#lead belay

[possibilistfanfiction]

CaitVi prompt: hugs

[ok s/o the one person who wanted a climbing au lmao. this rly isn't abt climbing, it's just a silly meet cute thru jinx's pov. i love sisters ur honor! also idk jinx is a cooler name than powder so that's what we're going with lol. incredibly minimal angst :)]

//

keep your helmet on this; finish dressing your knot that; vi triple checks the number of quick draws you have on your harness — ‘i have twelve, and there’s only nine bolts, vi,’ you say again— while you roll your eyes so hard your whole head moves. she sighs, as marginally satisfied as she ever manages to be when you’re leading anything. 

‘okay,’ she says, checking her grigri carabiner for, like, the fifth time. 

‘okay.’ you roll your eyes once more for good measure before you establish on a truly disgusting set of crimps. ‘climbing.’

vi gives a very serious, ‘climb on,’ and since she can’t see you anymore, you let yourself smile. even though she’s annoying and hates when you take victory whips — your favorite — you do love her: she takes your life seriously. 

the route is gross, overhung with tricky feet and big moves, but vi had lead it just before you and made it look pretty easy, even though it’s her style and definitely not yours. still, you’re not going to back down from a challenge, even though admittedly she’s way stronger than you: you’re light and unafraid of falling, which sometimes evens the playing field. 

you yell out anchor and then take just like you’re supposed to once you finish the route, refusing to shake out your arms even though you’re pumped as hell, and vi lowers you smoothly. you expect her to have her utmost, full attention on you, but when you turn to talk about your beta as you undo your knot, you see vi very quickly get off belay and then take her fleece quarterzip — a black patagonia which had been your best thrift find of the past year, in your opinion — off in an almost frantic, decidedly uncool way. it’s even more ridiculous because it’s freezing and all vi has on under her jacket is her favorite ‘queer crush’ tank from your gym. she smiles in your direction — a small, proud one — but then her grin turns shy and she looks at someone else. 

the someone else in question, a few feet away, gearing up, is, admittedly, hot — you gotta give vi that.

she has dark hair that manages to look chic even under her helmet, pants actually designed for climbing, and an arcteryx down jacket — the right weight for the fucking weather, at least — and even her chalk bag and shoes look kind fancy; you notice a pair of very neat camp slippers sitting next to approach shoes you could only dream of, the socks in them in a neat little ball. 

‘caitlyn,’ she says to you, offers her hand in a firm shake — not a customary fist bump — before she ties in anywhere or chalks up. you’re kind of confused why she’s walking toward the start, but you introduce yourself anyway as you pull the rope.

‘cait is going to clean the route,’ vi explains as caitlyn ties in, another smile exchanged. ‘her climbing partner is peeing, so i offered to belay if she wanted to lead it.’

it’s a pretty gnarly 12a, and also vi never lets you clean anchors, mostly because you don’t think all the steps with a PAS are necessary and you take victory whips without announcing them first, but whatever. it’s boring anyway.

caitlyn and vi go through the most intense safety check, joyously, almost, vi practically giggling when she looks at caitlyn’s figure 8, her hand hovering over caitlyn’s waist when she checks the loops on her harness, and you sit with a huff on a small rock near enough the route you can watch. 

you do everyone the profound kindness of staying quiet until caitlyn clips into the first quickdraw and vi very officially says, ‘you are on belay, cupcake,’ but then you’ve had enough. 

‘cupcake?’

‘she’s sweet,’ vi says, concentrating more on belaying than she ever has in her life with you. you’re not stupid, so you can tell she’s really just trying to avoid you seeing her blush. 

‘sure, sis.’ you watch as caitlyn does a pretty sick high foot to hand match and mantles calmly; vi shouts some encouragement. ‘did you get hot belaying me?’

‘what?’

‘very smooth, showing cait your best asset right away. thanks for waiting until i was done, at least.’

vi scoffs. not convincing at all. ‘the wind has gone down.’

‘we’re in a slot canyon.’

caitlyn sails past the crux, incredibly technical and very calm. it’s unfortunately impressive. 

‘nice, cait!’ vi shouts. ‘that was sick!’

caitlyn, to your dismay, pauses after she clips into the next quickdraw — your least favorite hold on the whole route, a terribly chalked up sloper — and turns to give vi a thumbs up. 

you groan, long and drawn out, and flop onto your back while vi laughs. you’re no stranger to girls falling all over themselves to impress your sister, but this is one of the few times where one of them has actually been impressive. 

when you sit up, a guy who was watching caitlyn climb looks at you and laughs, immediately somehow in on it all, you can tell. 

‘i was gone for, like, ten minutes,’ he says. ‘cait already found a new partner?’

‘in more ways than one,’ you bemoan. you offer a fist bump, correct and cool climbing etiquette, not some stupid handshake. ‘that’s vi, my sister. and i’m jinx.’

‘jayce,’ he says, then looks up. ‘is cait cleaning the anchor?’

‘guess so.’

‘i wanted to climb that route.’ he’s definitely pouting, which you never do because it’s extremely undignified, obviously. 

‘you snooze, you lose, i guess.’ you shrug. ‘plus, i think they’re both just trying to impress each other. horrible. worst thing to happen today.’

‘i took a whip on slab,’ he says, shows you a scrape on his palm. ‘so maybe second worse.’

‘nah,’ you wave him off. ‘big whips are the best, most fun part of climbing.’

he looks at you like you’re crazy, which, like, you certifiably are, but even your therapist thinks that climbing with vi — and therefore with a lot of gear and safety checks — is good for getting your “intrusive impulses” out without too much danger. could be worse, you always tell her, because it has been. 

you don’t let yourself dwell on that, though, not out here on a cold, beautiful day, your hands stinging a little in the best way, the sun sinking just slightly. vi might be annoying and so, so gay, but she’s your favorite person in the world, hands down. for now, it’s okay. 

caitlyn calls for slack and then quickly and neatly cleans the anchor, and vi lowers her carefully while she takes the quickdraws out. they’re, like, basically about to kiss, you’re pretty sure, when caitlyn gets to the bottom, before she even unties her knot. 

‘that was amazing,’ vi says, full of genuine awe, as if the both of you didn’t also just lead that route. when caitlyn brushes her hand against vi’s — in thanks, you guess — vi blushes hard enough even you can see it. you’re relieved for her, honestly, when caitlyn’s cheeks are the same shade of pink.

and so the day goes like this: caitlyn sails up a run-out slab route vi had sworn off every other time you’d come to the crag, mostly because she’s so strong she hates slab and it’s truly heinous — the best route here, in your opinion — full of mono pockets and the tiniest foot jibs. it’s kind of embarrassing to watch vi tremble her way up, especially after she lets you lead it after caitlyn, but you actually do belay her carefully and caitlyn and jayce both shout encouragement. vi sends it, even though she’s a total baby and asks you to take twice. jayce — also really strong; also terrified of slab, which makes you laugh — and vi convince caitlyn to end on another overhang, exhausting and pumpy, and you only agree to do it too because you know vi won’t care as much if you fall on it. you send it first, take a giant whip off the top that you know vi will be annoyed at you for, but when she lowers you the rest of the way, she just smiles and taps the top of your helmet.

‘you’re getting so strong, jinx,’ she says, the easy, heartfelt compliment making you feel all warm inside. vander and ekko insist that you’re kind like vi, that you share the same big heart, and sometimes you think they might be right.

‘great job,’ caitlyn agrees, happily and without anything underlying, and jayce echoes the sentiment too. all day they’d both asked you thoughtful and caring questions about your studies, jayce especially excited when you told him you were going to school for mechanical engineering, and about your friends, your hobbies, books and music you’ve enjoyed lately.

kindness is too much for you, sometimes, especially when it’s easily given and true, so you duck off and set about pulling and coiling the rope; gathering the rest of the gear split into your packs — vi’s, of course, much heavier whenever you’re in charge.

still, she stops her flirting — caitlyn is talking about how she’s a doctor, or something, and vi wipes her sweaty face with the bottom of her tank before finally putting her jacket back on, then telling one of her bravest firefighter stories — to say, ‘thanks for doing all of this, sis,’ sincerely before shouldering her pack.

‘don’t mention it,’ you grumble, trudging out of the canyon back up toward your cars. the approach is short but steep, so thankfully they’re mostly quiet. but as you load everything up — yours into vi’s old bronco that you’d both fixed up with vander; caitlyn’s into a brand new forester with every “wilderness” add-on you could possibly think of — they exchange numbers with the promise to climb again soon, both indoors and at another of your favorite crags too. you’re sure caitlyn climbs at one of the fancy gyms in town, one that you can only afford a membership to because vi is a first responder and you’re a student, and even then just barely. 

horrifically, maybe the worst part of the day, is that caitlyn looks unsure for a moment but then opens her arms, and vi enthusiastically, and softly, hugs her for an amount of time that's way too intimate for having just met a friend at the crag. you’re a nice person after all, it turns out, because you don’t make a single gagging noise. you do catch jayce’s eye, though, and he lifts a brow, fighting a laugh. you duck your head, but it makes you smile too. 

they longingly wave goodbye one last time, and then vi glares at you when you start to laugh as she pulls out of the spot and onto the dirt road out of the canyon, flooring it a little more than necessary. 

‘hey,’ you say, ‘why are you all —' you motion to her, the furrow in her brow and the downturned corners of your mouth.

she slows down, taking the next turn and rut in the road carefully, like usual. ‘i just — i don’t even know if she’s queer, first of all.’

‘other than, like, her expertise at pockets —‘

‘— jinx—‘

‘— and the fact that she was all over you for, like, three hours, she had a trans flag on her helmet,’ you offer, taking a little pity on vi. ‘and she drives a subaru.’

vi sighs. ‘she’s — i mean, you can tell. wealthy and smart and gorgeous. i’m, well —‘

‘hot and kind and also smart?’

for someone who’s always bugging you about accepting compliments, she’s terrible at it. you know she holds a lot, feels inadequate in so many ways, because she couldn't save your parents, and because she was incarcerated, and because you grew up poor, and because she can't fix everything for you all the time.

‘look, i don’t think anyone will ever be good enough for you,' you tell her honestly; it's important. 'especially some idiot who wears arcteryx.’

vi laughs; you don’t mention that it’s a little watery with tears.

‘you save people for a living. your muscles are insane. you help me with school, and refilling my meds, and you always pay rent on time, and we can even eat out now, whenever we want. you’ve read, like, seventy books this year. you like podcasts about nature, which i only know because you make me listen to them with you while we drive anywhere.’

it’s quiet — no podcast, not just now — for a minute or two, but then vi nods.

‘i guess you’re right.’

‘i’m always right. i’ve literally never been wrong.’

‘shut the fuck up.’

you laugh, delighted, and put your socked feet on the dash just so vi can swat them off. 

‘so, anyway, do you wanna tell me more about how caitlyn being perfect at pockets made you feel, or…’

‘i will throw you out of this car.’

‘you’d never.’

‘i might.’

you laugh; when she pulls onto the paved road you take her hand in yours, lace your fingers together, put on a song you love that she hates. she rolls her eyes but sings along anyway.

[reineydraws]

botw link in the climbing set! i drew this for a zine called link's closet, i'll reblog with the download link when it comes out 🥰

[tomatoluvr69]

It’s a rainy day which sucks bc my job is otherwise entirely outside. But coworker around whom I fuck around less is out sick so I’m going to be making the students listen to The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald and give the activities a shipwreck theme. How do you do this you might ask. Well the answer is you do all the normal stuff but you ask them a bunch of questions about what they’d do if they were in a shipwreck to get the conversations flowing. Are you actually gonna do this? you might ask. no 💛 but maybe 💛

[travelingwithoutthedoctor]

Morning. Evening.

Everything in between.

[mapsthewanderer]

Caleb takes you sport climbing

Details: 1300ish words of Caleb being supportive, athletic, and absolutely drenched in sexual tension. Fun fact: I do sport climbing, so this one’s got a special place in my heart (and maybe my delusions).

Tags: @gavin3469 (I think you’ll like this heeh)

Belaying

The climbing gym is quiet this early in the morning, all soft rubber and the dry tang of chalk dust in the air. The towering walls loom above you, speckled with plastic holds like colorful constellations. Caleb walks beside you, the climbing rope slung around his neck like a lazy scarf, coiled in loops that sway against his chest with each step. His sleeveless shirt clings to his torso, arms bare and dusted with a few faint white smudges—chalk or dried sweat, maybe both.

He’s already smirking.

“We’re doing lead climbing today,” he says, his voice low and smooth, with that teasing lilt you know too well. “You’ve got the legs for it. Strong hips. Good balance.”

Then, that smirk.

“And before you ask—no,” he adds, looping the rope once around his fingers, “I’m not helping you cheat gravity this time. Last time I practically hauled you up the wall.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off with a raised brow.

“This time, you’re climbing for real,” he says, stepping a little closer. “And if you fall…�� His eyes flick to your lips, lingering. “You fall for me.”

That grin. That infuriating, perfect grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You shoot him a look, half protest, half flustered, but he’s already crouched in front of the rental shelf, scanning for your size.

“First rule,” Caleb says, holding up a pair of aggressively snug shoes, “a good climber sacrifices their comfort. These’ll curl your toes just right.”

You take the shoes from him and pull them on, grimacing as your feet cram inside. He watches you test your stance on the mat, your toes pressing the edge of a thin hold.

“Perfect,” he says with quiet satisfaction.

Then comes the harness. Caleb picks it up from his own pack—sleek, a deep slate gray. He holds it open and nods for you to step in. His hands are warm as he guides the straps around your thighs, up your hips, and then tightens the waist belt with a single, fluid motion that makes the padded webbing cinch against your lower belly.

“Lift your arms for me,” he murmurs.

You do. He fastens the buckle, fingers brushing too slowly along your sides. Then he crouches slightly, hands on your hips as he adjusts the straps down along your thighs. A beat. Then another. He runs his palms over the harness, checking the fit.

“Turn,” he says.

You hesitate, but obey, and feel the featherlight graze of his hand across your bum—calculated and slow. “Straps sit just right,” he murmurs behind you. “Nice and snug.” He steps back with a flicker of a grin that curls his lip, and you suddenly can’t tell if it’s the chalk in the air or the tension between your legs making your pulse spike.

Caleb lifts the rope from his neck and tosses it down with a soft thud. You watch as he crouches again, fluid and focused, pulling the line toward you.

“Time for your knot,” Caleb says, his voice a little rougher now, the teasing laced with something deeper. He crouches in front of you, tugging the end of the rope toward your harness with practiced ease. You watch as he begins threading it through your tie-in loops, his knuckles brushing just under your navel.

His face is so close.

You feel the warmth of his breath against your lower belly, and your muscles clench in response. He doesn’t move fast—no, every motion is slow, intentional. He doubles the rope back, eyes flicking up to yours for a split second before focusing again on the knot. He leans in closer as he loops the figure-eight, his jaw nearly grazing the waistband of your tights.

The rope slides through his fingers, and you feel the faintest brush of his cheek against your skin. It steals the breath from your lungs.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice low enough to be dangerous. His fingers cinch the knot tight, just below your hips, and the sudden pressure makes you gasp. “That’s how I know you’re not going anywhere.”

Then—just to make sure—you feel a sharp, possessive tug on the rope. It tugs the harness flush to your body, locking you in place.

He stands slowly, eyes dragging up your body like he’s memorizing every inch. “Now you’re mine,” he says, voice a whisper that coils straight into your core.

You swallow hard.

Then he turns to his own gear, clipping the assisted belay device onto his harness with a satisfying click. “Even if I let go,” he says, “you’re safe. This’ll catch you.” He runs the rope through the mechanism, the line stretching between the two of you like a lifeline. “Watch—locked here, carabiner through the hardpoints. Zero slack. Even if you fall—” he flicks the end of the rope toward you, showing you the backup knot tied tight as a last resort— “you’re not going anywhere.”

You glance down at your own gear, then up at him. Your tights hug your thighs; his arms flex slightly as he tugs on the brake line. Everything about him is steady. Strong.

And god, you feel so exposed under that gaze.

“The first three clips are where it matters most,” he says, stepping close again. “If you fall there, you fall into me.” He pauses, lowering his voice just a little more. “And I always catch what’s mine.”

You might be about to climb, but your knees are already weak.

Before you even move, Caleb steps in close again, pulling the strap of his own chalk bag through the loops at the back of your harness. “You’ll probably need this,” he says softly, and you feel the way he fastens it—low on your back, snug, hands brushing just enough to make your breath hitch.

He gives the buckle a quick tug, just tight enough to make you feel it. Then, he leans in and taps the bag once with two fingers.

“Look up,” he murmurs.

You do—and your gaze follows the route, hold by hold, all the way to the top of the wall. It seems impossibly far.

“Now,” Caleb says, voice right at your ear, “envision how you’ll move. Visualize every reach. Every shift of weight. Where you’ll place your feet. What you’ll grab with your right hand when your left starts to burn.”

His palm hovers just above the small of your back, not touching—but close. “Trust your body. It’s already stronger than you think.”

He waits until your breathing evens out, your focus narrowing.

Then he steps back, calm and sure, and coils the rope loosely through his brake. He’s already in position—thumb hooked lightly under the rope, hands raised, ready.

You reach back, dipping both hands into the chalk bag. The fine white powder coats your fingers, cool and dry, settling into the lines of your palms. You rub your hands together. Caleb watches. You feel it. His eyes on you, quiet and steady, as you shake out your arms once, then place your fingers on the first hold. And then—no more thinking. No more teasing. No more breathless tension.

You climb.

And somehow—you do it. The wall rises around you, each move a test of focus and fire, every muscle trembling with effort and adrenaline. “Clipping!” you call out at the first quickdraw, fingers fumbling slightly as you feed the rope through.

“Clipped,” Caleb’s voice answers from below, steady and sure. You glance down once—he’s locked in, rope perfect, arms up, gaze on you like a spotlight.

Second clip. “Clipping!” you call again, and this time your fingers are faster, the rope smooth in your grip.

“Got you,” he calls back, quieter now, focused.

By the third clip your body’s burning. Chalk smears your knuckles, and you can barely hear yourself say “Clipping!” over your own heartbeat. But Caleb’s voice cuts through it like rope through air.

“Safe.”

You keep going.

And when you finally slam your hand against the final hold, fingers burning, lungs raw—you hear it.

A low whistle from below. Then his voice.

“Look at you,” he calls up, voice warm and full of pride. “Told you those hips were made for this.”

You laugh—out of breath, high on the climb, high on him—and then let go, trusting him completely.

And he catches you.

The rope pulls snug, and in one fluid motion, Caleb lowers you down through the air like it’s nothing. When your feet touch the mat, you stumble just a little, but he’s already there, steadying you with one firm hand on your waist.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, low against your ear, voice rich. “You did great.”

“And you flashed a 5a. First try. No falls.” He lets out a quiet, impressed exhale, his hand sliding briefly, warmly across your lower back. “That’s not nothing.”

Your chest swells at the praise, but before you can say anything, he’s already slinging the rope off his shoulder, walking toward the exit.

“Oh,” he throws over his shoulder casually, “next time, I’m renting the whole hall. Just for us. No clothes. Just the harness.”

You blink, mouth parting.

“What?”

But he’s already striding off with that damn smirk, rope bouncing on his back, muscles flexing, and you have no idea if he’s joking or dead serious.

Writer’s note: My initial inspiration? The text you can trigger called Rock Climbing. My stomach dropped when I got it—because I’ve been sport climbing for 3 years (5c-ish level, nothing great), and suddenly the universe handed me the perfect fictional man to go on pretend dates with while I’m at the climbing gym. Like? Hello???

I cannot explain how stupidly hot he’d be climbing an 8b+ (French grade, obviously), because yes—of course he’s flashing those routes without acknowledging his gravity evol even exists. He’s just there like some long-lost brother of Adam Ondra (OG legend), casually rewriting physics while looking annoyingly good doing it. (Yea I think Caleb would climb like Adam Ondra, probably moaning just as much as he does lol).

And no, we don’t normally kneel when tying the knot… but I needed Caleb’s face to be, y’know—strategically lowered. Huhuhu. Creative liberties were taken. Also, yes—some of the dialogue is straight-up inside jokes from the climbing gym. We’re all weirdos. (Climbing nude would hurt like hell—do not try it. Unless, of course, friction burns in the crotch are your idea of a good time. No judgment.)

Update: Just have proofreading left on chapter four of Plated! Posting this weekend—maybe today, maybe Sunday, who knows?. Also, I’ve got a special lil something for all the bois simmering in my drafts, and I’ll be sharing that soon too. Love ya’ll—can’t wait to toss more chaos into the void! Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[ooffmlsorry]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

A/N: I swear I'm gonna work on my prompt posts after this but it was unexpectedly cold today and I was not ready 😭

Your feet crunched loudly underneath you. The snow comes up to your shines, forcing you to take high trudging steps. The wind is throwing snowflakes into your face, and your tears live short liquid lives before turning to ice on your cheeks.

So far, your first experience with snow is...hell on earth.

If hell froze over, that is.

The rest of the crew were completely comfortable in the weather, but what could you expect? The navigator was a polar bear after all. Someone had said something about part of the crew being from the frigid North Blue, which was suddenly beginning to make sense.

"There's gotta be something wrong with him," you muttered into the scarf wrap around the lower half of your face. It was swampy and damp against your skin, collecting snot and condensation from your breath. Disgusting. But at least it kept your lips and nose from going numb.

The plan was to rendezvous with the rest of the crew on the other side of the island. Bepo was leading the others across, and as the next best thing to a navigator, you were to guide and stay with Law to wait for them at this shabby excuse for a cabin.

You surveyed the white wasteland outside the window. A sheet of startling blue sky loomed overhead. Speaking of Law, you turned to look at your captain just slightly behind you. You couldn't read anything on his expression, but the fact that he didn't look nearly as miserable as you told you enough.

The shack you waited in had nothing except four walls and a fireplace--trees for firewood not included.

"How do you stand this?!" You say. "I'm so cooold!" The end of your whining turns into fake sob.

"Keep your eyes ahead, y/n-ya," Law says. The slight upward pull of his lips turns the neutral resting bitch face he normally has into an amused smirk.

You exaggerate your pout, "that's all I get?! This is my first time in the snow and it's awful! I'm freezing!"

Law chuckles. "It's not my fault you were raised on a tropical island."

Law only wears his hat, a coat--the same one you remember him wearing on Punk Hazard--and a pair of gloves. He's practically naked compared to your hat, gloves, scarf, dense coat, and wool snow pants.

You sigh loudly, your shoulders slump miserably in front of you. Law watches you with a twinkle in his eyes that causes warmth to bloom across your face.

The look in his eyes belays a fondness he normally hides.

He's enjoying this.

"How long do you think it will take the others to get here?" He asks you.

Business as usual, then. You walk back over to the shack's window to observe the sky.

"There's still no sign of clouds. In fact, snow blindness might be an issue for the rest of the crew. They're walking on a plateau, far away from any slopes so they won't have to work against any winds. I'd say three hours? Maybe a little less since some of you are cold weather natives." A draft blows cold winds through the cabin, making you shudder all the way down to your toes. "I can't wait until we literally blow this popsicle stand."

Law wraps his arms around you from behind. His front flush to your back and his chin resting on the top of your head.

"Oh?"

You lean in to him and stuff his hands into your front pockets so you can hold them. Gloved fingers intertwine. You have just enough room to lovingly stroke your thumb across the back of Law's hand. A wordless thank you.

"I won't listen to you complain about how cold it is for that long." Law's voice rumbles from. "I'll warm you up."

You watch the snow drift and dance in the wind through icy windows. You never knew the ice crystals people spoke of were truly crystals, until you saw them on the window. The last time you saw the sky this blue was back on your home island. Cloudless and comfortingly blue.

"It's actually kind of pretty," you say quietly.

"It can be," Law responds. He surprises you further by pressing a kiss to your temple. "You were too busy freezing your ass off to notice."

[schofielded]

The Terror as The Decemberists songs (inspired by @fragglez and @falling-through-a-trapdoor ‘s Daft Punk and Lord Huron ones respectively, done like a week later because I decided to justify myself and that was more difficult than I thought it would be). I don’t have one for every character, I just did the ones that had a song that Spoke to me.

Franklin— Oh No!

Hickey— Culling of the Fold (I could do a mini playlist of Decemberists songs that relate to Hickey to me)

Gibson— Rusalka, Rusalka/Wild Rushes

Irving— Sucker’s Prayer

Crozier— The Harrowed and the Haunted

Jopson— Days of Elaine (Long)

Fitzjames— Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect

Little— Everything is Awful

Blanky— Burial Ground

Tozer— We All Die Young

Silna— Starwatcher

Hartnell Brothers— Leslie Anne Levine

Goodsir— 12/17/12

Stanley— The Tain, Pt. IV

Collins— Your Ghost

Crozier (again)— Eli, the Barrow Boy

And because I don’t have anything better to do with myself, I’m going to justify them all below the cut

1. Franklin— Oh No! “You won’t feel so loose with a noose round your neck when those cold winter winds start to blow” —overall it’s a song about a crime family’s empire falling, likely because of their own hubris, so it’s fitting for Franklin’s own hubris leading to the downfall of the entire expedition. Also, title alone is very Franklin

2. Hickey— Culling of the Fold. “Cut him up, boy / you’d better cut him up, boy / he’s a wicked disgrace and he said it to your face / you’d better cut him up boy.” Song about killing people. Very Hickey. Alternatives for him in my head are: Cavalry Captain, the Rake’s Song

3. Gibson— Rusalka, Rusalka/Wild Rushes. “Oh come, my little darling, do you feel my cool breath? / Do you feel my arms around you so warm and so wet?/ Swept from my feet, she pulled me beneath/ And in the wild rushes, I went to my death” The Rusalka leading the narrator further into the water throughout the song until they drown seems VERY reminiscent of Hickey and Gibson to me, I shan’t lie

4. Irving— Sucker’s Prayer. “I wanna love somebody, but I don’t know how / I been so long lonely and it’s getting me down / I wanna love somebody, but I don’t know how / I wanna throw my body in the river and drown.” Taking the title into account with the lyrics—could be read as him struggling to reconcile his sexuality with his faith.

5. Crozier— The Harrowed and the Haunted. This whole song is just so Crozier to me. Pardon the abundance of lyrics coming up: “So lay out the bowline, / Feather and belay, / You boys haul away / I will roam and I will ramble / ‘Till my heart no longer craves / Our brazen days. // This is what you wanted / I'm harrowed and I'm haunted / Haunted by the light. / Will you be there waiting? / Or is your heartbeat fading? / Fading from the time, / Still miles to go till I arrive.” Just. Crozier, alone, for the rest of his days, haunted by what happened, yearning for the past but not allowing himself peace even when presented with the opportunity to return.

6. Jopson— Days of Elaine (Long). “Always on verge of collapse / Mother would quit and then suffer a lapse from the drink / You would think she was dead” solely for the story about his mom, I’m not gonna lie

7.Fitzjames— Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect. Overall the song is about dreaming to be something you’re not, which is very JFJ-core to me (Alternatively, Joan in Garden but literally only for the part that says “o holy whore androgyne”)

8. Little— Everything is Awful. “What’s that crashing sound? / Follows us around? / That’s the sound of all things good breaking.” Yeah. Little poor overworked guy who’s always around when things go wrong. Someone save him.

9. Blanky— Burial Ground. Happy sounding song about going to a burial ground, reminds me of Blanky willingly going to meet Tuunbaq. “Here, among the fallen leaves / Are we alone the ones that dare to breath? / put your worries down, they’re oh so bravely held / you have carried them so well.” sort of reminds me of when Blanky was telling Crozier that he was going to die because of gangrene. I also debated using Calamity Song and Better Not Wake the Baby for Blanky. Both have Blanky vibes in different ways to me

10. Tozer— We All Die Young. Idk this is mostly just vibes, I’m not gonna lie. I don’t have much evidence for it other than it’s just rock-adjacent

11. Silna— Starwatcher. “there’s a rider on the road / there’s calamity awaiting to unfold / there is poison in the well / there’s the augur of a distant ringing bell / it says hold, hold, hold your ground.” Silna losing her father at the hands of foreigners who do not understand her culture and don’t make any attempt to— but she must remain steadfast and hold her ground.

12. Hartnell Brothers— Leslie Anne Levine “I’ve got no one left to mourn for me / my body lies inside its grave / in a ditch not far away.” Because. When Tom dies, his brother has no one left to mourn for him, and since Tom’s also dead, he also has no one left to mourn for him. It’s just a melancholy song overall and I went with my gut on this one

13. Goodsir— 12/17/12. “And oh my God / what a world you have made here / what a terrible world, what a beautiful world / what a world you have made here” and of course, Goodsir’s “this place is beautiful to me, even now”

14. Stanley— The Tain, Pt. IV. This one’s mostly vibes because it’s kind of creepy and it reminds me a bit of a messed up Carnivale, which, yknow.

15. Collins— Your Ghost. Mostly because I feel like he’s haunted by Orren’s ghost in a way? Collins seeing him in the water was the catalyst for all of his mental health issues. And “And when you take your rest / My weight upon your breast / And should you close your eyes / I'll still materialize / Your ghost, oh your ghost” could be taken as not a literal ghost, but as something weighing you down mentally/emotionally.

16. Crozier— Eli, the Barrow Boy. “Would I could afford to by my love a fine gown / made of gold and silk Arabian thread / but I am dead and gone and lying in a church ground / and still I push my barrow all the day.” This is literally just mostly for the “dead and gone” line but I was thinking… you know… JCR and Crozier… 👀 and I also really just wanted something from Picaresque on here

[kyaslins]

KYALIN 📚 MASTERLIST (so I never lose it)

[last updated march 26th 2024]

[WORK IN PROGRESS]

- something tragic about you

- coriander and lilies

- soft landing

- never have I ever

- there’s something about you

- silent echoes

- like old times

- how this grace thing works

- and everything’s clear

- now that I’ve found you

- music to my ears

- one year (I can't quite find the words to explain how I feel)

- compassion

- it’s okay to take a break

- kyalin sketches and adventures (series)

- weigh me down, please lay me down

- the way to a woman’s heart (is through her stomach)

- on belay

- slumber party

- why’d she have to walk into mine?

- you don’t have to be alone

- brief reprieve

- the ember island tango

- every single broken heart (will lead you to the truth)

- tears

- dinner

- you had me at aloe

- wisdom, wisdom, where can I get some?

- let the rain fall (and wash your clean spirit)

- even breathing feels alright

- baby, you taste so rich

- disenchanted

- I will remember you, the way you are right now

- trust

- finally

- heated confessions

- did you know, that I see you?

- all and then most of you

- a healing sunrise

- sleep like a stone

- sunshine

- nows not the time

- let me have a look

- free day

- touch

- everybody talks

- we’ve got chemistry (I’ve got my ion you)

- tulips

- you should probably leave

- in losing you, I found me

- love is blind

- battle scars and buttercups

- the darkest night, the longest day

- hang on to what’s real

- carry you always

- you’re in my soul now

- imagine me and you

- hold me closer

- kinder words

- my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand

- red blanket nights

- honey, being around you is all I need

- I never did believe in miracles (but i’ve a feeling it’s time to try)

- attraction 101

- the person falling here is me

- a spark the pierce the dark

- merry christmas, lin beifong

- the kiss at ember island

- different scars

- dance partners

- bad dreams leave me when im with you

- one year (I can’t quite find the words to explain how I feel)

- five minutes to midnight

- kya’s idea

- emergency contact

- hit the back

- stay

- the chief takes a holiday (sequel to stay)

- an evening out

- softly and slowly

- the long way round

- is it too late (to come on home)

- drabble kyalin collection

- stolen flowers

- jealousy

- the cracked nut

- after the wedding

- im glad you’re staying

- you don’t look at me in the dark

- I was lost without you

- just go get her

- lucky number seven

- late bloomer

-patience

[geddyqueer]

Ok. So. Spoiler alert: we’re all fine.

Now that that’s out of the way, the three rules of ice climbing are: 1. don’t fall 2. know what’s above you 3. if the environment starts changing you might want to gtfo. Today we got really close to breaking all three of them.

(big mountain looking her regular intimidating self from the road)

It was -12 F in the valley, closer to -4 where we parked. What we call the “ice cave” is actually a waterfall at the back of a slot canyon at around 9200’ in elevation, tucked in between a handful of 14,000’ mountains. I got out of the car and peed behind a juniper: a brisk and honestly somewhat unpleasant way to start the morning! From the trailhead it’s not quite a mile to where the creek spits out from the mouth of the cave. We were the only ones there, which was a little ominous, since this is often a major tourist destination (cool waterfall! short hike!) and it’s a holiday weekend. We've climbed this waterfall dozens of times, and we've never been alone up there. But whatever, we thought, -12 degrees, let’s get a move on.

(cave mouth; water ice)

The cave is fully frozen. It is below zero. The ice is like glass: brittle and hard to hit. We set up at the base of the falls and my partner (the only one of us crazy and stupid enough to lead on ice) starts climbing.

Ok, so, the thing about lead climbing on ice is: remember the first rule of climbing? The main difference between ice and rock, other than the fact that you're on ice and not rock, is that there's no way to safely take a fall. You've got knives in your hands, you've got knives strapped to your feet, and between the ice and the nylon rope and the steel of your picks and your crampons and your body, you know which one of those will break first? If you guessed "your body", you're right! So if you're leading on ice, the generally accepted method of protecting against falls is, like, Just Don't.

So my partner starts climbing. He gets about 10' up and goes to put in his first ice screw. The screw teeth do not catch. There's no friction. The ice is too brittle. My partner is mildly insane, so he just shrugs and keeps climbing. He gets about 15' up, which is the point where a fall would start to do some serious damage, and I helpfully suggest that he "place a screw?" He pulls his first screw back off his harness and starts to put it in. This time the teeth catch. "Phew," our friend and I say. Our friend is belaying. I'm standing off to the side taking pictures. The screw is about halfway into the ice - 2 inches, maybe - when we hear what sounds like a fucking gunshot.

We are in a slot canyon. None of us are carrying a gun.

I'm the first to spot the issue. Radiating horizontally from the screw for about 5' is a giant crack in the ice. The entire bulge of ice that my partner has just screwed into is now cracking away from the wall. My partner very gingerly lifts his foot up. The ice stays where it is. "Okay," he says, and he slowly and quietly climbs away from it.

(can you spot the difference?)

At this point, if he tried to lower off that screw, the whole thing would fall off the wall (and kill him, and probably me too). If he tried to downclimb, he would most likely knock it loose from the wall (and kill him, and probably me too). It's at this time that I walk around to our friend's other side, because it seems slightly safer. So my partner keeps climbing. He places three more screws. Two of them lead to more cracking. We're starting to get jumpy. He gets to the top, where there are anchor chains, and clips in. "This is kinda fucked," he says. "Still want to climb?"

Well, we're all stupid, so we say yes.

Quick hydrology lesson: you know how I said this was a slot canyon? The creek comes down from an alpine lake another 2000' higher on the massif, and just before it drops into this canyon it pours over a short 20' drop and forms a very small pond. "It's weird," my partner says as he makes it back down to solid ground. "I would've expected the pond to be frozen over."

"Huh," we all say, and for some reason none of us stop to question this.

Friend climbs second and I switch to belay. His climb is a lot more successful, because he's on top rope and doesn't have to worry about putting screws in. He gets to the top and shouts something at us, but for some reason we can't hear him at all. That's fine, though. I lower him. "What did you say?" we ask as he gets back down to the ground.

"Oh, just that it's weirdly loud up there."

"Weird," we say, and for some reason none of us stop to think about this.

(me, moments before disaster)

I climb third. I start on the center route that everyone else had climbed. I get halfway up before my hands go numb. I call down, ask my partner to lower me, get back on the ground and switch my gloves out for the big gauntlet mittens. Then, as I'm standing there, I think - maybe it would be fun to climb the rockier left side? So I shuffle to the left and start working the left route, get maybe a third of the way up, and as I'm placing one of my tools I knock off a small pillar and it -

it drips on me.

It's still zero degrees F, by the way. There shouldn't be dripping liquid water when it's that far below freezing. "Huh," I say, and I look up, and I get a face full of water. I look back down. "Can anyone see what's peeing on me?" I ask, right before a whole flood of water starts pouring down the route.

I don't think I've ever been lowered faster than that.

(sound on for unsettling wet noises)

The thing is: our gear is still up on the anchor chains. Someone needs to go get it. My partner volunteers, because he's the fastest climber; our friend and I are hustling around the base trying to move our rope and the rest of our gear out of the rapidly-developing pond at our feet; the ice is getting really, really wet. My partner gets to the top and rescues the gear and lowers down and we start hightailing it out of there but when we go to leave the slot canyon, the ice bridge we'd walked in on has fully washed out and we have to slog through ankle-deep freezing water to leave the canyon. Jinkies!

Our best guess is that an ice dam further upstream broke; maybe the sun caught it and melted it out, maybe something fell on it, I dunno. Maybe it was fucking haunted! We weren't going to hike up and find out. Was this related to the fracturing ice inside the cave? Unsure! Unclear! Should any of us climbed after my partner finished the first climb? Probably not! Should I have taken the fact that it took seven tries to get my contacts in this morning as a sign and stayed home? Maybe! Who knows!

All I know is I think 10-25 F is a much more pleasant temperature to climb in and maybe we should climb somewhere else for a while.

[skyward-floored]

The Lost Woods aren’t so bad.

Not after traversing them more times then Link can count, at least. Sure the paths shift, and monsters occasionally slip their way inside to hide in the bushes and trees, but Link knows the way to the clearing where he needs to go.

The forest only needs to let him.

His boots cut through soft grass, an occasional crunch belaying a leaf. The song of the woods is on the wind, and Link follows its winding tune, the pipes of water, strings and drums of leaves and branches. Quiet giggles make his ears twitch, but Link knows to ignore them.

He plays the game of the Woods, walking its paths, watching poes with a careful eye to see where they lead. The song dances by, high and low, loud and soft, and the flute that sometimes joins it makes his heart ache.

Time stretches strangely under the canopy of trees and fog— Link feels like he’s been here for hours now, but the glimpses of sunshine that peek through the branches are no different from how it was when he arrived. Link passes through another clearing, doubt beginning to nip at his heels. They’re not called the Lost Woods for no reason after all, and he’s starting to wonder if he hasn’t passed their test this time.

Is it because of what I’ve done since last I’ve been here?

But then something in the air, in him, clicks, eases, Link doesn’t know the word. But it’s like a fog lifts from his vision, and the path he needs to take is suddenly obvious. Link follows the pull past flowers and stones, over a barely-there path. It guides him through the yawning mouth of a log, and birds softly chirp as he emerges into a familiar clearing.

Fog drifts past his boots as he looks around, and a single shaft of sunlight breaks past the trees, drawing his vision to sparkling blue.

Link exhales, and steps forward, squirrels and other small creatures darting away into the bushes. He steps up onto the small stone platform, and doesn’t move for a long moment, looking at where the Master Sword sits with wisps of fog and sunlight dancing around her. Waiting for him.

“Hey old girl,” Link says softly, and for some reason his throat aches as he rests a hand on her hilt. “Been a while.”

The metal under his skin is both hot and cold, warmed by the sun’s light, and cooled by the stone it rests in. Despite years exposed to the elements, the Master Sword isn’t covered in greenery like it was the first time Link found her. Nor is her shine diminished in the slightest. Her blade is dimmed only because she rests, her power waiting for the next hero who needs her.

Who just happens to be Link again.

A shaking sigh escapes him, and Link puts both of his hands around her hilt, the electrifying hot-and-cold sharp-and-soft thrill of her power zipping through him as he pulls.

The Master Sword slips loose just like it did when he pulled her the first time, and Link raises her to the sky, the fog parting and fading away. The sunlight brightens somehow, making her sparkle and glow, and Link’s throat tightens again.

He hadn’t realized until now how badly he’d missed her.

Link lowers the blade again, running a hand over her cool steel as he studies her, looking over her finer points to familiarize himself with the weapon once again. Something is different, he realizes after a minute or two. And when it finally dawns on him what it is, he holds the Master Sword tighter, almost hugging her.

“I’ve grown,” he says quietly.

The blade fits his size now.

Instead of the still-pudgy hands of a child grasping at her hilt, there’s the worn hands of an adventurer ghosting along the metal, scars catching in her grooves. There’s blood staining his hands now that wasn’t there before, yet she still allowed him to pull her.

“You fit better, now,” he continues, voice shaking a little. “Hopefully this’ll... make things easier.”

His breath hitches, and Link swallows it back, clasping the sacred blade in his arms like one would an old friend.

He squeezes his eyes closed.

“I guess I thought I wouldn’t be doing this again,” Link whispers, ghosting his fingers along the gem in her hilt. “Not... not after the last one.”

Not after what I did.

The metal seems to warm just a hair, like the sunshine got pulled into it, and Link rests his head against the Master Sword, allowing a single drop of saltwater to trail down his cheek.

“Thanks,” he croaks, and the softest, faintest of chimes echoes in his heart.

It’s enough to pull him from the grief that was threatening to swallow him up again, and Link sets aside the weight of an island, and focuses instead on the weight of the sword, and his kingdom.

He’s needed. He can’t get lost in grief.

Link breathes out, running his hand along the steel one more time, and then he gently sheathes her, stepping down from the platform.

“Here we go again old girl,” he says as he steps outside of the clearing, weary with grief, but determined to stop the evil returning yet again.

He closes his eyes.

“One more time.”

A single pure note chimes in his chest, and Link feels something other than grief wrap itself around him, urging him forward to take another step, to press on despite the weight.

It feels a little bit like hope.

[princesslightgiggles]

Truth or Dare

Gathered in Eddie's cluttered, cramped trailer, the friends sat in a circle surrounded by mismatched pillows and dim lighting. The atmosphere was filled with excitement and anticipation as the bottle spun, leading to bursts of laughter and playful banter. When it was Eddie's turn, he chose "dare" with a characteristic smirk, ready for whatever challenge awaited him.

He drew a card from the stack, his heart beating a little faster. As he read the dare, a hint of pink colored his cheeks. "Let the person to your left tickle your feet for two minutes."

Eddie's eyes met yours, seated to his left, and he saw the mischievous glint in your eyes. He knew just how ticklish he was and the thought of enduring that in front of everyone (especially cocky, pretty boy Steve Harrington) made him uneasy. Nevertheless, determined not to back down, he nodded and prepared himself for the inevitable.

Without hesitation, you began to lightly tickle Eddie's bare feet. He erupted into uncontrollable laughter almost instantly, his body writhing and squirming as he tried to handle the ticklish assault. The others watched, the younger kids laughing and cheering you on, watching the leader of the Hellfire club come utterly undone.

As you scribbled over the balls of his feet, Eddie jerked wildly. “Shit….. shit…… ahahahaha….. stop….. please…… not there…. ah fuck!” he mumbled between frantic giggles. He was determined not to pull his feet away. Eddie always played by the rules… when it came to games anyway.

Those two minutes felt like an eternity for Eddie. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he struggled to catch his breath between fits of laughter. Despite his best efforts to remain composed, every touch sent him into hysterics.

When the timer finally ran out, Eddie sat there, breathless and disheveled, his face flushed from laughter, messy curls everywhere. He avoided looking at anyone, feeling self-conscious about his reaction. Trying to regain his composure, he reached for a joint lying nearby, lighting it with shaky hands. He took a deep drag, the familiar sensation helping to steady his racing heart. As he exhaled slowly, the tension began to melt away, and he glanced over at you. You looked positively gleeful.

“You enjoyed that way too much Y/N” he grumbled, feigning being sulky. “I thought we were taking a break from monsters and torture tonight?” He raised an eyebrow and a small smile played on his lips, belaying that he wasn’t really mad at you.

You poked him in the ribs and he jumped with a yelp. “Careful Eddie” you warned. “They say the tickle monster is the worst monster of them all. You would do best not to upset me”. You wiggled your fingers menacingly in his direction.

Eddie shuffled backwards away from you, not taking any chances about your threat but found himself backing into Steve who pinned his arms behind his back and said with a wink and a shit-eating-grin “y’know… I think Eddie here could do with some more laughter in his life, after the week he’s just had. What do ya say we help him out?” He spoke to the group.

The younger kids thought this sounded like tremendous fun and all piled in to scribble fingers over ribs, knees, feet, armpits…. Anything they could while the metalhead laughed, bucked, screamed and writhed in Steve’s grasp.

For tonight, the sound of laughter coming from the trailer would serve to keep anything bad away and tomorrow the group would fight whatever came their way, with a renewed sense of camaraderie.

[dairsmuids]

｢ ➥ ｣ D A T E N I G H T femshep x zaeed word count 1.2k • tags established relationship, canon-divergence, mostly fluff, slightly suggestive • also on ao3 • [divider cr.]

The Silversun Strip’s Castle Arcade is abuzz with its typical obnoxious symphony of repetitive sound effects and dance music, as well as laughter and excited screams from both adults and children alike. The lighting in here isn't much more tolerable than the noise: migraine inducing flashing lights bathed in a blue and purple glow, while rows of white spotlights lead up the grand staircase. 

Shepard makes her way up the stairs, eyes darting around as she looks for the person she's meant to be meeting here. She feels a little awkward in her leather dress, tugging at the hem of it slightly in an act of self-consciousness. It's almost laughable: she can lead the galaxy through a painful and bloody war, yet something as small as wearing a dress in public makes part of her want to go hide in the nearest corner.

As she reaches the top of the stairs she finally spots him, and she can't help but snort in exasperated amusement. Zaeed. He's here, as he promised he would be, which she's glad about. What she's less glad about, however, is that he's chosen to belay her request for him to dress casual. He's sticking out like a sore thumb in his trademark yellow armor.

As she comes to a stop a few paces away from him, she crosses her arms and tilts her head, watching as Zaeed glares at the claw machine like it’s personally offended him. His scarred hand is resting on the joystick, his mouth set in a hard line as he eyes the coloured capsules inside the machine. 

She finally walks up to him, coming to a stop in front of the machine. “You look like you’re about to fire an impact shot through the glass, Zae,” she remarks in a teasing greeting.

Zaeed is unperturbed by Shepard's sudden presence, letting out a grunt as he shoots her a brief sideways glance. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea. Bastard thing’s rigged.”  

Shepard shakes her head with an amused sigh, but before she can say anything else, her eyes drift over his outfit once more. She gestures vaguely toward him with a single hand. “Okay, but I have to ask. Why the hell are you wearing that?”

A frown crosses Zaeed's face as he gives himself a cursory once-over. “Didn’t know we had a dress code.”  

“Um, yes you did,” she tells him, narrowing her eyes. “I told you this was supposed to be a date. And this is an arcade, Zaeed. Not a damn merc base.”

He scoffs and turns back to the game. “Storming a merc base is a picnic compared to this fuckin’ thing, I tell you.” He moves the claw into position, presses the button, and watches as the damn thing yet again fails to grab onto the capsule. His scowl deepens. “Bloody fix is what it is.”  

Shepard's leather-clad chest jolts as she barks out a laugh. “Oh, for the love of — move your ass aside, Massani.” She nudges him a few steps to the left with her hip, giving a roll of her shoulders almost as though she’s preparing for a round of combat at the Armax Arena. Zaeed watches, arms folded in front of him, as she takes the joystick in hand with practiced ease. “The trick is to go for the ones that aren’t too wedged in,” she explains. “And you have to drop the claw slightly off-center, not directly on top.”  

“You sound way too familiar with this, Ez.” 

“What can I say, I'm good with a joystick in my hands,” she teases, a grin forming on her face as she gives him a lingering look.

“Mm, you bet your sweet arse you are,” he mutters gruffly, slinking up behind her to slip his arms around her waist, planting a kiss to the side of her neck, to which she laughs and squirms. 

“Fuck off, Massani, do you want me to win a prize for you or not?” she chastises playfully through her soft laughter. 

He relents with a low chuckle and releases her, moving to stand beside her once again. Shepard uses the joystick to manoeuvre the machine claw, presses the button, and — almost like magic — the claw immediately grabs hold of the colour capsule, lifting it up and dropping it neatly into the prize chute.

Zaeed stares over her shoulder, mouth agape. “... What the bloody hell —”  

Shepard smirks and bends down, retrieving the capsule and popping it open to find an adorable volus plushie inside, which she proceeds to hold up triumphantly. “See? Not rigged. Just requires a bit of finesse.”

He lets out a scoff at that. “Right. Finesse. Because you’re just full of that, ain't ya.”

Shepard cocks a brow, jabbing her elbow into his side, though it's a futile gesture against the hard lines of his armor. “Damn right I am, more than your decrepit ass.” She holds out the volus plushie to him. “Here. Your prize.”

Zaeed eyes it warily, almost as though it's a bomb about to go off. “I don’t want the bloody thing.”  

“Oh, really now?” She narrows her eyes, amusedly suspicious. “Because from where I was standing you were looking awfully determined to win it.”  

Zaeed scoffs. “Nah, there was some snivelling brat here earlier, asked me to win it for him. No fuckin’ clue where he is now.” But despite his words, he snatches the toy from her hands, inspecting it like he’s assessing the quality of a new weapon. The corner of his mouth twitches, just slightly. “... Hm. Not bad. Not worth the amount of goddamn credits I poured into that thing though.”  

Shepard folds her arms, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You’re welcome. Perhaps you should've put the credits towards something more practical. Like clothes not made to fight in.” 

Zaeed gives a groan at that. “Alright, woman, bloody hell. Said I was sorry, didn't I?”

Shepard thinks for a moment, eyes darting from side to side. “No, actually, you didn't,” she responds, though the amusement etched into the corners of her lips contradict her attempts at outward irritation.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck in a rare show of sheepishness, though he doesn't make any attempt to actually verbally apologise. “Well, c’mon. Still got some credits left. I'll take you to dinner.” 

A soft snort escapes Shepard's lips as she presses a single hand against his chest, shaking her head. “Nuh uh, Massani. I'm not walking into a restaurant with you looking like you're planning on shooting up the place.”

Zaeed gives her an irritated glance, idly rubbing the side of his cheek with a single calloused hand. “Your loss, sweetheart. Takeout at yours, then?”

“I dressed up for you.” She takes a step back, holding her arms at her sides in a presenting motion — though Zaeed doesn't miss a beat, his eyes roaming over her dress-clad form with an expression that’s entirely inappropriate for the setting they’re in. As he moves to pull her into an embrace, burying his face roughly into the crook of her neck, she lets out a surprised laugh and bats him away. “Zae, there are children here.”

“And you know where there aren't children? At your place. Where we can order takeout.” He drops his voice lower. “And you can undress for me.” He steps back out of her personal space, holding out his hand expectantly.

“Perv,” Shepard mutters with a grin, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze as she threads their fingers together.

[artralichoard]

Rock Climbers au

Last and definitely NOT least, Raph is the Boulderer of the brothers. He loves pushing his strength on really complex routes and intense overhanges. He is either in an intense focus trying to complete his latest boulder problem, or doing the most rediculous things on the wall. He will rope anyone and everyone into his shinanigans. "ok but what if we do this route with JUST our left hand and leg? yeah? that would be fun!" or "what if we put our hand here on this hold, then use this hold to keep your self on the wall- what? yeah I know mean you'd be upside down but thats fine! it goes. trust me" or "oh wait! this hold is perfect for a bathang, donnie c'mon lets see who can hang the longest!"

Boulder is also really fun for Raph because it helps him work on his problem solving skill and thinking ahead. Theres been plenty of time where the brothers are cheering Raph on while he works on a particularly hard problem, only for him to pause mid route. when asked Raph can only respon "I didn't think I'd get this far! wheres the next hold? where do I go from here!?" before falling off the wall in defeat. Donnie tries to instill routereading into Raphs head but it never sticks.

Outside of Bouldering, Raph also like Top Rope. He like working on his stamina, which Top Rope climbing definitely puts to the test. Especially when he has Mikey belaying him, who will bring out Dr. Delicate Touch to get Raph up the wall! "ok I don't think I got anything left, you can bring me down Mikes!" "Nope! you aint getting down till I say so! now go one more time!" He like the burn of a good work out, but hates the idea of Lead Climbing and refuses to try it despite Leo's askance. Top Rope however give Raph the security to climb taller walls reletively stress free.

Mikey | Leo | Donnie

Hooray all the boys are done!!! I really enjoyed making all of these, I can never draw Raph too well so I am exteremely happy with how this turned out! (I may be a little biased as Raph has always been my fave in almost any iteration and I am a boulderer at heart)

Like I mentioned in Mikey's post, most if not all of the inspiration for this au come from my irl experience climbing with my friends. some of the poses I used even are straight up from pics I have of us in our shinannigans XD.

I might come back to this to include April, Casey and Jr. but i'm not 100% sure so for now that is all!! thank you for tolerating my self induldgant au!

[sunriseverse]

missed yesterday oops :') anyway, coming in at literally the last moment with today's prompt for day five's "opportunities" prompt. many thanks to @tiesanjiaoshenanigans for organising, and @lungache for this specific idea.

-

They meet entirely by chance, in the middle of the jungle—at least, by chance on Wu Xie's part, who has done his damn best to make sure that no one he knows has seen hide nor hair of him, windswept and wearied as his body has begun to appear. Maybe that'll change after long enough—maybe his body will grow accustomed to the harshness he is subjecting it to.

(It hasn't yet.)

He's bloodied and bedraggled and recently covered in some truly noxious slime ejected from within the stomach of a five-headed snake they'd run into, which had made off with most of the party he was travelling with, and fuck knows where the rest of them are. Possibly still alive, but probably not in any better condition than he is. Panting, he limps through the underbrush, and tries not to think about the literal train of blood he'd leaving behind him.

Then: ahead, a small clearing, with a neat tent pitched in its centre. Sturdy, expensive make; someone who has been in the business long enough to know, full well, what somewhere like this calls for. Wu Xie tries to run through all the possibilities—none of the Jiumen proper would bother outfitting their hired teams with anything so costly when cheap substitutes will work well enough, which means that it's probably one of the heads of one of the families. He fucking hopes it's not old Chen Pi A Si, who's a bastard at the best of times and absolutely cruel at worse.

(It's cruelty he knows that he's going to have to learn, some day soon. Selfishly, he's been doing his damn best to delay it.)

(Ten years of my lifetime for a lifetime of your innocence.)

Drawing in a rattling breath, he stops to lean against a tree just far enough outside the clearing to not be immediately visible, and considers. The Huo family is nominally still under Huo Xiangu, but she's too far along to be leading an expedition on her own. The heads of the Li and Qi are cowards, and while Zhang Rishan isn't categorically opposed to getting his hands dirty, it results in a lot of paperwork. Which—

From behind him, a polite cough. "Wu Xie," comes a familiar voice.

He turns around, trying to pin on a smile that doesn't belay the rending pain that goes through his chest every time he breathes, shutter his surprise to the best of his ability. "Xiao Hua," he says.

Cutting a slight figure, slender and tall, Xiao Hua is dressed in neat, white outdoor gear, a pink shirt peeking out from beneath the half-open collar of his jacket. He looks just like Wu Xie remembers him—imposing, a smile hovering around the corners of his lips and eyes that always reads as slightly unsettling, and a poise to him that speaks to his position as the youngest Jiumen head.

"You're going to bleed out if you keep standing there," Xiao Hua says, tilting his head. "Come."

For a moment, Wu Xie hesitates. He'd sworn to himself to cut all ties with his friends and family, more for their safety than his own and with more than a bit of selfish intent, which by now he can admit, fearing that they might love him enough to stop him in his goals, and so far, he's managed to keep that promise to himself. But Xiao Hua—Xiao Hua is different. Be it the betrayal he'd suffered, at others' hands and Wu Xie's, as a child, or the brutal pragmatism that Wu Xie is starting to feel grow a twin to in his own chest.

Xiao Hua doesn't touch him, but his gaze is heavy, weighted. Like the heaviest cloak of midnight. Wu Xie wavers, and breaks. Follows Xiao Hua into the clearing, through the zipper door of the tent. Lets Xiao Hua gesture him towards the singular chair, bustling about to pull out an overlystocked first aid kit.

Xiao Hua kneels before him, and gently pulls the ragged edge of his jacket away from the deep, pulsating wound on his abdomen. It's not letting out gouts of blood like it had at first, but the flow hasn't slowed much, and his skin all around it is stained red. With sure fingers, Xiao Hua threads the suture needle, and says, "Careful," before he begins to stitch. Wu Xie suppresses a hiss, letting it out as a panting breath.

Xiao Hua's motions are quick, efficient. Wu Xie wonders how many times he's done this—on himself, and on others. When he'd learnt to do it—if he'd still been a boy, or if the blood had made him a man.

"Wu Xie."

He blinks, and finds that Xiao Hua has tied off the suture. He's kneeling still, wiping his hands off on a disposable towel. "Hm?" he responds, and finds his voice sounds weak.

"The Xie family's sanctuary is a not informidable thing," Xiao Hua says, as light as air, his motions far too casual. He's not looking at Wu Xie, and Wu Xie understands, suddenly, why Xiao Hua is here. It pierces his chest like an icepick, sharp and forceful and wrecking, drags his breaths from him.

"Xiao Hua…" he says.

"There's always the chance to turn back," Xiao Hua says, not letting him continue, and now he does look at Wu Xie. His face is placid, but his eyes are tumultuous as storms, dark and crashing, flecked with sparks of foam, swallowing up all the light in the small tent. If it were anyone else, Wu Xie might say he sounds desperate. "Few decisions are irreversible."

Please, he doesn't say, but Wu Xie had never expected him to. Such a cruel thing, isn't it? Both of them bound by an inability to speak directly.

He swallows, and breathes. "Thank you for not leaving me to bleed out," he says, and musters his energy as best as he can manage to push himself to his feet. For a moment, the world around him sinks into monotone, and then, like a flintspark, snaps back. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

Xiao Hua doesn't reply. Wu Xie turns, and doesn't look back as he steps back out into the clearing, but he can feel the weight of Xiao Hua's gaze on him; thinks a different man might call out to him. Suddenly, horribly, he's grateful that Xiao Hua is himself, and not anyone else.

(Suddenly, horribly, he's grateful that Xiao Hua will let him be this selfish.)

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕒 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕝𝕪, 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕘𝕠 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣

ᴘᴛ ɪ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴇ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪ ꜱᴛᴀᴠᴇ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪɪ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ. ᴘᴛ ɪᴠ ꜱɪɴ. ᴘᴛ ᴠ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ. ᴘᴛ ᴠɪ ꜱᴇɴᴅᴏꜰꜰ.

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴇɴᴛᴀɴɢ��ᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ꜰʟᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜰʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴄᴏᴜɴꜱᴇʟᴏʀ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴀᴜ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ᴡᴀʀꜱ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴍɪɴᴇꜱꜱ, ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ʙʟɪꜱꜱ, ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛɪɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜱᴋɪɴɴʏ ᴅɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ (ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ/ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴊᴜꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ)

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 3ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

⋆ ★ ɢᴜᴇꜱꜱ ᴡʜᴏ'ꜱ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ. ʟᴍꜰᴀᴏ ʟᴇᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ. ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ :)

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

After that night, the summer quickly becomes a glimmering haze of sexy, sweet escapades in slimmers of ample time alone.

Hunter becomes your best-kept secret. You act the same around others, amicable friends who get along well in the same room or during the same activity. But the moment you get a time without a horde of campers following your trail, you’re finding a secluded spot and placing your hands all over each other. It’s practically habitual by now.

They’re the best summer memories.

Hunter’s no longer a daunting figure of appeal far of your reach. He’s someone you have in your arms, and who’s just as enraptured with you as you are him.

You learn this fact one particular day as you instruct the campers how to properly scale the rock wall.

“Your harness is there to guide you, not to rely on,” You emphasize, looking down with a hard stare to get your point across. The campers look down with slack jaws and lazy eyes, legs itching to run and grab a harness and get to climbing already. You won't just let them, and continue your lesson.

“It doesn’t help you or your partner if you put your whole weight onto it.” Echo, who holds your belay below you, nods in agreement. “You have to communicate with your partner as well. Whether you need slack or for them to tighten your rope, you need to express what you need them to do. Nothing will get done otherwise.”

The campers nod adamantly, though you’re sure the second they get their hands on the harnesses and begin scaling, all your instructions will leave their minds.

Once you've climbed down and gotten out of your gear, Hunter’s holding onto your wrist loosely and muttering into your ear, voice soft and discreet.

“Y’think they can go on without you?”

His hand tugs your wrist closer to him as if beckoning you to come closer and follow him wherever he may lead. You glance his way excitedly, a bright-eyed, curious grin over your lips.

“Probably," you mutter.

Hunter’s smile matches yours.

“Backroom by the kitchens in ten.”

All you need to do is nod and wait to ensure Echo’s got it handled before you run off to the kitchens and into his arms, kissing him silly.

Hunter’s hands are on your waist, holding them to his in a lock you wouldn’t dare try to separate while he pushes you against a storage shelf. His fingers dip into your waistband; they don’t venture much further, only pinch at the waistband of your pants to keep you extra still and pliant in his hands. You don’t mind. 

You can’t mind when he’s kissing you like this.

It doesn’t take long for his bandana to slip off when your fingers run through his hair. Your hands map little paths to the roots of his locks to tug on when he kisses you just right, to encourage him to keep going, move there, stay just like that. Hunter’s a better listener than most; he’d happily do anything you ask of him.

The touches get more frantic the longer you kiss; his hands frantically move around as if he can’t decide where his hands deserve to be.

Then, the realization hits you; the desperation finally makes clear sense in your head as he nips at your bottom lip.

He wants this more than you do. He wanted you badly, mirroring how you might at any point.

“Really- hah -eager today, yeah?” You tease between light pecks, sighing as you tilt your jaw and Hunter leans down to kiss your neck. You tug on his hair. He groans.

“Kriff– yeah, I am,” His voice sounds so rough and keen you border on swelling with pride for making him this way. “You should’ve seen yourself on that wall.”

You raise an eyebrow, an incredulous smirk twisting on your lips before he kisses it away again.

“Yeah?” You mutter, still managing to smile a little as he litters kisses on your jaw, pressing up against you harder. “How’d I look?”

Hunter’s mouth leaves your body just long enough to tell you exactly what you want to hear.

“So damn pretty,” he swears, trailing his mouth to your ear. His knee gently parts your legs and encourages you to relax against his body, to let him hold you against the shelf; who are you to reject such an offer? “The way you worked so quick, how you gazed down, your ass in those jeans and thighs around that harness– fuck.”

Hunter kisses you nice and hard again, and you try your best to not feel so smug.

It’s rather nice knowing you have such an effect on him.

Moments like these happen often. Between or even during activities, after lights out when Tech has finished his nightly inspections. You end up on the docks again, legs careening back and forth over wading water while you intertwine his hands with his.

“That star up there,” Hunter points, turning your attention to the twinkling sky. “Right there, above that odd-looking tree. `You see it?”

“I do,” you confirm, tilting your head. “What about it?”

The stars in the dark sky hugging you from above glitters and twinkles, brighter than in any city or town. It’s always been the prettiest sight you’re lucky to lay your eyes upon every summer, and nothing had yet beat it. Until Hunter, at least.

“Well,” he begins, squeezing your hand that’s holding his. His finger trails a path from that star to the next on its left, then another, and another. “That’s a constellation. What do you think it makes up?”

You squint your eyes, unsure of what they could make. There’s little to tell from just a few stars scattered.

“A… line?” You answer dumbly. Hunter snorts and nudges your shoulder gently.

“`Thinking too simple.”

“I’m not good at this kind of stuff!” You retort, a little louder than you should. But you quickly correct yourself with a coy smile, your next words hushed. “It just looks like a bunch of lights to me.” You shrug dejectively.

“Don’t worry,” his reassurance only alleviates you slightly, and he tilts your jaw back to the stars with a keen gaze. “Just try one more time. For me?”

Your answer comes automatically.

“Of course.”

So you do try. Follow the patterns and see what sort of shape it could make, and, perhaps, what he might be trying to hint at.

When it does dawn upon you what constellation you’re looking at, you turn to face him incredulously. He’s already got that mischievous tilt in his eyebrows you know is trouble. Or deception. You’re still not great at pinpointing what he’s feeling or thinking.

“Is it a heart?” You ask, biting your lip.

“Bingo,” Hunter answers. A strand of hair falls from behind your ear to frame your face; this time, you let him tuck it back, as he’d urged you to do before. He gestures to the sky, and you look back.

“See?” He points. “Does it make sense now?” You nod. His index finger traces a short line from the star at the bottom of the heart shape to the one in the middle. “That’s the pole.”

“The… pole?” You repeat bemusedly, eyes still glued to the sky. Hunter chuckles.

“It’s kind of like… a marker. So we know which way to turn.” He pauses; in the flicker of a firefly wading by the shores of the lake, his light-hearted tone turns soft and he squeezes your hand again. “It’s the same with us.”

It’s your turn to squeeze. You gaze back in his direction.

“So,” he starts, eyes locking with yours. “You’re the one I turn to, right? No matter what the situation is.” By now he’s grinning like a fool, eyes alit with something gentle. “You’re the one.”

You smile back, confirming with a sealing, firm kiss.

“I am. And so are you.”

When you see the look on his face, an almost melancholy wave rushes through; the words that hang on the tip of your tongue mean something to you, something you wish were true, but ultimately can’t be. 

The daunting question in your head still remains.

How much time do we have left?

You say it anyway.

“Always.”

Hunter repeats it, that same coloring in his eyes, as if he’s asking himself the exact same question.

”Always.”

You hum and lean in, eager to mold his lips to yours again and let the hurtling feeling dissolve, and he doesn’t back down; he presses into you harder, quicker, hands grasping your waist to pull you to his chest. You want him to keep going until your heart starts to skip beats on the staff until you feel all the ways you’re ready to fall for him. 

He does exactly that.

“The water’s nice today,” Hunter pulls away from you abruptly, a boyish grin over his features. You smirk, raising an eyebrow as you watch him push his body up and reach his full height, body looming above you; somehow, it’s nowhere close to being threatening.

“Yeah?” You tilt your head as you gaze up. Hunter chuckles.

“I checked,” He confirms, gesturing toward the quiet ripples of the water. “Thought maybe you’d want to take a little dip. With me.” 

When his hand reaches out to yours, the rough callouses of his skin look so inviting and delectable when offered exclusively to you, that it’d be impossible to deny it.

So you take it and lift yourself, pecking his lips one more time before skipping off the dock and to the shore.

Hunter’s already shucked his shirt onto the ground just by the time you get your shoes and socks off, bare feet meeting the soft sand. You’ve seen him shirtless enough times at this point (in almost entirely amorous situations), yet the view always hitches your breath and makes you tug your bottom lip between two teeth.

And without fail every time, Hunter notices and smiles in that boyish manner you’re incredibly weak for.

“Are you just gonna stare?” he asks with a chuckle. You can feel it reverberate through your own body.

“I thought that staring is allowed,” you retort, raising your eyebrows. “Unless you want me to stop.”

“If you stop, we’ll never get to the good part,” Hunter smirks, kicking off his shorts and dipping his feet into the shallows, turning back to you. “Aren’t you going to join?”

It’s that same damn sight again. The one you tried so hard to block out of your mind that one night but never seemed to leave. Hunter wading in the water, in the dark, stripped completely. 

Who are you to look away?

With little hesitation, you shuck your bottoms off. Your panties come down with it. Hunter’s eyes pop out of their sockets for a split second, then he turns back into that casually composed charmer you know him to be.

You take off your shirt next, shifting your weight between your heels as you reach back to unclip your bra, and you let it fall beside the rest of your clothes, the sneakiest grin wrapped on your lips as you leave Hunter gawking in his boxers.

With a giggle, you join him in the water, caressing his cheek before wading further into the lake shore until your waist down is submerged in the lukewarm water.

“Are you just going to leave me in here?” You tease, curling a finger up to beckon him closer. Hunter’s frozen state finally breaks, and he laughs softly, shaking his head almost in disbelief. It doesn’t take much for him to strip down to nothing as well, leaving him in a half-hard state as he sinks into the water with you.

His hands don’t take long to find their place on your hips, thumbs gently tracing a pattern into the skin over your ribs.

“You’re bold today,” he comments. You scoff.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” He flashes you a knowing look, expecting you to agree without putting up even a little defense. “You’re always a little bashful about things like this.”

Slapping his chest lightly, he laughs again and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. 

“Well, let this prove otherwise,” you say. It’s the softest kiss you plant on his lips, simple yet sweet, and he pulls away smiling like a fool. “I’m not always bashful.”

Hunter nods. 

“You’re not.” He leans down to kiss you again.

“Thanks for agreeing,” you mumble into his mouth after you withdraw for a moment to breathe.

“Anytime, Maple.”

You step back further, inviting both of you to go deeper into the water. His lips find your neck, and he bites softly, paying no mind to the goose bumps that form on your skin the instant he gets his mouth on you. Hunter’s always been more than you bargained for.

“I never want you to stop,” you admit, shivering as a cold gust of wind hits the bare skin still not submerged in the water. Hunter pulls away.

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing. 

There’s a pang of frustration growing in your chest with his hesitance, but you quickly let it fizzle away when you giggle and splash a little water in his direction to lighten the mood.

“When have I not been sure, Hunter?” You tease, and he lets out a heavy exhale and smiles for you.

“One day you might not be,” he comments, dipping down to kiss you again. You hum against his lips then mutter with fluttering eyes.

“Today’s not that day.”

You press your body into him and bite your lip as you feel his cock twitch and harden fully against your stomach.

Hunter nods in agreement, holding your waist firmly before leaning down and sinking both of you into the water.

-

Keeping your little fling a secret easily becomes the most painful part of the entire summer.

It’s been a firm rule since you started as a camp counselor and has stayed the same even as Hunter arrived; dating another counselor is strictly against the rules. The rule had been easy to follow before, before you’d been swept and flown to cloud nine and right into Hunter’s open arms, now impossible for you to adhere to.

How could you? How could he?

But you try your best. Keep him at a safe and appropriate distance in front of others. Leaving marks in discreet spots. Smiling politely.

You only allow one indicator that something else may have blossomed. It remains wrapped around your wrist, with its matching counterpart on Hunter’s.

“What are your favorite colors?” His voice interrupts you one day as you do crafts in the mess hall. You startle, twisting your body back and raising an eyebrow.

“What?” You have to make sure you heard him correctly.

“What are your favorite colors?” He repeats, grinning.

You tilt your head, a suspicious grin on your lips.

“Why do you want to know?” You hum, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Hunter purses his lips, eyes flitting away before returning to your face with the cheekiest wink (you think no one else is looking. You hope).

“It’s a secret.” 

That makes you snort. With a light flutter of your lashes, you tell him and watch him spin off back to the table he and the Cedar cabin are sitting at, and you turn as well, staring at the bracelet adorning the same color his bandana.

And that same night, each of you has the same thought in mind.

“I have something for you,” you tell him, a gentle smile filled with affection on your face. Hunter raises his eyebrows, bemused as he bites his lip. You play with the bracelet behind your back, shoulders leaning onto the rock structure behind you.

“You do?” He asks. You nod. “What are the chances? I have something for you as well.”

You giggle softly, bringing your hand out from behind your back and showing him the silver and maroon, square-knot bracelet. He smiles.

“I like the color,” he tells you before reaching for the bracelet. You lift your hand away, tutting with a click of your tongue.

“You can only get it if you promise me something,” you challenge. Hunter hums in curiosity.

“What might that be?”

“That you keep it. Even after the summer ends. That you wear it,” your expression softens, a gentle switch to something more sentimental, almost melancholic upon thinking about what you’re vaguely implying; the inevitable outcome of this little fling.

Hunter’s tongue darts out to lick his lips slowly, as if contemplating your words; not as if he’s thinking about the request, but more thinking about what you implied. He then looks up again, eyes thoughtful as he nods.

“I will. I promise.”

Your lashes flutter and your cheeks burn when you smile again and put the bracelet around his wrist with the rest of them.

"Could I ask the same thing for you?" He then asks when you tighten it to the size of his wrist. You tilt your head, then watch him pull out the bracelet he made for you with a shy look. You'd already had your suspicions as to why he asked you for your favorite colors, but this confirms your prediction as you see the chevron knot bracelet.

“That you keep it, and wear it. Not all the time, but just enough... so you don't forget.”

He lets the final words hang for you to decide where he might go. Forget him, forget this summer, forget how he feels pressed up against you, perhaps something else entirely, or a combination, or all at once. He doesn't have to say it explicitly. Both of you are on the same page.

You instantly respond,

“Of course,”

Before lifting your wrist for him to put the bracelet around. He does it delicately, as if you’re the finest piece of art ever created, and rubs his pinkie over your skin thoughtfully. Your eyes bore into his.

“I promise I’ll keep it. Remember it. Remember you.”

Hunter smiles and kisses your wrist where the bracelet wraps around it, lowering himself until his knees hit the ground and proceeding to take your breath away.

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[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 25 | Where Were You...

Chapter Twenty-Five | Where Were You…

Kit walked briskly through the walls, heart refusing to calm as it thundered against her ribs. Her thoughts dwelled on everything that had just happened. She was completely consumed with nothing else and relied completely on muscle memory as she traversed the beams leading back home.

What was that all about?

That kid thinks he’s a human! That Borrower kid thinks he’s a human.

He called out for her as if she was his mom.

What’s his deal?

That guy Kers was right.

This is insane.

That kid is a pet, and he doesn’t even know it. There’s no way that human woman treats him like her actual son.

Humans don’t see Borrowers as anything other than pets!

“Where were you?”

Kit stopped dead in her tracks and realized she was just outside of her home, and her brother Finnick was waiting outside for her. He was casually leaned up against the front entrance. He didn’t even try to hide the fact he was waiting for her.

Kit huffed and tried pushing past her brother, but he easily stepped in front of her and blocked the doorway.

“You went, didn’t you?” asked Finnick. The eldest Borrower brother suspected his sister would do something foolish, but he was too late to catch her or stop her from doing anything. He had tailed Kers to make sure he wasn’t going immediately to the human woman and doubled back once he was done. There was just this looming, instinctual feeling that Finnick couldn’t shake.

When he talked to his parents, they said she hadn’t come down for dinner, but she had responded when they asked if she was there.

This was hours ago.

He went to her room, hoping beyond hope that Kit didn’t do something ridiculous, and knocked on her door. The lack of response said it all. The eldest brother ducked outside and saw her window wide open and her belay thread hanging there in a challenging taunt.

With only one idea of where she went after all of these hours, Finnick knew there was nothing to be done except to wait and see what happened. There was no way he could get there in time, if he could even find out where the Borrower kid was staying down below in the human world and then find his sister on top of that.

Kit had this bad habit of doing what she thought was right regardless of the consequences, and now was one of those times.

Finnick could only hope that she was successful.

Sadly, seeing his sister storming up in a daze in absent minded frustration, Finnick knew she had failed.

This led them to their moment now as he blocked her way into their home.

“Well?” he prompted. His sister clenched her jaw and jerked her head away.

“Well what? Good for you! You caught me. Yeah, I went. Happy?” she grumbled under her breath. “Going to go tell mom and dad? Wake up the whole house so we can start moving?”

Finnick sighed and shook his head.

“No. I’ll save that privilege for you,” replied Finnick. “And the fact you don’t have him here with you means that Kers guy was telling the truth.”

“Yeah, so why don’t you rub it in my face more?” growled Kit as she tried to push past her brother. “Now, move!”

“Not before you tell me what happened. What was he like? Did he say anything?” asked Finnick. Kit folded her arms indignantly. She was shaking, though her brother couldn’t identify the sole reason as to why. Fear? Nerves? Frustration? Anger?

It didn’t matter because she decided to answer his question.

“He doesn’t know what he is, Fin. He thinks he’s human. You should’ve heard him crying out for his mom – that human. It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever see. He was living in some kind of weird doll house with wires and water all hooked up to it. It basically looked like a small human house with screens and tech all over the place. It was so weird.”

Finnick listened to his sister’s words and considered them carefully. It sounded impossible for a Borrower to slip so easily into living like a human; that is, if they lived like a Borrower at all.

Kers had said something about thinking this kid had spent most of his life living with this human. Did the human capture Parker’s parents? Did she take him away from them? Or was this actually a compassionate human taking care of an orphaned Borrower child?

Finnick sighed and stepped to the side, allowing his sister inside.

“Let’s just hope nothing comes of it. You need to tell mom and dad sometime tomorrow, and you and I will be going out first thing to make sure he doesn’t help the human tear down the house to try and find us,” said Finnick. “And if you don’t fess up, I’ll tell them in the worst way possible.”

“Goodie two shoes,” grumbled Kit under her breath as she pushed past Finnick.

The eldest Borrower child knew the family was in quite the precarious situation, but fretting in the middle of the night wasn’t going to solve the issue and they could only prepare for a reaction if anything came of it.

Who knew?

Maybe this Parker kid would think all of it was a bad dream and brush off seeing his sister.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

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