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theostrophywife · 2 years ago

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stargazing.

i can feel your heart beatin' with mine underneath the stars lookin' for a sign glowing in the dark 'til the sun shines started with a spark now we're on fire

author's note: you already know the drill. i am a hoe for mutual pining between two idiot best friends who are so obviously in love. this one actually gave me chest pains and you'll see why.

song inspiration: stargazing by the neighbourhood.

The City of Starlight lived up to its name as the stars glittered over the horizon.

A cluster of constellations twinkled directly above the spot you had picked—a grassy knoll by the mouth of the Sidra River, which now lapped against the shore with its sapphire waves. It was by far your favorite place for stargazing because it was distant enough from the noise and excitement of Velaris, sandwiched between the colorful townhouses and the peaks of the misty mountains, allowing you the chance to fully appreciate the starkissed night.

You placed a hand on your hip as your best friend climbed the hillside, his strides graceful and effortless, reaching the clearing without breaking a sweat, which was more than what you could say for yourself.

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of carrying a picnic basket up this hill.”

Azriel raised a brow, the Illyrian warrior utterly unconvinced by your statement. “I’m aware, but I also want to eat sometime before midnight and with the way you’re going, the food will spoil before we even get a chance to taste it.”

You huffed in feigned offense and crossed your arms. “Not everyone has the privilege of being ridiculously tall. I mean, have you seen yourself? I get that you’re a brooding warrior and all, but anything above six feet is a little overkill, don’t you think?”

The shadowsinger chuckled, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “My height is perfectly normal. It’s not my fault that you’re practically bite sized.”

You frowned, sticking your tongue out at him. “Come a little closer and we’ll see who’s biting into who.”

“I’m shaking in my leathers.”

Azriel rolled his eyes fondly and shrugged the knapsack off his shoulders before tossing it over to you. The bag containing your favorite blanket and a pair of pillows had derailed your journey for at least ten minutes because your stubborn friend refused to let you carry anything. In the end, you had bullied Azriel into allowing you to lug your own sketchbook and coloured pencils up the damned hill.

It was an admirable feat given that the shadowsinger was almost as unrelenting as you. Luckily, you could always rely on your secret weapon. A slight pout and puppy dog eyes and Azriel was practically putty in your hands. Needless to say, you weren’t above exploiting his soft spot for you to get what you wanted.

Mostly because you loved the fact that he could never say no to you.

"You're absolutely insufferable, shadowsinger."

“Big words for such a small female,” Azriel drawled as you arranged the blanket on the grass. “Careful with the wind, we wouldn’t want it to blow you away.”

You snorted in response, shooting a vulgar gesture over your shoulder. The shadowsinger snickered as you tossed the pillows onto the blanket, putting the finishing touches to your makeshift haven for the night. Azriel plopped onto the ground, stretching his long legs out on the gingham fabric. The moonlight hugged his winged figure, silver beams kissing his devastatingly handsome face.

For a second, you felt jealous of the moon.

While Azriel settled in, you started unpacking the picnic basket. Stored within was an abundance of cheese, fruits, meats, and crackers that you'd nicked from the House of Wind, along with fizzy seltzers that were spiked with wine. You fixed Azriel a plate and handed it over to him. He uncorked the seltzers and clinked his glass against yours with a wink. The two of you dug right in, stuffing yourselves full and getting slightly buzzed from the drinks.

Azriel propped himself up on his elbows, his features contorted with intense concentration as he watched you toss a grape into the air. He tried to catch it with his mouth, but it hit his nose instead, making you burst out into uncontrollable laughter. The shadowsinger looked utterly confused for a split second before his eyes narrowed in your direction. His gaze darted to the hand you were currently hiding behind your back.

“You’re cheating,” he said with a pout.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you replied innocently. Behind you, your hand glowed scarlet from the use of your magic. “Maybe you just have terrible aim.”

“Show me your hands, then.”

“No one likes a sore loser, Az.”

Your friend pounced on you, nearly knocking your drinks over as he dug his fingers into your side. You gasped for breath in between high pitched giggles and smacked Azriel’s arm as he mercilessly tickled you. Shadows curled around you like smoke as though they were summoned by the sound of your laughter.

“You’re going to crush the cupcakes!” you exclaimed, wriggling away from the shadowsinger.

His dark head perked up at that. If there was anything you knew about your friend, it was that he had an insatiable sweet tooth. You swatted his hand away and pulled out the cupcakes you’d been saving for dessert.

Azriel eyed it warily. “It looks a little…deflated.”

You frowned, examining the less than fluffy cupcake. “Elain was teaching me how to make them, but then Lucien walked by shirtless and covered in sweat. They disappeared for a suspicious amount of time, so really I can’t be blamed if they turned out awful.”

Your friend chuckled and raised his cupcake to yours, clinking them together in a mock cheer. “Bottoms up, then.”

The second you bit into the cupcake, your face soured. Azriel wore a similar expression, grimacing at the taste.

“It’s interesting.”

“It tastes like shit, Az.”

Azriel snorted, patting you on the head. “It’s alright. You tried your best, bug.”

You flicked his hand away with a glare. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“But it’s so fitting. You’re cute and small like a lady bug.” You rolled your eyes in response. “Would you prefer something else? Bee? Hornet? Wasp?” Azriel was barely containing his laughter at your obvious annoyance.

“You’re a pain in the ass, Azriel.”

“Yeah but who else would eat your poison cupcakes and stargaze with you in the middle of the night?”

That earned him a small smile. Azriel winked and sprawled out on the blanket, his wings spreading across the comically small fabric. You sat cross legged, watching as your best friend gazed up at the stars. There was something magical about it. The way the silver beams of moonlight kissed his golden brown skin, the wind tousling his dark locks, the serene smile that spread across his lips. In his cozy striped sweater and sweats, Azriel was the perfect picture of peace. Even his shadows stilled, dripping like honey across his shoulders.

The sight tugged at your heart. It was perfect. Azriel was perfect and you needed him to see himself exactly how you saw him now.

You pulled out your sketchbook and coloured pencils at once, scribbling furiously. “Don’t move,” you said, trying your best to capture the moment.

The shadowsinger obliged, but instead of watching the stars, he turned his attention over to you. The colors blended with your magic as the image before you came to life. You mixed the greens and browns and golds, but somehow they seemed lackluster compared to the glazed honey gaze staring back at you.

Azriel watched as your magic sparked against the page. He knew how intense you could get when it came to your art, but he’d never seen you like this. After a few more minutes, you leaned back and scrutinized every inch of your canvas. You flicked your wrist and a small spark of scarlet magic spread through the page. Finally, you smiled in satisfaction.

“It’s perfect,” you murmured.

“Let's see this masterpiece of yours, then.”

You shook your head. "Not a chance," you said, clutching the drawing to your chest. "At least, not yet."

"So you're saying that there's a slight chance that you'll show it to me someday?" Azriel asked, brimming with curiosity.

In the years he’d known you, the shadowsinger had only seen a handful of your art. Usually he wouldn’t push, but there was something about the way your eyes twinkled with emotion that made him want to prod.

“Eventually,” you replied with a soft smile. “When the time is right.”

Azriel didn’t get the chance to ask what that meant before you stashed the drawing away and shuffled beside him. You laid down across his stomach, grinning as you playfully flicked his nose.

“You’re supposed to be watching the stars, not me.”

“I can enjoy more than one beautiful view at a time.”

You flushed, inclining your head towards the skies so Azriel wouldn’t be able to see the effect of his words. For a while now, the two of you had been teetering that precarious line between just friends and something more. The chemistry between you was visible to everyone. Ever since Kallias had sent you to be his emissary, you and Azriel had grown closer and closer, to the point where your presence in the Night Court had turned into a permanent position.

The shadowsinger had gained your trust with his quiet wit and sharp sarcasm. Little by little, he chipped away at your icy demeanor. In due time, you were both attached at the hip. Besides Kallias and Viviane, he was the only one you'd opened up to about your time under the mountain. Cursed by Amarantha, you were trapped in that wretched place with your cousin, unable to stop the wicked female from wreaking havoc upon the Winter Court. Despite your tremendous power, you were helpless. You lost so many of your loved ones during that time and the guilt had been a heavy burden to bear even after Feyre's sacrifice that led to your freedom.

Azriel showed you that you didn't have to do it alone. Together, you learned how to heal from the ghosts of your past. You found refuge in the dark.

You found a friend.

Whatever it was between you and Azriel, it was something monumental. It wasn’t a fleeting crush or a silly notion of romance, but a magnetic force that had been drawing you together even before you met.

It felt scary. Like jumping off a cliff and into the raging sea. Though you weren’t the type to balk from a challenge, even you had to admit that it was terrifying. But you knew that you had to take that leap of faith sometime.

You gazed up at the shadowsinger and found him watching you. The smile that spread across your face was instinctive. “Thanks for coming out here with me, Az.”

“Anytime,” he murmured softly. Azriel weaved his fingers through your hair, curling strands around his knuckles. “I like watching the stars with you. It’s kind of nostalgic, really.”

“How so?”

Golden eyes flickered down to you as his voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “When I was younger…when all I knew was darkness, I always dreamt of the stars.”

Your heart ached for a young Azriel, trapped in the dungeons by his cruel father. The experience alone should’ve made him a hardened and bitter male, but your friend was anything but. Despite everything Azriel had endured, there was this resiliency to him that always amazed you. He had such a unique capacity for light and love.

You intertwined your fingers in his, squeezing gently. He smiled faintly before continuing. “My shadows used to describe the constellations to me. The positioning of the stars, how the night sky looked.” As though they heard his confessions, shadows swarmed around the both of you. “They still do, sometimes.”

A shadow curled like smoke towards a bright star in the sky. "That one is my favorite."

You looked up to where Azriel was pointing and felt your chest tighten. Your voice was shaky as you took a breath. “There’s a legend in the Winter Court about that star. There was once a young goddess named Polaris who roamed Prythian, fated to be lost and alone until a light in the north guided her to the castle of a Fae Prince. He took her in and they fell deeply in love. Polaris married the young prince and together they ruled over our lands until the Daglan came. The prince died fighting against them. Polaris was so heartbroken that she asked the Mother to transform her into a star so she could always watch over the land where her beloved was buried.”

Azriel listened with rapt attention as you gazed up at the horizon, to a single star shining above all the others. The same one he had pointed at. “Today, we call her the North Star. It’s said that her light is meant to guide you to your other half, just as that star in the sky once led her to her prince.”

The shadowsinger went still underneath you. As you looked up, you found him staring up at Polaris with a burning gaze. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as his eyes met yours.

Azriel swallowed thickly as his scarred fingers traced the outline of your jaw. Then softly, so low that you had to strain to hear him, he said the words that cracked your heart open. “I think you’re my Polaris.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but before they could fall, before the opportunity escaped you, you conjured the drawing from earlier into Azriel’s hands. The shadowsinger looked down at the moving image of him sprawled out across the grassy knoll, his wings flared out beneath him like some dark prince, a soft smile fixed on his lips as he gazed up at the star shining brightly above him.

The North Star.

That’s what Azriel was—your north star. The beacon that led you straight home. The hope that you had held onto even in the darkest of times. Under the Mountain, you hadn't let yourself dream. You didn't think you'd ever get this chance, but somewhere deep down, you kept the story of Polaris and her Prince tucked away in your heart.

And it had led you here.

Underneath the light of the north star, in the city you now called home, in the arms of the male that had helped you restore and rebuild yourself after all that you lost.

All that was left was to take that leap of faith.

“You’re my north star, Azriel.” You said with a smile, silver lining your eyes. “You led me home.”

One of his shadows darted towards you, catching your tears as Azriel pulled you against him. He cradled your cheek in his hand, fingers trembling as he looked at you. Really looked at you, like he saw all of who you were and adored every part, even the jagged edges.

“Falling in love with my best friend,” he said with a slight smile. “That’s pretty cliche of us, isn’t it?”

Your laughter spilled into the quiet night, happy tears coating your cheeks. “Don’t ruin the moment, Az.”

The endearing grin on his face etched itself into the depths of your soul. “I wouldn’t dream of it, bug.”

As the north star twinkled above the City of Starlight, Azriel leaned in and kissed you for the first time.

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

#I JUST LOVE HURTING MYSELF WTF #but god yeah #azriel #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel x you #azriel/reader

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flyingseacow · 2 years ago

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Hey @xxtc-96xx ?

I found myself pondering the existence of Stripe, and the mental stage Scarfy would have to reach and uh.

I wrote you a fic? Hope you like it?

Stripes

It had been nice.

Mewtwo lazily floated along the edge of the forest, casually noting how the jungle was lining the steppe, lines of trees breaking into the yellow grass like green stripes.

It was rare that they all came together, sure they often ran into each other, or sought out company when they felt it. But a full meeting with all of Mew’s descendants together was quite uncommon now a days.

Their number had grown so much, now able to fill a hidden glade with color and movement.

The twins were getting so big, it wouldn’t be long before they would set out on their own. He would likely get more visits from his sister as the “nest” became empty. Or perhaps she would seek out Pigment, Stain was still enough of a youngster that he might soothe the heart of a successful mother. Perhaps he could join the three for a time as well. It wasn’t because he felt lonely himself, not at all. But after the brief meeting he had to admit it had been nice to be around his kind, regardless, or perhaps exactly because of the chaos the young ones induced.

Huh, what an odd thought.

A flash of red caught his attention. Cheri berries sparkled between green leaves.

Mewtwo gently descended.

Ah yes, sweet Cheri, Huey was rightfully proud of the rascal, even if the youngsters colorization did feel like a cosmic joke.

Mewtwo felt himself chuckle slightly at the age-old joke, using his scarf as a temporarily bag as he plucked several ripe berries, gently striped in color from the different levels of sunlight received. He was long past the days were Mew, well intended if rather disturbingly, had constantly nagged him about eating enough. Sure he still had lapses, eating was easily forgotten when focused on a new project or thought experiment, but the last time was at least…huh, half a decade ago?

How peculiar, he thought. Though, loath as he was to admit it, Mew had been right all those years ago (as well as his sister, not that he would ever admit it to her face) He really did feel much stronger, more centered and even troublesome memories was less harsh.

He snorted slightly to himself and set of, making sure the new weight was secure against his chest. For a moment memory, pleasant ones, assaulted him. The weight of a small squirming body settling against him, a separate heartbeat slowly syncing with his own.

Mewtwo found himself closing his eyes, some of the memories was fairly recent. Stain was such a fuzzy child, but even he could not deny the security of the warm and snug fabric. Of course, he was too big for it now, and Mewtwo found himself strangely missing the sensation.

How silly.

Right now he really should be more focused on finding a new place to enjoy his lunch, and he carefully scanned the treetops as he veered away form the steppe and directly into the jungle.

There.

A slight gab between the canopy, revealing a grass covered glade.

He landed, and found a nice grassy knoll as a temporary seat. The berries were slightly warm from the sun and his own heat, their juices prickling pleasantly against his tongue.

The glade had a beautiful bloom of flowers, all stretching out for the sunlight available, the tops of the trees filtering the light in flickering stripes of light, and Mewtwo was quite pleased with his choice of resting spot. So many colors, so many shapes and scents. Even after centuries the world still presented him with new beauty and color.

One particular bloom was quite spectacular, its diameter larger than his fist, the tips of the petals a rich purple, fading in small stripes to a more gentle lavender towards the middle where soft yellow stamens rose, their pollen delicately clinging to the stalks.

He found himself contemplating it, internally marking the spot on his inner map. Huey would be glad to be show it. Even as a small kit he had been so delighted with the colors of the world. So silly, such a tremendous change in his life, the very idea of their kind actually being able to reproduce, as well as so many other revelations.

Mewtwo rested his chin in his paw, still watching the flower. It was strange, how he could now look back to those chaotic, painful and wonderful days with only an occasional sting of emotional pain.

He had regrets, sure, but also so many pleasant memories. The children in particular, so baffling, so infuriating, so wonderful.

He closed his eyes, gently allowing himself to study a thought he has been carefully cultivating, so cautious, so wary as it was one of the few that still brought pain.

Pigment had changed his life, in so many ways. And it could have gone so wrong, he had initially made such mistakes. And only now, years and years later, did he truly allow himself to wonder. How would it have been, if he had accepted her as a daughter from the very beginning?

He knew it never would have happened, quite honestly he had been such a volatile pokemon back then that it was a wonder Pigment had turned out as well as she had. It was merely a thought experiment, and not one he turned to very often.

Perhaps he really would seek her out for the time. Why not? Loath as he was to admit it, right now he did feel a need for company.

Carefully he rose, taking a moment to gently savour the scent of the purple flower, its fine floral tones rising in the air along with small yellow specs of pollen.

As he ascended above the trees he carefully cast out his mental senses, trying to pinpoint Pig’s distinct psychic presence. Finding a direction, he set of with a casual speed. Even if had only been a few days it would be quite nice to be around her again.

Mewtwo had only flown a few hours when he noticed a strange tingling feeling in his lover abdomen.

Darn it, he really hoped those cheri had not been bad, or that it heralded something worse than that.

#xxtc-96xx #fanfic #of a fancomic #Pokemon #Mewtwo #the timeline between the kids are pure guesswork #I most likely got it wrong #behold my clumsy attempts at stuffing as many references to striped patterns into this #Oh well #its just a fun little experiment

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smallraindrops-blog · 5 months ago

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Footsteps on Time’s sands.

(A Sleep Family Tale)

Word count:5.4k

Summary: The trials of fatherhood are certainly not for the weak.

Warnings: no beta, swearing, some hurt/comfort.

Notes: Ahh, thank everyone for your patience. I hope y'all enjoy this.

Extra: The sleep children are all the mental age of eight, Morpheus is around seven, the twin five and Phobetor about fourish.

Dark waves rushed toward you, but you ignored the call of the sea as you double checked that you had all the coins you needed.

You casted a wary glare at the nosy seagulls, some of those damn birds were worse than magpies. Opening the satchel, you counted once then one more time.

Satisfied you had enough for everything, you hurried up the cliff toward the agora. Typically it would take half an hour but you had found this shortcut along the beach years ago, filled with rocks that you had to climb and try not to slip on tossed up kelp.

You winced when you almost did just that but caught yourself easily and continued onward.

When you reached the top, you peered over the top, fingers gripping tightly on the edge and you saw the pale stones of the agora, the sun just beginning to light the skies in rosy golds and lavenders.

You pushed yourself up and over the top with a grin, rolling down until you were able to stop enough to stand and brushed the dirt off your arms.

Then you ran down the grassy knolls, wild poppies swaying as you hurried past, your steps scaring off birds into the skies.

The market was nearly empty, with most people still in bed and the fishermen yet to arrive with today’s fresh catches.

Something you were thankful for, you hated large crowds and you didn’t have your parents to create a path for you to trail behind.

There were a few merchants who shot you a curious glance only to dismiss you when they saw how young you were. Which was fine by you. They weren’t the reasons you were here.

Near the center, there was a certain booth, nearly overflowing with scrolls and random odds bits and ends. Last time the old man had a shiny rock from the Black Sea that he claimed would cure anything. And he would not sell it for anything.

You were polite enough not to point out the blue flakes of paint peeling off the rock. Although the pointed glance Pa gave you also made you hold your tongue.

When you arrived, you saw the scrolls, the now mostly gray rock but the old man wasn’t there. You were still smaller than most, so you had to stand on your toes to look over the booth.

”Hey, is anyone there?” You called out.

“Over here, you draft lad.” A voice wheezed and you twisted around, spying the old man sitting near the top of the steps. You ignored the insult, jogging over to him.

“Why are you over here?” You joined him, staying out of reach of his cane. His gray eyes swung to you, his bald head shiny in the morning light, wrinkles softened his harsh scowl.

Tityros the merchant scoffed at you, shifting as he placed one leg out with a pained grunt. “Because I am old, why else?”

You shrugged, rubbing at your chin. You didn’t know what age had to do with Tityros being on the steps.

“Where is your Pa, lad?” Tityros asked, peering over you with a worried frown.

”I came alone.” You informed him. “I am buying him a gift for Cronia.”

You gestured past the stairs to where hung flowers and colorful fabric danced in the breeze. Officially the festival to celebrate Fathers and the gods started today but it will be in the afternoon when the party really began.

”Do you remember last week when Pa and I came by? There was a scroll he kept looking at, something about herbs?” You spoke in a rush, already getting a touch impatient.

You had hoped to be back before the sun rose over the buildings. And before your parents had a chance to build their anger at you for sneaking out. Hopefully the gifts would make them forget about you breaking the rules.

”Aye, I do. But I can’t help you right now.” Tityros grumbled.

You scowled at him. “What? Why not?”

Tityros chuckled bitterly, and pointed at the bottom of the steps. There was a cart with a mule attached, its tail knocking away flies. Inside were crates, some with scrolls and more shiny rocks.

Maybe you should have told Tityros he was being scammed. You doubted rocks could heal people, or otherwise Pa would use them.

“Those are my new wares and I need to bring them up. My worthless son-in-law was supposed to be here to help me but he never showed up.” Tityros said, waving at you to leave. “So unless you are strong enough to carry everything up for me, come later.”

Scowling, you glanced at the cart. Father had been making you carry huge feed bags for training lately and you were willing to bet that the boxes didn’t weigh much more. so you rushed down the stairs, ignoring the astonished glance Tityros gave you.

The shock on the man’s face only grew as he watched you went back and forward, carrying each crate without much effort. You knew you were still smaller than most, skinnier too but you were a little insulted by the surprise on his face.

When you were done, you paused by him and turned to him with a frown. “Do you need the mule too?”

“My gods. No, lad.” Tityros stood, his cane in front of him like he might wack you if you got too close. “Don’t you try to carry me either.”

“The scroll?” You asked hopefully. The old man sighed and hobbled over to his booth. You pulled out your pouch from the satchel, debating if you wanted to haggle or not when he waved at you.

”Put that away.” He ordered. “You already did enough.”

You hesitated, then nodded.

Tityros muttered, tapping his chin as he went through his goods. You tried not to look impatient. You suspected you didn’t succeed.

”Ah. Here ya go.” He handed it over and you glanced over the scroll, biting back a smile when you saw it was the right one.

“Lad.” Tityros waited for your attention. “You wouldn’t happen to be in the market for a wife, are you? I have a young unmarried daughter.”

Your face twisted in disgust.

You had seen plenty of gross lovey dovey stuff at home with your parents. And you knew enough that happy wives -or companions, your parents had told you repeatedly during that horrible talk of bees and birds- would want the lovey dovey stuff, like- urg- kisses. And hugs.

“I’m eight.” You informed him dryly. That made him laugh, his breathing turned wheezy.

”Bah, you were more useful in the last ten minutes than my son-in-law had been in the last ten years. Go on now. Git.” Tityros said, still chuckling.

With Pa’s gifts in your hands, you went to buy your Father a gift. There was a lady who made candied figs, and you tolerated her fussing as she placed several fat ones in a bag that you brought with you.

“Such a sweet little lamb, you are. Most sons don’t buy their fathers anything.” Iris said, sending a pointed glance to her son who was only a few years older. The young man ignored his mother, still counting the coins. Although you saw a smirk when his mom said ‘little’

”Father is easy to buy for.” You said politely, mouth twisting at the smug glare her son gave you.

You didn’t play with the other boys, most who already loomed over you. You didn’t like how they crowded and they were always too loud. That and you knew they disliked you on sight for some reason.

She smile at that and added two more extra figs with a wink. You grinned at her as thanks.

”You are going to leave a trail of broken hearts behind you.” She told you as she gave the bag over. Her son scoffed but you ignored it.

“Thank you.” You told her before taking off.

You glanced toward the skies, wincing a little when you saw it was mostly blue. Which meant that your parents were definitely awake and probably wondering where you were.

Maybe the figs would be enough to sway your father but Pa would likely make you do extra math homework as punishment. And if they were really upset you knew extra laps with the feed bags were in your future.

You grumbled as you began the journey home with your prizes, weaving around the quickly growing crowd. You saw a few of the son’s friends trailing after you, hoping for an new victim but it was easy to lose them among the crowd.

The rolling green hills seemed to reach up into the blue skies, fat white clouds drifted, casting shadows onto the land.

Pausing, you considered the bright red poppies. Maybe flowers would be a good idea. You knelt in the dirt, carefully grabbing a handful, careful to not be greedy with the plant.

Besides Pa could use it, it was medicine after all.

You considered the short cut but with the flowers and gifts, you knew you risked dropping the hard won prizes. So you picked up speed, racing along the beaten path, with a fistful of poppies and the satchel swung over your shoulders.

It was when you were halfway to the house that you heard your name in a booming roar. You silded to a stop, dust kicking up around you.

Then you saw your father farther down, looking like a blue dot with how far he was, his golden hair was like a crown in the sunlight. Your father yelled your name once more, moving quickly.

Father was running. Toward you.

And he looked furious.

You yelped and acted purely on instinct, you turned around and began to run as fast your little legs could carry you.

”LAD! TURN AROUND NOW!” Achilles roared like a lion but you didn’t obey. He said something else but Pa had told you that you weren’t allowed to repeat that word until you were an adult.

You knew you should stop running but your legs kept moving.

Then hands grabbed you around the waist and you screamed as you were lifted up in the air. You winced when you turned around and saw the harsh glare your father gave.

”Lad.” Achilles said through gritted teeth. “Where in the Hades have you been?”

You opened your mouth to speak but Father kept talking.

”Do you know how scared your pa and I were when we woke up and you were gone? Have you lost your mind, lad? I swear you are the reason I am going mad in my old age-“

“I’m sorry.” You muttered. “I wanted to be back before you woke up.”

That only seemed to upset Father even more, his eyes nearly going cross in his rage. “Before we woke up? Have you been doing this regularly?”

”I have a good reason!” You protested.

“Save it.” Achilles said, tucking you under his arm like you were a basket. “I don’t want to hear a single word out of you until we get home, understand?”

You huffed, sulking as you crossed your arms.

“Lad, do you understand?” Achilles repeated, his mouth thinned in a disapproving line.

”You told me not to speak!” You snapped back, glaring up at him.

“That is not-“ Achilles stopped himself, took a sharp inhale through his nose as he closed his eyes. He let out a breath then began the walk home, moving far more quickly.

When Pa saw you both, he rushed over with pure relief on his face. Guilt was a heavy stone in your chest.

”Put him down, Achilles.” Pa ordered and Father obeyed, crossing his arms over his chest once he did so, staring you down. you didn't want to meet either one of their gaze so you stared at your feet.

Pa knelt in front of you, cupping your face between his warm palms, gentle as he made you look up at him. His skin was still a little gray from the stress and the stone became a boulder.

“Lad, where do you go?” Pa asked gently, his dark eyes scanning you for injuries.

“To the markets.” You told him and Pa frowned.

“Why?” Father asked, as he joined you. He looked a little calmer at least.

“Father’s Day.” You said. That seemed to surprise them, sharing a glance.

You shoved the poppies right into their faces until Pa took them, then you reached into the satchel and pulled out the bag of candied figs and the scroll, giving them over to their respective owners.

“These are gifts so I couldn’t tell you about them.” You explained, rocking on your heels.

“Oh lad.” Pa placed the gifts down and pulled you in a tight hug, his beard rubbing against your forehead as he gave you a kiss. Gross. But it was okay just this once you supposed.

“This was very thoughtful of you but you shouldn’t leave without a single word to anyone. Next time, tell us okay?” Pa sighed. “My heart can’t take this.”

”Okay.” you agreed and Achilles ran a hand over his face before he placed a hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

“Thank you, I love these.” Then he sighed. “But you know the rules. I still have to punish you, do you understand why?”

”Because I broke the rules.”

”Because what you did was dangerous.” Achilles corrected gently. “What if something happened? We wouldn’t be able to find you.”

You considered his words then nodded. “M’ sorry.”

”It will be tomorrow however. I need to share all these sweets with someone, my lad.” Achilles ruffled your hair, grinning when you smacked his hand away. “Beside next time, the gift will be letting us sleep in.”

He shared a wry glance with Patroclus. “Happy Father’s Day, my beloved.”

Patroclus laughed, his dark eyes gleaming. “Happy Father’s Day to you too.”

(In the distance future)

Under the dark canopy of faint stars, it was as if the world itself was serene, content with peace and quiet. All there was Hypnos’ soft curls under your chin, his warmth pressed on top of you, legs tangled together.

You sighed, bushing a kiss on his curls, tightening your arms around him as you settled back into the pillows, fully intending to fall back to sleep.

Then a noise. Followed by more.

It wasn’t a loud one but the rush of tiny feet against the stone told you enough. It was likely Phobetor. The older children had taken up floating everywhere. Something that bothered little Photbetor to bits since he was still too young.

You sighed, keeping your eyes closed in hopes that you imagined it.

Hypnos muttered something, his brow furrowed as he rubbed his cheek against your chest. Then his eyes opened and he peered up at you with a frown. His beautiful eyes were hazy, dark with dreams. His long curls spilled over his shoulders like moonlight.

”One of the kids is awake.” You informed him in a whisper, brushing your knuckle against his cheek.

“Your kid is awake, you mean?” Hypnos grumbled, laying back down with a sigh. You pressed a kiss against his curls, rubbing his back.

Then you heard the door crack open. “Father? Dad? Are you awake?”

“No, starlight. We aren’t.” Hypnos called out, rolling off you with a sigh. You immediately missed his body and copied his heavy sigh.

Phobetor rushed over, climbing up the high bed with ease. He was still so small. You kept your eyes closed as your youngest climbed over you and Hypnos. His little feet and sharp elbows digging into you.

Then Phobetor lifted one of your eyelids with tiny fingers, peering into your eye with a frown. gods, he really did look like you, save for his golden irises. It was a little disconcerting.

“Wake up Father. You need to be up to celebrate Father’s Day.” Your son informed you, his twisted mouth spoke of how unimpressed he was.

Hypnos sat up with a wide yawn, and smiled when Phobetor immediately cuddled up to him, wrapping their youngest in a tight hug.

You admired the sight of them, the warmth in your chest impossible soft and tender. There was something about Hypnos holding their children that made you softer than a cloud.

Then Hypnos brushed a stray lock out of Phobetor’s eyes and asked. “Are the rest of your siblings playing?”

Phobetor huffed and crossed his arms. “They left.”

That woke you up.

“What?” You said as you got up, ignoring Hypnos’ worried glance as you leaned closer to Phobetor. “What do you mean, they left?”

“I wanted to go with them, they were going to Uncle Charon’s shop but they told me to stay here.” Phobetor grumbled. “They said I was a baby.”

You inhaled sharply, anger growing deep in your belly as you rolled out the bed to find your clothes. Hypnos got up as well, placing Phobetor down on the bed.

”We can go there first-“ Hypnos said quickly, his eyes wide and fearful but you shook your head.

”Stay here in case they come back. We can’t both leave.” You ordered sharply, causing Hypnos to wince. You didn't mean to snap but you always knew where the children were, like you did your own limbs and the idea that they were just gone was unfathomable.

Fear was a living, breathing thing, claws digging deep into your heart. There were constant battles happening and many warriors didn't care that Hypnos’ children, your children, were far too young to fight even with all the training you gave them.

Or what if something worse happens...

Gods, you would drown every soul in the underworld in the river lethe if someone laid a single finger on any of them.

“Ooh, are they in trouble?” Phobetor asked gleefully. Hypnos shushed him as he picked Photetor back up.

“Stay here, love.” You gentled your tone as you grabbed the spear. You went around the bed to him. You grabbed his chin and gave him a swift kiss. An apology, a goodbye and reassurance all in one.

”I will summon you if they return before you do.” Hypnos told you quietly, trying to keep a brave face for Phobetor.

When you rushed out of the home, you were thankful to see that it seemed to be a quiet day in Elysium. If there were any battles happening, it wasn’t near the home.

That didn’t slow your desperate pace however as you traveled the path to Charon’s shop. Hopefully the boatman would realize that the children shouldn’t be on their own and will keep them there when you show up.

The market was busy as always, with far too many fucking shades around. You pushed through the crowd, not giving a damn about the dirty glances you earned. They could all go to Tartarus as far as you were concerned.

When you saw the shop, with Charon looming over the shades like always but no children, you growled in frustration.

“Lord Charon!” You called out, getting his attention. His glowing eyes rested on you as you approached him.

”Have you seen the kids? Morpheus and the twins left the house.” You said. Your heart dropped when he shook his head. “Can you inform Hypnos if you do see them?”

The god nodded, crossing a finger over his heart. You nodded your thanks, trying to think where to start the search.

“Lad!” Your father’s voice boomed over the crowd and you whirled around. Charon did the same and you heard his groan of relief.

Achilles waved at you from a food shall, grinning widely. Right next to him was Icelos and her eyes grew wide and flashed you her most charming smile. The one that told you she knew exactly how much trouble she was in.

Pa was talking to the cook, Phantasos tucked safely in his arms as Morpheus floated over everyone’s head, chatting.

You rushed over, not bothering to hide your stormy expression. Both boys winced when they saw you coming. Morpheus floated down slowly as you came over, guilt clear in his expression.

And Phantasos gave Pa a hopeful glance but at his head shake, Phantasos joined his siblings.

”Children.” You thundered. “What in the blood and darkness were you thinking?”

Morpheus opened his mouth but you cut him off. ”I don't want to hear it. Do you realize how much trouble are all three in? You broke the rules that your dad and I had very clearly set! You are to never leave the house without one of us.”

”but-“ Icelos tried to say, getting that head-headed expression that Hypnos claimed that she learned from you.

”No buts.” You cut her off. “I don’t want to hear any excuses. You are lucky your grandparents found you and not some stranger.”

They winced, not looking at you and you forced yourself to stop, to cool your anger and you rubbed your forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

Normally you had a grip on your anger, never wanting your children scared of you. But they had never disobeyed like this before.

You knelt down, getting to their eye level. A mix of gold and purple irises stared back at you, all round and heavy like Hypnos. Like that the anger left your body, but you kept your expression stern. “My stars, why did you leave the house without me or your dad?”

”Father’s day.” Morpheus said with a shrug, kicking at the ground. “We came here to buy you and dad a gift.”

“And gifts are supposed to be surprises.” The twins rushed to say, their voice mixing together.

A ghost of a memory, of rolling hills and candied figs danced in your memory. Old man Tityros and that sweet, overworked mother Iris. Their faces swimmed before your eyes.

”Gee, that doesn’t sound familiar at all.” Achilles murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. Patroclus nudged him to be quiet but you saw the same smile played on his face as well.

You scowled at them. Then glanced at your children.

“We will continue this conversation at home.” You warned them as you stood, then you gave your parents a glance. “Thank you for keeping an eye on them.”

Pa chuckled, placing a hand on Phan’s head, ruffling his hair. “It is a gift to see my grandchildren. Especially when it is a surprise.”

You scowled at them.

“I hope our fishing trip is still on?” Achilles added a moment later and you sighed.

“Of course it is. But I need to take them home first. They owe their dad an apology for scaring him. And me.”

Your parents murmured their agreement, handing over a basket worth of kebab. You took it, not able to think of a reason to not accept. The children were quiet, sullen as you and them headed back.

And you kept running the conversation through your head, picking apart everything you said. Hypnos was the one who was good with the kids, not you. He always seemed to know what to do.

Then you thought the icy grip of pure fear in your stomach, of the way Hypnos looked, like his heart stopped.

Gods, what if your parents haven’t found them? Or you never did? They would just be gone and it would destroy Hypnos. It would destroy you.

When you arrived back at the house, Hypnos had pulled each of the children in his arms, checking over them before hugging them tightly.

“I can’t believe you.” Hypnos said, his voice trembling as he collapsed in a chaise, his back against you for support. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Do you know how scared we were?”

“We’re sorry.” The twins said at the same time, grabbing each other’s hand for comfort.

Phan nodded. “Really, we just wanted to surprise you.”

”Well, you certainly did that, my little stars.” Hypnos grumbled but his smile was already returning, his breathing a little easier.

Morpheus crossed his arms, staying quiet. You gave him a silent, pointed look.

Hypnos turned his smile to Morpheus. “Next time, just tell one of us. We would have arranged something.”

”I was keeping an eye on them.” Morpheus scoffed, waving off Hypnos’ concerns.“I had everything handled. Besides, nothing happened. ”

His disrespectful tone toward Hypnos made you narrow your eyes. Your voice wasn’t kind when you spoke, the jagged anger returning. “Morpheus, you are to never use that kind of tone with your dad. Do you understand me?”

Morpheus flinched but he seemed determined to dig the hole deeper. “But I did, father!”

“And if someone tried to battle you, or tried to steal one of you away, then what? We didn’t know where you were. Everything can change in an instant, lad.” You said darkly. “You’re the firstborn, I expect you to act like it.”

Hypnos touched your hand but you didn’t look at him, keep your hard stare on the children. Morpheus gave a jerky nod, his eyes lowered to the ground.

“Your dad and I will be deciding your punishment. Until then, go to your rooms.” You informed them after a moment, giving all three of them an unimpressed glance. They murmured their agreement as they began to leave, then Icelos paused.

“But are we still going to see our grandparents?” Icelos asked, worried clear in her eyes.

“Of course, you are.” You responded, suddenly exhausted. Gods, how did your parents handle this? You felt like you were always making a mistake. “But that will be later.”

Once they were safely tucked away in their rooms, you let your shoulders slumped. Hypnos tugged your hand, encouraging you to join him on the chaise. You obeyed, pulling him into an embrace.

You and him sat in the stillness for a long time.

“I don’t know if we handled that right at all.” You confessed quietly, your mouth against Hypnos’ curls.

Hypnos sighed, pressing in closer. “I don’t know if we did either.”

“I owe my parents an apology.” You muttered after a few seconds passed and that got Hypnos to laugh a little.

“At least they only had one of you, not four to deal with.” Hypnos teased.

“I was enough, believe me.” You informed him, kissing his forehead.

As if it never happened, the twins were laughing, squealing as Achilles chased after them, the fishing poles left behind. He caught them easily, laughing as he plopped down with them.

”Forget the fishes, I’m going to have little godlings for supper!” Achilles growled, acting as if he was going to bite them. The twins squealed loudly, giggling and kicking.

Patroclus and Hypnos were calmer, sitting by the river and chatting about the new goings ons in the House, little Phobetor napping away in his Grandpa’s arms.

You would have been able to enjoy the moment - and a part of you did- but your eyes kept going back to Morpheus. Your oldest son had his back turned to everyone, still quiet and sullen. His small hands plucked more grass out, leaving an ever growing bald spot in the dirt.

Patroclus also gave Morpheus a glance. He had already been told what happened afterwards. “He is going to pull out every blade of grass at this rate.”

“Should one of us go speak to him?” Hypnos whispered, his eyes on you. You considered his question. You had thought giving him space, some breathing room would be best but now you were doubting that.

“I think it should be me.” You replied. “But what should I say?”

Hypnos bit on a thumbnail as he thought it over.

”May I offer something?” Achilles spoke up as he joined the group, bringing your eyes toward him. The twins were back at the poles, checking to see if they caught anything yet.

“Yes. Please.” Hypnos muttered and you nodded along. “Today was something else.”

“Just sit with him.” Achilles smiled, the look in his eyes a little hazy as if lost in a memory. “Sometimes just having company is enough.”

”And when he speaks, listen well.” Patroclus added quietly, smiling down at little Phobetor dozing in his arms.

Mustering up the courage - and patience- you went to your son.

He glanced up in surprise when you joined him but quickly turned his head away, his pale curls hiding his expression.

Morpheus began to aggressively pull out more grass, this time by the fistful. Oddly enough, you felt a moment of dry amusement. It was such a small, petty thing. Something Hypnos would do.

You and him sat together, not speaking as the twins began to chase after Achilles with a stick. Their grandfather was a good sport, making sure to be slow enough for them to chase.

The noises must have finally woken Phobetor and you bit back a smile as you heard him join the chase, demanding for them to wait for him.

Morpheus turned his head toward them, a flash of longing on his face. It made your heart ache.

”You should join them.” You told him gently. Morpheus only shrugged, glancing away and giving up on the grass as he folded his arms over his knees. He very carefully didn’t look at you.

He looked so much like Hypnos that it tugged at you, it was a bittersweet heartbreak to see the love of your life reflected back in another’s face.

“I didn’t mean to.” Morpheus said finally. “I really thought that I was doing a good job.”

”Ah.” You said, considering his words.

”And- I know not to do it next time, I just…” Morpheus paused, clearly struggling with what to say. You just nodded, waiting for your son to speak. You wanted to reach out and hold him.

In a silent offer, you held out an arm, letting Morpheus decide. He didn’t hesitate, moving over to curl against you, his face tucked against your side. You held him tightly, squeezing when you heard sniffles.

”I’m sorry.” Morpheus sobbed a little, rubbing his face against you. “I really didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“Oh, lad.” You muttered, letting him cry for a few moments before you reached over to tip his face up. His face was flushed, golden eyes shiny with unshed tears. You wiped away the ones on his face.

“You know the reason we got scared is because of how much we love you, right? We don’t want anything bad to happen to you or your siblings.” You told him, cupping his cheek to keep his eyes on you.

”I know. ‘M sorry.” He said again.

Unable to bear it, you hugged him with both arms. Morpheus returned it, his little arms tight around your waist.

“I accept your apology although you still need to give your dad one as well.”

”I will. I promise.” Morpheus said, giving you a devastating, wobbly smile. Gods help you, he looked so much like Hypnos.

“You know, I did the exact same thing once.” You confessed to him with a grin. His eyes went wide.

Before he could ask, Icelos let out a war cry. You and Morpheus turned at the sounds of frustration and you chuckled when you saw why.

Achilles was evading the children easily, parrying with his own stick. He was tossing little out little insults, getting them more riled up.

You looked down at Morpheus, smiling. “Looks like they could use some help.”

Morpheus hesitated, his little wings folded tightly against his curls. “Aren’t I still in trouble?”

”You are still going to have to do your punishment. But that is later. Right now, your grandfather is winning and you know he won’t ever let any of you forget it.”

That seemed to do it, Morpheus’ expression turned determined as he stood. He paused, giving you one last quick hug. “Tell me later?”

”I will.” You promised, returning the hug.

He rushed over with his own war cry, tackling Achilles who saw him coming but acted surprised anyway, going down with a dramatic yell.

You scoffed and returned to Hypnos, who beamed up at you. You took his hand into your, fingers locking together.

”Patroclus, my beloved! Help!” Achilles cried, laughing as the children continued to show him no mercy.

Pa huffed as he stood, taking his sweet time as he went over. “Careful, little ones. You know your grandfather is a delicate flower.”

Hypnos squeezed your hand, and you leaned down to give him a chase kiss. He smiled against your lips.

“Happy Father’s Day.” Hypnos whispered. ”I love you.”

”You too.” You told him. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Literally. Considering how they were born.” Hypnos teased, getting an amused eyeroll out of you.

Hypnos rested his head on your shoulder, his expression serene with his close eyes. The way your parents were laughing, as they played with their grandchildren like they still couldn’t believe they existed.

The bright, happy expression of all four of your children were forever encased in your mind’s eye. Your heart was so full, overflowing with gratitude.

You kissed the top of Hypnos’ head and whispered so quietly only you and him knew what said.

Thank you.

#sleep family #wake me from this dreaming

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francaistoutsimplement · 5 months ago

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NE PAS LES OUBLIER!

Enzo Parissot , 15 ans, poignardé à mort pour '' un regard ''

- Thomas, 23 ans, massacré de 8 coups de couteau

- Thomas, 16 ans, poignardé à mort par des '' jeunes de cité '' venus '' tuer du blanc "

- Matisse, 15 ans, poignardé à mort par un afghan sous OQTF -

Arnaud Beltrame, gendarme assassiné en service

- Mireille Knoll , 85 ans

- Lola, 12 ans, massacrée gratuitement par Dhabia B

- Samuel Paty, prof décapité par l'islamiste Abdoullakh Anzorov

- Axelle Dorier, 22 ans, tuée et trainée sur 800 mètres sur la route p

- Cabu, assassiné avec 11 autres personnes

- Père Hamel, égorgé en pleine messe

- Marion, 14 ans, violée et massacrée de 68 coups de couteau

- Myriam Monsonégo, 8 ans, assassinée dans son école

- Léana, 2 ans, tuée avec 85 personnes sur la promenade des anglais à Nice

- Laura et Mauranne, 20 ans, égorgées et éventrées

- Olivier Quenault, tabassé à mort- Fabrice Moello et Arnaud Garcia , assassinés

- Jessica et Jean-Baptiste, égorgés devant leur fils de 3 ans

- Philippe Mongillot

- Dominique Bernard, prof d'histoire égorgé

- Sandra, violée et assassinée

- Joachim Tougeron , assassiné

- Nathalie Jardin, assassinée avec 130 personnes au Bataclan

- Alban Gervaise, 41 ans, égorgé devant ses enfants

- Philippe Mathot, 72 ans, battu à mort

- Adrien Perez, 26 ans, poignardé à mort- Thierry Nivon et Julien Vinson

- Michel Montrichard , 70 ans

- Sophie Gravaud, étranglée à mort

- Nadine Devilliers, Simone Barreto et Vincent Loquès, poignardés à mort

- Estelle Veneut , assassinée et jetée dans la Loire - Mélanie Lemée, 25 ans, gendarme assassinée sur un contrôle routier

- Aurélie Fouquet, 26 ans, policière tuée en service

- Pascal Verdenne, 61 ans, assassiné avec 4 autres personnes sur un marché de Noel

Le nom des meurtriers condamnés ou en cours sont connus.

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separatist-apologist · 1 year ago

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The Fire Won't Burn Me

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

for @elucienweekofficial

Summary: Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

Elain had never run so hard in her life. Tricked by the huntsman, lured out in the woods only to be spared at the last minute. Elain didn’t know if she should be grateful or furious. Fear overrode every other emotion as she tore blindly through the trees, terrified he’d change his mind and come after her.

The skies opened as Elain tried to figure out a path to follow that would get her far, far away from her stepmother. Maybe, she thought wildly, she’d follow Nesta. Go to the wall, vanish into the Illyrian Mountains. Assuming she managed to survive the night.

The rain was cold, mingling with her tears. The only benefit was the thunder and the wind drowned out her loud, uncontrollable sobbing. All Elain could imagine was her stepmother ordering the huntsman to kill her—and how stupid she’d been to trust him. He’d let her go, though.

Elain clung to that as she ran blindly, slipping through mud until her dress was torn at the hem. Her hair caught on branches that seemed like vicious, grabbing hands, ripping it from her head until she screamed.

In the end, Elain found a large enough knoll in a tree to climb inside, shielding her from the worst of the elements. Knees drawn to her chest, the best she could do was sob into the fabric of her gown. Sure, she and her stepmother had never been friends but to want her dead?

“Why?” she whispered, as if the trees might answer her. There was only silence and the rustling of animals that convinced her Lucien was coming back to finish what he’d started. She couldn’t sleep, even when the rain died down and dawn broke against the horizon.

Elain’s legs ached when she unfurled them, stumbling to her feet blindly. She had no idea where she was and the rain had washed away any semblance of a path. That was both a blessing and a curse. Lucien wouldn’t be able to track her down but she now had to keep moving and hope she didn’t die before she found safety.

“You can do this,” she whispered to herself. Pretty words that were functionally useless, and yet it convinced her to take that first step into this terrifying new life. She couldn’t go home—Lucien had promised to kill her if she did. How would he explain her death? What would Nesta think? Nesta.

Dread solidified like ice in her gut. Feyre was probably dead, then—and Nesta sent on some far flung mission where no one would be surprised if she died, too. All three daughters easily eliminated…though for what purpose, Elain couldn’t begin to guess. It wasn’t like her father would be giving another woman children, and as long as there was a whisper of hope that Nesta was alive, her throne would be safe.

Assuming that was even what was happening. Maybe Elain had done something to deserve this. Had shared some secret with Graysen she wasn’t supposed to, or otherwise undermined her fathers regime. For hours, Elain racked her brain for any hint of wrongdoing, certain she must be missing something.

She simply refused to believe Lucien’s assertion that it had been her looks that had caused this. That was crazy. And yet…and yet as Elain continued her miserable hike, she thought of Amarantha’s laughter every time Graysen spoke. How she’d felt like they were in a competition for his attention. Those nails on her shoulder when Elain had said beauty couldn’t run in their family because they weren’t related. Her beauty was a result of her parents—but that slight surely wasn’t enough to sign her death warrant.

What did Elain know? Not enough, she decided. She’d been too complacent for too long and now she was lost in the sprawling forest hoping she’d find a village or a person who wouldn’t recognize her. Someone who would whisk her away to safety.

Elain wanted to sleep. She wanted to eat something, wanted a bath and a warm bed. For hours, all Elain had was her stiff dress, ruined from the rain the night before and her aching feet. Convincing herself to just give up and go back—to run to her father and tell him everything and pray that was the thing that finally woke him up—Elain didn’t notice the cottage sitting silent and dark in front of her until she tripped over a loose stone.

It was clear no one lived here from the built up weeds and the window pushed ajar. Someone had broken in at least once and had the decency not to destroy anything. Elain tried the door handle and when that didn’t budge, hiked up her dress, and climbed through the window, too.

It was small. A kitchen, a living room, and a loft overhead where she assumed someone might sleep. All of it was covered in a thick, near suffocating layer of dust. Elain made her way to the kitchen where she found several jars of pickled vegetables and canned fruit. She opened one and, after tasting it, ate an entire can of sweetened peaches hoping they were still edible.

Her stomach momentarily full, Elain found the little bitty bathroom, complete with a toilet that flushed and a bathtub filled with spiders. A table in the main room held two chairs with two equally broken legs. The stairs that led to the loft creaked when she put her weight on them, but otherwise held.

She’d been right about the bed. A moth eaten blanket covered a springy mattress, all of it smelling faintly of mildew. Still, a bed was a bed, and shelter was shelter. She’d take what she could get. At least she was alive. That was what Elain told herself when she collapsed atop that blanket. She’d been spared by the huntsman and once she figured out what was going on, Elain swore she’d figure out some plan to return.

Or, that was what Elain told herself as she drifted into sleep.

She woke to the sound of the stairs creaking and then a voice, dark and masculine, asking, “How did you get in here?”

Elain sat up, heart hammering in her chest. Light flooded the downstairs, illuminating the features of the person staring her down.

“Is…is this your house?”

“Technically,” he replied gruffly, looking at the threadbare blanket she was curled beneath. “Did you break in?”

Elain was going to break down. Tears gathered behind her lids, Elain tried—and failed—to come up with a reasonable explanation.

“Don’t…don’t fucking cry,” the man ordered, brown eyes wide with unmistakable fear. “You ah…you got a name?”

She should have lied. “Elain,” she whispered, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Okay, look. Don’t go around telling’ everyone I’m out here doing favors, alright? People will start asking me for shit. But if you ah…clean this place up, I might be willing to look the other way for now. You’re gonna need to get a job!” he added when a smile bloomed over her face. “I’ll be expecting rent from you!”

“Okay,” she agreed. “When?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Spring? Give you some time to ah…get on your feet. And work on this place. I mean it. I want to see real improvements or you can crawl back to wherever you came from!”

“I will,” Elain promised, creeping a little closer. “What’s your name?”

“Jurian,” he said with a deep frown. “That’s all you need to know. I’ll be getting locks for those windows…you’re the last person crawling through them, do you understand me?”

“I understand,” she whispered, offering him another smile. Jurian merely blinked, as if no one had ever done such a thing and he didn’t know what to make of it. He was rather grumpy, but Elain decided right then that she liked him.

“I ah…” he rubbed the back of his neck again. “I’ll be back. Don’t open that door for strangers.”

He didn’t have to worry about that. How long before Amarantha wasn’t a looming threat, she wondered? A few days? A month? Elain watched Jurian climb back down the steps, flinging the musty blanket from her body to follow him down.

“I could use some other things—”

“Does it look like I’m running a charity here?” Jurian demanded, taking stock of the rather pathetic living area. Elain could fix that easily with just a little water and soap. And a rag, if she could hunt one down. Jurian, too, seemed to realize it would be a tough sell asking her to clean up his dilapidated cottage with only the things she had on hand.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally grumbled, turning in a half circle again. “Remember what I said about letting in strangers.”

She nodded. “I promise. No strangers.”

That didn’t seem to appease him. In fact, Jurian seemed all the more disturbed by the events unfolding. But Elain was thinking, trying to figure out an escape route. For now, staying in the cottage made sense but she’d have to leave eventually. She couldn’t risk someone recognizing her while she was still within her fathers borders.

“How far are we from Avalon?” she asked. She’d heard stories of Beron Vanserra, the King of Avalon and his seven sons. The rumors were each was more handsome than the last, making his youngest so beautiful it hurt to look upon him. Whether that was true or merely a myth meant to make his sons seem more marriageable, Elain didn’t know. What she did know was a man with seven sons would need wives and after the first, he was likely hoping for just any advantageous match to benefit his kingdom.

Elain could barter for an alliance with her sister. Perhaps she could marry one of the younger ones, someone of no consequence bound for the universities or priesthood. Or maybe Beron would merely trade her safety for information—that was better than another marriage.

She merely wanted to be prepared.

“Two weeks walk,” Jurian told her gruffly. “Through rough terrain. Are you from there?”

“I have a friend who lives that way. I was thinking I might pay them a visit when winter is gone?”

Jurian leveled a long, unreadable stare at her. “Well. I’m not helping you with that.”

Elain offered him a sunny smile. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you for anything else. This is far too kind already.”

“It is too kind,” he grumbled. “Don’t forget what I said. Do not open this door to strangers.”

“I swear,” she agreed, waving as Jurian made his way out. If she could scrounge up enough fruit and sugar, maybe she’d make Jurian a pie to thank him. But for the moment, she was as safe as she could get. She had four walls and a roof.

And somehow, it felt like paradise.

LUCIEN:

“Well?” Amarantha demanded when he strode back into her bed chamber. She was dressed obscenely in a black, lacy thing that threatened to overturn his stomach. He betrayed none of his hatred, setting a wooden box atop her vanity. She strolled forward, leaning forward so he could have looked straight down the front of her dress if he’d wanted.

Lucien averted his eyes.

“Did she suffer?”

“I carved out her heart,” he replied dryly, refusing to imagine what that would have been like. Elain was safe and alive somewhere in the forest and just as soon as he finished here, Lucien meant to go track her down. “What do you think?”

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have seen her face. Do you think she realized it was me who ordered it?” Amarantha asked, pulling that heart from its tomb to hold it in her hand. Lucien fought back the urge to vomit, waiting until she set it back in that cedar box and closed the lid.

“She knew.”

“Good. You’re dismissed,” Armantha added, waving a hand at him.

Lucien turned from the dark bed chamber, listening to the howling sounds of wind and rain from just outside. And as he went, he swore he heard Amarantha speak.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who is the fairest of them all?”

Lucien didn’t stick around to see if the mirror could talk back. He wanted to go straight back into the woods and find her and knew he was probably being watched. Lucien didn’t like Amrantha’s black guards—soldiers loyal only to her, paid with whatever money she’d brought with her. They did all her bidding and Lucien didn’t doubt that if he slipped out in the middle of a storm, Amarantha would hear about it.

He was tempted to check in on the party happening in one of the halls and didn’t think he could look at the prince who was supposed to be marrying Princess Elain knowing he’d sent her far, far away. In the end, Lucien went to the small room he was allotted in the palace for the night, if only to bathe and sleep.

Lucien’s nightmares were plagued by visions of those trusting brown eyes. A whispered please, and the way Elain flung herself away from him, running as fast as she could to escape him. Lucien woke a little before dawn, bathing himself in an attempt to shake off the memories.

He’d saved her life. One of the black guards would have drawn it out, making sure she suffered before finally killing her.

The problem, outside of his own desire to see her again, was the fear that she’d turn right back around and come home. That she didn’t believe him or thought she could change the ending. Maybe she’d buy herself time—but Amarantha would know she’d been thwarted and no matter how far Elain ran, she’d always be looking for her.

Better for the princess to vanish entirely. Lucien could put her on a boat for Rask by the end of the week. He could get new papers drawn up for her, a new identity, a new life. She’d never be a princess, but she’d be alive.

And maybe he’d sleep again.

Lucien dressed himself after his bath, grabbed his usual breakfast, and was out the door without a second glance. That was hardly unusual. Lucien loathed spending time in the palace, preferring to be outdoors and in the woods minding for poachers and keeping the local wolf population from getting too out of hand.

Lucien made his way to the forest with ease, hand on the hilt of his sword. He traced the path where he’d left Elain and then, with nothing else to do, guessed the route she would have taken. Thinking of her like a frightened doe, Lucien imagined she would have run in a straight line, veering only when something in her path forced her away.

The tell-tale traces were there. Strands of her hair tangled in low-hanging branches and pieces of her dress buried against the mud. Lucien collected them all, erasing the evidence without a second thought. Relief filled his veins at the knowledge that she had heeded his warning.

Where had she gone, though? She didn’t seem the sort to rough it, but after walking well into the afternoon with no hint as to where she’d ended up, Lucien was beginning to suspect Elain Archeron was dead.

Lucien told himself that was for the best. One way or the other, his lie was safe and Amarantha had gotten what she wanted. Still, it seemed a shame to lose a person like Elain. Lucien trudged forward, still thinking about her bouncy step and her big eyes. He’d see Jurian about all that meat he’d asked to be dried. If nothing else, Lucien could hole up in the forest with jerky and try and ease his wounded conscience.

Jurian was waiting in his home, a frown on his face. Lucien stepped through the door, noting his meat was tried and neatly packed up in brown paper.

“What do I owe you?”

Jurian rattled off double the usual price, the lines between his eyes creased. Lucien crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you trying to cheat me?”

“No,” Jurian replied gruffly, “but I’ve got new expenses.”

“Finally knocked up one of the barmaids, huh?” he teased, fishing out the coins despite the markup.

“I fucking wish,” Jurian replied, snatching the gold coins from the rough wood table. Lucien gathered up his meat, surprised to see a basket of unusual items sitting just beside the fireplace. Blankets and cookware were mingled alongside a set of pretty yellow and red dresses. He saw soap and rags and a few gardening supplies peeking from the bottom, which likely housed more things he could only imagine.

“Are you bringing home a wife?”

Jurian’s cheeks darkened. “No, nothing like that. I ah…you know, don’t worry about it.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes.

“Did you, by any chance, pick up a new tenant?”

Jurian was the most crotchety man Lucien had ever met. There was no one and nothing in this world that could convince him to go out on a limb or do something that didn’t directly benefit him. If he was gathering supplies for a woman he didn’t intend to make his wife, Lucien could guess who might make such an act of kindness possible.

“Why are you asking so many questions?” Jurian demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because I’m on my way to visit Elain,” he lied, mentally running down every little cottage Jurian owned in the village. “And I know what she’s like.”

“She’s not…this isn’t manipulation—”

“Trust me,” Lucien said, clapping a hand on Jurian’s shoulder. “I know.”

Jurian blew out a relieved breath. “She seems like a nice kid. I want to help her out.”

Lucien nodded. “I can take this to her if you want.”

“Yeah. Every time I look at her, I…” Jurian ran a hand through his closely cropped brown hair. “She’s just…you know?”

“Yeah,” Lucien agreed, unwilling to admit he felt immense relief that not only was Elain alive, but she’d managed to engender more than enough good will. Hell, Jurian was trying to keep her safe. That was good and bad. With that kind of charm, Amarantha would know he’d lied before the week was out. He needed to warn her to be careful, to dial down whatever magic seemed to shimmer around her.

Just long enough for Lucien to get her out.

“Remind her of what I said,” Jurian said absently, turning toward a pig's carcass hanging from a hook just over a large tub shaped sink.

“You got it,” Lucien replied, wondering if he was supposed to know what that warning was. Jurian told Lucien where Elain was—tucked away in the woods just outside the village in the cottage the healer had lived in before she died. That was better than Lucien had been imagining. No one else would know she was there so long as someone brought her supplies. He could do that until he got her out.

Lucien made his way to Elain—a short walk from Jurian’s workshop built against two ancient oak trees. Her cottage was tucked against a hill and judging from the ruined front garden and the peeling paint on the door, it had seen better days.

He rapped his knuckles against the door. Elain flung it open, her smile shifting to horror when she saw him. She tried, to her credit, to slam the door on him, but Lucien wedged his boot against the frame and pushed in.

“You—you can’t be here,” she breathed, arms wrapped around her body. “I did what you said—”

“I’m not here to kill you,” Lucien interrupted, ignoring the twang of disappointment he felt. Of course she wouldn’t be happy to see him. Why should she be? Lucien was happy to see her, though.

He set the basket on the floor between them, noting that she was still in the clothes from the night before. She looked exhausted and a little too pale for his liking, but otherwise unharmed and alive. “This is from Jurian.”

“Oh,” she said, some of the light returning to her eyes. “He sent so much.”

“You made quite the impression,” Lucien teased, closing the door quietly behind him. Elain had already sunk to the floor, rifling through the items with delight.

“Why are you here, huntsman?”

Ouch. He supposed he deserved that. “I came to warn you to lay low. I can get you to the continent–”

“I’m not going to the continent,” she scoffed, pulling one of the yellow dresses from the basket. “Not that it's any of your business, but I’m going to Avalon.”

She was joking. “Why…why would you ever go there?”

“I heard the king has sons,” Elain told him, unable to hide her earnestness. “Seven, to be precise.”

There was an unspoken question beneath her assertion, so Lucien, crossing his arms, nodded his head. “He does.”

“Surely some of them need wives. I’m suitable enough, maybe for his youngest.”

Lucien nearly choked on the air he was breathing. “You want to marry King Beron’s youngest son?” he asked her. Did she…did she really not know? But Elain only nodded her head before rushing to explain the rest of her plan.

“I’m still a princess, and my sister is going to be queen. I think that’s an incredibly good match for someone likely destined for the universities, right? And my stepmother can’t kill me if I’m under another king's protection. He could…he could help me put Nesta on the throne, even.”

Unlikely. Lucien didn’t bother to tell her all the things wrong with her plan. Namely, she was standing in front of Beron’s youngest son and though he had been destined for a university, she was a prize worthy of Eris or Cadmus. Not him. Beron wouldn’t have wasted a princess, even one who’d fled in disgrace, on Lucien.

“When?” he asked instead. If Elain was planning to go to Avalon, he’d at least see her to the border. He’d have to flee again, too—Amarantha would likely be demanding his heart next.

“Once winter has faded,” she said. Lucien wondered why she wanted to wait three months, and Elain answered. “Nesta should be back with Feyre by then. She will be back by then.”

Nesta was likely dead, as was Feyre. And he could see on her face that she was calculating that possibility, too. Elain was living in delusion and Lucien figured if she was plotting to marry him, the least he could do was help her out.

“Alright,” he said, looking around. “You’ll probably need some chairs, then?”

“What are you doing?”

“I didn’t risk everything just so you could sit on the floor while you ate,” he replied.

“When the snow clears, I’ll take you to the border.” Where he’d tell her who he was, assuming she didn’t put it together first. Vanserra

wasn’t exactly a common last name.

“Why risk anything for me at all?” she asked, clutching that dress to her chest.

Lucien made his way toward the door, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. What I do know is our fates are tied together, now. So do me a favor, princess?”

She looked at him with those eyes that haunted him.

“Don’t open this door for strangers.”

And then he was gone, grateful to be out of her presence.

And somehow missing her all the same.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien

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theofficersacademy · 8 months ago

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Just as a horn announced the start of the historic Battle of the Eagle and Lion, so does a horn call for its end. Fighting across the field draws to its close, with those remaining helping each other limp off to rejoin the rest of their classmates and colleagues.

The hope of victory still burns in all the remaining competitors on the field, but as the hours wear on, it becomes more and more difficult to call a decisive victor. And so, a monumental decision is made.

Blue, yellow, and red, in equal measure.

“The Battle of the Eagle and Lion has officially concluded!

And the winner is…

All Three Houses!”

This concludes the Battle of the Eagle and Lion! You may view the winning bracket here. A thank you to everyone who participated for making this successful; we hope you enjoyed it as much as we did!

Please continue reading for final results and information about prizes.

Honorable Round 3 mentions to the following:

First KO: Kagetsu Most Damage Dealt: Hilda (13 dmg) Longest Battle: Knoll, Hilda, Eliwood vs Minerva, Diamant, Yuri (11 rounds) Luckiest competitor: Céline (Dodged attacks 8 times) Sitting Duck Award: Kagetsu and Lloyd (Never got to attack)

A joyous feast caps off an exciting day of battle and glory. Red, blue, and yellow swirl together as Eagles, Lions, and Deer leave class divisions on the battlefield and mingle freely amongst each other. As the night goes on, scrap fabric from the torn House banners are sewn into patchwork ribbons, rosettes, and crowns.

You may have noticed us announcing certain characters as having dealt the most damage or missed the most attacks. After seeing each other’s performances on the battlefield, the students have taken notice of certain players and have judged them accordingly:

Worst Case of Senioritis: Elincia, who missed the most attacks (9)

Most Likely to Get Away with Murder: Céline, who dodged the most attacks (9)

Most Likely to Sleep During Class: Anna, who received the most damage (19 dmg)

Most Likely to Return from the Dead: Anna, who healed the most damage (6.5 dmg)

Biggest Overachiever: Caspar, who dealt the most damage (42.5 dmg)

Bearer of the Squeaky Hammer: Céline and Duessel, who barely hit opponents the most (3)

Best Sharpshooter: Knoll, who landed the most critical hits (4)

Most Dependable: Griss, Elise, and Linhardt, who assisted teammates the most (4)

Future Pre-Med: Griss, who recovered the most HP for allies (6.5 HP)

Most Elusive: Ayra, who received the least damage across all three rounds (1.5 dmg)

Most Likely to Repeat the Semester: Kagetsu, who dealt the least damage of the round 3 finalists (6 dmg)

Most Likely to Forget Their Weapon Before a Fight: Elincia, who rolled the most Nat1s (4)

Most Likely to Bring Five Extra Weapons to the Battlefield: Diamant, Marianne, Eremiya, and Erk, who rolled the most Nat20s (2)

Most Likely to Walk Away With an Everlasting Bromance: Caspar and Elincia, who remained together for the entire tournament

Most Likely to Stumble Across Treasure: Kagetsu (round 3 finalist) and Elffin (overall), who had the highest average roll (14 and 18, respectively)

Most Likely to Break a Mirror: Céline and Elincia (round 3 finalists), and Pelleas (overall), who had the lowest average roll (8 and 4, respectively)

No Man Left Behind: Caeda, who never lost a teammate

Most Likely to Get Stuck in a Long Line: Diamant, who had the most ties (10)

Most Likely to Trip Over Their Own Feet: Kagetsu (round 3 finalists), and Farina (overall), who had the lowest average speed rolls (2 and <1, respectively)

Most Likely to Win a Marathon: Yuri (round 3 finalists), and Lucina, Leif, and Chad (overall), who had the highest average speed rolls (6)

Most Likely to Spin Themselves Dizzy: Caspar, who rotated their team the most (7)

Loves a Plate of Venison: Caeda, who reigned supreme over the Golden Deer (fought only GD opponents and won all three rounds)

You can view the full statistics here.

— BOEL Prizes

There are two prizes for this mini-event. Please read the instructions below carefully! You do not have to message the Masterlist to claim your event rewards.

All event participants are awarded a free skill point. You may put this skill point wherever you choose. Please do remember to message the Masterlist for any skill rank rewards if applicable.

All winning participants (students and faculty/staff supporters of all three houses) are awarded the “Goddess’ Favor”. This may be added to your inventory. Similar to the Black Eagles Pendant and Golden Deer Bracelet, it does not have any mechanical effects or grant stat boosts. It is simply a bragging right and representation of your hard-won victory. Wear it with pride.

As always, let us know if you have any questions, and thank you again everyone for your participation and support!

- The House Leaders

#toaboel2024 #toa announcements

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v-as-in-victor · 8 months ago

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A sewing youtuber just described fabric for a spring dress as "I'm thinking that it'll be super cute, super like just flowy and grassy knoll type thing, like super springy if you know what I mean."

Lady. I do NOT know what you mean by that.

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michaelchallpics · 1 year ago

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Inside ‘Dexter’ Star Michael C. Hall’s Killer New York City Digs

Designer Sara Bengur helped the actor and his wife, Morgan, create the color-drenched home of their dreams.By Ingrid Abramovitch and Styled by Anita SarsidiPublished: Oct 11, 2023

Since founding her firm in 1993, New York–based interior designer Sara Bengur has won awards for her work and garnered projects from Washington, D.C., to the French West Indies to her native Istanbul. Still, when she heard about the New York Design Center’s Access to Design—a matchmaking program between clients and designers—she decided to give it a try. The last thing she expected was for the first query to come from a celebrity. And to instantly bag the job.

The Paul McCobb chairs are vintage, the 1950s table is Italian, and the Tulu rug is from Double Knot.

But that’s exactly what happened when Michael C. Hall—aka the star behind the TV show Dexter—and his wife Morgan flipped through Bengur’s portfolio. “We wanted something simultaneously sophisticated and playful—and we wanted color!” says Hall, who also fronts an indie band, Princess Goes, that released a new album, Come of Age, on October 6. “Sara’s spaces have an ease and flow that immediately appealed.”

The couple had recently moved from the West Coast to New York City and found an apartment at the El Dorado, a legendary Art Deco cooperative on Central Park West. Both Hall and his spouse are design aficionados who started out trying to decorate their home themselves. But while searching for fabrics and furniture at the design center, they realized they needed guidance. “They went to shop and got overwhelmed,” Bengur says. “I got an email from Michael saying, ‘When can we meet?’ I ran up to the El Dorado, and it was an instant connection. We laugh a lot together. They are both creative and really a joy.”

A vibrant pink pigment painting by Bill Kane contrasts with purple walls. The Richard Schultz chairs for Knoll and the Suzani and Moroccan rug from Double Knot are vintage. The walls are painted in Amorous by Benjamin Moore.Richard Powers

Before the move to New York, the couple had spent a stint in the United Kingdom, where Hall was shooting the Netflix murder-mystery series Safe. While overseas, they had fallen under the spell of English country house decor and wanted to bring a similar approach to their New York classic six apartment. “They loved the casual elegance of British country homes with the florals and patterns and feeling of design elements layered over time,” Bengur says. “And like me, they love color. So we experimented with different color combinations, spending hours on the living room floor with bags and bags of samples and color swatches.”

Tour Michael C. Hall’s Color-Drenched NYC Apartment by Sara Bengur

#michael c. hall #new york #apartment #design #home #decoration #I love this!!#They both have a fine taste #dexter #six feet under #princess goes #actor #el dorado

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vignellicenter · 1 year ago

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Vignelli Associates designed this huge neon “G” and the cantilevered stainless-steel benches for this for this 1974 branch of Greenwich Savings Bank lobby at Grand Central Station in New York City.

Architects Kahn and Jacobs / HOK designed the interiors of this two-story branch with a narrow entrance lobby and a 2nd floor where the all the banking happened. A huge two-story mirrored wall made the space feel larger but also created a reflection which doubled everything in the space. It made the cantilevered seating look twice as long and made the “G” turn into a circle.

This branch made the cover of Lighting Design & Application in October 1975 and Interiors in January 1976.

In the Interiors article author BR suggests this contemporary bank has a youthful energy which is full of the glitter and ambiguity of a discotheque. “The cantilevered red and green logo, its neon tubes heat-fused into glass, becomes a full circle through reflection, appearing to hang in space and having an almost revolving effect when viewed from the escalator.”

The rest of the spaces have tons of Italian granite, more stainless steel, custom lighting, and to balance all those hard and reflective surfaces, the “G” shows up on wall tapestries.

Cantilevered lobby seating: Concept by Vignelli Associates; fabricated by Scope Furniture Inc.; upholstery: Knoll Inc.

Neon “G” logo: Concept by Vignelli Associates; fabricated by Country Neon (Plainview, N.Y.)

We recently found this drawing and small pasteups for the big neon “G” in the archives. As always, if you know more about this project, we would love to hear from you!

#vignelli #1970s #furniture design #design archives #design history #vignelli red #neon #typography #cantilevered #super warm red #mirrors #Greenwich Savings Bank

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jojolymes · 2 years ago

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𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎; arc IV

IV. 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬

next: ࿔*:･ﾟ xxvi. | table of contents

IT WAS SILENT on the hill, save for the thundering hooves of the horses that ran beside Thunderstruck. The sun shone down through the clouds, casting beams of light onto the grassy knolls that surrounded the town overhead. If you looked just hard enough, you could make out the endless flats of land beyond it. There was an earthy smell in the air amidst the musty smell of hay that you recognized was only ever something you smelled in late fall.

You could practically taste the freshness of the air around you as Thunderstruck barreled down the hillside, huffing as she made haste. The leather of the reins rubbed against your gloved hands which only worsened the sweating that coated every cell on your palms. As much as the stress of the race and the fight from earlier had left you somewhat exhausted, there was something invigorating about the way you raced to the finish line alongside your competitors.

"We are now heading downhill on the Rocky Mountains of the third stage! Cañon City! Five kilometers in front of the goal!"

Beads of sweat trailed down your face from the edge of your hat to the bandana that was wrapped around your face. You thought back to the little girl who had rushed after you before the three of you left the mountain. There had been a big smile on her face, despite all the trouble Doctor Ferdinand had caused. When she had run up to you, looking like the farthest thing from a dinosaur, you couldn't help but smile back.

"Wait! Miss- Mister Speedwagon!" Johnny and Gyro had stopped in their tracks at the sound of your name (or rather your last name), watching as the little girl stopped right in front of you, a familiar piece of fabric in her hand. At the sight of it, you had brought a hand to your face, feigning surprise at the lack of a bandana around your nose and mouth.

"Say! Is that my bandana?" you wondered with a playful glint in your eye that Johnny and Gyro had spotted when you peeked at them over your shoulder. Your voice had an uncharacteristic lilt to it, something that made you sound more like a woman than you ever had. It was... odd— at least it was to Johnny and Gyro.

"Yeah!" the little girl exclaimed, gleefully holding up the bandana for you to take, "I found it when I woke up! I 'membered it was very, very, very important so I wanted to find you before Momma noticed I was gone!" Your fingertips just grazed the fabric before you pulled them away, crouching down with your back to her.

"Hey, do you think you could do me a huge favor and put it on for me?" you asked softly, looking over at the little girl to give her a sheepish smile. The little girl's face instantly lit up and she nodded fervently, hands trembling with sheer excitement when you tilted the back of your hat up so that she could properly tie it.

All the while, Johnny and Gyro just watched. They watched as you giggled at the little girl as she patted your cheek before bringing the bandana around your nose and mouth. They watched the corners of your eyes crinkle in delight and how your nose scrunched up whenever you laughed. The way your brows furrowed just slightly when you let out a soft snort when the little girl struggled slightly. By the time they had noticed you reaching back to help the little girl, Gyro had stepped forward, kneeling beside the little girl.

"You having a bit of trouble there, kiddo?" Gyro questioned with a goofy smirk that made you raise a brow. The little girl looked up at him in awe, going quiet as she nodded meekly, handing him the bandana. You froze when his fingers brushed against the apples of your cheeks, slowly moving back to graze the shells of your ears.

Your heart burned, a warmth overtaking every single one of your senses as you sat in silence, keeping your gaze trained on the ground in front of you. As Gyro instructed the little girl on how to properly tie a knot, you heard a low cough. It wasn't until then that you looked up, meeting Johnny's hardened gaze.

Whatever "warmth" you had been feeling instantly turned ice cold. Why was he looking at you like that? Had you done something wrong? When Johnny turned away, spinning his way onto Slow Dancer, you felt gross. It felt as though you were nothing but the dirt below you, insignificant to the man you had been calling your friend. Perhaps all this time, you were wrong.

"Done!" You were snapped out of your thoughts when Gyro gave the little girl a high five, the clap echoing loudly right beside your ear. Gyro was the first to stand up, walking around you to hold out a hand, a grin still plastered on his face. You didn't bother to mirror him with the bandana over your face, but took his hand and let him pull you up. You ignored the warmth of Gyro's hand and instead turned to the little girl who smiled wide at your bandana-covered face.

"You look perfect!" the little girl cried, rushing forward to wrap her arms around your waist, pressing her face into your stomach. You couldn't help but smile and patted the little girl on the head, crouching back down once she pulled away. Not even seconds later, you could hear an older woman shout in the distance, calling what you assumed was her name. The little girl looked back at you and you nodded your head forward.

The little girl smiled, albeit a bit sadly, before running back to where she had last been with her mother. You had been beaming the whole time the little girl kept looking back and waving, and despite the punch to the gut that had been Johnny, you had managed a small smile under your bandana and a wave. Gyro had hopped onto Valkyrie, seemingly in utter bliss for reasons you didn't bother to find out.

"Now that's my beloved horse!" Gyro cooed, patting Valkyrie's neck while you pulled yourself onto Thunderstruck's saddle. "They got away from the dinosaurs at the village and were waiting for us on the other side of the mountain! It's still night but we're heading out now! Diego is still nearby too!"

Diego...

You could feel the tips of your ears grow warm at the thought of him, your heart racing as you adjusted the reins in your hands. Before you could dwell too much on the way he held you so carefully, you hurried to busy yourself with making sure that all the equipment on Thunderstruck was in the right place. Thank god you had been too sick to take off the saddle bags earlier.

"You know... no matter how powerful the saint corpse parts are, their power won't tell you how to become rich," Gyro began, catching both you and Johnny's attention. Gyro adjusted the tack on Valkyrie, continuing his sentence, "or tell you how to make chicks happy or set free a person sentenced to death."

There was something about how Gyro had said it that made you feel somehow put off. How to make chicks happy... It felt odd to hear that but you couldn't put a finger on it as to why. Maybe it just felt odd because he had said such a thing after you had revealed yourself as a ... "chick"? You weren't sure. You figured you must have just been looking too much into it.

"It's still the race that's important. Even if the race itself or whoever is a terrorist, I need to get one hundred points at this stage no matter what! That's what's most important! Let's go, Johnny! (y/n)!"

The second Gyro had uttered your name— your actual one and not your surname— you had faltered. It was just about a second later that you had followed after them both, incredibly focused on the reins in your hand. You focused on the way Thunderstruck moved beneath you and the way the air ruffled the end of your hair. You did not focus on the ache in your chest that made your cheeks burn terribly.

It wasn't long before sixty kilometers had become thirty and then fifteen and then a measly five. You had forgotten sometime around twenty-five kilometers that Johnny had been mad at you and that Gyro had made an out-of-touch comment, too invested in the way the land looked. Whatever fears you had somehow felt nonexistent, as though it had something to do with telling your companions that you were a woman.

You couldn't help but admire the way the ragged, rocky mountains had slowly transformed into rolling hills, adorned with some trees on the horizon. The sun had risen when the three of you had reached the fifteen-mile mark and from then on, the crimson sky had washed out into a blue that could rival any blue sky from days before. Animals had awoken and the birds had chirped their wonderful melody beside the crickets.

Eventually, you started seeing hot air balloons drifting off in the distance. You had yet to hear the (annoying) voices of the announcers but you couldn't help but feel some sort of relief. After a little over twenty-one days, seeing and hearing the hot air balloons were like a godsend. It served as some solace for you, knowing that you would be completing another stage.

"And we witness this strange effect as we approach the goal! It's as if the racers are human magnets! Although they ran 510 kilometers with an estimated race time of seven days minimum, as the sun continues to rise, all of the talented racers gathered together! For some reason, their scattered distances have shrunk! This will be another close one! It will inevitably be another heated battle!"

Just as the announcers had stated, you spotted many of the top racers in line with you, Johnny, and Gyro. It was incredibly strange but it wasn't like any of you had done so on purpose. As you pushed Thunderstruck, you caught sight of Sandman who was running across the grassy terrain like it was nothing but a simple walk through the park. Pocoloco was close to Sandman, smiling as he sat on his horse, completely relaxed.

And then there was Diego. You weren't surprised to see him alongside the others but it didn't stop your cheeks from burning under his less-than-obvious stare. After what had happened in the town, you had half a mind to curse him out for all the dinosaur stuff. It wasn't until Gyro gave you a recap of what happened that you realized that it hadn't been Diego's fault entirely. Johnny wasn't too happy when your anger died down.

Speaking of Johnny— you peeked over your shoulder to see him glaring at Diego. Johnny, despite knowing that Diego had attacked them under the orders of Doctor Ferdinand, was still pissed off at Diego. Apparently, Diego had taken the Corpse Eye after healing you with it and Johnny was still feeling sour over it all. Gyro still had the other eye, however, and that seemed to be at least a tad of consolation.

But surprisingly, the three of them, at some point, had a common enemy. Franz Ferdinand, while you were down and reeling from the effects of turning into a dinosaur and the crippling anxiety of being found out to be a woman, had kicked you out of the way during the fight and had sent you barreling toward the edge of the cliff. It had ticked Johnny and Gyro off so much that it had been easy work getting rid of Franz. Even Diego had withstood helping the doctor after what he had done.

"Aww, so you guys do care," you had cooed as you spotted the other racers riding beneath the hovering hot air balloons. Gyro had rolled his eyes with a grin and had given you a flirty wink while Johnny had looked away from you. Again. He had done it so many times on the ride to the next stage that you should have gotten used to it by now. But you weren't.

It was hard not to notice that Johnny and Gyro had started acting the way they had back when they first met you as (y/n) and not Speedwagon. Hard to notice the "subtle" flirting from Gyro and the irritation that Johnny radiated whenever you spoke. You wanted to say it didn't hurt your feelings, you really did, but it was inevitable when you felt so out of place as a result.

Regardless of that, however, you knew you had to focus on getting over the finish line before anything else. Becoming friends with Johnny and Gyro wasn't going to stop you from trying your best to win the race. And as much as you wanted to support Gyro in getting first place, this was still a competition and you still needed to win. You needed that money.

The other racers had decided to be just as competitive as the other times when you reached the finish lines, but it didn't deter you. You were going to rank as high as you could at this stage whether anyone liked it or not. It was this determination that spurred you and Thunderstruck forward, using Iron Maiden's power to get rid of the wind resistance and effectively allowing you to get a lead on the other racers.

"Wha- (y/n)- Speedwagon!"You couldn't help but laugh when you passed Gyro, waving at him cheekily before pushing Thunderstruck as hard as you could without tiring your sweet horse. You patted her neck with a grin on your face, getting a soft snort in return. Gyro's voice eventually faded into the background as you looked up, keeping your eyes trained on the path in front of you.

You had yet to hear the roar of the crowds from your spot on the other side of the lake but a part of you felt tempted to try and just cut through it. But it was practically impossible unless you cut through the easternmost part of it where it was shallow enough that you wouldn't have to worry about Thunderstruck getting hurt. But if you used Iron Maiden, you could definitely do so without a hitch.

The second Thunderstruck reached the shoreline, you pulled out Iron Maiden, letting her hover within your body while her one hand reached out of your side, repelling all the water away like it was nothing. A rush of sheer bliss rushed through every nerve in your body and soon enough, you and Thunder were crossing through the lake. Not before long, you were ahead of the other three racers that had gone around the circumference of the lake.

The announcers were going wild overhead, saying something about Johnny, Diego, and Gyro all crossing through the lake as well. But just as the announcers commented, pushing their horses through the water would only make their horses tired. Not that it applied to Thunderstruck anymore. Merely a minute later, you had come out the other side unscathed.

"Speedwagon! Speedwagon is in the lead! It looks like he will be the first of these racers to reach the finish line!"

You couldn't help but smile brightly as you grew closer to the finish line. It felt almost unreal. There was no one around you but the crowds of people in the stand, waving banners and flags and signs around. It must have been baffling for them as much as you when you crossed the finish line, winning by far more than a neck like you had before. The cheers were deafening and when you finally realized, you had almost screamed at the top of your lungs.

Minutes later, Johnny, Gyro, and Diego had crossed the finish line, looking far worse for wear than they had earlier. But when you all had stopped, the announcers had said the words you had never wanted to hear less than you had then. After trying so hard to win the stage, it felt as though all your efforts were for naught.

"HOT PANTS HAD ALREADY PASSED THE FINISH LINE!"

#palominosbr #steel ball run #sbr #jojo #jjba x reader #johnny joestar x reader #gyro zeppeli x reader #hot pants x reader #diego brando x reader

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pryings · 10 months ago

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a quiet hum buzzes through the dining hall as those assembled are shuffled in. this 'psychological experiment' or 'speed dating game' or 'social gathering' or whatever it is has been prepared. in place of the long dining tables, the hall is filled with numerous small, round tables, each with a number placed upon them. you are to find your assigned tables, chat with your partner, and hopefully make some kind of connection.

the goal of this exercise is somewhat vague, but knoll and hubert seem poised to take notes. so that's interesting.

schedule:

12pm. EST Feb 14 - 11:59pm Feb 15 ROUND ONE. 12pm. EST Feb 16 - 11:59pm Feb 17 ROUND TWO. 12pm. EST Feb 18 - 11:59pm Feb 19 ROUND THREE. 12pm. EST Feb 20 LAST WORDS.

please tag all interactions #toaLoveHypothesis2024. you will receive an ask from hubert or knoll within the next few hours asking if you like or dislike your partner. unanswered asks default to a 'no.' please answer it at any point before the round ends.

rounds will be 36 hours long, but should narratively simulate the speed dating experience of only having a few minutes to talk. it should feel rushed. interactions can be asks or short threads, please communicate with your partner to determine what works best. you can continue an incomplete interaction after a round concludes if you wish, but please note that you need to vote by the round's end!

the questions provided are only suggestions. if your muse would not want to discuss this topic, feel free to talk about whatever you wish.

caspar (@berglietz) & yarne (@taguelbunnyboy) topic: assuming you do not die within the coming months, what are your plans for the future?

linhardt (@pridelessdaydreamer) & sakura (@gentlenekomata) topic: what hobbies do you partake in?

lucius ( @semperiuvare) & sara (@shadoll) topic: if tasked with healing an injured stranger, how would you respond?

louis (@etrefleurbleues) & arval (@laruarva) topic: how do you connect with others on an interpersonal level?

deirdre (@nagaficat) & eitri (@grimkkr) topic: thoughts on magic and its practical uses.

elffin (@moriddyn) & forsyth (@viridescent-lance) topic: describe your ideal vacation.

lachesis (@pridedprincess) & selena (FE8) (@fluxrspar) topic: two interesting truths and one compelling lie.

shez (@partnerindestiny) & hilda (@delicatevalentine) topic: fabric softener and its impractical uses.

dimitri (@blaiddllodi) & l’arachel (@aglaean) topic: total monsters you have vanquished.

minerva (@reddragonprincess) & zephia (@ruinakete) topic: which food brings you the most joy?

jakob (@indevouement) & denning (@beholdenning) topic: which animal you most relate to?

mark (@allyphase) & laslow (@laslow) topic: your favorite type of cat.

elincia (@amitieos) & hector (@braveryinblue) topic: what is justice?

(tumblr has decided to implement a limit on how many people can be @'d in a single post, so if you do not see your muse's name, check the second part of the post)

#toalovehypothesis2024 #⁺ . ✕ ◞ out of character ⋅

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redrobinhoods · 2 years ago

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“that’s gonna scar” | Febuwhump 2023

CW: None

Summary: Kix seeks out Jesse for help with an injury

AO3 Link | Febuwhump Index

“Jesse!” Kix hissed, sliding down the muddy knoll to his brother’s side.

Jesse ducked down as blasterfire rang overhead before turning to Kix. “What?”

“Help me get my pack off.”

Jesse paused for a moment, his helmet tilting to the side.

“Just do it.” Kix turned around.

He heard Jesse sigh from behind him before the man obliged, gingerly removing the straps from Kix’s right shoulder, then his left. Kix hissed in pain as the strap touched his left forearm.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Kix turned around, holding his left arm to his chest as he opened the pack with his right hand, looking through the contents.

“Where’s your blaster?”

Kix waved his right hand at the direction he had come from. “Over there.”

“And you’re here.”

Kix extended his arm to Jesse. “Get the vambrace off.”

Jesse’s helmet tilted once again but he obliged before falling backwards with a shout of surprise.

Kix shook his head, gritting his teeth against the pain. “You’re not done yet.”

“Kix.” Jesse breathed, whipping off his helmet. His facad gone white, nausea clear on his features.

“Cut off my blacks.” Kix instructed, bringing out a small knife from his pack.

“Cut off your arm.” Jesse retorted. But he took the knife and carefully slid it under the wrist of the fabric before cutting up, winching as he passed the exposed bone that had cut through to the plastoid. “How?”

“Got thrown by a blast. Slammed into a rock.” Kix frowned as he looked down at his arm. Compound fracture, ulnar midshaft. His frown deepened as he turned his arm. And radial midshaft. “Nice.” He murmured to himself. There was something in him that had separated the pain from himself, perhaps shock, perhaps his own acquaintance with injuries.

“That’s gonna…” Jesse’s voice faded off.

“Need surgery.” Kix finished.

“Scar.” Jesse made a retching sound as he looked back down at the exposed bone. “You need a medic.”

Kix looked up to meet his eyes. “I am a medic. And you have two hands.” He passed Jesse a roll of bandage and dressing. “I’ll walk you through it.”

Jesse took the offered items with a sigh. Kix wouldn’t have been surprised if he did throw up.

“Dressing.” Kix ordered. “Don’t put pressure on the bones.”

Jesse met his eyes before following the orders.

The moment the dressing touched his forearm a scream echoed in his ears. The pain had returned from wherever it had gone, running up his arm like a river of fire. His head swam and for a few moments Kix thought he would pass out. Then the world came back into focus as he bent over on top of his pack, panting. He couldn’t stifle the undignified whimper of pain as he sat back up.

“Wrap me up.” He said hoarsely, his throat burning.

Jesse’s jaw was set tight, worry in his eyes, but he did so with steady hands, ignoring the little whimpers Kix couldn’t hold back as little rivulets of pain shot up from the wound. He didn’t have to ask for a sling. The moment the bandage was secured Jesse was already moving, tightly securing Kix’s left arm to his body.

Kix sighed when Jesse sat back, letting his head loll to his chest as he took in a deep breath of exhaustion.

Jesse’s hand clapped his shoulder. “Sit tight, let me comm Rex.”

“I can still help.” Kix protested.

“No.” Jesse said with a pained smile. “Not today.”

Kix didn’t bother to check the water temperature before he stepped into the shower on the Meson Martinet. Fifty years, fifty years in cryostasis. Everything he had been told whirled around his head until it threatened to drag him into the drain with the water. He touched a hand to his ice-burned skin. He expected that it must be hurting him, but his senses were drowning underneath the agony of revelations; some merely hours old, others a week old, fifty years ago.

He drew his fingers along his skin without thought before he paused, fingers over a still-fresh scar. That small mark was enough to bring him to his knees, curling up on himself. He wanted to cry, he wanted to sob, but all he could do was break in silence as the ghost of Jesse’s hand on his shoulder haunted him. Jesse had lain his hand on Kix’s shoulder, last week. Fifty years ago.

#got eaten up with classes might be popping in and out this month #fun fact: many fractures leave marks on bone especially in the archaeological context #I think about a badly healed compound fracture from this Mycenaean warrior's femur every week #febuwhump #febuwhumpday5 #clone trooper kix #ARC trooper Jesse

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mattzerella-sticks · 2 years ago

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riptide (ao3 link)

Dean could be a riptide at times, and Cas was more than happy to drown in his waters.

We sat on a duvet we stole from the motel that had dampened almost immediately after Dean flattened it against the dew-painted knoll we picnicked in. He found it the other day while we’d been scouting the area for a vampire nest and thought it, with the natural shade from a nearby copse of trees and a clear view of the local river that curled around the hills’ base, perfect for us to celebrate in once our hunt was done. He was right. In fact, it was the closest to paradise we’d find on Earth. Though my opinion on that was less swayed by our scenery, and more on the human-shaped miracle stretched beside me. I watched the clouds part and sunlight strike him in such a way that no other word could come to mind but divine. Inspired, I leaned over the carnage of torn vending machine snack wrappers and empty soda cans so I might capture his lips, cutting him off mid-sentence to a story I stopped listening to rather quickly. He didn’t hesitate to lean into my kiss. I was the one who broke it a moment later. His eyes fluttered open, and he asked, “What was that for?” “Do I need a reason to kiss you?” Dean answered by tilting his head and placing his mouth back onto mine.

I’d have been satisfied with an entire morning of lazy kisses. But that wasn’t what Dean had planned.

He pulled away without warning and, despite how I chased, I couldn’t catch him. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” He stood overhead, eclipsing the sun and beaming brighter than it.

I squinted up at him. I hadn’t needed to. “Are you sure?”

Dean nodded. “I’m sure.” He fiddled with his shirt hem and then, suddenly, dragged it up and off his body. “Fancy a swim?” “A swim?” Dean chuckled, spinning on his heel and parading down the hill. His legs disappeared, then his shoulders, until finally I lost sight of him altogether. Soon even his laughter faded and was drowned out by a loud splash. “You coming or what?” Dean shouted.

“Dean…” I gently snorted under breath, hauling myself to my feet. I followed him and the trail of clothing he had stripped off on his path towards the river. Roughhewn denim. A leather belt. Scuffed boots, black socks and boxers. When I made it to the river’s edge, Dean had already swum to its center. His face glistened from the water, and he raked his wet-dark locks back. He stared at me with a pursed smile, his brows raised in challenge.

“Well,” he drawled, “you comin’ or not?”

Of course. But Dean didn’t need to know in that instant. Instead I teased him. First, I shrugged out of my coat. The tan fabric puddled behind me. Then I added my suit jacket to it. And my tie, too. I had unhurriedly tugged that off my neck, biting my bottom lip to stem the smile threatening to unfurl at the sight of Dean’s intense focus. He had sunk by then, his nose barely above the water’s surface and the green of his eyes overtaken by a voracious darkness. Dean bobbed arrhythmically. Kicking had become an afterthought. I moved onto my shirt next, taking care with every button. My fingers twitched. I had trouble containing my own desires, and if not mesmerized by the hunger that shadowed Dean’s gaze I would have ripped them in my haste to dive into the waters. Every button remained as I let the shirt slip free from my grip. I stepped out of my boots. I tugged my left sock off and played with it while I scrunched my toes in the grass. I did the same with my right sock and foot until I tired of it and threw them both to the wayside. Dean’s patience had begun to wane. He lifted his chin from the water and growled, “You’re killing me, Cas.” I paused, my hands on my half unfastened buckle. “I’ll be with you in a minute, Dean.” “Cas!” He whined my name like a whistle, steam pouring out his nose, his ears, and his mouth. I’d been waiting for exactly such a sight and decided then that there was little point to delaying my freedom any further. I dropped both trousers and underwear with little flair, bounded forward, and soared over the water as if on wings to tackle Dean.

We submerged, my arms around him and his on me. I accepted breath from him, my chest expanding as his soul mingled with my grace the more we sank. We couldn’t stay under for long, for Dean’s sake. Soon enough, we began to rise. As we breached the surface, Dean shifted his lips off of mine and rested them along the curve of my cheekbone as he panted for air. My lips grazed his stubble, savoring the scratch of it. “You’re like a damn anchor, Cas,” he said. Dean strained as he spoke, his kicks pronounced and sluggish. I joined him. He leaned his forehead against mine and sighed, “That’s better.”

The river’s currents were lazy like us. It let Dean and I float unbothered, with water caressing us as if they were gossamer curtains blown forward by warm, summer breezes. We drifted there for what felt like hours, only it wasn’t. Time marched sluggishly, too, because of the river. And because of the sun’s warmth resting atop our heads and shoulders, because Dean gently scratched love letters into my scalp with his blunt nails, because I used the ritualistic drumbeat of his heart to measure how it passed. Somehow, eternity drifted on by while we weren’t looking. It didn’t bother us in the slightest.

“Y’know, Cas,” Dean sighed, his forefinger tracing spirals onto the back of my neck now. His legs stopped kicking. A foot crept up my still moving legs. “There’s something that I… well, I’ve always wanted to try…” Suddenly bashful, Dean couldn’t meet my eyes. A healthy blush stained his already sun-drenched cheeks, turning them a shade darker and revealing more freckles as they did. I waited for him to voice his desire. “Yes?” I coaxed. “You’ve wanted to…” Dean choked on his nerves, his giddiness, his question coming out gruffer than intended. “I’ve always wondered how it’d feel being fucked in water.” My arms pressed him tighter to me that our chests were flush, and he could feel what I thought of his request as I prodded his thigh with my eagerness. “That shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

Dean attacked me, dragging me into a kiss so fierce my teeth rattled from the impact. His fingers cracked my hide and threatened to peel it away to reveal more than I already had bared. Both legs snaked around my waist, tight that if I were a frailer creature he’d snap me in half. But I was made to withstand his rapture. I floated backwards until my feet found purchase with the river bed. The pain from rocks and pebbles digging into my soles were overwhelmed by the pleasure of Dean’s lips scouring my neck. It rippled across me like lightning, setting every nerve alight with sparks. The rippling water sparkled because of it, not anything else. “Dean…” I growled, adjusting my grip on him. I tucked one arm around his waist. My hand slunk low, thumb pressing at the dimple of his ass crack.

We brought lube with us. We left it on the duvet with the scattered carcass of our feast. I packed it with a different scenario in my mind, tussling and dirt and moans so loud birds were forced from their perches and into the skies in their haste to flee involved. But I am an adaptable man. Water worked in a pinch, allowing me easy access inside Dean. He bit into my fingers as I slipped them inside. I fought, scissoring and massaging his hole until I stretched it wide enough to fit a third finger in. Then I added a fourth. I pushed and pulled my hand, kneading Dean’s inner walls to ready them for me. Though if I wasn’t careful, my preparation would tip him over the edge. Already he seized in my grip, jerking, his actions becoming more frenzied and erratic. I crooked my fingers, my nail catching a tender part of him, and Dean threw his head back in such delight that his body was forced to buck and follow. I worried we’d plunge into the blue. My balance held. I snapped Dean against me again, our cocks and chests slamming together. The river bubbled and sprayed our faces in response. It barely cooled us off.

A whirlpool began to form in the pit of my stomach, and I knew I wouldn’t last longer. I blamed Dean, how he mewled at my chin while trying to shove more of my hand into his ass and, consequentially, thrusted into me on every downbeat. I could come from that alone. It wasn’t what either of us wanted.

I lifted Dean higher, sliding my foot forward in preparation. I grabbed and situated myself into the perfect position. “Are you ready?” I asked.

“Been ready.”

“It might sting.”

“Only for a few seconds.”

“If you need me to –“

“For fuck’s sake, Cas!” Dean exploded. “Just shove it in me.” He smashed his mouth into mine and, distracted, my grip on Dean’s waist slackened. He was harpooned. Dean moaned into my mouth and strangled my cock. I almost sank a second time. “Move, Cas,” he whimpered. “Move.”

I rocked along with the current as if I were a wave. Now that I had entered Dean, the rush that prickled under my skin faded into nothingness. I savored our union. The river dictated my hips, telling me when to push into, to pull back, to linger and to go absolutely motionless. I didn’t even come without its direction, waiting for the water’s signal which came as a tickle at my lower back. I pushed further, deeper, inside Dean when I finally released. My mouth clamped onto his shoulder, biting deep enough I tasted copper. Blood dripped into the river after I removed my teeth off Dean’s skin, mixing with the water and our seeds. Dean had come, too, sometime when I had.

I stumbled towards the shoreline. I helped Dean onto land first, then lifted myself beside him. It took a considerable amount of strength doing so. I’d bled more of my strength than I realized taking Dean in this way. I had enough to seat myself on the edge and nothing else. My legs remained in the water. Dean’s did, too.

Neither of us could remain upright. We collapsed onto the soft grassy bedding, our fingers tangling with each other during the fall.

The sun was somehow brighter than it was before. It was a flickering candle compared to Dean’s grin. I and all the flowers stretched towards its warmth. “That was better than I ever could’ve dreamed Cas.”

I hummed in response.

Dean squeezed my hand, then brought my knuckles close for a kiss. His gaze remained locked onto mine. “I’ve got a few more ideas. Things we could try.” “I don’t know if I have it in me to try any more today.” “Doesn’t have to be today.” His lips grazed my wedding band, a silver ring identical to the one on his hand. I watched him kiss it and smiled. “We’ve got all the time we need.”

#supernatural #spn #spnfanfic #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #they have sex y'all so...#rated e or whatever #here's the content warning in the tags

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