#it's only been two and a half days and i Crave the Grains

[cuddlytogas]

the best things in life are

disallowed from a bowel prep diet

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

My "Batter" Half

A/N: Written for @tsukimefuku's foodies and goodies challenge. Coming out of a bit of a writing slump with everything going on atm, so I hope this doesn't disappoint.

Pairing: Nanami x Fem! Reader (Desi reader coded)

Rating: E, safe, fluffy, cute

Word Count: 897

Nanami sits on one of the barstools at your kitchen’s island watching you bustle around getting all the grains the recipe called for. 

“Sweetie, I only asked if it was possible sometime this week. You don’t have to make it for me right away.” 

You shush him, pushing your hair out of the way as you measure the Sona Masoori rice, flat rice, and fenugreek, throwing them all into a large baking bowl and hefting the bowl towards the sink, adding in enough water so that a thin layer covered all of it. You cover the bowl with saran wrap and place it away on the countertop. 

There was no question that you loved cooking for Nanami, but something in you glowed when he asked for South Indian food. There was a regular rotation in what the pair of you cooked but when he asked for masala dosa, you melted inside, all of your senses kicking into high gear to feed him what he craved. It was comfort food for you growing up, and it meant the world to you that he had grown to love it too. 

He knew the effort it took, an almost 2-day process just to make the batter, so he didn’t normally ask for it. The first step was done, letting the grains ferment overnight in water. You wash your hands and join him at the island. 

“It’s no trouble at all Kento. Anything for you.” You rest your head against his shoulder, a soft sigh emanating from him as he puts an arm around you. “Hopefully it’ll be all nice and soft tomorrow. Then I’ll run it through the grinder to make the batter and it’ll have to sit overnight in the oven, so don’t plan on baking anything tomorrow.”

He chuckles, the soft vibrations felt against your hair. “Roger that. But you still didn’t have to get started so immediately.”

“You rarely ask for anything. I couldn’t resist.” You press a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go to bed.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The next day morning, you check the bowl, pleased to see all the components have fluffed up and taken in as much water as they could. You begin to set up the little grinder that would change the grains into batter, carefully placing the rod mechanism attached to two 5-pound stones into the apparatus. Once in place, you switch it on, and carefully begin adding the grain mixture in between the two stones, adding water to help it along and adjust the thickness. Once all the rice has been put into the contraption, you sit and wait, watching the batter form, checking it for smoothness and ensuring the grain wasn’t clustering into lumps. 

You salt the mixture well and then cover it again with saran wrap, then place it inside the oven, where the added humidity would help the batter thicken and rise, making for the fluffiest dosas. 

Kento wanders downstairs, ready for work in a crisp shirt and tie, eyes taking in the scene in the kitchen. “Someone was up early today,” he observes as you start disassembling the grinding machine. You give him a pleased smile and carefully set the heavy stones back into the box they belonged in. 

“Had to. The earlier I start the process, the quicker it’ll ferment. Who knows, maybe even by tonight if we get lucky.”

Nanami smiles tenderly and pulls you into a hug. “Whenever honey. I’m just glad you took the time to make it.”

You kiss him tenderly before he leaves for work.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day has finally arrived. You check the oven and almost giggle from the delight of seeing the fluffy batter resting in the large bowl. It was ready.

As Nanami slept in, a rare luxury he could only afford on weekends, you begin prepping the dosa filling, throwing the potatoes into a pressure cooker, while chopping onions into half-circles. Once the pressure cooker whistles 3 times, you take it off the flame, waiting for it to cool, before mashing the potatoes. Deftly, you heat the oil in a large wok, tossing in mustard seeds, green chilies, and black lentils for tempering. Once they start to sizzle, you throw a few curry leaves on top, the pleasant crackle bringing a smile to your lips.

The onions and potatoes are tossed into the wok and mixed with a pinch of turmeric, and some cilantro. A fragrant scent fills the kitchen as you set it aside and get ready to make the dosa. A ladle dipped into the fluffy batter, then spread thinly on a greased pan, going in concentric circles from the middle until it starts to heat up and harden, becoming crisp. You scoop some of the onion potato filling and place it in the center, allowing the dosa to harden a little longer before folding it in half and placing it on a plate. 

You’re about to start the second one when Nanami wanders into the kitchen, still in his pajamas. 

“My nose woke me up,” he says good-naturedly, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

You sigh contentedly, laying down the batter for the next one as Nanami breaks off a piece of dosa and tucks into the filling. He chews and swallows, savoring the spice.

“Delicious,” he whispers, and your heart swells with joy, his appreciation the only thing you needed. 

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[athenodora-sulpicia-writer]

Eventual Joy- Artemisia

Context: This is set after the movie but Artemisia doesn’t die, instead she gets frown into the sea and ends up back in Sparta but eventually finds out she’s pregnant.

A/N: I got this as a request from and friend and I love Artemisia so I wrote it. I hope you all like it, it’s my first time writing for the character so forgive any mistakes I’ve made.

Warning(s): threats of murder and slight swearing

She was a mother. Well that’s putting it a bit forward, so let’s go back a bit. Artemisia never died, thank the Gods she was spared and cast away into the sea unconscious to never be heard from again.

Though it seemed the Gods had favoured her and instead of drowning to an untimely death, Artemisia survived and by the luck of the Fates made it back to Sparta with nothing more then severe dehydration and a few minor cuts and bruises.

But her survival and loss in battle against the Greeks had only strengthened her fiery need for vengeance even more and now she would do anything to destroy each and every last one of them no matter the costs.

At least that’s what she had told herself in the beginning, risking her life and a thousand more to take her revenge barely seemed more precious than a grain of sand but then two weeks passed and then the sickness came, followed by the fatigue, food cravings and distaste for the smell of metal and fire.

It didn’t take very long for Artemisia to realise that her condition was indefinite and wouldn’t be going away in a few days like a normal stomach bug. Instead it was three and half months until the sickness would stop and nine for the aches and pains to reduce, but what would come after, would be for a lifetime.

Artemisia was pregnant.

At first she was in denial, regardless of how many physicians she saw and midwives she consulted the result never changed but she refused to believe it.

How could she be pregnant? It was that thick headed Themistocles, it was all his doing. Then the anger came and she’d almost destroyed her entire apartment rooms at the castle.

It took almost a week for the anger to come down to a manageable degree, where things weren’t getting broken as regularly and servants weren’t getting frightened to death about being attacked with flying objects when they entered her rooms.

The acceptance didn’t come until Artemisia was almost four months pregnant and past the point of being able to cover her growing belly with looser fitting garments and dresses.

She was down by the sea, the one place she truly felt at home in this cruel world. Watching the waves come and go and how the waters rippled with motion, was the only thing that was ever capable of settling her constant on edge feeling.

She was gazing down at the waters, her feet tucked beneath her, covered by her dress and her hand was grazing the surface of the water. She almost looked serene and ethereal, like a nymph from old tales. Very un-Artemisia like.

“What do we have here!” A man’s voice called out from a distance and at first the raventte gave no attention to the unwanted noise. She’d perfected the talent of ignoring arrogance, always in the form of men, when ever it came near her.

“So this is the mighty commander of the seas,” his voice was cocky and sarcastic and already Artemisia’s blood was boiling. “How the mighty have fallen!” His voice rang out again only this time it was closer.

She knew that voice and without turning her head she caught site of who the man was, Lysander, a member of the Spartan land army. He was almost as arrogant as they came.

“Look men, the oh so powerful Artemisia is sat like a child by the sea,” he called out to the two men, also soldiers, who were walking with him. “You know I hear she’s pregnant, with some Greek b*st*rd, what a disgrace.”

Artemisia’s anger was stronger than it had been for months and her hands curled at her sides in tight fists threatening to strike. Yet she knew better than to give these boys a reaction and so she kept her restraint.

“You know I could do you a favour,” Lysander whispers into her ear now bending down to her level. As he rose back to his feet though, he brought Artemisia with him by the arm.

Then he pulled his sword out from his side and Artemisia knew she had to prepare herself for a fight, a slight problem though was that she was currently unarmed.

Lysander then took his sword and as he began to speak he dragged it up towards Artemisia, “I could cut that child out of you and save you the disgrace of bearing a Greeks spawn.” His sword then lowered to meet her growing bump, that was only covered by the fabric of the dress she wore.

But then something had happened, it was when Lysander’s sword began to but pressure on her stomach and she felt it, not the tip of the blade from the outside but the unmistakable kick of her child, her baby, who was begging it’s mother to protect them and keep them safe. As if they could hear the conversation that was happening outside of her womb.

That’s when the realisation struck Artemisia like a back hand to the face. She wasn’t responsible for just herself anymore, there was a life inside of her that depended on her and regardless of how much she hadn’t wanted it and how many times she’d shouted it out loud. This baby, her baby still wanted her and in this moment they wanted their mother to protect them.

That’s when the maternal instincts kicked in and without a weapon of her own Artemisia attacked Lysander.

It was a good thing that it wasn’t only swords she could fight with, she wasn’t known as the greatest warrior of her time for no reason. It took no more than seven seconds for Artemisia to disarm Lysander and hold his own blade to his throat.

“If any of you ever threaten my child again, not even the Gods will be able to find your bodies.” Artemisia’s voice was like death itself, cold, cruel and unforgiving and each of the men there knew she would make good on her threats.

She let them go with their lives but not without a slash to the arm each. Now she knew where her priorities lay, that this baby inside her was now her everything and she hated herself for all the cruel things she’d said, because this child was a part of her. A life that she created and a life she would now never let anything happen to.

Nine months went by very quickly after that day by the peer and soon enough Artemisia had given birth to two beautiful little girls.

Their names were Eleanor, the oldest, and Suthena that youngest and they were her pride and joy. She loved them both the moment she heard their healthy cries and when she first held them, she knew she never wanted to let them go.

[fizzingwizard]

food and diet talk

not that I'm dieting lol.

It has been really, really frustrating trying to make even the small changes that I wanted. The minute I find a healthy recipe I like, I'll discover it's only healthy in some ways, but unhealthy in others. Even if I ate nothing but bowls and bowls of kale without any seasoning, I might get lower cholesterol but I'd be lacking a whole lot of vitamins and just energy in general.

One source says eggs are a yes! They have cholesterol but they're so good for you that you should still eat them (obviously not every single meal or every day but they're healthy enough not to be cut out).

Another source says: eggs are a big no! You can have them if you really, really must... but only now and then... and only the whites... and we don't recommend it tbh.

If I eat "healthy," I'm eating food I don't like, that tastes bad because it has no seasoning, and the only benefit is the idea that I'm going to be overall healthier myself (which for me rn is pretty much about cholesterol and that's it). But my genetics mean it could have no effect - and even without the genetic component, it could still be no good, because I'd fuck up my health other ways by eating "healthy" but not "balanced."

Moderation is supposed to be the key. Eat almost everything as long as it's a balanced diet. But what even is moderation. I went to a restaurant the other day that bills itself as a healthy restaurant. It has the nutritional facts listed right there on the menu, tells you the pros and cons of each dish, etc. But they have a fish deal with 10 grams of salt. That's like double the amount of salt you're supposed to eat in a day?? And my meal was a chicken salad. The chicken had the skin on, which, fine, it's a restaurant (but it actually didn't need it, the meat was very tender and well-seasoned without the skin). It came with multi-grain rice with hjiki and miso soup. Those were fine I think. The real insult was the chicken salad itself. It was supposed to be loaded with vegetables: it had three thin strips of bell pepper, one wedge of tomato, two pieces of broccoli, and two thin, tiny AF slices of squash. The rest was literally just lettuce and cabbage. Not what I was expecting at all. A while ago I went to an Italian restaurant and got their salad, which was just as big even though I got a half portion, and had more vegetables. It was, however, absolutely doused in oily dressing. I hate restaurants that put the dressing on for you (the nice thing about the "healthy" place was at least they put all the sauces on the side so I just didn't use them). It was actually too much too: tasted nice for a few bites, but soon was just super overpowering. It was also the same dressing they put on the bruschetta so if I ever go back I definitely won't order both lol.

Anyway, well, I was prepared for a "healthy" restaurant to not really be that healthy - I'm sure it's going more for "healthy compared to other restaurants," not as healthy as home cooking. But still... I can't get over that meager amount of vegetables in a salad. And I never wanted to be That Girl who orders a salad as an entree. I'm not trying to lose weight, I don't care how big or small people are, I'm just trying to lower my cholesterol numbers by avoiding meat, especially red meat, avoiding sugary and fried food, and trying to eat healthier carbs. I've probably had the most success limiting fried food, or at least more success than I expected. Still not as much as I should be but it's a start. Sugar is harder especially now that it's cold and I want hot cocoa... But I have made some progress there. It's nothing big, but at least I've tried to only eat chocolate-covered almonds instead of just chocolate when I get a craving, and I've been going for sweet potato or fruit sweets whenever I can persuade myself away from chocolate cravings.

I usually eat two meals a day, a brunch sort of and dinner. The first is a light meal and it's usually oatmeal and fruit, or rice with beans. I struggle to get in more veggies or really anything more for that meal because I eat with my students (it's their lunch time) and they need so much help eating their meals that it's hard for us teachers to eat our own. My coworkers can mostly do it, though. But unfortunately, I've always been a slow eater, and as much as I love toddlers, helping them spit out food they refuse to swallow into a napkin and then turning back to my own lunch really grosses me out and always has. So I try to only eat quick, light things. The problem with waiting for my break to eat lunch is 1) it's often not till 3 pm, and 2) if I use my break to eat then I lose prep time. Because even though I'm not paid for one hour a day... I sometimes only get 15 paid time away from the kids. And the max I'm supposed to get... is 30 min x'D which is nowhere near enough. So if I don't use my break nothing happens. And this is true for everyone - people do take actual breaks, but only when they don't have anything else that needs doing, and even then I almost always discover something I forgot and have to rush to deal with (yesterday it was sending the kids' outside play hats home for the weekend to be washed. Usually a c-oteacher does that, but both my co-teachers were out on Friday so I was the only one there to do classroom upkeep.)

So I try to eat good meals for dinner. And then I just get stuck. Because I make something, it tastes good, it has protein and fiber and vitamins, but it's also got a salty dressing, or involves frying, or tastes like ass unless it's well seasoned... And I just don't KNOW how to make food without ANY carbs. You're supposed to get some, but I tend to assume I got enough at lunch. I don't want zucchini noodles or cauliflower rice but. Also it's so much more work.

I just feel frustrated (in a way I've heard lots of people frustrated in the past) that every change I make backfires in a different way. It's just such a bummer to find something I like and then realize it's not as good for me as I thought. Idk what to do. Although, for the first step, I think I've got to lose this job and go somewhere I can have a proper lunch. (But even that comes with a loss because this job DOES give me tons of chances for walking and squatting and exercise - not enough to count as "intense" but it's certainly much better than being sedentary.) And then I guess I should talk to a nutritionist since I don't understand all the nutritional trade-offs well enough myself.

Lol, when I first started this not-diet, my coworker said, "Isn't your background Italian? The Mediterranean diet is so healthy!" Well, Idk it might be, but my 100% Italian grandpa still died of heart disease. And my mom, who is his daughter, and whose eating habits are 100x better than my dad's, still has very high cholesterol and docs want to put her on statins, even though she's been specifically dieting for decades to not have that happen.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The God of Magic just wants humanity to be happy and thriving;

Version 1, Good!Merlin

INTRO

(Version 2, Dark!Merlin)

~

“You’re late.”

From their place in the bushes, the gang can see a wide grin break out on the woman’s face as she raises an eyebrow:

“You’re always getting distracted by pretty flowers or interesting conversations, how was I supposed to know that you’d be on time for once?”

Her voice somehow sounds like an ocean in a storm, ear-splittingly loud as the sound cuts right through them to the core, but also a gentle stream, soft and clear and soul-cleansing. The gang struggle not to flinch in their confusion.

Merlin chuckles slightly, shaking his head as he softly replies:

“Ah, I see, you were expecting me to be late, so you told me to turn up half a candle-mark before you intended to get here.”

She raises an eyebrow and nods:

“In the hopes I wouldn’t have to stand around and wait too long,-”

She shudders slightly as her face falls, though she manages to look beautifully intimidating even with a slight scowl on her face:

“-you know how much I hate it up here, on dry land.”

Merlin nods. He looks around him passingly, and the gang tense as his eyes rove over their hiding place; their fear is quickly replaced with shock (and even more confusion) as it strikes them that they’ve never seen Merlin look so relaxed, so at ease. He finally looks back to the woman:

“Hmm. I may not agree with you on that, but I understand. I could have met you at Avalon, you know.”

The woman frowns even more, and the gang can see Merlin tilt his head in question, even more so when she replies:

“I... wanted this conversation to be private, away from the prying eyes and ears of Mother and our Siblings.”

Merlin’s shoulders tense, and Arthur can vaguely see the outline of his hands clenching tightly in his pockets as his cloak billows in a sudden wind. The knights, Gwen, and Morgana all look to each other in confusion, Merlin had never spoken of siblings before, in fact, they’re fairly certain he specifically told them that he’s an only child. This woman was so drastically different from Merlin in appearance, they couldn’t possibly be related by blood. Perhaps she means "siblings" in a similar sense to how the knights are brothers?

A tense silence passes between the two, but it’s quickly broken by Merlin letting out a deep, bone-weary sigh, his relaxed demeanour completely dissolved, and looking to the floor, mumbling:

“What’s this about, Ava?”

The woman, Ava, the gang now know, lets out a sigh of her own, tilting her head and waiting for Merlin to look at her again before speaking, her voice sounding more consistently soft the more she spoke, as if she needed practice to regulate her volume:

“I think you know, Em.-”

(”Em?? I guess that could be a shortened version of ‘Merlin’, but... not really.”)

“-Time is running out, existence is threadbare as it is, and only getting worse with each passing day. The world is splitting, cracking down the middle; magic is running thin-”

Everyone feels Arthur tense at the mention of magic, even more so at Merlin’s non-reaction to the word. Though everyone is already understandably on edge by the way the woman speaks as if the world is ending around them, and they hadn’t even noticed:

“-and we are starving. The fates of The Bane-”

Mordred manages to stop himself falling backwards, but his sudden shaky breath earns him a concerned glance from Gwaine, crouched besides him:

“-and The Darkness have been avoided, if you do not move forward now, then when? With every day you stall, you plan, you stand idly by and wait, we choke on the gaping emptiness of a world that is leaking.-”

Merlin holds up a shaking hand to stop her, his other running through his hair in frustration as he murmurs:

“I know, I know-”

The gang watches with tense, morbid curiosity as Ava cuts him off, her expression both annoyed and sympathetic:

“I don’t think you do, Em. You haven’t been home in years. Could you stand it? To be God of Magic with no Magic to be God over? No universe to hold dominion over?”

Merlin scoffs slightly and walks to the side in his frustration, and the gang can see the melancholy annoyance on his face, plain as day. It’s almost enough to make them forget that he visited Ealdor just last month. It’s definitely not enough to distract them from the fact that she had called Merlin a God. The God of Magic, of all things. What the fuck??:

“I don’t hold dominion over anything I just... am.”

Ava rolls her eyes:

“That’s not the point and you know it. Mother sent you to fix the problem, to stop the purge, to encourage the Once and Future King to bring magic back and start the Golden Age. He has been King for years, but you still act as a servant. You are a God, Em, assert yourself. You could fix the world with a click of your fingers, but you wait for the humans to do it for you.-”

Merlin interrupts her slightly impassioned speech with a deep huff and a shake of the head. From where he now stands, the gang have a healthy view of his side profile, and they can see the emotions warring on his face: frustration, grief, desperation:

“That isn’t... that’s not what I’m doing-”

She rolls her eyes again and the gang are vaguely aware of a distant crack of thunder as she gestures sharply with her hands:

“That is what you’re doing. You’ve become too attached to these... mortals.-”

She steps towards him, cradling his cheek in a soft, elegant hand as her face morphs to one of complete and utter sorrow:

“-You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak, Brother. Human lifespans, the lifespan of your precious Golden King, are but a blink of an eye compared to ours; they will all wither and die and fade from you, and you will be left with your grief forever.-”

Her other hand lifts to settle comfortingly on his shoulder, and the gang can see a single tear slip from Merlin’s lowered eyes:

“-Do what you came here to do, and come home, to Avalon, we miss you, Em, the family needs you back.”

Merlin stills for a few moments at her desperate plea, but then steps back, shrugging her hands off gently and wiping the tear from his face:

“No. I... I’m doing this properly. Mother understands my fondness for humanity, that’s why she sent me, and I’m going to do it properly.”

Ava huffs out a gentle laugh at his determined expression, shaking her head slightly in fond disbelief:

“How can you love them? These... humans, when they slaughter your creations, when they don’t even know what you are?”

Merlin smiles softly, his eyes gazing into the trees as he quietly responds, his voice full of enough adoration to take the gang's breath away, to temper the twinge of fear and betrayal that had been swelling in Arthur’s lungs:

"I love them because they don't know what I am. It's nice, to be human; to walk among them, being loved and hated and respected and touched as if I were not more than they could ever possibly comprehend. Humanity is... made of juxtapositions. Their existence is contradiction upon contradiction, weaved together and held with emotions so large I can scarcely understand how they're contained in such little bodies. I've been alive and watching them for millennia, lived side-by-side with them for almost three decades, and they still surprise me. To walk among them, to see them come to terms with this universe that We made for them, to see how desperately they crave knowledge, exploration, experience... it's beautiful. The way they love so fully, the way they find meaning and importance in every grain of sand, every ray of sun, every tuft of fur on every creature, it's humbling. It's astounding."

Ava has a soft smile on her face, looking as if she could listen to her Brother ramble about his love for humanity for decades. She shakes her head slightly, letting out a gentle sigh as she asks:

"Then why won't you save them? The Gods will starve without magic, but humanity will starve without the Gods."

Merlin pauses for a moment, his face scrunched in concentration as he tries to think of the right way to verbalize his thoughts. 

The gang stare on in unconcealed bafflement; the realisation that Merlin is some kind of God brings less fear or anger than they think it should. Maybe it’s the shock, or maybe it’s the reverent way he speaks about them. Either way, they stay still and silent in their hiding place, and eventually Merlin’s face settles back into a soft smile as he looks to his Sister:

"I wish to see them save themselves, not because We need them to, but because they want to. Because their desperation to explore this universe will one day outweigh their misguided hatred of magic.-"

He nods decisively, repeating in a confident voice:

"-I wish to see them save themselves."

Ava sighs once more, stepping toward Merlin and putting her hand back on his shoulder:

“Your wishes may soon become... irrelevant. We’re dying, Emrys,-”

Arthur struggles to hold in a gasp at that. Emrys. He knows that name. Apparently it’s the name of a God, and not just some secret sorcerer who took a fancy to Camelot and deemed himself it’s protector. Lancelot’s eyes widen, though he manages to hide his shock well; no one else is focused on anyone else’s reactions, all internally freaking out. 

Mordred is pale and breathing shallowly, being the only one in the group who had already known the full truth. Percival looks to be in shock, he grew up with the stories of Emrys, but to learn that Emrys was a God? That Merlin was said God? Not what he was expecting out of this little trip. Gwaine, Gwen, Morgana, and Elyan look worried, seeming to have pushed aside their shock in favour of being concerned over Merlin’s safety and sorrow. Leon stares upon the scene with scholarly-looking curiosity, hiding his apprehension and shock well. Arthur’s expression is... unreadable. Ironically, the only person capable of knowing what he was thinking just from looking at him was currently having an incredibly terrifying conversation with someone who is also presumably some kind of God(dess). 

“-time is running out. I know that you don’t want to, but... it might be best to tell them the truth. You adore your humans because of their ability to love, do you not think they love you enough to forgive you your deceptions?”

Merlin clenches his jaw, and it’s the anguish on his face, paired with his almost-whispered words, that breaks their hearts:

“I... no. Just because I love them does not mean they love me back. I’m just a servant, Ava, I’ll never be important enough to be forgiven, God or not; I’ve lied to them for over ten years.”

She sighs, letting a tear of her own fall as she quietly responds:

“Emrys, you undervalue your worth, they don’t-”

“No. I don’t. You’re right, I have one life-time with them, with... with Arthur, and then I’ll lose them, and I’ll spend the rest of eternity grieving. I refuse to taint the already short time I have with them by having to watch them grow to hate me. I refuse.”

Merlin frowns as Ava rolls her eyes fondly, a victorious smirk on her face:

“If you would let me finish. They don’t hate you now, despite learning what they have just learnt, and you have yet to tell them of all you’ve done for them. Their love for you will only grow, Brother.”

Merlin tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. The gang take in a collective gasp at the realisation that she knows. And has likely known the whole time.

“What are you talking about?”

Ava’s smirk just grows, and she looks to the bushes the gang is hiding in, seeming to make direct eye-contact with a panicking Arthur as she speaks, he voice echoing unnaturally through the clearing:

“You can come out now.”

At her words, Merlin’s head whips around to stare at where she was looking. He opens his mind, allows his magic to stretch around him, and his skull is immediately full to burst with echoes of Mordred’s earlier, and ongoing, warnings, as well as the overwhelming presence of The (former) Darkness, The Once and Future King, and the others. He takes a stumbled step back, hand covering his mouth and tears spilling from his eyes as he becomes more and more convinced of... well... his time being tainted.

The gang stand and shuffle out of the bushes slowly, eyes trained on the floor and hands clasped in front of them tightly. It’s Merlin’s quiet, cracking “No...” that has them look up, paling at the absolute heartbreak on his face.

Lancelot and Gwaine give him weak, though genuine smiles, holding their hands out placatingly, but they halt their movements forward when Merlin just copies them pace for pace, moving away from them.

No one notices Ava rolling her eyes, not until she steps behind Merlin and puts a halting hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving further away.

Merlin whips his head around, and another loud clap of thunder sounds out, much closer than the other one, quickly followed by a sudden downpour of frigid rain. The gang look to the sky in confusion, and Mordred desperately tries to reach Merlin through the mental link, offering comfort and reassurance; Merlin doesn’t seem to notice, the rain falling harder and harder as he almost fall to his knees, speaking in a desperate voice to his sister:

“Why... why would you... you know what this means. Why... why would you do this?! Ava?”

She rolls her eyes again, seeming to glow effervescently under the rivers of rainwater running down her face and over her clothes. She forces Merlin to turn and look at the gang, holding her hands on his shoulders to stop him from backing away (or collapsing in his grief) :

“Look at them, Em. Do they look angry to you? You should have some faith in the humans you claim to love so much. Look at them.”

Everyone in the gang gives Merlin varying levels of strained smiles; though Merlin, in his panic, is unable to tell that the strain is from concern and guilt, thinking that it was instead from hatred. He falls to his knees, his eyes shut tight enough to give him a headache and his hands clamped over his mouth in an effort to hold the sobs in.

Gwen and Morgana are the first to rush forwards, not paying the slightest bit of attention to Merlin’s... sister or the knights as they collapse to the floor in front of their friend, not sure whether to keep their distance or try to comfort the distraught man... God.

It’s his next choked sob that urges them to move once again, and the girls pull Merlin into a hug, tears of their own gathering at his agony. He freezes at first, then tries to pull away as lightening streaks across the sky, the violent bursts in sync with his choked breaths. When Gwen strokes a soft hand through his knotted hair, and Morgana pulls him further into her lap, muttering “We’re not leaving you, Merls, not ever, we love you.”, he relaxes slightly.

The thunder and lightening cease, but the rain still pours as Arthur stares over the pile of crying bodies to the woman, whose eyes seem to be growing brighter and brighter in the deluge. She stares right back at him, and The King jumps slightly when her voice echoes through her head, despite her still face:

“My brother has lost enough, please do not shatter his heart.”

Arthur nods once, before following Lancelot’s lead to the others, the rest of the knights not far behind them as Ava disappears. Whether she walked away without noticing or simply faded into the rain, no one knows, but no one really cares either. Soon enough, everyone is gathered around Merlin, stroking his back softly and whispering comforting promises over the sound of the rain. When Leon is the only one to notice Mordred’s eyes flash golden as he summons a shield above them, he simply shrugs his shoulders and refocuses his attention on muttering reassurances in Merlin’s head.

His breathing slows after a while, as does the rain, though everyone panics slightly when they see Morgana frown as she strokes the hair away from his face, revealing flushed cheeks and closed eyes. Mordred’s eyes flash golden once more as he presses a hand to his forehead, though no one lets the shock distract them for too long, latching on to his relieved tone:

“He’s just asleep, that would’ve taken a lot out of him. We should get him back to Gaius.”

The knights all stand, stretching and cracking joints to try and rid themselves of the cold stiffness that had settled in their soaked bones. Morgana stays on the floor, clutching at Merlin in her lap desperately, like he could slip away at any moment. When Arthur leans down to pick him up, she shoots him a glare, her own eyes glowing as the wind picks up once more, whipping through the clearing in an obvious warning. Arthur takes in a gasp, but shakes the surprise from his mind as he settles a soft hand on his sister’s shoulder:

“I... look, we’ll talk about this later, and I promise you’re going to be safe,-”

He glances up to an equally defensive looking Mordred:

“-all three of you, but Mordred’s right, we need to get him home and warmed up.”

Morgana hesitates for only a second, but the concern (and love) in her brother’s eyes sway her, and she nods, ever-so-carefully pulling her arms from around Merlin and helping Arthur get the younger (or... much much older) man situated in his arms before standing up.

~

The trek back to the castle is a fairly short one now they don’t have to worry about being quiet, and the rain has almost completely stopped by the time they make it to the citadel gates. It’s late, so the only people they come across are the occasional guard. But The King resolutely ignoring them as he carries his unconscious manservant through the corridors, his closest friends and advisors around him either openly crying or blinking away tears... well... it’s something that very much screams “DO NOT DISTURB US DO NOT SPEAK OF THIS IMMEDIATELY FORGET EVERYTHING YOU HAVE JUST SEEN”.

Elyan runs ahead to wake Gaius and warn him, so by the time everyone gets to the Physician’s chambers the fire is roaring, a patient pallet has been moved in front of the hearth, and Gaius himself is bustling around, preparing various concoctions and tinctures and blankets.

Merlin’s still shivering form is laid on the pallet, and Morgana shamelessly uses her magic to pull the heat closer and dry out his clothes. Mordred sits protectively close to the servant, one hand subconsciously close to his sword, the other resting on Merlin’s shoulder. Gwen settles between him an Morgana, and the knights figure that with her complete non-reaction to the magic... she probably already knew, she was smart like that. Gaius finally makes his way to Merlin’s side, tipping a gross smelling potion down his throat and running a hand through his hair, frowning worriedly down at his ward. 

Not a single word had been said since they entered through the castle gates, and Arthur is the first to break the silence, sitting on Merlin’s other side, opposite Morgana, and settling an almost accusing expression on his sister:

“You knew, didn’t you?”

She looks up at him, somehow appearing powerful and intimidating despite being soaked through and shivering:

“I knew he was... powerful, I didn’t know he was a God.”

Gaius’ head whips around quickly, and Arthur is surprised at the questioning horror on his face:

“A God?? There must be some mistake, Merlin is powerful yes but he’s not-”

Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him, though he doesn’t look away from the unconscious man as his fingers twitch over so slightly closer to the hilt of his sword:

“I knew. Though if I’d known he felt so... if I’d known how he felt, I would have spoken to him about it sooner, I apologise.”

Everyone looks at the group’s youngest member in shock, almost speechless, but Gwaine stutters slightly before clearing his throat and trying again:

“So... that was real, Merlin is a fucking God.”

Mordred nods absent-mindedly, eyes flashing golden as he presses his hand to Merlin’s forehead once again, frowning. Arthur’s brow creases in concern and he leans closer to Merlin:

“What is it? Is he ok??”

Before Mordred can reply, Leon speaks up, his voice tired, but strong:

“If he’s some... powerful God, then why is he hurt in the first place? Shouldn’t he be able to resist any sort of injury or sickness??”

Mordred shakes his head, finally looking away from Merlin to gaze at the group surrounding him. He looks doubtful at first, but when he sees the genuine concern on everyone’s faces, especially from Gaius and Arthur, he sighs and speaks softly:

“It’s difficult to describe. Merlin could access the full range of his power and do anything, if he wanted, but it’s draining and complicated when stuck in a human body. He himself is a God, yes, but this form is still vulnerable and mortal; he can get injured, and sick, he can die, or at least the body can. Merlin tends to repair this body when that happens, instead of moving on. He... likes it here.”

Everyone nods, understanding at least a little, though Gaius and Lancelot look the most shell-shocked. The room goes silent once again, and Percival, sat on the floor against the end of Merlin’s pallet with Elyan and Gwaine, is the first to speak, his voice shaking and sorrowful:

“He really thinks so low of himself. He’s a God... and he was terrified of the thought of us hating him, as if such a thing were even possible.”

Gwaine curses under his breath and Leon restarts his slow pacing around the room before he stops suddenly, turning to face the others with a look of anger on his face:

“Well of course he thinks it’s bloody possible. He’s right, we treat him like a fucking servant even though he’s one of our dearest friends, and half of us talk about the evils of sorcery on a near constant basis. He’s the God of Magic, of course he’d think we would hate him.”

Everyone is taken aback at Leon’s rage, though no one can deny that what he’s said is true. Leon is... quietly protective of everyone in the group, and it’s a time like this that reminds all of them that he had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and definitely held a certain brotherly affection for the younger (uh... yeah, whatever) man.

The older knight sags slightly, seemingly realising how exhausted he is, and pulls a chair up next to Arthur before collapsing in it, head in his hands. Arthur pats him on the back a few times before looking back to Merlin’s now thankfully not-shivering form, taking in a deep breath and nodding his head decisively:

“Well, we’ll just have to show him that it isn’t possible. I... we need to show him that he’s... important to us. Loved.”

Morgana just raises her eyebrow at The King, but doesn’t say anything as Gaius mutters a tearful “My poor boy.” under his breath. Elyan stands from his place on the floor, moving to perch on a bench behind his sister and setting a comforting hand on her shoulder as he softly speaks:

“He needs to know that we want him to stay here, with us.”

Percival shakes his head slightly, looking conflicted:

“Wouldn’t that be... cruel? That woman... Ava, was right. We’ll all grow old and die and he’s a God, he’ll live forever and he’ll grieve. Isn’t asking him to stay selfish?”

No one has an answer, and the room grows silent, everyone stewing in their own tense thoughts, trying to weigh the pros and cons, trying to measure exactly how selfish they were willing to be when it came to Merlin.

~

The sun rising over the horizon and peaking through the uncovered windows is what wakes everyone (bar Merlin) from their fitful sleeps. All of them had been plagued with odd dreams and nightmares through the night, so despite their exhaustion, they were grateful to be awake.

No one said anything though, waking one by one and pacing briefly around the room in an attempt to cure themselves of the aches gained from falling asleep in such awkward positions.

It’s still incredibly early in the morning, so thankfully none of them are needed for at least two more candle marks, but it’s Lancelot who breaks the silence first, clearing his throat and looking down at his best friend:

“It wouldn’t be selfish.”

Arthur looks up to him, noting the bags under everyone’s eyes and the tear tracks no one had bothered to wipe away:

“What are you talking about?”

The knight runs a hand through his hair, sniffling slightly and taking a deep breath before he stares around the room, making sure everyone was awake and paying attention as he spoke:

“For us to tell him we want him to stay, it wouldn’t be selfish. You heard him, he loves it here, he’s desperate to stay, he loves us. He still has at least thirty years worth of memories to make with us, and yeah, maybe that’s not a lot in the grand scheme of the immortal life of a God, but it’s more than the ten he’s already got. We can’t take that away from him. He... he wants to be here. Telling him to leave just to alleviate our own guilt... that would be selfish.”

Everyone looks a little doubtful, bar Mordred, and it’s him that Arthur turns to:

“Mordred? You knew... what he is, which we are still definitely going to have a conversation about by the way, what do you think?”

Mordred sighs, biting his lip for a moment before finally ripping his gaze from Merlin’s still unconscious, but now healthier looking body:

“He is more than any of us will ever be able to comprehend. You still see him as just Merlin, he is, but he’s also much more; he is Emrys, the saviour, the God, the Guiding Light. He is magic itself, woven into the fabric of the universe. He inhabits every space, and no space at the same time, he exists in every grain of sand, every drop of ocean, every speck of sky. To... to assume that he is not capable of deciding what he wants is an act of unforgivable hubris. If he stays, who are you to demand he leave and name yourselves selfish, when he has not deemed it so?”

Arthur pales slightly at Mordred’s words, as does everyone else. Gwaine seems to be taking it in his stride, and Lancelot seems less surprised than Arthur thinks he should (definitely something to question, but not right now), but before anyone can say anything, Merlin twitches, a low groan escaping his throat as his brows crease.

Everyone moves quickly, gathering around his bedside in a huddle. Morgana, Mordred, and Gwen are grateful to still be sat in their seats, and if they weren’t so busy worriedly leaning over Merlin they would be rolling their eyes at the way the others were pushing and shoving to be at the front. Gaius elbows his way to be stood by Merlin’s head, a cold compress in one hand and a grey looking potion in the other.

Morgana strokes a hand through Merlin’s hair and the frown on his face eases; he blinks his eyes open, swallowing before grimacing at the taste in his mouth and groaning again. Gwen leans over his head, smiling as she settles a hand on his warm cheek:

“Morning sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”

Merlin just groans again, rubbing his shaking hands harshly into his eyes as he says, his voice dry and painful-sounding:

“Ugh. Like Arthur’s aim got miraculously better.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and flushes slightly, but before he can defend himself Merlin bolts upright, taking in a deep, ragged breath, eyes wide. Mordred focuses a concentrated expression on the side of Merlin’s head, but Arthur ignores it as he reaches forward, settling a hand on the dark-haired man’s shoulder and muttering his name:

“Merlin?”

Merlin’s breathing only gets deeper as he whips his head around to stare at Arthur. The blonde tries to smile comfortingly at him, but Merlin barely seems to notice as he scrambles back on the bed, only stopping when he comes into contact with Leon behind him.

Mordred’s face morphs into a concerned frown at Merlin’s terror, and now his tears, so instead of waiting for the man to calm down enough to let them explain, he rushes forward, grabbing the back of Merlin’s head and forcing their foreheads together before he can pull away. He shuts his eyes tightly, muttering some sort of incantation under his breath. Merlin gasps loudly and Mordred groans, holding their heads together for a few moments before collapsing back into his seat, clamping his hands over his eyes as if trying to press a headache away. Merlin slumps back against the warm body behind him, and Leon just about manages to catch him in strong arms before he falls to the floor.

This had all happened in the space of a few moments, and when the two of them still, the others unfreeze. Arthur turns on Mordred:

“What did you do?? What was that?!”

Mordred groans again, looking up blearily, first at Merlin, who seems to be in a similar state to him, leant against Leon, and then to Arthur:

“He wasn’t calming down, so I shared my memories. From when we met at the edge of the forest yesterday, to just before he woke up. It’ll take him a little longer than me to sort through them.”

Arthur nods and Morgana looks impressed, and everyone looks to Merlin again, waiting for him to pull the hands from his eyes and talk to them, look at them, anything.

He finally seems to relax his muscles and Leon rubs his hands up and down his arms softly; despite the fact that he’d been warmed by the fire, the knight was still oddly worried about Merlin being too cold. He lets out a deep breath, lowering his shaking hands as he slowly raises his teary gaze, staring at Arthur:

“You... you want me to stay?”

Arthur ignores the tears dripping down his cheeks as nods desperately, forcing a soft smile on his face as he sniffles:

“Yes. Please. We don’t want you to go, we don’t hate you.”

Merlin launches himself at Arthur and the only thing stopping The King from falling back from Merlin’s surprising weight is Percival’s hand on his back. Arthur wraps his arms tightly around Merlin’s middles, turning his head to press a kiss to the other man’s temple as he tries to get his tears under control; he completely ignores the others in favour of muttering into Merlin’s hair:

“It’s alright, Merlin. You stay here, with us, as long as you want. We... I, love you. Stay, please.”

Merlin just sobs harder, gripping the back of Arthur’s tunic as he kneels on the bed, his response stuttering and barely understandable:

“But- but I’m-”

Arthur just hushes him, stroking a hand through his hair and giving everyone else in the room pointed looks. They all crowd around Merlin again, placing comforting hands on his back and shoulders and arms and hands. Mordred whispers his adoration in Merlin’s head, and Morgana presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, all in the hopes of convincing him that the memories he had were true.

His breathing finally calms, and Arthur shuffles to the side so he can sit down next to him, not daring to remove the arms from around his neck or push him away. Merlin pulls away himself when Arthur settles, but doesn’t move far, and there’s no space between them as he hastily wipes the tears from his face, staring at him lap, cheeks flushed. Arthur takes his hand slowly in his, but Merlin still doesn’t look up, so Morgana kneels in front of him, placing her hand on his knee softly and saying with a teasing smirk on her face:

“You know, if I’d known that my teacher was The God of Magic, I might’ve complained less at the studying you make me do.”

Merlin finally looks up at her, a weak smile on his face, and Morgana winks at him. It’s Gwaine who tries next, settling on Merlin’s other side and sighing loudly:

“Forget the God thing do you know how many pranks we could’ve pulled if you’d told me you had magic?? Can’t believe you’d take that opportunity from me, all of you.”

He gives Mordred and Morgana jokingly offended glares and they roll their eyes, though their attention is quickly drawn back to Merlin, whose hands are clenching tightly in his lap. The room goes dark all of a sudden, and a glance to the window would tell them that the clear morning was suddenly overcast, thunder rumbling in the distance as rain slammed against the glass. Arthur squeezes Merlin’s hand and quickly, though gently, shoves Morgana out of the way, kneeling in front of Merlin and lifting his chin with his free hand:

“It’s fine, Merlin. We’ve all got a ton of questions but everything’s going to be alright, I swear. In fact, I’m glad we found out, it was cruel of us to make you live in a kingdom where you aren’t accepted, but that changes now, I promise.”

Merlin stands suddenly and walks between them, taking a deep breath before turning suddenly a scowl on his face:

“It wasn’t her choice to make, it was mine, and she took it from me.-”

With every harsh the thunder grew closer and the glass in the window frame shook more violently:

“-I was going to tell you after you changed your mind about magic because it had to come from the heart. You can’t change the Kingdom just for my sake! I wanted to do it properly and she took that from me because she was bored!”

Everyone rushes to say something in an effort to calm him down, both for the safety of the windows and his happiness, but Arthur’s blunt-

“Why?”

-stops them in their tracks. Merlin looks to him sharply, though Arthur is grateful for the thunder quietening down as he replies:

“What do you mean why? Why what?”

Arthur huffs out a gentle laugh, shaking his head in disbelief:

“Why can’t I change the Kingdom for you? You’re important, you’ve touched so many lives in so many wonderous ways; that in itself tells me that magic isn’t evil, so why can’t I change the Kingdom for you?”

The thunder stops and the rain slows to a gentle patter as Merlin tilts his head, his scowl of anger morphing into a sad, confused frown as he responds in a small voice:

“But... I’m just a servant. You’re not doing it out of fear, so I’m still just... nobody important.”

Arthur just laughs again, walking towards Merlin and settling soft hands on his shoulders, grateful to feel the others close to his back:

“You have never once been just a servant, Merlin. Something tells me you’ve been saving my life, and this Kingdom, since the day we met, so even if it had no effect on anyone else whatsoever, I would still change the law. Because you are a good man, and you are important, and you deserve it. Compared to you, it is us, who are just human.-”

Merlin frowns again and Arthur rolls his eyes to stop him arguing:

“-Just... give me another hug, and accept it. You idiot.”

He can feel someone (probably Morgana) thump him on the back, but he doesn’t turn around, eagerly returning Merlin’s hug when the brunette wraps his arms around Arthur’s middle tightly. The King presses closer, uncaring of what his audience thinks of him for the first time in his life (probably because he has a feeling that they’ve known of his... affections, longer than even he has) and  mutters his question into Merlin’s ear:

“We... I love you, Merlin, more than anything. Will you stay with me?”

The King is vaguely aware of his First Knight whispering “I told you so, idiot.” behind him, but all he cares about is the sensation of the God, more ancient and powerful than anything he could ever comprehend, nodding into is neck.

THE END!!

I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope y’all like it!!

Link to the Dark!Merlin version (I warn you, it’s hella angsty) is at the top!! :)

[hobidreams]

august 1868.

the gilded throne is, above all, lonely.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama words: 1.1k contains: historical au, political talk

moonlit throne index. this is drabble six. start from the beginning?

“No.”

Alone atop his throne, King Yoongi does his best to stare down the almost two-dozen court officials that avert their eyes from him, standing from their proper place below the raised platform. His fingers, spread over the wooden armrests, tighten furtively.

“But jeonha! We believe it is the right decree, if we are to have any chance of quelling the rebellions.” The men beside the speaking advisor, Minister Choi, nod enthusiastically along.

“I do not believe it will be as effective as you think.”

Another advisor pipes up, his grey beard trembling. “If we execute the leaders, the rest of the uprising will lose their morale and cease their protests and ransacking. It will be the best method of control.”

“Please consider it, jeonha!” The rest of the men chime in a chorus, like birds that keep on fucking twittering in the morning when Yoongi just wants to sleep.

When he doesn’t respond immediately, Minister Choi interjects yet again. “Be assured that I only say this out of loyalty for your family,” even though his smarmy tone implies otherwise, “but this strategy has worked in the past for your father.”

Yoongi’s downturned mouth twitches then, betraying his deepening irritation. He despises that phrase. It’s true, his time on the throne doesn’t add up to two years. Most of the advisors here have been working in the palace for more than ten times that length, and they haven’t been afraid to challenge him at every turn. But he is the one on the throne, plagued with uncertainty or not. The decisions are his to be made, no matter how much he questions if they are correct.

Exhaustion pulls at his brain, wanting petulantly to dismiss all of the men for some temporary relief. It’s out of habit that he casts a glance to his right and his chest aches at the empty spot where his mother used to sit, offering him guidance or at the very least, comfort.

Wrong decision.

That one look starts up the murmuring, the not-so-subtle glances amongst the men, his psyche no doubt their concern. The blame all falls on him, he knows. Two months was too long to spend distraught. Without a strong leadership watching over the land, he’d been the one to give the rebels time to rally and flourish. His fault. His fault. His fault, and the skepticism towards his reign seems to spread faster than anything else.

“Jeonha—”

“They are peasants!” Shit. His harsh voice cracks through the space, temper lost when it needed to be kept most. He’s horrifyingly aware that he sounds like a kid, throwing a tantrum when things don’t go his way. He hates those stares that seem to be mocking his authority, questioning it at every turn. What he wants to say is that the rebels are only lashing out because they’re hungry, because there’s not enough grain in the land to feed their families, but so what if he does? He doesn’t know how to fix that either. He doesn’t know what to do, when all these officials are looking to him for answers and he has nothing and every decision feels like it’s damning him or his people further. His people. All those people. If he can’t even control his court, how is he meant to rule the country?

“Peasant or not, they are breaking the law. Your laws, jeonha.”

Yoongi sets his jaw. Clenches his teeth so hard they hurt as tension fills his mind, shoving against his skull itself until the pressure is all he knows. The ache demands his attention, just like everything else, as if he isn’t just one man. But the reality is, he isn’t any longer. He is the king and he needs to do better. He needs to be stronger than this. He’ll lose control soon completely if nothing changes.

“Do it.” He forces his tongue to move. Tells himself it’ll be easier the next time. “Schedule the execution.” If this is what it takes, he’ll do it again and again and again until it’s enough.

The relief that sweeps through the room is instantly tangible. “Yes! We shall!” The men cry, dropping into a row of bows.

Yoongi’s already standing before they rise. He takes hurried, barely-controlled strides towards the door, issuing a firm “dismissed!” right before he bursts into the heat of the afternoon. The bright, sunny weather only feels stifling with all his robes dragging behind him. He kicks up dust clouds as he turns, not quite knowing where to go from here but craving something else, anything different to distract him.

“Jeonha!” Eunuch Kim’s voice rings out and Yoongi can hear the man’s steps trying to catch up but even the presence of his oldest companion irritates him right now.

“Leave me be,” he growls, and keeps going.

Stooped at the corner of the private palace gardens, you smile as you tend to the small collection of herbs your mother was allowed to plant here by the former king. They’re growing well these days, enjoying the bright sunshine that summer always brings. “It’ll be time to harvest you soon,” you murmur in-between your humming of a folk tune. You don’t get to check on these plants often since you live near the other uinyeo on the other side of the palace grounds, and well, being in such close proximity to the king’s quarters these days is… You’re just grateful he let you stay in the palace at all.

“Jeonha!”

There’s a sudden clamor at the exact entrance you were trying to avoid.

Trepidation bursts in your heart as you look up, squinting in the sunlight to see the king entering the grounds at a startling pace. Despite your instincts telling you to flee, you don’t dare make any sudden movements for fear of drawing his attention. But you can’t seem to look away either, sleeves dragging in the dirt as you follow his rush to the pavilion, unconsciously holding your breath until he slams down onto the seat so furiously that you can hear it even across the pond. 

Then, and only then, when he is half-shielded by the pavilion’s low walls, does he huddle into himself. Cradles his head in his own arms, shoulders heaving with the strain of deep, quivering breaths you are too far away to hear. But this time, you know that he doesn’t need you. He’d said it himself, and not a word more has he spoken to you in all these months, as if that awful point needed proving.

So you force yourself to stay exactly where you are, despite your wanting. You keep your distance, even when he’s crumbling before your eyes.

[dianapana]

SH Day 3- Addicted to your touch

Day 3 – Addicted to your touch Separation Anxiety

WARNING: MENTAL ILLNESS

Disclaimer: I am not a therapist, the advice I gave in this piece might be very faulty, please take it with a grain of salt.

Modern AU, OOC

@sasuhinamonth

It all started small, when one day Sasuke announced that he’d be gone for 2 weeks due to work, the news alone made Hinata’s heartache but she smiled and wished him good luck on the project and a safe trip. Each day the feeling of missing him would grow and grow and grow until it was too big for her body to contain, and the feeling turned to pain. Her longing made her physically sick by the end of the second week.

The next stage was composed of excessive calls and texts, Hinata constantly needed to know where he was, what he was doing, whenever he’d take too long to reply the longing would come back and she’d either sink into sadness or lose herself to anger, both feelings she had not experienced much since dating Sasuke. Whenever he’d reply after a longer break, she’d ask him to come over to her house and stay the night.

That was the case on August 3rd. Sasuke came straight to her house after a long day at the office and Hinata ran to hug him, all of the negative feelings almost forgotten the moment she laid her eyes on him. His touch alone made all of her worries disappear. That was the feeling of home, in his arms.

They spent the night normally, eating dinner while watching a movie, changing and going to bed because they both had work in the morning. The issue came with the sunrise, for Hinata refused to let him leave. She cried and begged and screamed the moment he brought up work, she tore his shirt apart reasoning that he couldn’t go to work without one. The moment the white fabric hit the ground; silence fell over the room. Both of them were shocked, unable to speak due to her outburst of emotions.

Her cried aggravated, she fell to her knees and crawled to where he was, hugging his waist, apologizing over and over again. Sasuke was in deep thought, remembering all the small signs over the past month and a half. It hurt him to think that he had hurt her in any way to drive her to this moment, he patted her hair lovingly, took a deep breath and said in a broken voice “I think there’s something wrong Hina”

She looked at him with big round eyes, they were glossy and red, she blinked and looked down at the floor. “There might be…” Sasuke picked her up by her armpits and placed her in his lap, continuing to run his hand through her hair. He continued doing so until she calmed down and fell asleep, her emotions must have exhausted her. He didn’t move her from his lap for fear of waking her up, however, he picked up his phone from the nightstand and send Itachi a message telling him that he will not be going to work, he proceeded to text Kurenai as well informing her of Hinata’s absence at work too.

He spent the following few hours reading about similar situations, which mostly led to the same piece of advice, that a specialist was needed. So, he went on to search for therapists in Konoha, texting them all, asking whether any of them were free that day, two of them didn’t reply, another one was full for the week and could only see them next Wednesday, thankfully the last one agreed to meet with them after closing hours at 8:30.

Having all of that plan, all he needed to do was find a way to approach the topic when talking to Hinata, she had to agree that paying a visit to therapy would do them both good. Hinata had been asleep for about two hours now, so Sasuke took the liberty to move her onto her side of the bed and go to the kitchen to make some food for when she’d get up.

He managed to make scrambled eggs and toast and was about to go and wake her up when a cry of distress came from their room. He hurried to her side, Hinata was holding onto his pillow on the verge of tears.

“You weren’t here when I woke up” Her voice was meek and trembling. “I could hear movement in the kitchen, I knew you were there. So why, why does your absence hurt this much, despite me knowing you are here?”

He wished he had the answer, but he didn’t. He moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed, cupping her face with one hand, slowly brushing the skin under her eye with his thumb. Sasuke leaned in slowly to hiss her nose, cheek, forehead and finally the corner of her mouth. “I think to find out why, we might need some help from the outside” he closed his eyes and sighed, his breath fanning over her lips. “I talked to a man named Iruka, he’s a therapist and agreed to meet with us later today, would you be open to this idea?”

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

Hinata looked at him, searching his eyes and expression for any malice or negative feelings, but there was none, his openness and desire to help led her to agree to his plan, maybe they did need help.

“From what you’ve told me, this is a severe case of separation anxiety,” Iruka said, he looked kind and bore no ill feelings, Hinata had been afraid of the judgmental look he’d give her after hearing about her actions, but his eyes remained warm and understanding. “This usually manifests itself in small children, they are afraid to part from their caregivers even for a moment. In certain cases, it is believed it could appear in pregnant women as well, and usually the caregiver is their partner. Is there any possibility of this being true?”

Both Sasuke and Hinata’s eyes opened wider at the word pregnant, there was most certainly a possibility of that. They were always careful while having sex, however, Hinata was not on birth control, for they affected her badly whenever she took them as a teen so their method of contraception were condoms alone. There’s always the possibility of one breaking, a faulty one, or just them being part of the 0.01% of the population for which condoms did not work perfectly.

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

“I suggest you take a pregnancy test as well. As I mentioned, this is known to happen now and again so do not worry too much; however, this anxiety can affect you negatively” Iruka continued while looking at Hinata “the best way to deal with this is steady growth. In the early stages constant contact is preferred. Think of this as building up trust once again. Constant reassurance is important, always keeping promises, separation needs to happen slowly over time; from constant touch to simply being in the same room but at a safe distance, then being in separate rooms, then Hinata being alone but in a familiar and comfortable space for short periods of time. Of course, this process takes months. For some women the anxiety dies down with the birth, for others in continues after but through steady built of trust it can disappear”

They followed Iruka’s advice and went to Hinata’s gyno the next day and Iruka’s assumption proved to be true, Hinata was indeed pregnant in week 7. They were currently in the first stage of their trust-building, being in the same room, always touching. Hinata sat in his lap while they watched a movie, they held hands whenever they were outside, they’d keep bumping feet under the table as they ate. Sasuke had basically moved into her apartment, neither of them went to work. Sasuke was able to do most of his job remotely, however, Hinata applied for medical time off. Everything was going great, Hinata no longer experienced that painful longing, however, her pregnancy turned out to be a quite difficult one, as soon as they found out she was indeed pregnant, her morning sickness started, she had constant back pain and her appetite was very volatile. They’d often wake up in the middle of the night and drive around the city to find one of her cravings. During a particularly bad night 2 months after, her craving for watermelon in the winter proved difficult, to add to the issue her back pain was excruciating so she could not stay in the car for however long it would take them to find watermelon.

“Do you think…you would be all right if you stayed here and I went to find it for you…?” they had barely moved on from the ‘always touching’ stage, the process was slow but it was there.

“I…don’t know…”

“What do you want me to do Hina? You can’t even sit up properly, being in the car for maybe an hour would we awful, but being here alone would too…but it’s unwise to not follow your cravings either” He was spiralling, the situation was stressful and all he wanted was to be able to help her, he wanted to take her pain away, he wanted to give her everything she’d ever want and more.

“I think, I will be fine” Hinata finally said after thinking for a bit longer. Almost in slow motion, he nodded, ‘ok, ok, ok’ he murmured to himself as he put his winter coat over his pyjamas and stood on the bed to put his boots on. “I’ll go find you watermelon, ok? I will be back as soon as I can. I love you” he kissed her cheek and then the top of her head. She smiled and waved, but the moment his back turned to her, her smile wavered. Would she really be ok…?

Sasuke ran down the stairs to the car, he wanted to be away for as little as possible. He pulled out of the driveway and sped up as much as possible. Firstly, he’d look at the local non-stop supermarket, at the ‘exotic’ or ‘out of season’ shelf, if it wasn’t there he’d go to the local Korean market and buy some watermelon flavoured things, just in case there was nothing else anywhere; before he could think of where he’d go next his phone rang. Seeing Hinata’s name he answered immediately.

“come back…please” she was trying not to cry, he could hear it. He did an illegal U-turn and sped even more towards their apartment “I’m coming, I’ll be there in 5 minutes” Hinata replied with an ‘ok’ however she didn’t hang up, she needed to at least be on the line with him. Sasuke didn’t hang up either, not when we pulled into the driveway, not when he stopped the car, nor when he ran up the stairs. He only hung up when Hinata was in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, I thought I could, but you left and I…” she was sobbing so hard it was even difficult to understand her. “It’s ok, it’s not your fault, we moved too fast. Iruka said it’s slow. It’s no problem Hina, we can just start over” If her constantly touching him was what made her feel safe, he’d hold her close until she was ready. No more rushing of things. Once Hinata calmed down, Sasuke called Itachi.

“I’m sorry to wake you up but I need some help…could you look for some watermelon?”

[de-profundis-ad-astra]

One, Two Punch

Pairing: Ben Miller x Reader, kinda. Flirtationship more than a relationship Rating: Somewhere between T and M? Summary: After knowing Ben for barely two months, you’re invited to attend one of his fights. Length: ~2k words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol, vague descriptions of legally sanctioned violence, vague mentions of masturbation. Taglist:  @firefeatherx @goldenhour-goldenboy @mandoplease @mylifeliterally @phoenixhalliwell @havenforafrazzledmind @living-reminder @beatriz-silva-00 @pascalz @worldominatorx @givemethatgold @agirllovespancakes @lilacyennefer @dignityneeded @veuliee @briskywalker @the-bird-suit @mapache-lector @skylyknightly (let me know if you want to be +/-) Note: For the anon from yesterday. If you see this, I love you and if you want me to keep posting old fics, please let me know.

The day you’re invited to watch one of Ben Miller’s fights, it feels like a rite of passage.

The boys go quiet when he drops the question. So quiet, in fact, you wonder if you mistook the invitation for a marriage proposal. Suddenly extremely interested in their respective drinks, they sneak glances in your direction in the moments following. Ben’s eyes, clear and bright and… have they always been that blue? They root you to the spot, pinning you without him needing to lift a finger.

“Sure,” you say, shrugging off the odd looks and your own uncertainty. “Sounds fun.”

The fight isn’t for another three weeks, but Will practically has to drag Ben out of the bar by the collar whilst claiming that prep starts now. Once the door is soundly closed behind the Millers, Santiago and Frankie take turns explaining that Ben has never invited anyone to his fights. Well, not for a while, at least. They run you through what you’re sure is an abbreviated version of their last experience with this.

Long story short: he invited one of his previous flings to a fight, she left before the match ended with nothing more than a text letting him know that she didn’t think it would work, and they never heard from her again.

You swipe a finger down the glass–it’s started sweating condensation since they started talking. You rub the moisture between your fingertips, then take a sip, welcoming the burn as the tequila warms its way down your throat. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s a big deal,” Santiago says. “A big fucking deal.”

You get it, they’re more than friends to Ben. They’re his teammates, the people he trusts more than anyone in the world to watch his back. You suppose that’s precisely what they’re doing, now. You suspect that if you were to bail out like the previous girl did, they wouldn’t let you off so easy.

Not that you would. It’s just… a lot to take in.

“I get it,” you say with a smile. “I break his heart, you break my neck, right?”

Frankie lifts his glass in a toast. “I knew you were a fast learner.”

–

The following Tuesday evening finds you knocking on Ben’s door for your usual burger run. It’s probably too early to call it a tradition, but you’re relationship with Ben, thus far, is comprised primarily of spontaneous adventures such as this. Every Tuesday for the past three weeks you’ve gotten together to eat greasy foods and talk and laugh together. So it’s worth a shot, right?

Except when Will opens the door.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says cordially, if not a bit bewildered.

“Y/N!” you hear Ben’s unmistakable voice call from further within. “Come in!”

Will steps aside, vacating enough space for you to pass. You step over the threshold, your eyes immediately landing on the small dining table to your right. And the… grain bowl he’s eating?

“I see you’ve already got dinner taken care of,” you note with a small laugh. You’re more entertained by the sight than you are upset by the fact that burger night will have to wait.

Ben’s face falls, and his fork clatters to the table. “Shit,” he scrambles to pull his phone from his pocket. “Shit.” He unlocks it, hits a few buttons, then slides it back into his jeans.

A few seconds later, your own phone’s screen lights up with an unread text. You open it and read:

have 2 take a rain check on burgers 2nite. wills got me on this ‘clean eating’ diet before the fight.

You hold up the phone for him to see, “Got it.”

Ben says a bit sheepishly, “Forgot to send it. Selective memory. Sorry.”

As much as you want to be sad that your night out has been postponed, you’re more touched by the fact that of all the things on his mind, that was one of them.

“He needs to get into work mode,” Will fills the silence as Ben shovels a heap of quinoa and chicken into his mouth and makes a show of gagging on it. “Gotta keep him focused on eating better and training.”

You think about the pack of beers you’d bought and stored in your fridge. “I take it that means no alcohol, either.”

“Nope,” the brothers answer in unison–Ben with notably more disdain than Will.

“I was winning fights before you put me on this diet, you know,” Ben grumbles around his food.

“Doesn’t mean you still shouldn’t be taking care of yourself when your putting that much wear and tear on your body.” Will points at his younger brother. “Eat.”

“You’re worse than mom.”

“Eat.”

Ben groans and heaps some more food into his mouth. “I’m not worried,” he says half to himself.

You see it then. In his eyes, he’s focused and somewhere that isn’t quite here. You look at the hard lines around his mouth and suddenly wish you could take your thumb and run it across his lower lip, card your fingers through the unruly hair he dutifully keeps under the protection of his hat. One look at his face, and you know his mind has wandered somewhere similar.

Want, need, desire, call it what you will. All that and more churns in your gut.

Will clears his throat, pulling you two back from where you teeter on the edge of the gutter and back to the present. “We’ll worry about it when it’s time to worry about it. There’s nothing we can do right now except prepare. It’ll turn out how it turns out. And if Ben does what he’s supposed to, it’ll turn out well.”

“Win that fight, Benjamin,” you tease, turning back towards the door. “And we’ll get those burgers.”

You feel his eyes burning into your back long after the door shuts behind you.

–

You don’t feel ashamed of the moment you and Ben shared. That nagging in your chest is a far cry from shame. You’d outgrown that long ago. The look you’d shared, the thoughts you had and knew he had were mild in comparison to what you knew you wanted.

You knew the look in his eyes, that unspoken promise for something more–something you completely, unabashedly craved–and your carefully placed tethers would fray and fray and fray until there was nothing to hold you back. He didn’t need distractions right now, you wanted to respect that.

That didn’t make it any less miserable.

It only takes three days before it grows so unbearable that you take matters into your own hands.

Overheated and nearly frantic, you toss and turn in bed that night until your tank top and short clink and chafe against your slightly sweaty body. You try counting the minutes until sleep takes you. But minutes turn to hours with no sign of relief.

Need crawls over you, slithering under your skin. It doesn’t take much to imagine his face, that it’s his hands on your skin, inside–

But that release only leaves you hollow–unsatisfied.

You make a point to keep your distance for the remainder of that week. Until the day of the fight, actually. By then, the tether is pulled so tight that you fear it might snap at one wrong move.

Later, you remind yourself. That unfinished business will come later.

–

The air is thick with the mingled scents of liquor, body odor, and several variants of cheap cologne. And it’s so hot. People move around you in groups, and the floor beneath your feet is sticky from some spilled drink that hadn’t been properly cleaned. The heavy beat of a rock song slam against your chest, and as you look around you think you see more tattoos than skin, more leather than jeans, and more filled cups than empty hands.

You’re not scared. Far from it, actually. The energy of the crowd feeds your own, the music heightening your excitement as you follow Frankie and Santiago through the crowd and squeeze yourselves into an open spot right in front of the cage. One of them, you can’t tell who, shoves a drink into your hand and tells you its on them.

You hold the beverage, but don’t partake as the referee begins to announce the next fighter. The first thing you see is a flash of red shorts.

Perhaps it’s for show, watching Ben make his way from the door to the cage, swaying his shoulders with each step, his eyes locked on it and nothing else as heavy metal blasts around you. You don’t exist to him. Not right now. Regardless, heat pools in your stomach. 

He takes is sweet time peeling off his shirt and stretching his shoulders. He turns away from you so Will can help him into his gloves, allowing you a full view of that gloriously muscled back. You admire each line of muscle, each movement he makes as he turns and enters the ring. To hell with all the people around you. You want that. You want that over you, under you, all around you. You could touch him everywhere at once and it still wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you–

His eyes find you in the crowd, and he winks.

If it was socially acceptable to swoon, you might have.

Maybe you did, anyway.

–

The fight itself doesn’t last long. At one point you set your untouched drink down, then promptly kick it over when you leap to your feet to cheer.

Even then, you can’t help but clinch every time someone lands a hit, skin reddening and bruising, breathing labored and shallow until a hand is being lifted in the air in victory. It’s Ben’s.

–

You wait outside the lockers with the guys. Santiago is weaving a tale from his days in Brazil that you’re only half paying attention to. You remain standing off to the side, sipping a lukewarm water, watching.

It takes a while for Ben to come out. The blood has been cleaned from his face and, remarkably, the only lasting mark is a purple-blue bruise above his cheekbone. But he’s grinning ear to ear, and he pulls first Santiago, then Frankie into a bear of a hug. You see his face over their shoulders, how hie eyes still veritably glow with the same energy you’d seen in the ring.

You push yourself from the wall you’re leaning against, and step up to them. Ben’s eyes meet yours as if by gravitational pull.

You’d felt drawn to him since the day you’d met. But this is like meeting him for the first time. A dim hallway. The crowd slowly draining out from the gymnasium. You, holding a cup of piss-poor excuse for water, and him.

The boys quietly let Ben know that they’ll catch up with him later, and melt into the meandering crowd.

The shift in his expression makes it achingly clear what Ben wants. His gaze lingers, now. His shoulders seem broader as he steps towards you, his gym bag over one shoulder, his other arm extended for you. 

“Let’s go.” His voice is different in the aftermath of the fight. You can see the adrenaline still pumping in the way his eyes lock on you.

You find your way to his body, and let him guide you outside. His hand sneaks around your waist and under your shirt, his fingers digging into the skin above your hipbone. He guides your steps with a fierceness, and as soon as you make it back to his car, his hand wanders lower, lower.

He tosses his bag into his car, refusing to let you go. Another swift motion has you pinned between the heat of his body and the side of the car.

He’s in front of you, caging you in, his fingers lingering at the waistband of your leggings, his shirt damp from the shower he just took, hair dangling over his forehead. You clamp your hands down on his biceps, digging your fingers into skin and muscle and him.

You barely have time to register it all before his lips crash into yours, and the empire of your longing comes crashing down.

Yes, you could stand to be with this for a little longer.

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

i’ll let you in on my dark side

A/N: welcome to the godzilla intinct of wanting to see two girlbosses duke it out: redza vs ewalk!ranboo edition. huge thanks for my discord pals for helping me with this (i had no idea how to write redza or ewalk!ranboo, brain just wanted them to fight), and an extra huge thank you to my friend @technpog for beta-ing the final product!! title is from HUSHH by AViVA

Warnings: misunderstandings, violence, strangling, death threats, heavy mocking (redza is generally a jerk to ranboo), memory problems, guilt, awkward conversations, hugs, hurt/comfort with a hopeful ending

Summary: After accidentally startling Ranboo, Philza realizes that the two of them have more in common than he realized. But can he rein in the volatile side of himself before it's too late?

-

Phil had been chopping down some trees near his, Techno’s and Ranboo’s homes, looking to up his wood supply. A snowstorm was going to be coming in within the next few days, and Phil wanted to be sure there would be plenty of wood for fires to keep them warm. He would be sure to get enough wood for Ranboo too, although he was sure the kid would insist he was fine and could get his own firewood. He didn't want to baby Ranboo by any means, he was pretty capable after all- but parental instincts die hard.

The sound of a twig snapping startled Phil out of his thoughts, and he glanced over to see a familiar, tall and lanky figure in black and white. He raised a hand in greeting- the hand wielding his axe, he belatedly realized- and then caught a glimpse of Ranboo’s eyes. Purple, not the heterochromic red and green. Ranboo let out an eerie, enderman-like screech, mistaking what was meant to be a friendly wave with a move to attack. Phil instantly dropped the axe, but it was too late. Ranboo lunged forward, slamming him against the tree he had been about to chop down, the force of it sending the edges of Phil’s vision dark. He blinked away the fuzziness, hands scrabbling at dark clawed ones around his neck. He was well and truly pinned to the tree, his damaged wings trapped and spasming, trying in vain to fly free. The half white, half black face of a friend with fresh water scars and unfamiliar, cold purple eyes observed him with an angered expression. A vengeful vwoop escaped Ranboo’s lips, and Phil struggled to speak, to remind Ranboo who he was- but all that came out was a strangled wheeze as Ranboo’s hands squeezed tighter. Phil knew that his enderwalk state was a little more easily startled, and he thought he could calmly talk Ranboo down before he did anything he regretted… but he should have known better. He knew what it was like to have a deep, dark, and chaotic part of yourself locked away only to come out under duress- wait. Maybe that was the solution here. Fight fire with fire, right? Or in this case- fight a volatile version of your friend with a volatile version of yourself.

“Redza? Still lurking in there mate?” Phil thought, reaching until he found that violent, angry, and chaotic spark within himself and let it loose. It felt like liquid fire was flooding his veins, and he grinned as Ranboo’s expression went from confused to shocked as Phil’s calm blue eyes turned a gleaming red. With a sudden burst of strength, Phil- well, Redza, now- launched himself forward. Ranboo went down easily, clearly not expecting the sudden burst of resistance. The two tumbled to the ground, Ranboo’s hands leaving Redza’s throat to instead try and catch himself. Redza cackled at the foolishness of his opponent, pinning Ranboo to the ground with a knee to his chest and a knife drawn from Redza’s robes against his throat. Redza’s free hand gripped Ranboo’s shirt collar, and he laughed again at the absolutely bewildered expression on Ranboo’s face.

“He’s still Ranboo in this state, don’t hurt him!” Redza’s inner voice reprimanded, which he more or less ignored. The old man could stuff it, he was finally out and he was having fun.

“I could kill you, it’d be laughably easy. But I’ve been far too curious to meet this version of you,” Redza crooned, idly dragging the flat of his knife against Ranboo’s neck. Ranboo let out a confused warble, then huffed out an annoyed breath before screwing his face up in concentration.

“Who- are- you?” he growled, words coming out slowly, like he was struggling to remember how to form them.

“Aw, are words a little hard for you when you’re like this? Poor little enderman, can only do little vwoops and growls,” Redza taunted, pressing the knife a little closer to Ranboo’s throat when he instinctively leaned up to growl at him again, reminding the half-enderman who was in control here.

“Answer,” Ranboo snarled, head dropping back to the ground.

“I’m Philza, sort of. Just angrier, more violent, more chaotic, less of that silly restraint and care Phil prides himself on- he likes to call me Redza. He let me out because of that care, come to think of it. You were dangerously close to killing him, and he didn’t want you to live with that guilt- but Philza didn’t have the guts to pull out the knife in our cloak. I, however, have no such issue,” he explained with a grin.

“Why?” Ranboo asked, voice still a growl, but a bit clearer than before. The harsh purple glow of his eyes was flickering, revealing the true dual shades below.

“He’s coming back to himself now, you can let up on him,” the inner voice said, more insistent than before. Redza pouted inwardly. He was just getting to know his new friend! Philza could wait a little longer, he wasn’t done with Ranboo quite yet.

“I’m not fond of dying, kid. Half the reason Philza’s still kicking is because I’m here to protect him when he needs me. I’m sure you can relate to that,” Redza said, ignoring the continued grumbling in the back of his head from Philza.

“I-” Ranboo faltered, eyes shifting back to the red and green for a brief moment before the purple glow came back again.

“You?” Redza asked mockingly.

“I do what’s necessary,” Ranboo said in a low tone, the clearest he had sounded during the entire encounter. Redza threw his head back and laughed, shifting the knife away from Ranboo’s throat but not getting off of him quite yet.

“Oh, I think we’re going to get along swimmingly! I like this version of you,” he said between laughs. Ranboo gave a disapproving vwoop, glaring up at Redza. He fidgeted underneath Redza’s hold, causing him to dig in his knee more, twirling the knife between his fingers with a disapproving frown.

“Let. Me. Up,” Ranboo growled. The purple glow in his eyes was vibrant and fierce, and Redza loved knowing he could get under the kid’s skin so easily. Well… why not dig a little more then?

“Why should I? You tried to kill Philza, the man who took you in when you had nothing. This could just be a ruse so you can engage in the violent bloodlust you crave, deep down. I should know, you’re like me,” Redza taunted, unable to keep the sinister grin off of his face.

“Stop! I startled him, that’s all- Ranboo’s not like that!” the inner voice cried, guilt bubbling its way to the surface. But it was too late- the words had already done their damage.

“I- I’m not-” Ranboo stuttered, his eyes rapidly flashing between purple to red and green as he trembled beneath Redza.

“Oh really? The bruises blooming on my neck say otherwise,” Redza snarled, before Philza could stop him.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” the inner voice boomed. Redza felt himself reined back into that dark corner of Philza’s mind, fiery anger rescinding and leaving Philza cold and blissfully empty. Phil let out a shaky breath, stowing away the knife in his robes before quickly scrambling off of Ranboo. Things were a little fuzzy- the memories of what exactly Redza had said to Ranboo were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand, but he knew it was nothing good. At least Ranboo didn’t look like he was physically hurt. Ranboo sat up, one hand absentmindedly rubbing at his throat with a perplexed expression, eyes back to their red and green hue.

“What? Where am I- Phil?” Ranboo asked, looking over to see Phil sitting in the snow beside him.

“You alright, mate?” Phil asked, guilt replacing the cold, empty feeling he had felt before.

“Y-Yeah. I think so- was I… enderwalking, again?” Ranboo asked, dropping his hand from his throat with a concerned frown.

“Yep. Took a minute to uh… wake you up,” Phil said, not wanting to explain Redza quite yet. Ranboo didn’t seem to remember him, and a part of Phil felt horrible for wanting it to stay that way. He wanted to tell his friends about Redza on his own terms, not because he needed to let that part of himself loose in self-defense.

“Oh. Uh… thanks for-” Ranboo halted mid-sentence. His gaze had landed on Phil’s axe lying on the ground near them, then flicked over to the bruises on Phil’s neck. A choked noise that sounded close to a sob escaped his lips, and he brought up a trembling hand towards Phil. Against his will, Phil flinched, and Ranboo let out another wounded sound.

“Mate-”

“Did I- was that me?” Ranboo asked in a shaking, hollow tone.

“To be fair, I startled you pretty bad. Might’ve tried to wave hello to you, and forgot I was holding an axe. You understandably panicked,” Phil explained sheepishly. Ranboo looked down at his hands in horror. Then that horror morphed into a somehow more terrified expression, and he glanced at Phil’s eyes. Shit. He was definitely remembering Redza, at least a little bit.

“And you… your eyes were…” Ranboo trailed off, subconsciously backing away from Phil.

“Red. Guess I panicked too, huh?” Phil said, trying to go for a friendly smile, but the nerves skittering beneath his veins caused it to fall a little short. Fortunately, Ranboo gave a weak smile in return.

“Yup. Just… two dudes, panicking in the woods,” Ranboo said with a half laugh, half sigh. Phil smiled, more of a real one this time, and stood up. He picked up his axe, then offered a hand to Ranboo. He gingerly took it, and let Phil help him up.

“Let’s get home, I think I’ve got enough firewood for all of us,” Phil said, not-so-delicately changing the subject. He could tell Ranboo had questions, and was probably trying to puzzle out fragments of his memory, but thankfully he didn’t voice any of his thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah- there’s uh- a storm coming, right?” Ranboo asked, still sounding nervous as hell. Phil started to nod, then frowned and let out a sigh.

“Sorry. I just- I can’t just… pretend nothing happened. You don’t deserve that,” Phil said, pausing as he tried to figure out how to explain Redza. He wasn’t even sure if he was ready to explain that part of him yet- but he couldn’t just leave Ranboo in the dark like that. He trusted Phil with the dark parts of himself, why couldn’t Phil do the same?

“Phil- it’s okay. You did what you had to, you don’t have to talk about the red eye thing if you don’t want to,” Ranboo said, hurriedly trying to reassure Phil.

“No, it’s not a matter of wanting to. It’s a matter of needing to. Redza is a part of me, whether I like it or not,” Phil said firmly.

“Redza?” Ranboo asked.

“It’s what I call him. The part of me that is completely unhinged, angry, and violent. He’s kind of like your enderwalk state, in a way- it’s just more voluntary on my part. He’s everything about myself that I try to keep buried down. And while he is part of me, I’m not always in control of his actions. Sometimes I’m just helpless to watch as he does what he wants, sometimes I don’t even remember everything he does. It was hard to rein him in this time around,” Phil admitted quietly. Ranboo was silent for a moment, letting everything Phil had said sink in.

“So… you said sometimes you don’t remember what he’s done. Do you remember everything that happened earlier?” Ranboo asked timidly. Phil’s heart sank. Ranboo was clearly remembering more than he let on, and Phil definitely knew Redza had said something to upset Ranboo- but the more time passed, the fuzzier his memories were.

“I know Redza said something to upset you. Whatever it was- trust me when I say that I don’t agree with it. Redza likes to get under people’s skins, to poke and prod at your worst insecurities. Don’t listen to a thing he said. You’re a good kid, Ranboo, and I mean that wholeheartedly,” Phil said firmly.

“Really?” Ranboo asked, voice small and disbelieving. Phil looked over at Ranboo, surprised at how small a six-foot-fuck-off tall kid managed to look.

“Really. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Phil said with unrelenting confidence. Ranboo still looked a little unsure, but a smidge of relief and comfort crept into his expression. He started to reach out to Phil, but quickly drew his hands back to wrap around himself.

“Thank you. It- That means a lot,” Ranboo said softly. Phil smiled gently, the expression more genuine than it had been earlier.

“Aww, c’mere mate,” Phil said, opening his arms. Ranboo didn’t need to be told twice, all but launching himself into Phil’s arms. He leaned his cheek on the top of Phil’s head, arms gently coming around him and being mindful of his wings, despite the way he had eagerly launched forward. Phil rubbed soothing circles into his back with one hand, the other holding Ranboo tightly and pouring out every assurance and apology that he couldn’t verbalize. Ranboo seemed to be apologizing too, a deep rumbling emitting from his throat like the enderman version of a purr. Phil didn’t know how, but he knew that despite the volatile sides to themselves, he and Ranboo would be alright.

-

MCYT Fic Taglist (send an ask to be added!): @franticfandomfanatic

[groovybaybee]

Empty Beach (4.5k)

Three hours. It only took three hours for the tan line on my ring finger to be brought up. Three measly hours I had spent in the country, travelling to the house and unpacking, before his name was mentioned. Despite choosing a later flight in a desperate attempt to spend as little time with my distant relatives as possible, the question was inevitable.

 “No Ethan this year?” my sweet but intrusive grandmother had asked the second grace had been uttered.

 It took less than two seconds for the question to be answered by my mother.

 “They split up, ma,” she said with a passive aggressive smile as she passed me some vegetables.

 “That’s a pity… such a nice young man,” my grandmother pressed, leaning forward in her seat.

 “Very nice,” I muttered under my breath, knowing fully well that my side of the story would never be accepted.

“Anyone else on the scene?” asked my uncle as he bounced a fussy toddler on his knee. “Want to get yourself settled soon, pop out a couple of these sweet things.” He added when I shook my head.

 I watched as the child grabbed wildly at anything in his reach, knocking a bread roll on to the floor. My eyes followed my uncle as he reached down to scoop up the discarded food, quickly blowing at it before settling it back on his plate.

 “Mhm,” I hummed before dropping my gaze to my plate, pushing the food around miserably.

 The rest of the meal followed a similar pattern. Questions were asked. Digs unsubtly disguised as jokes were made at my expense. I offered half-hearted noises of agreement when reminded that my biological clock is ticking, and no man wants an old spinster for a wife.

 Family has a way of making you feel terrible about yourself. They can highlight all your perceived failures and mock them to your face, delighting in their ‘progress’ comparative to yours.

 Ethan used to make these visits more bearable. Having someone accompany me to these yearly holidays helped to calm the fire in my stomach, the urge to argue with my family’s traditional ideals. For a while, I convinced myself Ethan’s presence soothed my wild nature outside these trips as well, encouraging me to be practical and always plan ahead.

 He was sensible and I was sensible when I was around him. So, when he asked me to marry him at this exact villa one year ago, I did the sensible thing and accepted.

 My family were ecstatic, finally marrying me off and watching me become the person they expected me to become. First would be the wedding, then children, then grandchildren. I would be a wife, most likely staying home to raise our children and resenting every moment of allowing myself to be stifled like that.

 Ethan and I made sense in almost every way. We just lacked that… something. Some people describe it as a spark, others a fire. Whatever it is, it never existed between us. We both knew that, so it did not shock me to see the relief in his eyes when I returned his ring.

 No one could understand how we ended a four-year relationship over seemingly nothing, especially not my family members.

 “Have you been trying to work things out with Ethan? I’m sure if you just talked you could resolve whatever you’re going through.” My mother urged as we cleared the table.

 The scoff that left my lips was unintentional but impossible to retain.

 “I’m trying to help fix your mistakes.” She snapped, clattering plates as she piled them forcefully.

 “Not everything I do is a mistake.” I countered softly, exhausted from my flight and from the years of having this conversation.

 “Of course not, but don’t your father and I deserve grandchildren? Have we not earned that after—”

 I refused to let her finish her sentence, quickly announcing that I was going for a walk.

 Blood boiled in my veins as I trudged through cobbled streets. The stomp of my sandals against the ground sounded ridiculous and only infuriated me further as I stormed aimlessly through familiar backstreets until the sound of softly crashing waves called me closer.

 It was after sunset, most of the beach empty save for a few teenagers gathered around a small fire. The anger in me had subsided by the time I reached the sand, gently toeing off my shoes and carrying them with me as I walked the width of the beach.

 Waves brushed my toes as I inhaled and exhaled deeply, grateful for the gentle evening breeze that seemed to soothe the burn inside my throat. I spent a few moments, still, allowing the water to cleanse my soul and pull away the negativity of the night with each receding wave.

 Planting myself in the sand, I stretched out my legs to their full extent, flexing and relaxing my bare feet until the tiny grains felt coarse on my skin.

 I sat for a long while, reminding myself that only I knew what was best for me. Not my family, who I purposely only interacted with a couple of times per year. They barely knew me; they most definitely did not know what I needed.

 The urge to settle down at a young age and start a family as quickly as possible in order to continue the cycle had never appealed to me. Even as a child I craved excitement and adventure; something no amount of familial intervention could knock out of me.

 A late-night trip to the beach like this one would be considered reckless. I could only imagine the passive-aggressive nightmare I would return to. Silent gawks and glares would surround me until I felt claustrophobic.

 My desire for freedom and spontaneity most certainly was the product of a recessive gene, one only shared by my great aunt, Delilah. She stopped attending all family get-togethers when I was still a child. The memory of her pulling me back during a family walk to skip stones with her would stay with me forever.

 “They won’t be around you forever,” she had told me as she bounced a rock four times across the placid lake. “One day you’ll have your own life. You’ll make your own choices and you’ll make them for yourself, won’t you honey?”

 I hadn’t really understood what she meant but I nodded anyway. I idolised her. The fire I recognised in myself, I saw in her. She was the only one who understood me, which is why it hurt all the more when I had to face family gatherings alone.

 It was only when I was an adult that her leaving made sense. Delilah was in her late sixties when she finally came out to her family. That evening, after we returned from the lake, I was sent to bed while my family had a ‘grown-up’ discussion. The next morning, she was gone, and no one would tell me why.

 She sent presents on birthdays and Christmas, postcards from each new place she visited, always reminding me to be true to myself and do what I wanted. Now she was free, she felt alive.

 I drew her name in the damp sand with my index finger, mine beneath it, and made a silent promise to keep the fire alive for the both of us.

 What would DeeDee do right now? I had wondered.

 An immediate grin had spread across my face when I heard her voice in my head, telling me: “I don’t know, something stupid like skinny-dipping.”

 I knew that if she were around, she would tell the story of how she skinny-dipped at boarding school with the headmistress’ daughter. I could almost feel the warmth of her laughter as I sat on the sand.

 Envying her liberation, I glanced around the beach to gage the possibility of being nude without being arrested for public indecency.

 The teenagers had left while I was reminiscing, their fire extinguished. The beach appeared empty. No one would see. Even if it was just for a moment, it felt something that I needed to experience.

 Head and heart fixed on the idea, I quickly stripped my body of the pale blue sundress. Taking a swift but deep breath, I pulled down my underwear and tossed them into the pile. A small giggle fell from my lips as my body adjusted to the new temperature. A warm gust of wind blew past me, almost as if encouragingly pushing me towards the water.

 I ran without looking back until my knees splashed water around my body and the ocean became too deep and slowed me down. I stood, waist deep, under the sky. It was a clear night, save for a few light clouds which glided past in the breeze.

 My eyes fell closed as I breathed in the moment, desperate to savour each salty kiss and gentle caress of the water. Everyone had disappeared. Each nag and dig had vanished from memory. This was peace.

 It was peace, until the gentle crashing of waves was interrupted by a sigh.

 Instantly, I crouched in the water, eager for ever the slightest touch of modesty as I turned to locate the source of the sound.

 About ten metres away, waves lapping around his ribs, stood a man with his eyes closed and head thrown back as if bathing in the moonlight.

 In a desperate attempt to go unseen, I squatted low. My chin just above the water, I attempted to side-step away in order to keep an eye on him and prevent any awkwardness.

 I was almost crab-walking away when he finally noticed me, a misplaced footstep caused me to be plunged underneath the lukewarm tide.

 “Whoa, you alright?” I heard him ask when I surfaced, spluttering and spitting so much water that I did not notice him mirror my stance, also crouched.

 “Fine.” I coughed, clearly not fine but thankful that he did not press it.

 The two of us stood in silence as I caught my breath, running my hands over my head to scrape back the tangling mess of hair, already wondering how I would explain this when I returned to my family.

 “Nice night isn’t it?” he asked after the silence started to become thick with tension.

 “Yeah, not bad,” I replied, pausing for a moment to smirk at the ridiculousness of the situation.

 “Know any constellations?” he had asked, turning his head back up to the sky.

 “Not really,” I answered.

 It was at this moment that I was given the chance to appreciate him. His head bobbed just above the water, darkened wet hair plastered itself to his head, some parts curling out in defiance. An angular jaw tilted to the stars, catching their light and softening his features. The stranger glowed and glistened as awe-filled eyes watched the twinkling wonders above us.

 “You?” I questioned.

 “Just the ones everyone knows… Orion’s belt, Cassiopeia…” he commented, and I copied his stance, gazing up to the night sky.

 An overwhelming swell of gratitude washed across me as I stood beneath the glittering expanse. I pictured the stars looking down at us as we did to them, marvelling at their distance. Everything felt so insignificant in the most calming way. It did not matter what my family thought of me, or even the unknown man beside me (once I felt safe that he was not about to murder me and leave my lifeless body to float out with the tide). All that mattered is that in that moment, cuddled by gentle waves and illuminated by starlight, I felt alive.

 “When I was a kid, I thought that night-time was like a knitted blanket and stars were the little gaps you get,” he spoke.

 Not able to help myself, I turned to him with a grin at his admission. It felt like such an impossible confession to make to a stranger that I had to meet his gaze, eyes already trained on me by the time mine found his.

 “Sorry, bit mental to tell a stranger.” He laughed.

 “What’s your name?” I asked, sensing his discomfort from oversharing. “Then we aren’t strangers anymore.”

 I learnt his name was Harry. I told him mine and we discuss childhood beliefs as if we had known each other longer than a few minutes. Mentioning my unshakable faith that lightening was just a huge camera flashing seemed to relax him. There was a sweetness to the look he gave me as I spoke. A gentle stare that paired with an equally easy smile. Lips quirked with each word I uttered, until I soon wore a matching grin.

 Only when I was able to notice the deep-set dimples in his cheeks did I realise we had migrated closer to one another. By the sea or our own volition, we were only a few feet apart. He was breath-taking up close, warm but dark eyes glinted emerald and a light dusting of freckles across his nose were a testament to a day in the sun.

It was then that I began to panic. The realisation that the possibility to slip away without him seeing my nude body was quickly diminishing the more I spoke to him. But I didn’t want to stop.

 “I don’t believe you.” I laughed heartily.

 “It’s true! I can call my mum and she’ll tell you. My sister convinced me whenever I blinked everyone turned into a frog.” He spoke fondly, a warmth spreading across his features as he reminisced.

 “Can I ask you something that’s going to sound a bit mad?” I asked once calm was restored between us. One last-ditch effort to keep some dignity intact.

 “Sure.” Harry had answered with a light, throaty chuckle.

 “Do you think you could wait here for a few minutes and then come meet me on the beach? I’m getting kind of cold, but I think you’re interesting.” I explained the best I could.

 “Okay.” He smiled.

 Almost unbelievably, he continued to follow my instructions when I had him face away from the beach and promise not to look back. He seemed respectful when I made a half-hearted comment about wanting privacy as I towelled off, so I made my way out of the water with confidence that he would not peek. Even if he did, all he would have seen was two cheeks speeding away.

 As quickly as possible, I wiped off as much excess water as I could before pulling on sandy clothing. Almost instantly, a wave of regret passed over me as grains of sand covered a variety of patches of skin. However, when I saw Harry stepping towards me, equally sodden and sandy, the feeling washed away as promptly as it had arrived.

 “So how come you’re out here alone?” I asked curiously as we sat.

 “Doing a bit of solo travelling, kind of figuring out who I am by myself.” He answered. I felt there was more to his story that he was holding back but I did not push. “How about you?”

 “Similar thing kind of... just needed a break.” I explained. I imagine he sensed the same caginess from me as I did him, but, again, we did not dive deeper.

 “What’s the plan for your trip? Where you headed next?” I asked nosily, fascinated by him in all honesty.

 “No real plan.” He told happily.

 Again, he took my breath away. Here was someone with no plans, no aims, no pressures. He was freely living his life. The carefree and spontaneous nature of his attitude threw me off, and I sat staring at him, wondering how I could capture that feeling and keep it with me.

 “What?” he asked with a smirk as I gazed at him admiringly.

 “Nothing, you’re… you’re just not like a lot of people I know.”

 “Shall I take that as a compliment?”

 “Definitely.” I told him with a nod.

 Finally, I managed to prise my gaze from him and look out to the swelling ocean, but I felt his eyes on me still. My face began to heat up as I felt his lingering looks, tracing over my features. Breath caught in my throat as my chest rose and fell heavily.

 “Harry,” I uttered, voice barely above a whisper as I turned to face him.

 “Mm?” he hummed, eyes softly locked on my lips.

 We didn’t say anything else, there was no room for words as our bodies gravitated towards one another until our lips touched. His were salty and a little chapped from the ocean, I imagine mine were too, but they left soft, buttery kisses that left my chest aching for more. From the first moment our lips pressed, I felt addicted to them. Each kiss was another hit, more intoxicating than the last.

 He held me to him. Fingertips grazed the slope of my jaw. Lips sweeter than treacle, we sank together. Soon, our bodies laid as one on the sand, water occasionally lapping at our toes as the tide rolled closer.

 We kept ourselves warm despite the dropping temperature, bodies moving against one another symbiotically. Gradually, hands worked their way under clothing, cold and warm meeting in a blissful collision. A cocktail of excitement and caution filled my stomach. Each matched breath and heavy sigh sent a fizz through my bloodstream, soon drunk on his movements. Desire and trepidation battled throughout my being; a tug of war unevenly stacked against sensibility.

 When a large hand reached my breast, a light gasp tumbled from my lips. His actions stoked a fire within me that even the rising tide could not extinguish. Harry moved slowly, thoughtfully, as his touch spread around me, seeming to savour every single inch. My body arched into his when his lips pulled at the soft flesh of my neck, sucking gently but enough to have my hips rolling involuntarily. Desperately seeking some form of stimulation, they jolted harshly against his. The smirk I felt pressed against my skin only encouraged the burning within me. I was in dire need for something free and a little wild, and there he was.

 “I don’t want to assume anything…” I began, my breathy voice barely above a whisper as his lips travelled down my collarbones and to my chest, “But do you have protection?”

 “In my bag.” He replied with a nod to his large, bulging backpack.

 For a moment, we lay still, his chin on my chest as bright eyes and a matching smile looked up at me. There was a shared sense of relief at the realisation that we both wanted the same thing and wanted the best possible outcome for each other. There was mischief in our eyes, a touch of recklessness, but mainly care.

 Lips returned to my skin, puckering along each peak and valley of my covered torso until his mouth reached the hem of my dress. Lifting his eyes questioningly to meet mine, he waited patiently until I gave a soft nod. Eagerly, hands slip beneath the fabric, gliding up the outside of my thighs to reach my hips. He grabbed at the flesh there, greedily kneading it as kisses worked their way up the inside of my legs.

 “Harry…” I breathed out hopelessly.

 His lips crooked into a smile, but he continued to take his time, seeming to enjoy the way my body fought to lay flat against the sand.

 Special attention was given to each and every part of my body, his lips taking their time in dragging their way upwards until, finally, they met the ache between my thighs. His tongue licked tentatively to begin with, before the sight of my body writhing beneath him instilled a new wave of confidence. Soft licks evolved into wet, open-mouthed kisses. Before too long, his mouth moved keenly in delicate swirls as fingertips dug gently but firmly into my hips. Harry held me in place as I desperately sought more from him. Back arched and toes dug helplessly into the sand, his hair tangled through my fingers.

 His eyes were on me the whole time, confidently working me close to orgasm without even a shred of doubt in his performance. Not that there needed to be, his mouth moved beautifully against me, switching between soft licks, gentle sucking, and passionate lapping. I felt his jaw moving up and down as his face pressed into me, nose and mouth gliding up and down the length of my pussy, sure to leave no area neglected. My eyes met and disconnected with his constantly, battling to watch and remember every detail of being with him while struggling to keep my eyes open at all.

 “Think you can come for me?” he groaned; lips so close they sent vibrations across my flesh.

 I was already a quaking mess from his actions, but his words, his desire to give me pleasure, all became too much. My fingers wound through his hair as he pulled me closer, working faster and sloppier. Messy, wonderful circles swirled around my clit as a hand reached up the length of my body. The top of my dress was pulled down, breasts exposed and sensitive in the night air. Gentle fingertips juxtaposed the passion between my legs as they caressed and rolled the freed flesh.

 Overcome with sensation, my hips shuddered against him. Stomach contracting as my toes buried themselves in the sand and fingers grasped his hair, desperate to cling to the world in any way possible. My body fought this urge, convulsing and shivering as his actions became less intense, tongue moving softer against me as he pulled me through my orgasm.

 Once I had stopped shaking, Harry crawled back up my body to lay beside me. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead before propping himself up on his elbow to observe me.

 My breathing levelled out and muscles relaxed before I was able to open my eyes again. When I did, I noticed the way the moonlight reflected on his face, showering him with luminescent majesty. He looked ethereal as he watched over me.

 “All good?” he asked softly, the slightest touch of nervousness present in his voice.

 In response, I nodded my head to his backpack. I watched as an inescapable grin slipped on to his lips before he rolled over to dig through his bag.

 As he searched, my hands began to explore his body. Slowly, they felt the tension of his shoulders, a firm chest, prominent abdominal muscles covered in a layer of soft flesh. The other hand ghosted across the meatiness of his thighs, urgently fighting the desire to dig my fingers in. It continued up to his hipbone, the bottom of his shirt pushed up slightly, revealing tattoos I had not had chance to see yet. I wondered if he would let me count them sometime as he turned back to face me, condom in hand.

 His gaze softened as it fell on me, flickering for a second to my breasts before returning to my face. Our lips reconnected, the same warmth spreading across them and down into my chest and stomach, already hooked on the feeling.

 “You’re sure, right?” I asked him when my hand reached the waistband of his shorts.

 “Positive. You?”

 My answer came in the form of a nod before I slipped a hand through his hair and pulled his lips back to mine.

 Our hands worked clumsily together to unbutton his shorts, soft giggles shared as our fingers tangled. I pulled myself on top of him as he rolled the condom down the length of his cock. His eyes watched me hungrily as I positioned myself above him, gathering the excess fabric of my skirt in my hand before sinking slowly on to him. A gasp left my mouth involuntarily as my body accommodated his size. When the backs of my thighs met the tops of his, I paused, my hips grinding of their own volition. Rocking back and forth caused him to hit the most delicious spots, my muscles clenching around him until he was bucking his hips slightly, starting the cycle anew.

 I rose from my position before returning, just as slowly and deliberately. The moans my movements elicited where otherworldly. The melting of our bodies into one another was intense, seeming to fit and move together as if that was their design. Soon, our hips rolled and met quicker, the sensation unlike anything I had ever felt. After a moment, Harry sat up, one arm around my waist and the other behind him to steady us. Lips clung to my chest, pressing kisses along my sternum before encircling my nipple and sucking softly. My hips began to move up and down at the new sensation, causing Harry to pull his head back, watching with lust-filled eyes as my breasts bounced before his eyes.

 A low growl of a moan escaped Harry’s lips as both arms wrapped around my waist tightly. I was lifted and placed gently on my back on the sand before I could even register what was happening. This new position allowed so much more freedom for him, his hips instantly snapping against mine. Each thrust shook my whole body, sand certainly tangling in my hair. There would be no excusing this when I returned to the villa, but I could not have cared less. All I could think about was the feeling between my legs as Harry grabbed me by the waist and collided our hips over and over. He had pulled his shirt up, holding the bottom between his teeth to prevent it from interfering. His eyes bore into mine, watching with a small smirk as I crumbled into a moaning mess beneath him when he slipped a hand down to rub gentle circles against my clit. Still sensitive from before, the added stimulation had me writhing under him.

 I became increasingly thankful for the sound of the waves, just loud enough to cover the obscenities that spilled from my lips as I was brought to my second orgasm. The sensation of my muscles tightening around him proved too much, as he stilled not soon after, a beautifully gruff rendition of my name tumbling from his lips.

 After a moment of gentle thrusts, he pulled out and returned to his position beside me, grabbing a towel from his bag and laying it across us like a blanket. His arm lifted, calling me closer until my head rest on his chest. We laid for a while, regaining our breaths and waiting for our heartbeats to slow.

 “I think that one is Ursa Major.” Harry spoke softly, his voice a little gravellier than before.

 I looked up to the stars to seek the constellation he pointed out, quickly realised I was not that interested.

 “I don’t really care about stars.” I confessed, looking up at him with a slightly exhausted grin.

 “Me neither,” he replied, bottom lip tugged slightly into his mouth as he smirked at me mischievously. “Just wanted to keep talking to you really.”

 Thankful that the night would cover the heat rising in my cheeks, I told him, “I think I quite enjoy talking to you.”

 “Maybe we should run away together.” He joked, a look of fear flickering through his eyes as he realised how intense that could sound, quickly melted away by my breathy laugh.

 “Where do you want to go first?”

masterlist

[halfway-happyyy]

The Autumn Cottage

Happy Saturday friends! Autumn has arrived in full force where I live and I couldn’t be happier about it. To celebrate, I have written a sappy, smutty piece inspired by the current weather and this ask that I received: Can u give us a oneshot about a snuggle fuck w alex in a cozy cottage in the fall?

One of the greater joys in her life had to have been waking up to autumn's fickle fingers trying to desperately to reach her from the comfort of her woolen blanket. She watched, sleepy and bleary-eyed as leaves in shades of crimson and burnt umber drifted past her window in no particular direction. Her fingers roamed over the left side of the bed in search of him. Alexander's silhouette was barely visible through the indigo morning light, though she could make out the prominent line of his nose, and the slight curve of his bottom lip. Unmistakable in the minimal glow of dawn was the familiar glitter in his eyes, the glint that said so much about him and then nothing at all in equal measure.

“Good morning.” She whispered, and even that felt like too mighty of a disturbance in the stillness of their bedroom in the cottage. Though if he minded, he never let it show.

“Good morning yourself, kid.”

She reached the tip of a finger towards him wordlessly and brushed a feather-light touch down the bridge of his nose. Moving lower, she outlined his lips and grinned into the air before her as she felt him smile against her touch. She moved around his face with care, tried to memorize each delicate crease and wrinkle in her wake, tried to commit to memory the aspects that he resented about himself, even if she loved them beyond measure.

“Beautiful,” Alexander murmured as he brought the back her wrist to his lips, kissing the soft flesh there passionately. He brushed the pad of a calloused thumb over the rounded curve of her warmed cheek. “Like watching a flower bloom right before my very eyes.” They stayed like that for longer than either of them cared to admit; she could count on one hand in the past year that she had spent a weekend with him like this- alone and entirely undisturbed from anything and everything. He had broached the subject of a rented cottage in passing one morning a few weeks ago. It was one of those mornings where something had gone awry at every turn, and everything had been a blur. He had been late for something important, that much she could remember. He had rushed around the kitchen in a fury, muted Swedish curse words coloured every second sentence. He was out of breath when he reached the front door, weighed down by his leather laptop bag, but before he left, he turned to her and smiled. “Let’s get away together, kid.” She had taken it with a grain of salt until he returned home that evening, tired from a rather long shooting schedule, but in a fantastic mood all the same. “I mean it. It’s about to be a beautiful autumn. Let’s get away, just the two of us.”

“Shall I make you a coffee, or are we just going to lay in bed and stare at each other all day?” She offered him a cheeky smile and an exaggerated eye-wiggle which he simply laughed at.

“I have half a mind to choose the latter option, but I really do need some caffeine this morning.”

She nodded finitely and leaned in for a kiss, the innate push and pull of it caused a fire to ignite deep within her for him. She could easily spend the rest of her life doing this very thing; loving him fiercely and being loved back just as hard in return. “Alright,” She gasped as she pulled away from the allure of his hot, wet mouth. “Meet me in the kitchen.” She rose from the bed silently and padded over to her suitcase that was propped up on a wicker chair in the corner of the room. She noticed Alexander’s cream Sherpa sweater hanging over the arm of it and she ran a fingertip over the unbelievably soft material.

Alexander must have been watching her because when he spoke, his voice still gravelly from recent sleep, he startled her. “I’d be happy if you wore that, today.”

“You would?” She had been eyeing it ever since he’d brought it home from a shoot a month ago. She longed to wrap it around her frame, the sheer feeling of it luxe and utterly comforting on her bare skin. Especially as the months would inevitably grow colder.

“Watching you wear my clothing does something for me, kid. I love seeing how happy it makes you.”

With a small smile, she lifted the sweater over her head and let it fall into place on her body, the hem of it falling just above her knee. She pulled her hair from the confines of it and let it fall in waves down her back. “How do I look?” She asked.

“Beautiful,” Alexander murmured.

Satisfied with his answer, she made her way down the hardwood-floored hallway to the kitchen. She had thought at first that the silence of the cottage would be too loud; that city life had turned her into a creature who thought she craved noise on a near-constant level. But to her pleasant surprise, it had taken less than twenty-four hours to grow accustomed to it, and she knew now that she would miss it dearly when it was their time to go home. Eliciting a yawn, she stood on tiptoes and tried to remember which cupboard Alexander had hidden the coffee beans. Without warning, a large hand reached up above her head with ease and produced the bag for her with a sly smile. “I’d have found them eventually…” She muttered.

“Oh, I have no doubt of that. But- would you have been able to reach them?”

She shook her head and let out a small laugh. “Cheeky, vertically-adept bastard.”

They made their coffee together in silence. It had been one of the many things that drew him to her in the beginning. Where conversation seemed forced with every prospective partner and lover in the past- everything flowed the way it was supposed to with Alexander. There had never been a need to fill the quiet with empty words and small talk. It was a wonderful change of pace. “You hungry yet, kid?”

She remembered the basket of farm-fresh eggs in the fridge, thought of the loaf of homemade bread next to the coffee machine and her mouth watered tantalizingly. “I could definitely eat.” She watched him move around the kitchen with ease; watched the way his worn sweatpants hung low from the edges of his hips. She watched the way his muscles flexed in the light pouring in through the stained-glass window above the sink. She had always been struck silly by the beauty that this man possessed; but the notion that his soul bested his looks would never cease to leave her in utter awe. “What have you got on the go today?” She asked, a fork full of fluffy scrambled eggs rested in her hand.

Alexander passed a napkin over his lips, swallowed the bite of food in his mouth and shrugged. “Thought I might chop some wood for a fire tonight.”

She could hardly contemplate it now; the thought of watching her man hulk through multiple logs of wood caused her to physically clench her thighs together. “You plan on doing that soon?”

“After breakfast.” He confirmed.

True to his word, after the last dish had been washed and dried and properly put away, he stalked over to the coat hook in the front foyer and threw a sweater over his naked chest. Turning to her, he eyed her up and down and cocked his head to the side; a small smirk pulled at the edges of his lips. “Care to keep me company?”

Reaching for a blanket and the book that she had started yesterday morning, she nodded her head. “Lead the way.”

It was warmer outside than she had originally anticipated, though the autumn wind had picked up a little more voraciously, and she marveled at the falling leaves the same way she had earlier that morning. The sky above her was cloudless and a bright azure blue and she found herself thanking a higher being for the blessings in which she had been given. Opening the book to the page she had last left off on, the sound of an axe ripping through the middle of a log rang out through the clearing and she knew then that she would not be getting any further reading done this morning. Instead, she watched in awe as Alexander lifted the axe high above his head and brought it down with a force she had rarely seen before, the log splitting into two pieces and falling away from the stump. It was poetry in motion, really. Alexander’s hair was the longest she had ever seen it; the sandy blonde tresses were grown out and regularly fell over his eyes but she reveled in it. Of the many years that they had known each other, he had always kept a mostly clean-shaven face but quarantine, and the filming of a particularly brutal Viking revenge drama had rendered him more manlier and distinguished than she had ever thought possible. “You are fulfilling lumberjack fantasies for me that I never knew I had!” She called out to him.

Alexander tossed his head back, a hearty laughter bubbled up from the back of his throat and exited his mouth like music from a box. “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to yourself, kid. I see the way you look at me when I put on my old and holey plaid jacket.” He took a break from chopping wood to wipe the sweat from his brow. “To add to this- you also purchased me a very expensive axe a few years ago for my birthday.”

“Guilty,” She muttered under her breath.

“But rest assured I am elated that this-” He gestured to himself. “Does it for you.” 

The morning continued on in much the same fashion until maybe an hour or two later when Alexander joined her from her perch on the wrap-around porch. Falling into a bench opposite her, he took a few moments to try and regain his breath again. Beads of sweat gathered at the base of his forehead and his broad chest heaved under the weight of recent physical duress. They each viewed each other with a hunger usually only attained after seeing one another for the first time in months. “Come here.” He ordered, softly. She rose from her spot without hesitation and sauntered over to where he sat. He pat the front of his thigh twice, a silent instruction for her to have a seat. She straddled his lap with ease and wrapped her arms around his neck; the heady scent of his perspiration and body wash made her lightheaded with want. It took every ounce of self-control not to grind shamelessly down on his steadily growing erection. As he held her tightly to him, his warm, broad hands rubbed reassuring circles into her back. She shivered into the touch as Alexander kissed his way up the side of her neck, his mouth leaving trails of fire in its wake. “You cold, kid?”

“No.”

He kissed his way up the base of her throat, past the jutting outline of her jaw, and finally to her lips. His mouth still tasted faintly of the maple syrup he had poured over his pancakes hours earlier and the urge to devour everything he had to give her was overwhelming. “You like me like this, don’t you?” He smirked. “All sweaty and dirty from working hard and chopping wood for us?”

“Yes.” Her eyes slid shut and her head fell back as he continued kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. All the while his hands roamed greedily over her sweater-clad body, squeezing, and rubbing as they traversed.

“You want me to take you right here, baby girl?” His voice grew gravelly again, though it had nothing to do with sleep this time. “I don’t even have to touch you to know that you’re already soaked for me.” The wind had picked up again and had begun to blow her hair around her face, the cool breeze a welcome reprieve to her heated body. Alexander was fully erect now, his hard cock throbbed tantalizingly at her thigh. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and lifted the hem of the sweater to reveal her panties, and the wet patch that had grown steadily in the crotch of them. Alexander reached for her and slid two fingers past the flimsy material to her soaking folds. Immediately she leaned towards him to tuck her face into the crook of his neck, but he stopped her with a soft click of his tongue. “I want to see your face when you come for me, baby.” He brought a free hand up to caress her cheek, and as he held her, he brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. She parted for him without thought and began to suckle softly at it as his other hand started to delve deeper inside of her. He had perfected a rhythm with her now; one that no matter how many times he had pleasured her, would always be the fastest way to get her unravelling for him.

“More,” She gasped when two fingers just wasn’t enough anymore. Alexander nodded wordlessly, his gaze searching her own. He added a third finger inside of her, the stretch of it almost too much to bear.

“So fucking wet for me, baby.” He groaned, as he began to pump harder into her. He could feel her clench around him, could feel the soft, wet button of pleasure at the tips of his fingers. She sucked harder at his thumb the closer she neared to her orgasm. “You’re going to come for me soon, I can tell…” He murmured as she started to ride his fingers. “And don’t you dare be quiet about it.” He warned.

These words had helped to spur the wave of pleasure building in her belly and she arched her back against his fingers, her nails digging miniscule crescent shapes into the soft skin of his shoulder blades. “Fucking hell, Alex…”

He nodded up at her. “You look so fucking beautiful like this, my queen. That’s a good girl. Come for me,” He then angled his fingers in such a way that he had her screaming his name into the wind before them, her voice raw with unbridled pleasure. She continued to ride his fingers until she came down from her high, dropping her head to rest in the warm comfort of his neck. She couldn’t be sure how long she had taken solace there, but he eventually patted her bottom. “You came so good for me.” He pressed warm, wet kisses against her temple.

Taking his chin firmly in her grasp, she gazed at him. Unending vast oceans of blue peered back at her and took her breath away. “It’s your turn.” She crashed her lips against his again, the need to have him inside of her entirely all-consuming. He lifted her up in one fell swoop, standing tall from the bench as she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep from falling. He carried her into the warmth of the cottage, stumbling down the length of the hallway to their bedroom where he laid her as gently as he could manage, on the bed. He made impressively quick time of ridding himself of his clothing, and as he stood before her, naked and unbearably erect, she realized that she genuinely loved the man before her. It had occurred to her before that she felt this way, but she could honestly say that no matter what they would go through together, no matter the pain he would put her through in future, she loved him deeper than she had ever loved anyone before. “Come here,” She insisted.

Alexander crawled up the length of the bed, holding her head in his hands as he did so. He entered her all-consuming heat with a loud groan, the feeling of him stretching her to maximum fullness was incomparable to any pleasure she had experienced before. Having him inside of her was a comfort that she never knew she needed until it had happened. As he moved inside of her, his head dropped to her shoulder where he scattered dozens of open-mouthed kisses to the skin there. She held him tightly to her as he bucked his hips against her, his cock managing to hit all of the essential nerves each time he bottomed out. He was muttering nonsensical things now, random pieces of Swedish and English found her ears and she smiled into their embrace. She clenched around him after every other thrust, and soon his movements had grown sloppy. “Fuck,” He growled as her fingernails raked through the soft, firm skin of his broad back.

“You feel so fucking good, Alex.” She gasped against his bearded cheek.

He cried out as his hips stilled against her own and she could feel the familiar throb of his cock as he spilled everything he had to give, inside of her. He allowed himself a few more powerless thrusts, and another low whimper before he pulled out of her completely. She found his sudden absence almost painful. They remained like that for an unknowable amount of time, each just trying to catch the breath that they had lost a while ago. Eventually Alexander turned on his side to view her, bringing the back of her hand to his lips and kissing it gently. “I love you, kid.”

A crimson leaf lay next to his head on the down pillow, and she smiled softly to herself. “I love you too, Alex.”

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Randvi x female reader 💋

• Warnings: mild adult content (fantasies).

a sapphire for your heart, part III

On the very first day of your arrival, you travelled on horseback all the way to Cent. There, one of Reda’s eyes was waiting to offer you a tent to sleep in and a complete refill of your rations. Dover Cliffs called to you, especially at night, when the moon's pallid glow reflected off those abrupt, chalky shores. Somewhere within those narrow crevices in the mountain, a deep energy pulsed with life; a tear of mother nature, hidden and forgotten among piles and piles of sand and pebbles. You followed that silent lull, and by sunrise, you exited those pristine canyons with a bag full of colorful gems.

Several days after your find, you returned to Ravensthorpe to meet Reda again. You’ve been so focused on your treasure-digging tasks that you’ve forgotten all about the residents of that growing little village. However, the closer you rode to Randvi, the more she crossed your mind. You nearly stopped several times when you heard a voice similar to hers calling in Norwegian. And when you’d catch a glimpse of a woman’s beautiful auburn hair, your gaze would naturally follow. Of course, it wasn’t her; but oh… how much you secretly wished it was.

As you spotted the longhouse in the distance, your heart begun to race and flutter all at once. In the back of your mind, you’ve always thought of her; but now, without any tasks to distract you from your fantasies, you were suddenly overwhelmed by a deep, burning desire to be in her presence again.

Gods, if only she knew…

“Hello again. Back so soon?”

Reda called from beneath the large sage tree, where he’d gathered all the village children to tell them stories. You smiled as you dismounted your horse.

“Soon? With a map so well-drawn, I’d be embarrassed to take a moment longer.”

By evening, everyone was gathered in the longhouse for supper. Cheers and traditional music echoed off those tall wooden walls, creating a pleasant atmosphere to enjoy a drink with close friends and family. You were ravenous from your long trip back, and yet you took your time to savor your meal as you told stories of your travels. The children were flocking around your table, and some adults eventually turned to watch you whilst the music played a little softer.

“A dragon?! You really saw a real, talking, flaming dragon?”

A little boy asked, and you had to bite back laughter. Your story did have a grain of truth, but perhaps not as fantastic as their wild imagination made it to be. You wiped your mouth with a handkerchief and continued.

“It was asleep when I got there. Petrified. Yet his scales shimmered like little drops of gold, and his wings were made of millions of precious stones. All of them were red, like poppies.”

“Oh, oh! I know! They’re called rubies!” A small girl exclaimed as she shifted on her seat with vivid excitement. You confirmed with a nod as you smiled at her warmly, but then, your gaze seemed to naturally find that familiar figure which never left you mind.

Randvi was there, leaning against a pillar with her strong arms crossed over her chest. While she was a small distance away, she seemed to have been listening to your tales with great interest, her dazzling eyes affixed on you. You couldn’t look away. The sight of her was something to behold; a rough kind of beauty you’ve never seen before, a warrior enveloped in sensual feminine charms. There was a hint of a smile on her rosy lips, and her gaze softened the more you peered into her beckoning eyes. She motioned with her head for you to follow her into the map room, and without question, you did.

The creaking floor boards disheveled your nerves, like little ripples on the surface of a very still lake. Heat rushed to your cheeks as Randvi suddenly turned to face you, leaning back against the large table. A particular kind of charm lingered about her – a deep, sultry energy. It was her beautiful blue eyes, the way she looked at you, silently inviting.

“I interrupted you, I’m sorry.” She spoke and you quickly shook your head. It was fine. For her, anything was fine.

“I recently came across something that might interest you. It belonged to a group of raiders which attempted an attack on Ravensthorpe, and of course, greatly failed.” And she reached across the table to produce a neatly folded map, carefully opening it. You stood still, silent and in awe, finding it more and more difficult to focus on anything but her.

Were you bewitched? Was this fate mercilessly tossing you into a bottomless pit of beautiful despair? You couldn’t quite tell why you were feeling so weak all of a sudden. She was indeed enthralling, but it was more than her ravishing appearance which pulled you in. She was full of secrets. Hidden beneath that strong, stoic shield, there were raw emotions and passions waiting to be discovered. And they called for you, just like mother nature’s precious treasures called to be unearthed.

“Come here, have a better look.” Randvi motioned for you gently, and you followed like a moth to a flame. By Gods, you must’ve been a hopeless cause.

“Ah, I see.” You took in a sharp breath as you scanned the new map quickly. For you, those symbols and roads were easy to read and interpret, like second nature. You could already picture the real landscape, the ruins, the earth which hid those treasures well. That energy vibrating from beneath stone and soil, waiting to be found.

“If you help us find it, we will fairly spread it in half.” The beautiful warrior murmured quietly, and when her arm draped over your narrow shoulders to pull you in, you thought your legs would crumble. Her hand was heavy, her grip strong as she cupped your arm; yet she was careful not to hurt, gentle like a dove. She whispered details of the treasures only for you to hear, mindful of the many people still indulging in the plentiful dinner. You nodded, absorbing each word that rolled so gracefully off her lips as you followed the trail of her finger on the map. Surely, her intention was not to stir you up like this, but the closeness was overwhelming, suffocating, making you burn all over.

You slowly shifted away from beneath her large, strong arm, and dared to find her gaze in the glowing light of the ceiling. Her beautiful, thick eyebrows rose and she appeared surprised that you pulled away. Whether it was just your naïve mind giving false meaning to a woman’s innocent acts, you couldn’t tell, but if what you saw in Randvi was true, then your feelings were reciprocated. Quickly, you nodded.

“I accept. In two days we can start our journey.” You spoke with newfound confidence, pulling yourself together.

***

The warmth of that beautiful Norse goddess’s touch left a deep, burning imprint on your shoulder.

Albeit it was harshly storming and the winds were crisp, you felt hot and sleep refused to pull you in the land of dreams. The bedding was heavy, tangling in your limbs as you shifted from side to side restlessly. Each time your tired eyelids fell closed, you saw the image of her;  handsome cheekbones glowing, a piercing pair of eyes shimmering like Larimar and Azurite, and lips like dew dripping off wild rose petals.

Your chest heaved with a deep sigh as you slowly relaxed your body. There was a smouldering feeling between your legs, pulsing, making you shift and press your knees together. The thought of Randvi aroused you, filled your mind with unholy thoughts. You suddenly craved her rough grip, imagining how good those powerful viking hands would feel on your breasts, on your throat, and on your hips… How skillfully that beautiful mouth of hers would stir your desires as it would dance across your lips…

Thunder struck by your window, abruptly pulling you from your dirty fantasies, and you sat up. Rain came in heavy waves, drenching the little village. It called to you, like many of mother nature’s wonderful things did, and so you left your hut to sit beneath that heavy pour, trusting those cold drops to chase the devil out of you. And you spun, with arms outstretched, welcoming that freezing sensation which enveloped your body. As you slowly danced in the rain, thoroughly running your hands through your long hair, you briefly noticed light in the longhouse. It must’ve been the hearth which burned continuously – a never-dying flame of warmth and soothing, homely comfort. Curiosity pushed you towards that enormous structure, unarmed and barefoot as you were, and with your night dress heavily dripping with rainwater.

The cold was beginning to settle in your bones, and so, as you reached the warm entrance to the longhouse, you stood beneath its majestic threshold to bask in that golden light. The scent of fire and old wood lingered in the air pleasantly. As you guessed, no one was around at that ungodly hour of the night – but you heard it again… that deep, heart wrenching, muffled sob.

It was her; Randvi.

However, instead of weeping over ‘Eivor', she was faintly calling her husband’s name in between soft cries and suffocated breaths. That feeble voice impaled your heart, twisting and turning in your chest as if her pain was your own. Oh, how much you wished to break those walls down and wrap her in your arms, to kiss the anguish off her heated cheeks and never see a single tear of suffering in those precious azure gems. But as you heard heavy steps echo into the map chamber, you rushed back to your hut, terrified of being caught.

-          To be continued…

*part IV.

[saharamae21]

Lilypad - Drew Starkey Imagine

Author: sguymon21

Summary: A request for Drew where the reader is pregnant and throughout their pregnancy he does bump updates and pregnancy updates for both you're families because they don't live in LA. Like her bump getting bigger, the weird cravings she's having, videos of the baby kicking, decorating the nursery, mood swings, parenting classes, and whatever else you can think of? REQUESTED

Word Count: 1.9K+

Warnings: None

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When you found out you were pregnant, you were ecstatic. The only person who stood a chance of matching your excitement was Drew. You knew how much he wanted to start a family, so when the time finally came, he cried. He held you in his arms and placed his hands on your stomach. You knew he was going to be a fantastic father.

Month One

When Drew told you that he wanted to send your families monthly updates, you were completely on board. At one month, you lined up at the wall, chalkboard in hand, and had him take your side profile. You giggled as it felt like a mugshot. Nothing was noticeable yet in the photos, but you were definitely experiencing changes. The morning sickness was already to affect your everyday life and you became super sensitive to certain foods. Even the smell of coffee in the morning made you want to throw up, even though you normally needed a cup or two most days.

You sat on the couch and held your stomach. Even though your baby was only the size of a half grain of rice, they were fully controlling your every move. Drew sat down next to you and pulled you into his chest.

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” he muttered. You smiled, knowing what he wanted already. He wanted a little girl that he could spoil. You on the other hand wanted a boy. You wanted a mini Drew running around the place.

“Secret,” you mumbled. He chuckled at you as you closed your eyes. The fatigue set in, causing you to fall asleep in his arms. He watched the mother of his child with the most admiration possible and hoped that in a few months he would have a new girl to hold in his arms.

Month Two

The first month passed quickly and you found yourself in front of the wall again. You held up the blackboard that read two months and smiled for the camera. However, as soon as it was taken, your smile faded. You were exhausted and your hormones were going crazy. The doctors informed you that you had to severely limit your caffeine intake and withdrawal was setting in. Your head was constantly in agony and the nausea had somehow gotten worse throughout the past week.

Drew got home early from a shoot and looked around. Usually you were in the living room, but today the apartment was silent. He knew you didn’t have a doctors appointment and began to worry something was wrong. He opened the door to your guy’s bedroom and found you nestled in between the sheets. He smiled at your sleeping figure before crawling into bed.

You stirred awake and flickered your eyes open. Drew eyes met you and it filled your heart with warmth. All the sickness and fatigue was worth it when you saw the way he looked at you.

Month Three

The first sign of life appeared when you looked at the picture for month three. A small baby bump presented itself as you excitedly held up the blackboard. It wasn’t very big, but it was enough to make the both of you emotional. He held you from behind, his hands on your tummy. This was his new favorite position. He loved to have as much contact with your unborn baby as he could.

You laid on the floor of the apartment angry. Your emotions weren’t quite back in check and the crazings were starting to set in. All you wanted was peanut butter and tortilla shells, but you were out of peanut butter. You had asked Drew to grab some on the way home, but he was having a less than ideal day and said no. That put you in a mood and you haven't moved since. You wanted to have a stand off and wait until he caved and agreed to get it for you, but the baby was demanding food.

You forced yourself up to look in the cupboards, but nothing sounded good. Feeling emotional and defeated, you sat down on the kitchen floor and just began to cry. Minutes later, the door opened and Drew walked in. He heard you crying and knew that he should’ve had more patience with you. He walked in and crouched down in front of you, holding a new container of peanut butter out for you. You sniffled and looked up at him, knowing that if you two had a little girl, Drew would never be able to say no to her.

Month Four

You stood against the wall with a huge smile. Your stomach was continuing to grow every week and your excitement grew with it. You had begun to think of names for your child, but Drew and you had different tastes. Drew didn’t want to play into the whole celebrity child names, but you wanted something different. No child of yours would be named Jacob or Hannah.

You sat on the couch with the most energy you had in weeks. Drew slumped next to you, just in the mood to cuddle. You were in the mood for other things though. It was the first time in the past few months that your sex drive was back. You leaned over and pressed your lips to his neck, causing him to jump. He looked at you as your hand gripped his shirt. He looked at you wide eyed and told you politely that he didn’t want to. You stared at him, mouth agape.

“I-I just don’t wanna hurt the baby,” he said with the most innocent look on his face. You laughed at him and placed a soft kiss on his lips telling him that you loved him.

Month Five

You stood up as straight as you could, proud of the baby that was growing inside of you. You held up the sign and smiled as big as you could. Drew was running around the house for the past week, excitedly talking your ear off. You were supposed to find out the gender this week and he literally couldn’t wait. You two had finally settled on names and that made everything so real. If it was a girl, she would be Lilith. If it was a boy, he would be Jasper.

You sat in the doctor's office with Drew. His arm was slung over your shoulder as the doctor walked in. She smiled at you and told you that the baby was in wonderful condition. So far, there were no issues.

“So, would you like to know the sex?” she said.

We both said yes and you leaned your head on Drew’s shoulder. He had a hand placed on my baby bump and we waited as she looked at the file. She opened her mouth and Drew began to tear up. He kissed the top of my head as you wiped the tears away.

We were having a little girl.

Month Six

You stood against the wall and basically begged him to take the picture. Your legs were aching and you were gaining weight so quickly these days. You smiled as he took the picture, holding the sign like always. After it was done, you went and sat on the couch. Drew joined you shortly after, lifting your legs onto his lap to rub the cramps out of them. You closed your eyes and let him comfort you for the rest of the night.

You looked around the room and smiled. It was painted this muted yellow color and had accents of pink and white. A crib sat in the corner of the room and decorations were everywhere. It was really starting to come together. Drew pulled you in for a quick kiss as you stood in the center of the room. You felt the baby kick inside of you and smiled brightly. Drew had never been around when she was kicking. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your tummy. You watched his eyes go wide as he stared at you in awe.

“Our kid is pretty great, isn’t she?” he said. He loved her so much already.

Month Seven

You were getting pretty big by now. You stood by the wall and held the sign. Our families were getting so excited as we got closer and closer to the due date. They lived for your monthly updates. They also FaceTimed you guys weekly to make sure you felt perfect and so they could see what was changing. They loved being updated on my cravings and you health condition.

You laid on the couch, cuddled into Drew’s arms, as you talked to Jodi. You loved seeing how similar Drew and his mom were. She smiled and asked for a hint on the name we picked, but you had agreed not to tell anyone until after she was born. It was killing your parents.

When he finally hung up, you smiled at each other. The baby always kicked when we talked to our moms. Their voices triggered a happy reaction. He placed his hands there again and felt the movement. He placed a small little kiss on your belly.

“Hey, baby girl… It’s daddy,” he whispered. Then he said something that made you fall in love with him all over again. “I love you, my little lilypad.”

Month Eight

You took the picture for month eight and smiled. You were continuing to gain about a pound of weight a week. You knew we were on the home stretch and honestly, you just wanted my little girl to be here already. Drew took the picture and smiled at you. He was being especially sweet that past few days. He constantly praised you for carrying his child and it made your heart so happy.

We laid in bed together and you shifted in discomfort. The baby has been pressing up against your ribs lately and it was really uncomfortable. You felt Drew pull you into his arms and rubbed your back. You sniffled as your chest felt like it was tightening.

“Hey, shhhh…” he cooed in your ear. He placed small kisses all over your face. “I’m so proud of you. Just a little bit more and then we finally get to meet our little lilypad.”

He was right. One more month and Lilith would be right here in your arms.

Month Nine

We took the final pregnancy photo and jumped for joy. Our little princess would be with you guys in no time. He had gotten your hospital bag ready and the nursery was now finished. All of your friends and families were getting super excited to meet your little girl. Most days, you sat on the couch, on the phone with your moms. They both were planning their trips out here for after the baby was born.

It was about a week before our due date when my contractions began. You sat in bed and panicked as you tried to get a hold of Drew. Your eyes squinted as they became more frequent. Finally, he picked up and you told him you were going into labor. You stood up to grab the hospital bag as he told me he was leaving the gym, clearly in a state of shock. While you were hanging up, your water broke. That’s when it all became way too really.

About 7 hours later, you laid in the hospital bed with Drew. Your little girl was curled up in his arms and the way he stared at her made you melt. He teared up as she slept so peacefully in his arms.

“She’s so beautiful,” he said in a strained voice. He was holding in tears at the sight of our child. “Welcome home, lilypad. Mommy and daddy love you so much.”

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Tag List : @justcallmesams @jellyfishbeansontoast @prejudic3 @queenieloveswriting @jjtheangel @infinitydols @simpingforrudypankowonly @waywardbarbie @outerbankslut @outerbongs @ilovejjmaybank @beth-winchester21 @jiaraendgame @sunwardsss @talksopretty @bb-tings @teenwaywardasgardian @netflix-imagines @canibeoneofthepogues @raekenliar @judayyyw @jjpogueprincess @waywardbabie @casper17

Tagging a few more: @spilledtee @starlightstarkey @potterheadhollander @anonymous0writer @tomhardybby @diverdcwn

[another-snape-story]

More in Common Than You Thought

Chapter XX

Nothing remarkable has occurred since that strange incident during the game of Quidditch in the first days of November. Discussion of what had happened died down after a week or so without any constructive conclusion. No one seemed to recall the day when Dark Magic intruded measured life of the Wizarding school ever again. You heartily believed it was just a seeming, and Hogwarts authorities put a careful thought into solving this mystery. The only person who didn’t turn a deaf ear to your concern, the only person who was willing to hear you out, who – same as you – found disregard inappropriate, was Severus. Who in Merlin’s name it might be? Highly responsible and down-to-earth, he kept a watchful eye on one of your colleagues who – you both agreed – behaved oddly. Professor Quirrell.

On top of that, you still couldn’t get over the news you received from your previous employer, and despite of all Snape’s persuasions and convincing arguments that it wasn’t your fault, the thought you might be responsible for the accident popped up in your head every now and then. Snape knew what was weighing over you. He also knew firsthand what it was like being left alone, one on one with nothing but guilt and self-loathing. By no means was he going to let you fall into this destructive abyss of despair. Ready to give you a shoulder every time you were at your lowest, Snape assured you there was nothing worth your nerves and tears.

The two of you were getting closer. You both realized there was no need to know every single detail from your past to understand each other – the essential surfaced in form of little things spoken in relaxed conversations, grain after grain, matching the missing pieces and building a picture of who you actually were.

Snape enjoyed every minute beside you. You filled him with desire to live. Could he ever expect it? Of course, most likely, he was confusing your kindness and friendliness with affection he both craved and feared. For a man who’s never experienced true heartiness, a small gesture of amity might’ve appeared as something bigger than it actually was. Moreover, since causing you pain came across like Snape’s worst nightmare, to keep you unharmed, he convinced himself he had no right to let you too close – he only could destroy lives, and Potter’s son was the living reminder. He got used to sacrificing his life and hope for happiness anyway. Cherishing no pipedreams this cloud-world would last forever, Snape, however, gave in to temptation, too weak to deprive himself of a pleasure to cure his soul by your side even though it was destined to be broken again.

Sullen Potions Professor liked it in your office. Spacious, with high ceilings and nice furnishing, it differed greatly from his own. Variety of plants harmoniously complementing wooden paneling of its walls and numerous bookshelves added vital spirit to the exterior. But it hardly was the setting which made this place so special – the main reason that kept him coming here were certainly you.

The room seemed empty once he stepped inside, but a quick look around sufficed to spot some movement behind the shelving where your place for ‘dirty work’, as you called it, was hidden. Standing with your back turned to the visitor, you surely couldn’t notice him. Headphones on, you smoothly swayed along with the tune, a scalpel in your hand waving jauntily to the rhythm. You easily sank the blade into the carcass of a dissected creature which was now hard to identify and extracted a slimy part of its insides which joined a plenty of a kind in a half-full jar with the same amazingly hideous substance.

Snape leaned against the cupboard – a pawky smirk on his face – marveling the picture. What a wonderful being you were!

“Ahem,” he coughed slightly to catch your attention, but of course, absorbed into the process, you didn’t and couldn’t hear him.

Snape slowly approached you not to scare you too much, although he knew you’d startle either way. The scalpel jolted out of your grip as you flinched, taken aback.

“Never! Never do it again!” with an eye roll, you ripped headphones off.

“How do I do it if you don’t hear me?” he justified himself.

“I don’t know!” you waved your hand. “You’re a wizard after all!” Embarrassed, you felt blood rushing to your face. “Ugh! May I obliviate it from your memory?”

Snape chuckled as he made another step towards you.

“I have so few good moments to recall. Don’t take this one from me,” he smiled softly. “Don’t you mind if I –?” he pointed at the headphones.

You didn’t mind. You knew he wouldn’t report you for using muggle devices, but what happened next struck you dumb. Snape raised the thing to his ear heeding to the sound. The corner of his mouth twitched into his cheek.

“This band helped me through my school years,” he admitted. “The legend of nowadays… That’s a shame we reject everything muggle related – they know how to make really good music.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Never expected you –”

“I’m a half-blood! Of course I do know muggle stuff,” Snape snickered.

Another surprise in a couple of seconds! “I thought you were pure…” you muttered embracing the fact. His life in this House, the House of ‘Elite’, must’ve been a raw deal. Oh, you could tell! You’ve gone through this hell as well.

“Having muggle blood is an advantage,” you stated resolutely. “Those, feeling superior in terms of origin, look so pathetic trying to perceive the purpose of a toaster!”

A laughter rumbled out of Snape’s throat. He couldn’t disagree.

“Tea?” you carelessly shoot your dirty gloves on the working surface and strode past Severus inviting him to make himself comfortable in one of your armchairs.

“Yes, please,” he leisurely followed suit.

“Muggles are cleverer than us, we must admit it,” you served two cups. “They’ve invented so many devices to satisfy their needs of all sorts which we perform with just a wave of a wand. They should be given a credit.”

“Indeed,” Snape watched you with admiration.

“There’s a whole Department in the Ministry that makes monkey work!” you continued vigorously. “Isn’t it better to have an understanding about the world which is so closely intertwined with ours than to ignore it? We could use it for our profit someday!”

“Why wouldn’t you write an article for the Daily Prophet?” Snape reached out for his cup. “I mean it. Many keep this opinion on a tip of a tongue, but have no guts to speak it out.”

“Not sure,” you sighed. “At least not now…”

The way your fingers fidgeted restlessly set the man alert. “What happened?” his face tensed as he fixed his eyes on you.

Denial was pointless. Moreover, you were going to tell him sooner or later – his question just saved you from searching for the right moment. “I’m invited for interrogation.”

The news unsettled him. “When?” Snape frowned.

“Next Saturday.” You lowered your head, regretting one of your biggest mistakes.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I mean… yes! Yes, I really do want you to come!” you gave him a weak smile, “but you shouldn’t. Don’t want to drag you into this shit…”

“As you wish,” a little disappointed, Snape agreed with your decision. In situation like this he himself would definitely not want someone to pity him. You had your right for privacy. If you’d feel more comfortable on your own, he wouldn’t insist.

“Thank you, Severus,” you whispered. “Thank you for offering.”

“Everything will be all right,” Snape cheered you up. “If you change your mind, let me know,” he smiled and you nodded. Grateful for his concern, you looked Severus in the eyes. There was something so comforting about his glance, you couldn’t help believing him.

Thin drizzle which damped school grounds since dawn was now growing thicker splattering haphazardly against your windows. Soon the downpour lashed, and through the rain drenches came first long low rumbles of thunder.

“Ah, the storm,” you joyfully shrank into the backrest, while chaos raged outside. As long as Severus was here, you didn’t mind staying in your little shelter like forever.

“I guess, now I’m trapped here,” Snape assumed showing no discontent. He was happy to stick with you until it all ended, now that he had a good excuse.

“More tea?” you chuckled and Snape tossed his cup towards you.

A dim light flickered through the drops lazily sliding down your office windowpane deep in the night. Passing by, one could discern two relaxed silhouettes sitting across each other talking... or maybe sleeping? It made no difference since no one passed by and didn’t see a thing.

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[healthtipsgiver]

A way to lose weight and hold it off

Weight management isn t any handy assignment, but attaining and maintaining a suit weight is crucial in your smartly-actuality, your diabetes administration, and your common health.

Your weight can greatly have an effect on your diabetes and put you at an brought risk for additional problems, akin to continual kidney sickness and cardiovascular disease, no matter if you have category or class diabetes.

analysis suggests that dropping only a small percent -% of your body weight can accept main effects to your fitness – supplying you with greater energy, making it less complicated to manage your diabetes, cutting back your possibility for complications, and improving your standard neatly-being.

Learn more lose weight without exercise

Kim Carter Martinez, a political and legislative director for a labor union and proprietor of a consulting company in Sacramento, Calif, has considered how transformational weight reduction can be. She’s had diabetes for years, and has long struggled to misplaced extra weight.

“I even have been overweight on account that i was a child,” Carter Martinez stated. “I lived best of my lifestyles morbidly overweight, and seven years in the past I misplaced essentially pounds or around half of her body weight through adjustments in my food regimen and endeavor. I went from the use of a hundred and twenty devices of insulin a day to the usage of about , and that i were able to retain a pretty good AC for the remaining years. My latest changed into .%!”

balanced, healthy food is vital when making an attempt to attain your most fulfilling weight. making fit recipes, reducing down on calories, and being intentional with the foods you re consuming is essential.

Learn more 13 tips to lose weight fast in two weeks

consuming comestible-wealthy foods that nourish our bodies is the first step. take a look at abuse’s commodity “What to consume with Diabetes” for a superb place to start. ingesting greater greens, complete grains, lean protein like angle and fowl, nuts and seeds, and suit fats and oils like avocados and olive oil can help you keep a weight-reduction plan that gets you the entire vitamins, minerals, and fiber you want.

moreover, steer clear of meals that are excessive in energy however lack the vitamins and minerals that your body needs. sugar-sweetened drinks and food, adulate and margarine, sophisticated grains like white bread, white rice, and pasta, meals with delivered salt, and processed meals should still be averted as a great deal as possible. lots of these foods can also result in spikes to your glucose – doubling the purpose to stay far-off.

meals element size is an additional important component of weight administration. It’s important to assignment on reducing the variety of calories you’re eating with every meal – this might also crave some further planning. barometer your food with the use of a kitchen calibration and measuring cups can aid you maintain song of precisely how an awful lot you are ingesting and meal prepping can assist you plan ahead. analysis has proven that component sizes in the US a long way exceed what is counseled through the FDA food and drug administering or the USDA US branch of agronomics – you could gain knowledge of more about element manage from the USDA right here. actuality aware of how a lot we are consuming is barely as essential as what we are consuming.

“I weigh and tune my portions in the Carb supervisor and My fitness pal apps,” talked about Carter Martinez, who attributes much of her weight administration success to more healthy consuming and undertaking.

There are certain ingesting plans that have been proven to assist individuals with diabetes with weight administration. These regularly center of attention on low calorie or low carbohydrate foods and may include:

Low-carb – This consuming plan focuses on attached the number of carbs you eat – be sure to goal to devour forty five- grams of carbs at each and every meal or lower than grams for extremely low carb ingesting affairs. this can assist you manage your weight and your glucose levels.

Keto – A keto or ketogenic eating plan focuses on excessive fat, low carb nutrients. The eating plan is designed to force the physique to bake fats instead of carbohydrates for power.

Mediterranean – A Mediterranean eating plan encourages you to consume more bulb-primarily based meals vegetables, nuts, seeds, complete grains, fish, and extra abstinent olive oil and fewer meat.

sprint – The sprint comestible approach to stop Hypertension eating plan is terribly comparable to the Mediterranean plan. It focuses on attached the amount of fat you are ingesting and encourages you to consume extra vegetables, whole grains, fat-free dairy products, lean meats, and nuts.

[lonestarbabe]

Giving Up the Ghost

Chapter 4: The Silo

[AO3]

Things had been frosty with Judd, to say the least. After the incident, at the silo, when T.K. had nearly sunk into an abyss of grain, Judd and T.K. had gotten into an argument about it. Judd made it clear that he thought T.K. was a dumbass, and T.K. had felt the judging eyes of the old crew. He was certain that they were going to bother him all day about what he had done so that they could avenge Judd. But they didn’t. Most of them were quiet. They must’ve thought that it was none of their business. Only Chuck had much to say about the incident.

“You’re a real idiot, sometimes,” Chuck said when T.K. finally got a moment alone. He waited for T.K. to respond and made it clear that he wasn’t going to leave if T.K. didn’t answer. T.K. groaned. He did not want to deal with ghostly interference. He would prefer to wallow in peace. “You need to smarten up, Strand.”

“I wasn’t trying to screw things up,” T.K. defended himself. His impulses got the best of him. They carried him away before he could get a grip of them. He liked the destruction, sometimes, and craved to go to the dark place full of self-loathing and self-pity.

“Yeah? You disregarded Judd completely at the silo. You could have gotten yourself killed, and it’s pretty scary for people to have to watch that going down.”

“How would you know? You weren’t there.” T.K. hadn’t seen him, at least, and he wouldn’t have a reason to follow them to a call.

“I still hear things. I saw how on edge everyone was here. I’m dead, not oblivious, so don’t  be a jackass.”

“That’s kind of my brand. That fight wasn’t all on me, so don’t give me a lecture. I don’t want to hear it. Judd was trying to provoke me. He was trying to belittle me, and it’s not my fault that things got blown out of proportion.” T.K. had done plenty of provoking on his own, but he didn’t feel the need to mention that.

“Is it that hard for you to see what’s really going on here.” Chuck shook his head. “My wife would be so proud of how emotionally in tune I’ve become in death.”

“What are you talking about?” T.K. asked, annoyed. To be honest, he didn’t have a lot of people to talk to. He liked the team, but they didn’t know a huge chunk about what mattered most to him, and for better or worse, Chuck knew T.K.’s secret.

“Judd is trying to keep you safe,” Chuck said. “Look, I know you think he’s out to get you, but Judd isn’t like that. He isn’t out to get anyone. He does his damndest to keep people safe. He always had the biggest heart in the room.”

“Yeah, right. He doesn’t care about me. Why would he? Look, I know he’s your friend, but he hates my guts. He doesn’t think I deserve to be here, and I bet I’d be the first one he’d want to send packing if he had that choice.”

“You’re my friend too,” Chuck said, dead serious

“Yeah, only because you don’t have many options,” T.K. said in a clipped tone.

“That’s real nice, T.K.”

“I’m just trying to do what it takes to get through this. It’s been a hard few months.”

“Yeah, for us all,” Chuck said dryly.

“Sorry about that,” T.K. answered sincerely. “I know that sitting here talking to me isn’t your number one choice.” He hated feeling like an intruder in people’s lives. He was always the unwanted figure people talked to because they couldn’t talk to the people they actually wanted to talk to.

“It doesn’t help to complain about what I have no power over. I don’t want you to be on the other side with me, and maybe you and Judd aren’t buddies, but you two are the same. You’ve got big, stubborn heads, and if you could stop acting like morons for two seconds flat, I think you’d see that. You could be a good team.”

“I’ll be professional.” He wasn’t going to start any more fights. One had been bad enough, and it had only made things more awkward than they needed to be. He’d go to work, hold his temper, and act like a detached professional. He’d find other outlets for his rage. He’d try to feel something without spiraling into a self-destructive abyss.

“Try to see how Judd might feel,” Chuck said, trying to lead T.K. to sense.

“The last thing that Judd wants is to get attached to someone who will only end up dead.” That was a little too blunt for T.K.’s liking, and the words made him shift uncomfortably.

“Okay, I get it. I’m the asshole here.” He’d gotten used to being the asshole, and he often played that role up, becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“That’s not what I’m saying. All I’m saying is that you’re missing an opportunity.”

“I don’t know, Chuck. I know you mean well, but I’m not sure you know what you’re dealing with.”

“Why do you doubt me so much when I’ve been nothing but welcoming?”

“It’s a little unnerving how welcoming you’ve been.”

“You don’t know Texan hospitality, then,” Chuck said with a big grin.

“I’ll try harder if it makes you feel better,” T.K. answered half-heartedly.

“That was convincing. Just consider being nicer. Judd needs good friends in his life, and you do too. Plus, I think Grace would like you. You could probably get some good homecooked meals out of her if you’re nice.”

“I’ll stick to take out.” T.K. scoffed. “Grace won’t be cooking me  anything anytime soon, not after what I’ve done to her husband.”

“Stop assuming so much about people you haven’t taken the time to know. Trust me. She’ll come around once Judd does. Probably before, and she’ll learn to like you. Like I said, you’re a lot like Judd,” Chuck said with finality in his voice.