back and resumed searching.

At one point he thought he found the one- a pearlescent two-piece. He had to struggle to reach it as it was shoved in the back behind a bunch of one-piece suits with weird ruching and ruffled skirts. He was terribly disappointed when he finally got it into the light.

It wasn't even a bikini; it was an off-white one-piece.

No doubt Audrey would make this boring garment look like haute couture, but Jon couldn't stomach the idea of putting her into something so plain. He shoved it back where he found it and continued to look for something that matched her personality.