#listen I know “its high noon would fit better”

[wildissylupus]

MW!Overwatch's first encounter with MW!Pharah while she's with her gang.

-----------

MW!Pharah: *laughing as she jets away from another attack* Oh c'mon Reyes I know you can do better then that!

MW!Reaper: *now confused and concerned* How do you know who I am?!

MW!Ashe: *narrowly avoiding another rocket* Now not the time for questions old man!

MW!Moira: Both of you need to focus!

MW!Pharah: You don't see the family resemblance? Here's a hint.

MW!Pharah: *landing on a high point and firing a piecing blast, bullet landing in MW!Moira's shoulder, MW!Ashe's leg and MW!Reaper narrowly avoiding the blast. All the while MW!Pharah puts on a terrible country accent* Got a bur in your side!

MW!Ashe and MW!Reaper: *both looking surprised and horrified*

MW!Pharah: Go on you can laugh, it's funny.

[monzabee]

eight words when i think about us – lh44 (+18)

masterlist

Summary: The one where Coachella has both you and Lewis high on each other. 

Pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: smut!, spanking, oral (m receiving), slight choking, unprotected sex (better wear that latex if you don’t want that i’m late text), slight manhandling?, minors dni!!

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! taking a small break from writing requests, this was VERY fun to write. i don’t listen to drake, but this song and lewis??? i had to do something with it, and the fits from coachella were just too good to ignore. i hope you guys enjoy reading this one! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

It all starts with a look shared between the two of you, it always has. Not at all an innocent one in its nature, no, it’s a look shared between the two of you which is filled with fire and unresolved feelings. You knew it from the first time you saw his eyes that the situation, whatever it might be, would end in your heart being broken; unfortunately, you’ve never been good at exactly practicing what you preach. You don’t know how the two of you end up dancing next to each other in your crowded group, or how he positions himself right behind you which gives him a great opportunity to wrap his arms around your waist to pull you towards him. Although the two of you are in a EDM set, all your ears can focus on is the dirty words he huskily whispers in your ear over the loud music. 

“Let me take you back to the hotel,” he murmurs into your ear, his voice is hoarse because of all the yelling he’s been doing in his attempt to sing along to the songs. 

“No, Lewis,” you whine, hands quickly moving to rest on his on your hips. “We said the last time we’d stop for good.” 

“We did so the time before that as well,” he is quick to remind you, “and the time before that, remember that one time in Barcelona? You loved doing it against the window, darling.” 

You feel your breath hitch when he presses his lips to the column of your neck, his kiss is as familiar to you as the morning sun. Your voice comes out needier than you expect, “Lewis, please.” You seem to beg him, even though you remind yourself to be stronger and keep your ground when it comes to him. “We said we’d stop,” you remind him. 

“Please, baby, I’ve missed you.” His lips continue their journey across your skin which is breaking your resolve with every passing moment. “Haven’t you missed me, Y/N?”

His whisper against your ear, combined with his voice and his breath on your skin makes you shiver against his hold, making him smirk as he nudges your jaw with his nose and presses kisses against your skin there. “I did, I missed you so much.” You confess, letting one of your hands stroke his jaw. “But we can’t–”

“If you want me to stop, then just tell me to stop.” He grumbles, his kisses becoming more aggressive as he lightly begins to suck and nip at your skin. His lips turn up in a smirk when you let out a silent moan, which he can tell by the movement of your throat rather than the sound because of the loud music in the premise. 

“Lewis.” You let out his name in a breath, which causes him to let out an acknowledging hum, but he doesn’t stop the ministrations of his lips. “P-please.” 

His voice is filled with mockery when he teases you after sucking a particular spot on the base of your neck. “Please, what, darling?”

There is a pout on your lips as you push him off of you slowly, turning towards him with a defiant look in your eyes. “What’s the point? You’ll just end up running away again, Lewis.”

“Don’t be like this,” Lewis warns, “You know why I had to leave, so stop acting like a brat.” 

The challenging look in your eyes makes him stand his ground instead of reaching for you, which is what he normally would have done. “What will you do, spank me?” You snap, rolling your eyes when he says your name in a warning tone.

“You know it wouldn’t be a sufficient enough punishment, you would enjoy it too much.” The condescending tone of his words making you roll your eyes. “Where are you going?” He calls out to you when you start walking away from him, and thus the group. 

“I’m going back to the hotel.” You answer him, shooting him a pointed look over your shoulder. “Alone.” 

You don’t end up going back to the hotel, alone, after all. Lewis insists that you cannot take an Uber back on your own, no matter how much you remind him that you are more than capable of doing so. He doesn’t bother arguing with you, but instead waits for your Uber with you – and consequently shocking you when he gets into the car after making sure you’re inside safely. He doesn’t say a word the entire ride, even when you ask him why he’s coming with you. Instead, he keeps a firm hand on your thigh, which is exposed because of your skirt riding up. He’s even quiet when you are in the elevator, going up to your room, and you can’t help but sneak a look at his face; all serious without any hint of playfulness. 

So that’s how you end up bent over the arm of the couch in your hotel room, the way Lewis letting his hand come down on your ass every once in a while making you let out whines which get louder as he continues. “Look at you, darling, you’re such a sight for sore eyes.” He caresses your reddened skin, his hands lingering around the waistband of your thong – which he takes off promptly and lets out a loud groan at the sight which beholds him. “Fuck, Y/N, this is really doing it for you, isn’t it? You like being spanked?”

Your voice comes off muffled because of the way hide your face in the pillow you’re hugging at his words. “You know I do.” 

“Such a bad girl.” Lewis tsks, delivering a few more hits to your already sore skin. “I was going to eat your pretty pussy out the way I know you like, darling, but you just had to go and say things that weren’t even true.” He lets his hand massage your skin to relieve some of the stinging feeling lingering there.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble through your whines, trying to appear as genuine as possible, but both Lewis and you know that you only acted that way because you were trying to get a rise out of him – which clearly worked.

“Oh, baby, you’re sorry?” He coos, pressing kisses to your reddened skin while he keeps on speaking. “Why would you say something like that in the first place, hm?” He nip at your skin, sucking a certain spot, until he’s satisfied enough that it will leave a mark, before speaking again. “You didn’t want to make me mad on purpose by saying no, did you?”

You pause as you contemplate what to say, your throat suddenly feeling very dry, you gulp down a snappy answer. "I-I’m–” You stammer, moaning when he bites down on your skin. “I did. I wanted you to fuck me.” 

Lewis smiles at your honesty, knowing he’s got you where he wanted. His hands roam around the skin of your back, and eventually, he lets one of his hands to slide down to the junction of your thighs to press his thumb against your opening. “You like it when I’m rough with you, darling? You like being fucked, when I’m not soft with you?”

You nod your head the best you can while your face is buried against the pillow you have underneath you, but you’re reminded to speak out loud when Lewis uses his free hand to deliver another, albeit lighter, slap on your bum. “I like it when you fuck me hard.” 

“Is that so?” He muses, stopping his actions to take a look at his handiwork. He lets out a hum which shows that he is satisfied with it, then he straightens up, pulling you up with him and making you wince when he makes you lean against the arm of the couch and consequently making your bare skin come in contact with the fabric. “Maybe I shouldn’t fuck you at all tonight, you’ve been very rude to me.” You shake your head, hands scrambling with anxiety to take his shirt off as you look at him with a pout on your lips. He watches you with an amused smile while also assisting you in your goal. “What are you doing?” He asks when you start pulling him towards the couch to make him sit down. 

“You took something off me, it’s only fair.” You shrug, sinking down on your knees between his parted legs. “Is it okay if I suck you off? To apologise?” You busy yourself with undoing his pants, and his confirmation puts a sweet smile on your face. “Thank you.” 

He watches your hurried movements, lifting his hips up to help you get his trousers and underwear off, but he stops you by gently grabbing your chin and making you look at him. “Slow down, darling.” He smiles when you let out a frustrated whine, your lower lip pushing out to make you pout. “We have all night.” He leans forward to get you out of your top which leaves you with your bra and your skirt on, a look from Lewis has you scrambling to take the former article off. You watch him lean back against the couch, radiating nothing but power. Instead of saying anything you nod and move to wrap your fingers around his cock, but he stops you as he catches your wrist and spits on your palm without breaking his eye contact with you. 

He lets out a hiss when you finally do wrap your hand around his cock and use your thumb to spread the precum which has accumulated on his tip. You let your hand move up and down a few times before taking the tip into your mouth and lightly sucking on it. You gradually take more of him as you open your mouth to accommodate his size, using your hands where your mouth is not able to reach. A sense of pride washes over you when you feel him getting under your touch and he shows his appreciation by sliding his fingers through your hair. You hear a low groan that comes between his lips when you start bobbing your head up and down, which makes you tighten your lips around him. You don’t cut off your eye contact with him for the sole purpose of making him lose control, Lewis always makes a point of telling you how much he loves having your eyes on him at all times – it is a side effect of his job, you think, always in front of the camera, always being watched by the world. But you on your knees on him with his cock between your lips, looking him with huge eyes? It doesn’t take too long for him to take over all the control you held; he starts moving your head on his cock by the fingers he has tangled in your hair. Not that you mind, you’re more than happy to let him move you however he likes. 

He eventually takes himself out of your mouth, before you make him cum, making you whine because of the loss of contact as a result, but there is a grin playing on his lips as he pulls you to his lap, his hand quick to go under your skirt. You let out a gasp when you feel his finger sliding through your slit, he only laughs at your reaction. “Did sucking my dick made you wet, darling?” 

You nod your head with urgency, needing him to do something about the sweet ache you feel between your thighs. “Yes, Lewis.” You try to move your hips closer to his fingers to get some kind of friction, but left unsatisfied when he pulls them away with the tilt of one of his eyebrows. 

He sucks on his finger as you watch him with parted lips, which makes him smirks as he shrugs. “You got to have a taste, it’s only fair.” He taps your thigh twice as he instructs, “Hang on to me with one of your hands, and lift your skirt with the other.” 

You look at him with widened eyes, rising on your knees when you feel him pinch the skin on your ass. “You’re not going to fuck me?”

He smiles wickedly at your whining tone, lining himself with your entrance as he replies to your question in a nonchalant manner. “No, love, you’re going to fuck me.” Your breath hitches at the emphasis which only makes him smirk wider as he uses his hand on your hip to lower you onto his cock. 

Your lips part in a silent scream as you feel the burn of the stretch he provides as he draws you closer to his hips. “Oh my god, Lewis.” 

“Are you okay?” He asks, worried eyes meeting yours as he stills his hands. 

“Yes, just- Give me a second,” you swallow down a breath, using your hand on his shoulder as leverage to push yourself down on him on your own pace. You head is thrown back and your eyes are closed once your hips come to a halt. The stretch being full to the brim after months apart is delicious, you decide. 

Lewis’ hand squeezes your hip as he lets a loud groan as he bows his head. “Tell me what’s wrong, darling.” 

A loud moan comes from you once you feel Lewis taking one of your hardened nipples between his lips and starts to suck, his forehead is flushed against your clavicle and you let go of your skirt to push him against in chest. “It’s just- it’s been a while,” you breath out; your hips start moving once the overwhelming feeling slowly fades away and leaves its place to pleasure. 

He lets go of your nipple, “Start off slow, we have all night,” he reminds you and moves on to your other nipple, sucking and tugging against the puckered skin.

You let out a noncommittal hum, choosing to focus on the movement of your hips at the moment instead of his instructions. You gradually lift your hips higher, and let them drop harder, causing his tip to be burrowed deeper and deeper inside you. “It feels so good,” you praise him, “so deep.”

“Yeah?” Lewis asks breathlessly. “Look at me, pretty girl.” You force yourself to roll your head sideways, the tilt of your head allowing you to look into his eyes as the movement of your hips become sharper as you get used to the feeling of him within you. You realise just how much his eyes have changed over the course of few minutes when you lock gazes with him, his are a darker shade of brown and filled with lust. Both of you let out a hiss when you start rolling your hips against his and the friction on your clit sends shivers down your spine. You almost roll your head back again, but Lewis is quick as he grips your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

Your legs tighten around his on almost an instinct and you place your hands on his chest to keep holding your balance. “Lewis.” You voice comes out more as a moan, your hips getting faster as you try to chase the high. You unintentionally bit down on your lip, causing him to use his thumb to pry your lip free and slides his thumb in your mouth. 

You groan around his digit as you close your lips around it and start sucking on it as you did with his cock a few moments ago. He watches you with pure fascination. “Good girl, Y/N, such a good girl for me.” 

You ignore the burning feeling emanating from your inner thighs, pushing yourself to roll and move your hips up and down in a faster rhythm. You moan loudly as you feel a similar burn starting to form as your stomach coils. You incline your head to take a look at where the two of you are connected, watching him disappear between your folds, and Lewis follows your line of vision which causes him to moan as well. “So deep, Lewis, it feels so good,” you whimper, your hands automatically move to grasp the chains hanging around his bare chest when he makes you look back at him by gently grabbing you by your neck. 

“Move faster,” he orders you, drawing you closer to himself as he simultaneously rises up to meet you in the middle and rests his forehead against yours. 

You attempt to move even faster despite the burn in your thighs becoming more and more apparent. You nails rake down his chest as your breathing becomes erratic. “I-I can’t– Lewis!” 

He causes you to scream out his name as he delivers a slap down on your ass as he announces, “You can.”

“Please,” you gasp, somehow it becomes tangled with a broken moan, “please, help me.” 

“You want me to help, baby?” He asks in a strangled voice, the hand he has around your throat slightly tightening to add to all the sensations you are feeling at that moment. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you.” 

Although his voice is as sweet as it can be given the circumstances, he grasps both sides of your hips in a bruising grip as he lifts you off; just enough to keep his tip inside you still. You scream his name over and over again as he slams you down on his cock, and repeats the action until it leaves you as a sobbing mess. You try to keep your eyes open as tears of pleasure start falling out, not wanting to risk Lewis stopping because you’re not following his instructions. “I’m going to cum.” You manage to get out in a voice thick with pleasure.

“It’s okay,” he assures you, “I’ve got you; you can let go.” He keeps moving you on his cock before deciding to change your roles, holding you up while he fucks into you. You buck your hips down on his as best as you can, your vision blurring as your orgasm washes over you. 

The moans and squeals leaving your lips only makes him move faster with conviction. While he guides you through your release, your body moulding against his as your legs start shaking, you feel his hips starting to stutter their movements. You cup his cheek as your breathy whisper hits his lips, “I want you to cum in me,” you shush him when he’s about object, “please, Lewis, just this once.” He lets out a groan mixed with a moan when he hears the desperation in your voice, his hands grip you tighter as he finally comes with a hiss leaving between his lips. 

You let yourself fall against his chest, both of you heaving as you try to catch your breaths and come off your highs. Lewis’ arms wrap around your waist as he lets out a chuckle, “We’re definitely doing that again.”

The corners of your lips lift up in a grin against the side of his neck, your head nestled against his shoulder. “Does this mean I should be snappy with you more often?” 

“I’ll answer that question after a bath, darling.” You see him smile from the corner of your eye. “And breakfast, possibly a round after breakfast.” 

“Good,” you mumble sleepily, pressing a kiss against the column of his throat. “Stay, and please just get me out of this damn skirt.”

[clouds-rambles]

hey bestie i was hoping to request xiao, venti, childe and zhongli where the the reader and the character have just had an argument + the reader needs time to calm down from the argument. omg maybe the reader comes back with a gift to apologise

Ask and ye shall receive <3. I’m the kind of person who needs time to relax and process the situation after an argument. I’m always too worked up (read angry) to kiss and make up straight after an argument.

Pairings; (Separate) Xiao, Venti, Childe, Zhongli x reader

Warning(s); breif mention of a wound, alcoholism, swearing

Keep reading under the cut!

Xiao

You’re probably being too harsh on the guy

You had just come back from a tough mission with a few more scrapes than you normally come back, a nasty cut in particular situated on your shoulder was what caused the argument to kick off in the first place

In hindsight the argument started from Xiao’s concern of you getting hurt worse but you were too tired from the commission to really read it as concern

But boy now do you feel bad. You both went your separate ways for the evening and in the morning you still haven’t caught sight of your partner. You eventually go around Wangshu Inn and ask if they’ve seen Xiao.

You get told that he’s out for the day, apparently he caught wind of something manifesting in the mountains. So, you suppose that it’s high time to make an apology gift

And what’s a better apology gift than your partners favourite food? Because your arguments are often few and far between you don’t mind making Xiao almond tofu since it’s not something you’ve associated with apologising

Though you’re aware that the sweet snack means nothing if you’re not sincere with your apology. 

So what’s more sincere than sitting at the highest balcony of Wangshu Inn and wait for Xiao. You don’t mind how long it takes for him to come back just as long as you get to apologise

He comes back just after dusk and you pour your apologise profusely and tell him you understand that he was coming from a place of concern

Xiao is a little distant a short while after the apology but soon you’re reassured that he accepts it when he places his hand on the table for you to take hold of

The two of you sit in silence sat hand in hand while Xiao eats his tofu

You watch him eat with a grin on your face, sometimes just watching the Yaksha sit still and do his thing is enough to keep you in a trance for the evening

-

Venti

Maybe you got into an argument because you’re concerned over Venti’s drinking habits, sure he’s an immortal god but doesn’t he worry about his liver?

Sure the argument started because you’re worried about the archon but boy does he make you angry with his non-sensical thought processes

Venti is the kind of guy who wouldn’t let you leave without settling the argument

Even if the happy medium isn’t actually going to bring any change into the questionable drinking habits

But this argument just feels a little different, you’ve had the same conversation form months but nothing seems to change

You’re not even sure if Venti has actually listened to anything you have said to him about it

So you tell him “Do what you want, but you’re sleeping on the sofa tonight” yeah you just resigned him to sofa treatment. As much as you hate it you’re far too heated to just kiss and make up right now

So the night passes and you wake up with the cold space beside you, you’re confused until you remember the previous nights events

Though your unusual silence in the room doesn’t last long, you presume Venti sensed that you’re awake because you hear a knock at your bedroom door, you’re surprised that Venti is actually here and that he hadn’t sulked off to Windrise where you had originally planned to apologise to him

As you open the door you notice your partner stood before you with a bunch of hand picked cecelia's and dandelions and an apologetic look on his face

You’ve never known Venti to speak so fast he apologises profusely for causing you such worry and promises that he’ll try to drink less, he mentions that he doesn’t wish to give up his Friday and Saturday drinking nights but he’s willing to tone it down during the week if it stops you worrying 

You thank him sincerely and find a vase to put the flowers in

You hug Venti and apologise yourself for being such a worry wart and causing such a big argument

“I’m glad I have someone to worry about me, I don’t know what I’d do without you” You can’t help but swoon at his flowery words and grin at him before the two of you start off the day

-

Childe

It’s a bad habit he has, when you try and talk about something serious with him he constantly cracks jokes at the situation. Which in its self isn’t the worse thing in the world, even you crack jokes to lighten the situation but at some points it goes too far

And today is too far, what started off as a disagreement about where you were going to eat lunch ended up in a full scale (mostly one sided) argument in Childes office about how he can’t take things seriously

You, of course, know this to be false. You’ve seen him in action against his foes and bank business but just in this moment when you are so angry about the situation those rational thoughts go out the window

And what does the bastard do? He cracks another fucking joke

“Is this what I am?” you ask finally reaching the catalyst of your temper “A fucking joke?” 

And boy does the exclamation comes to a surprise to him. No matter how frequent your use of curse words you’ve never directed them at him so it catches Childe by even more surprise

“[name] I’m sorry I didn’-” he tries to apologise

“You didn’t fucking what Tartaglia? Want to make me feel like a joke? Cause you’ve been going down that road at every fucking disagreement we have” you cut him off in a fit of rage “Sleep in your own fucking bed tonight” you add before storming out his office

He tried to follow you out the bank before he was stopped by a fatui agent about some urgent debt collection, so he never got to apologise immediately

And that’s how the next couple of days go, you’ve taken most of the time to cool off and avoid anywhere Childe might be hanging about, your plan works better considering said harbinger was out of Liyue Harbour for a couple of days

Though on the third night Childe appears at your door, he doesn’t bring any gifts, just himself. Childe enjoys gifting things to you so he doesn’t want you or him to associate gift giving with apologies. You’re more than thankful for this

Childe apologises before you even have the chance to invite him in and takes your hand and wholeheartedly promises to try and not make jokes when you have a disagreement

You also apologise and agree that, in hindsight, you blew things out of proportion. You reassure him that he’s a hardworking man and that a few out of place jests make everything more bearable to him.

You invite him inside for some tea, your bed isn’t as cold as it was tonight

-

Zhongli

Disagreements with Zhongli never seem to get any further than that. The archon likes to listen to you vent your frustrations over a cup of herbal tea and usually that calms you down and everything is settled before supper

But every once in a while you’re a little high strung. For instance this time you’re running on a total of 5 hours sleep over the last 4 days. Sleep deprivation could possibly be your middle name at this point 

The only thing you want to do when you get back from your restless trip from Mondstat back home is to just sleep the next few years 

But the sweetie that Zhongli is he quizzes you about your great to horrific trip

Zhongli pulls all the stops he readys some dinner for you and draws a bath when you get back. He even gives you a small lecture about how you’ll feel terrible not washing before going to bed

But with your tired ears, eyes and brain it feels like a personal attack in your entire self “I’ve had it up to here with bloody hillichurls for 4 horrific days, all I want to do is pass the living hell out thank you”

Replace the bloodys with fucks and that’s probably more accurate to what you said

Zhongli is taken a little aback, being an older traditional man it’s unbecoming of anyone to use such sailor language. And thus the male lectures you about it

You take that as about as well as you expect, you don’t respond to him and favour walking out the room, barely getting undressed and collapsing on your shared bed

You wake up the next morning (though when you peek outside it seems like it’s after noon) disorientated. You don’t actually remember coming home the previous day 

Then the memory resurfaces of you yelling at your spouse and regret washes over you

Surely the gift you had prepared for Zhongli would be good enough as repercussions of yesterdays outburst

You see Zhongli in the dining room, to the untrained eye he looks like he’s in a normal mood but to you, you can see his brooding emanating off of him. If you dare point it out Zhongli will deny that he even broods in the first place

He’s the first to greet you without turning around. Rightfully so, he’s still in a mood. So you just profusely apologise for your outburst

You explain that you were running on next to no sleep and while that doesn’t excuse your outburst it certainly explains it. If your spouse so wishes to ask how your trip was you would comply much more now since you’ve had a good sleep behind you. 

You then change the subject to the gift in your hands, some rose tea. Something Zhongli had mentioned when you were courting all that time ago. 

The man sits you on his lap and explains to you about how it was out of place of him to assume you’d be in a talking mood immediately after your travels. You reassure him that under normal circumstances you wouldn’t mind talking about it, you promise that you will do everything in your power to not let the previous night repeat

You then bring out his gift, rose tea, which he had mentioned wanting to taste a little while back, and before long you’re back in the cycle of Zhongli profusely explaining to you some random subject (in this instance rose tea) before you go off to make dinner where you finally share the details of your travels

Hope this is okay! <3 I kind of went a little ham with the Childe and Zhongli one in comparison to the other two hope you don’t mind lmao <3

[necros-writing-stuff]

Oooo, can you imagine multiple alphas are after an omega PC? It's going to be chaos. They probably be waiting for when PC's heat struck to claim them. But, who will get PC first? Are they beyond kidnapping PC to make sure PC is theirs? *whisper* can u include all the alpha LIs?

Ooo boy this is just the game on hard mode 100% allure.

Decided not to include Black Wolf and Great Hawk - just couldn't think of how they would be different than usual.

NSFW below (tw for kidnapping, noncon)

Alex

The moment you arrive on that farm Alex wants you claimed.

That sweet omega scent calls out to them and they know they have to give you the job.

Still acts kind, still tries to butter you up so you'll like them more.

Uses helping you with more strenuous work as an excuse to rub the scent over you.

But if you come to work one day smelling like another alpha? Alex isn't going to be happy.

Might start a wresting match, just some 'innocent' rough play, so they can rub themselves all over you again.

Offers to let you stay at the cottage from that point on. You're turning a profit now! No need to worry about school or work or whatever it is in that town that keeps you going back!

If you accept then all is well. Alex can move you in and start claiming you fully.

If not, you might have to watch your drinks. Alex has plenty of drugs that can kick you into your heat, have you begging to be taken one way or another.

You'll be their woman/man eventually. Patience pays off, that's one thing Alex has learned with being a farmer. The more love and care you put into a new crop or animal, the better the results. Mating you won't be any different.

Wants to spend heats with you. Wants to breed you, work on the farm while you rest, then come back inside the nest and breed you more.

Very warm, comforting scent. Reminds you of summer afternoons, with a picnic.

Avery

You have to be marked by them if you're in an arrangement.

Initially takes you on because they're sick of being asked when they're getting mated, when they're settling down and having kids, aren't you sick of working so hard?

You're the perfect little distraction. With you around, their peers stop being so invasive.

You have to behave in a certain manner though, you have to behave as Avery's true omega. Its what they pay you for.

So who is this alpha you're walking home with? All bright eyes and laughter?

Avery drags you into their car, sight going red when that alpha hugs you. People are watching, they don't care, not in this moment.

Locks the doors and drives into an alleyway, not listening to your distressed cries.

Pins you down in the backseat and marks you while they fuck you silly. What kind of a slut are you that you just let alphas touch you so casually?

No amount of apologies are going to stop them taking you. What about Avery's reputation, you ungrateful whore? Have you forgotten your place?

If Avery needs to take you home and chain you up to be a house-spouse they will. Its very unlikely, they're more obliged to cut you off and blacklist you, but its possible.

Okay with you spending heats alone, due to their busy schedule.

Scent is complimented by expensive aftershaves/perfumes in a way that let's everyone know exactly what Avery's social standing is. It commands respect.

Eden

You're not getting off the leash. It's far too risky, you'll just have to follow Eden around forever now.

Knows when you've been touching others, spanks you for it and then ruins you till you forget anyone else exists.

Doesn't matter who it is or what context.

Has proven they're perfectly okay with hunting you down wherever you run off to and dragging you back.

People are terrified of Eden, no matter how much you struggle to get away from their grip, the most you'll get is someone yelling out to leave you alone.

Pretty much only death is going to stop Eden claiming you.

Very okay with hurting any rivals. If Eden comes into town to find you with a schoolmate, Avery, or if they treck out into the farmlands and find you with Alex, Eden could get trigger happy.

Drags you back home after, noone gets to see you vulnerable apart from Eden.

No more school. No more worrying about your orphan friend, no more money or debt. Just stay at home. Where you belong.

Never ever let's your bites fade. They're always red raw and fresh. Eden will take time to rub salve into the wound to calm it, but they'll never relent when it comes to marking. Even if it's just you two out here.

No walks by yourself in the woods. Those wolves find you too tasty, what if they take you away?

Natural and overpowering scent. A little sweaty by midday, but after a bath it's very earthy and fresh. Has plenty of blockers on hand to use when hunting. You're not allowed them.

Kylar

The school trio is where shit gets messy as all hell- because they're the ones most likely to run into each other vying for your attention.

Kylar will protect you from afar, with their blow darts.

Constantly appearing out of nowhere and dragging you away from Robin or Whitney. Even if you just walk past one of the others in the hallways at school Kylar knows and will cling to you so desperately.

That line in the park where they tell you they know if you've been thinking of others? Yeah well it has more weight to it now than ever.

Gives you their clothes to wear, if they'll fit. If not, then they take every chance to break into your room and put their scent everywhere - especially your pillow so it can cover you in your sleep. Maybe you'll dream of them, like they dream of you.

More likely to pull knives when you're close to your heat, also more likely to come at Whitney rather than letting you drag them away from a fight.

And when I say go at Whitney, I mean jumping on their back and fighting like a feral animal.

Panics if they pick up a scent that isn't Robin or Whitney. What do you mean there's even more people to worry about? Where have you been sneaking off to without them knowing? Is that where you're spending your heats?

Speaking if heats, will go hysterical if you spend it alone, never mind with others. You're meant to spend it with Kylar, you're meant to let them breed you.

The most prepared to whisk you away at a moments notice once their jealousy hits its peak.

Going to breed you as soon as you're tied up in their basement, going to mate you and mark you up.

Has a sharp scent. Can be a little stale at times, but its not unpleasant. A little citrus-y.

Robin

A lower confidence Robin might let someone else take you, thinking they don't deserve to be your alpha - maybe there's others out there who can take care of you.

Sits rather dejected at lunch when Kylar barges into your conversation to kiss you in front of them.

Looks away when Whitney cops a feel against the lockers.

A high confidence Robin is more likely to say something about it, but they still respect your autonomy.

It's your choice at the end of the day, Robin just hopes you choose them.

Not gonna kidnap or noncon you over it. Prefers that you willingly give yourself- it means more to them, proves how real it is that you crawl into their lap rather than being pulled into Whitney's.

Very gentle during heats. Will try to hold off cumming until you do, to make sure you're taken care of and not in pain. Might stand guard for you if you decide to go it alone, but is scared they'll give into temptation and barge your door down.

Will scent you when you ask. Its a very soothing, clean scent. Not too overpowering or demanding, not too subtle. Just nice.

Whitney

Oh no.

You thought you'd suffered humiliation before? Well now there's competition you'll see something fierce.

Constantly marking you. Constantly scenting, cumming on your face and rubbing the liquids in so you'll be very obviously claimed for all to see.

Will grab you in the middle of a conversation just to make out with you in front of your friend - especially if its Robin.

If you're talking to Kylar? Same thing only they'll ask their friends to grab the freak so they can't get violent.

Obviously fuck you in public when they can, but even Whitney knows how dangerous it could be to do that when you're in heat.

Whitney is strong, but the chance of some ridiculously strong alpha pulling them off of you and claiming you instead drives them insane.

You can go heats alone. Just don't spend them with anyone else.

Gloats when you ask them to take care of your heat. Yeah, of course you want them, who else would do a good job?

Another one who likes you in their clothes.

Surprisingly fresh scent. It's accompanied by smoke and the occasional alcohol, but naturally Whitney is actually rather clean to smell. It definitely turns heads.

[space-mermaid-writing]

House Arrest [Loki X Reader] Chapter 1

Summary: You are Clint’s 'little' sister and actually a trained Shield agent. But you gave that up a few years ago and became a Chef, because you wanted a normal live. Then one day Natasha shows up at your door and takes you to the Avenger Tower for a while for security reasons.

Tags: Reader is an former Shield Agent, chef!reader, Reader Barton, 2012 Avenger vibes, everything is still alright, Slice of Life, Avengers Family, Loki has a good heart, still the god of mischief, Slow Burn, mention of food and cooking

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1: New Home

It's just before midnight when you finally get off work. You really like your job, but the hours are murder. Being a chef at one of the most expensive five-star restaurants in Philadelphia has its price. You take off your apron, which has hardly any stains from the last few hours on it, and throw it in the wash. The white jacket goes neatly into your locker and is replaced by a cardigan and a scarf. It’s a cool night. With a last good bye to your colleagues, who are still putting the dishes into the dishwashers, you make your way home.

The night is dark, but the streets are lit by lanterns and the windows of closed stores. Even if it had been pitch black, it wouldn't have worried you to have to walk alone through the empty alleys. Last year a guy had tried to rob you and threatened you with a knife. You had given him a broken nose and several stab wounds in the shoulder. After all, you had been trained at Shield. But the poor guy didn’t know that.

Half an hour later you arrive at your apartment. It's more functional than nicely furnished, and everything is a bit of a pick 'n' mix. But you don't mind it, because you spend most of your time at work anyway. At home you don't feel such great importance to culinary variety when it comes to your own food. A pizza or French fries with ketchup were always welcome. After all, you've been standing at the stove long enough at work. Tired, you decide to wait until breakfast for your next meal and, after a quick change of clothes, just fall into bed.

Fortunately, the next day is your day off. You make good use of it and sleep in. Afterwards you have an nice brunch with eggs, bacon and toast and after a short shower you go into town to do some errands. The sun is shining warmly from the sky and it's a beautiful spring day. If this holds up until the weekend, maybe you'd visit the weekly market and see what exotic and rare foods you can grab there. You love these little trips, even if you rarely find the time.

About two hours later and with three full shopping bags, you re-enter your apartment. It's on the second floor of a rather nondescript building, but the interior is very modern, with pastel-colored, high walls. You put everything in the kitchen cabinets and then brew yourself a tea/coffee, with which you make yourself comfortable on the couch and turn on the TV. It's time to relax a little. So you zap through the programs, watch the rest of an episode of your favorite series and then decide to watch a reality series, which is not exactly known for its quality but is entertaining. So the noon goes by until suddenly the doorbell rings. You get up to see if it's the mailman or a neighbor with a package. But a look through the peephole shows you that it is neither. Surprised, you open the door "Nat!" Natasha Romanoff is a friend of you and your brother, as well as the godmother of his children. But due to her job you rarely see each other. "Hey," she greets you with a small smile. "Can I come in?" "Sure." You lead her into the living room, where you turn off the TV. "What can I get you? Tea, coffee, milkshake?" "Coffee is fine." You disappear into the kitchen for a moment as she sits down in the armchair. Natasha was a rare visitor. Mostly she came with some news from Clint. You see him even less because he spends what little free time he has mostly with his wife and the two kids. Understandable. You don't hold it against him and try to visit them on holidays or for birthdays at her farm.

It doesn't take long until you return to the Russian woman with a new cup and some pastries and sit down on the couch again. "Well," you ask her curiously. "What do I owe the pleasure?" Natasha reaches for her cup. "It’s rather inconvenience. But first tell me if you’ve observed anything unusual lately." Questioningly, you look at her. "What do you mean?" "Nothing weird? You sure?", she asks. "Tell me what I'm supposed to have seen, please," you prompt her, both impatient and confused. Natasha gets right to the point. "You're being monitored." "By Shield?" "By Hydra." Stunned by this news, you remain silent. Natasha uses this pause to drink her coffee. "Oh, this is really good." But you don't listen to her at all, because various thoughts are circling in your head. And again you try to remember if you have noticed anything: same people you met, vehicles, anything. But you got pretty used to your life and didn't pay attention at these things. "Anyway, I'm here to pick you up. For your own safety it’s best if you stay with us for a while," Natasha finally breaks the silence and you look up. "What could Hydra possibly want from me? I don't know any internal secrets anymore. There are better to kidnap than me." "That's what we're trying to figure out right now." "Well, the danger doesn't seem to be acute", you note. "If they wanted to grab me, I wouldn't be sitting here by now. Thanks, but I decline and prefer to stay here. I have my job and the apartment." And now that you know what's going on, you can pay attention and take the necessary precautions, too. "Thanks for warning me." Natasha, on the other hand, doesn't look like she gives you a choice. "You know Shield has its ways to convince you?", she reminds you, but you shrug. Why would such a large organization bother with a single civilian like you? "What does my dear brother say about this matter?", you ask instead. "He hasn't been informed yet." Ergo, they deliberately leave him out of it so that he can't protest. You know this kind of approach of Shield.

Clint understands and supports you in your civilian life, even though he protested the loudest back when you announced your exit. "How’s he?", you want to know from Natasha, who is now finishing her coffee. "He's alive." That can mean just about anything from being happy and healthy to badly hurt but breathing. Better than being dead, you guess. "He's out in Africa with Steve right now." "Busy, huh?" "As usual." She stands up as a sign that she has nothing more to say for the day, and you walk her to the door, where you bid her farewell. "We'll talk again soon," she promises, but admittedly you have little desire to do so right now. "Sure," you reply and close the door behind her.

Well, that were some news. You put her empty cup in the sink and pause thoughtfully by the window. How could you have missed Hydra's agent, you ask yourself while glancing out. Your new life made you too comfortable. But it also takes up a lot of time and energy. And anyway, you dropped out because you didn't want to be cautiousness all the time anymore. You wanted a normal life with a normal job and normal problems. Away from agents, assassinations and super powers. You didn't want to check every day on your way to work if you were being followed, secretly monitored or if someone else was out to get you. That's why you’ve chosen this life. With a sigh, you sit back down on the couch. The past never leaves you alone, you guess. But tomorrow would be a long day even without these new old worries.

~~

The advantage of being a chef is usually that you don't have to get up at the crack of dawn for work. Most Restaurants open at noon, some even in the evening. So does the one where you work. There are preparations to be made before opening time, but you can still sleep through the morning, do some housework, and then head to the restaurant in the sunny afternoon. That's where the trouble starts, though. Just as you're about to open your locker to change your clothes, someone taps you on the shoulder. It's your boss, who hands you a letter. You can tell immediately from his serious expression that something is wrong. And when you open the envelope, you discover your resignation. You look up, perplexed, but you lose out in the following discussion. You don't even get a decent explanation, and that’s what annoys you the most. You're pretty sure your skills aren’t the issue, neither is the way you work. Nor the way you treat your colleagues, with whom you get along very well, even if the tone among cooks is a bit rough. You go back to your apartment, now in a bad mood. It‘s unbelievable! The sunny weather seems like a mockery to you now, and the people you meet along the way are in far too good a mood, in your opinion. It will be hell to find another good job as this was.

Arriving back home you immediately get more bad news: your landlord put a notice on your apartment door. The bathrooms in the building will get completely renovated soon and will be unusable for several weeks. Plus the heavy construction noise during the day. And the water would be turned off. It would be best to find temporary substitute apartment, so they recommend. "Haha...ha..." You laugh dryly and unlock the door. Was that a coincidence? When Natasha had been here yesterday? Probably not. You know Shield's methods and that it’s easy for them to take away your job and your apartment just to get their way. You have two options: either you accept the offer before Shield gets any more stupid ideas, or you run away and try to hide. With a sigh you go into your bedroom and throw a suitcase on the bed, in which you pack clothes, the most important documents and some things from the kitchen you need for work. Not everything fits, so you add a second travel bag. Meanwhile, you think about who you could complain to. Your brother was a favorite target of yours, but he a) had nothing to do with this matter and b) was not in the country. Which’s a shame, because you'd really like to have him by your side right now. If you wanted to complain to Shield directly, Fury would probably be the best person to do it. But you hold too much respect for him to vent your anger to him. Maybe just the next Shield agent who would come to you on this matter would have to step in. You know someone would definitely get back to you. With one last look around your apartment, you leave it and lock the door. Then you shoulder your bag and make your way out.

Just as you're thinking about getting a large coffee from Starbucks down the street, a red sports car pulls up to the side of the road. Natasha at the wheel. "Hmph..." You walk over to her and throw your luggage in the back seat. Then you take a seat in the passenger seat yourself. "Just for the record, I'm not happy with this." "I can see that." She tries to give a sympathetic smile, but you know this is just a job to her. "Well then, off to the Bat Cave, Wayne." "Does that make you Robin?", the Russian asks, driving off. "I guess", you reply snippy, not interested in keeping the conversation going. Fortunately, Natasha wasn't exactly the talkative sort either, so you have some peace and quiet to get your thoughts in order.

It takes you just under two hours to drive from Philadelphia to New York with city traffic slowing you down a bit. Otherwise, you would have arrived earlier at the former Stark Tower. It's been the Avenger Tower for some time now, but that doesn't make much difference, except that Tony Stark seems to be too lazy to put the remaining letters back on it.

Natasha parks in the private underground garage and you take the elevator up to the grand lobby. She tells you about the current residents here. There’s the usual staff, who are of course always present. Of all the Avengers, Bruce Banner is living here permanently. "He actually hardly ever leaves the lab," the Russian explains. "I'm currently living here, too. Every now and then Thor stops by, but mostly he prefers to explore the world. And his brother Loki is here. There have been some...problems with him and he's sort of under supervision here. Tony trusts technology more than Asgard. The owner of the house, by the way, is out visiting an outpost right now." "There are even Avengers outposts?" Natasha nods as she walks you down the halls to the living area. "But don't tell Hydra." "Sure", you promise unfazed. "Speaking of which, if I want to go out to visit someone, do I need a key or how does this work?" "It's better if you stay here in the house for now. It's for your safety, after all." "For how long?", you want to know. The answer is short. "As long as necessary." "So I'm sort of locked in here”, you state. That's typical Shield. As soon as there's any problem, an agent is sent in to put everything in solitary arrest or quarantine. As long as it’s shielded from the rest of the world. Natasha stops in front of a door that is now yours, but doesn't look directly at you, which as much of an answer as you get. "I'll be fine on my own now, thanks," you smile politely but not genuinely at her, and after she assures you that you're free to move around inside the building, you head off with your luggage in your new apartment.

[rhaaclaws]

What is your opinion on Khada Jhin League of Legends bestie

JHIN MY WORSTIE JHIN

favorite thing about them

Absolutely lovelove love his character design it's honestly perfect. Everything ties into the number 4 and especially the opera mask is gorgeous to me. I like how you can see him and just get the character yaknow? A very theatrical appearance and you can just tell something is Wrong. Another fav thing abt him is that the corpses actually do look like that. Like how horrifying would it be to see someone's chest cavity open up while sprouting a bleeding golden flower?

least favorite thing about them

Honestly the face reveal. I feel like not knowing what he looks like is one of the most important parts of his character because his deal is that he can never be found out. Like I think face reveals can be done in very tasteful ways [like Diavolo] but having his entire face leaked because someone forgot to put a censor bar really sucks. Even the version from the comic book where just the eyes were censored it's like we're not meant to see it.

favorite line

I have multiple but:

"Behind every mask... is another mask." [its so goofy] "I am the singer without a voice. The dancer without legs." "I live for the applause, you will die for it." [did you know this references Lady Gaga's 'Applause'? of course he's a gaga fan] "The stars are my eyes, and one by one, I must blind them." [Beautiful] "Oceans of formless time open before me and they whisper, Jhin, we are your true face."

brOTP

I need him in prison but the fact that he's a fan of Sona is really funny imo

OTP

I feel like Jhin is a character that is better off without shipping for. Many reasons but the idea of him having something going on with Zed is very good [only in very specific ways that's like. You two are awful for each other keep at it] . I also think him and Pyke would be good but in enemies to lovers but they're still enemies like 'i wont hesitate to kill you but I think it'd be better if we killed people together' way. My old friend actually has a playlist for it and it bangs https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0hCuFrSlCpVGYu2oN1sAx4?si=5a6c0938b5fa4ec3

My friend has a jhin/draven thing going on and honestly its really funny so it gets a pass

nOTP

tbh anyone for the same reason that he's a character who's better off and more interesting without shipping. I specifically really hate him and Nami though I legit have no idea where it came a thing but I keep seeing it pop up and its so ???????????? tf yall on about. I also really don't like him and kayn

random headcanon

I like to keep the mystery so I don't really have a headcanon for him but! I think it'd be fun if he listened to prog rock. Also, he'd have a fucking field day with Mista

unpopular opinion

I really dislike it when people draw him without a mask. Put that shit back on. x100 if they make him into an attractive anime man who looks 20. He literally looks like some guy and he's about to be 40 I promise you he doesn't look like that

song I associate with them

King Crimson - Starless [You just have to listen to it to get it I can't explain it] Depeche Mode - Sweetest Perfection [That mystical vibe from this + the obsession with the perfection] Vessel - Red Sex [The theatrics of this song is just. Augjghhjh it fits Jhin so perfectly, especially since it has no lyrics] Orville Peck - Hope to Die [Specifically High Noon Jhin but. Slay] Talking Heads - Psycho Killer [Specifically from that quote where he says "I get nervous before every performance, but I need that feeling."] Mother Mother - Born In A Flash [Ok listen yeah yeah I knowww it's mother mother but like, it reminds me of how he has 'no past' until he started killing people and becoming known as 'The Golden Demon'. It's like this identity was born in a flash]

favorite picture of them

The dark cosmic splash art has to be one of my favorites of all time. Everything about it is just. So perfect and beautiful.

[starlost-andfound]

at the divide // d.s (seasons change au)

Warning: The events in this au are an addition to the timeline of Seasons Change by @chilling-seavey (also pic credits to her <3). To avoid spoilers, please go read that amazing masterpiece first (and check out her other writing)

Inspired by If I Get High by Nothing But Thieves

Summary: Daniel searches for Marigold’s presence in a time he misses her the most.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death and grief, alcohol consumption, kind of unedited

Word Count: Approximately 3K

A/N: If you want to really feel this one, listen to If I Get High by Nothing But Thieves and Marigold and Daniel’s song Cover Me Up by Morgan Wallen

I'll meet you at the divide

To break the spell

It was too good to be true, like a fantasy with a tragic twist, a hope for a sunny day clouded by storms. Daniel carried a heavy heart yet he felt empty. His heart beat in his chest, pumping life into his veins but he loomed around in silence. He was a ghost haunted by the walls of his own home. The house was draped in an eerie quiet, so quiet Daniel could hear the clock ticking in his bedroom from downstairs. He set aside his freshly washed plate in the drying rack and dumped his emptied beer bottle in the bin. When Lennox went to school, lunches were painfully quiet. Daniel often found himself in front of the TV, eating his lunch with the background noise of any program playing on the screen.

With a sigh he rested his hands against the counter, leaning forward. His eyes drifted to the living room, where a line of photo frames stood on the mantle above the fireplace. She was everywhere. Daniel didn’t know whether that was a blessing or a curse. The clock ticked rhythmically, Daniel couldn't count the hours. His fingers traced the frames on the mantle. She was always smiling, even when it hurt the most. He never understood how. How could she hold all the rays of the sun while her star collapsed? He was the moon without a sun sharing its light, a dark unlit sky with lonely stars.

Stars. Lennox. Daniel smiled shakily, his vision blurring as he stood in front of the last photo on the fireplace. Even as the faces and colours blended together with his tears, he could still remember the image clearly. Lennox’s first hockey match. Lennox was squashed between Daniel and Marigold, wearing his hockey gear. They all held matching smiles on their faces. She was everywhere and maybe that’s what made it so hard to let go, suffocating when her presence was embedded in the air around him.

Daniel grabbed himself a beer and sat down on the couch, picking up a familiar belonging: a scrapbook Marigold had crafted for them, celebrating their early dating anniversaries. The book’s cover was brightly decorated with stars and stickers. He sat down, tracing his fingers over the scribbled text in her handwriting. He flipped through the pages, taking his time to trace the stuck-on tickets and read the small love letters Marigold had delicately weaved in her writing.

A point where two worlds collide

Yeah, we'll rebel

His mind felt dizzy with the slight tinge of alcohol. All the memories printed into the scrapbook seemed like distant conversations and hazy images. He turned the page over, his eyes falling to a scribbled date in the middle and countless doodles and stickers in the background. His heart dropped as his mind took him back to one of the most special nights in his life.His mind and heart pulled him down like an anchor into the sea, dragging him deeper until there wasn’t enough light left to see.  

Daniel wiped the stream of tears off his face, closing the book. He sunk down farther into the couch, holding his head as he cried. He exhaled shakily, feeling a light feather touch trailed up his shoulder. Daniel tensed as he heard a whisper. The voice was smooth like a calming wind, familiar like the arms of a lover.

“Why so many tears, my sweet?”

He opened his eyes and from the blurry mist in his eyes he saw the form of the woman who carried his heart.

“Sunshine,” he breathed. Daniel threw his arms around her in an instant. He cried, clinging on to her tighter as sobs shook his body.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Marigold held him close, rubbing soothing circles over his back. She kissed his head as he cried. She tried to pull back slightly but Daniel only held her closer.

“How- you-you’re here-I don’t know what to do, Marigold,” he whimpered. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Why would you say that, hmm?” she pulled back and cupped his cheeks. Her thumbs wiped the tears from his cheeks. “You’re doing so well, my sweet. I am so proud of you.”

Daniel shook his head from side to side. He gripped her shirt and rested his head against her chest. His lips trembled, “I just want you back.”

Marigold sighed quietly, “You know that’s not possible.”

“Please don’t go. ”

And we run

And we run

And we run

Until we break through

“I won’t leave just yet,” she stroked his hair gently.

Daniel sniffled, and looked up. He reached his hand up, brushing his hand along her jaw and then cupping her cheek, “You are very real.”

Marigold laughed softly, “Yes, I am here.”

“Do you-” Daniel held her hand. “Does it hurt anymore?”

Marigold smiled, “Not anymore, no.”

Daniel smiled shakily, feeling the tears build up again at the answer he wished he had heard many months ago. He sat up and his hands reached up to caress her cheek. She had this golden glow that reminded Daniel of when she was carrying Lennox. “You’re so beautiful.”

Marigold smiled.

Daniel pressed his forehead against hers, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, my sweet.”

He leaned closer, pressing his lips on hers. Her soft lips and skin disappeared under his touch, fading into the air. Daniel fell forward on the couch, his hands gripping the fabric. He snapped his head around in search of her, letting out a strangled cry as he was met with the walls of his living room.

If I get high enough

Will I see you again?

Daniel was falling into a routine and he was growing to hate it. With no energy by noon, he often landed on a couch, a drink in his hand and the multiple CD’s of home videos by his side. He never drank too much before Lennox came home. Lennox was the only light which filled the gaping hole in his chest but the sharp taste of the beer numbed his mind. It calmed the storm of emotions he carried inside, just for a few moments and for him that was enough. Daniel entered the living room with a beer in his hand, heading to the CD’s by the television. The text on the CD covers were fading where he held them, some more than others, exposing the amount of times he watched them.

I feel my loss every night

Not long to wait

He slumped back down on the couch with a beer bottle in his hand as the video loaded. A crackle echoed over the speaker before a soft voice spoke.

And if I do this thing right

I dream of our escape

“Lennox, say hi,” Marigold whispered behind the camera.

She zoomed in on a baby Lennox, waddling around the flowers in the garden in his small yellow boots. He wore one of Marigold’s old sweaters, far too small for her but slightly too large for the little boy. The sleeves and hem of the sweater were rolled up, hugging his body. Spud turned to the camera and grinned, his two little teeth sticking out. He waved his arm at the camera and turned back to the flowers decorating their garden.

He pointed at the bunch of hydrangeas and tugged at his sweater, “Blue. Like mine.”

Marigold gasped, “Yes, well done my shining star!”

Spud giggled and the camera turned just as Daniel’s car rolled into the driveway.

“Daddy’s here!‘ Marigold captured Daniel stepping out of the truck with a smile. Lennox squealed, running to Daniel with his hands up. “Dada!”

Daniel scooped him up into his arms, bouncing him gently, “Hi Spud, I missed you!”

Marigold shuffled closer to Daniel, the camera lens covered as they shared a quick kiss, “Hi my sweet.”

“Hey sunshine.”

The camera flipped, fitting all three of them into the frame. Lennox grabbed the camera in his hands and pressed the lens close to his face.

“Oh, careful Spud.”

The curious child attempted to hold the camera out like his mother, pointing at the flowers, “Blue!” The garden twisted into a spiral as the camera tumbled out of his hands and the video cut off.

Daniel sniffled quietly and took a gulp of his beer. The next video began to roll. He heard the familiar sound of her footsteps down the stairs. The camera trailed the floor until it lifted up outside the house, pointing at Daniel.

“Look how handsome my baby daddy is.”

Daniel glanced up at the camera with a bashful smile. Marigold pulled him up by his arm so he could be seen better and she set her hand against his chest, giving him a pat.

“I’m going to have to keep close eyes on you at Sunday brunch. All the ladies are gonna want a piece of this.”

“Oh my gosh.” Daniel chuckled shyly.

“And my other handsome man!” Marigold added, shuffling around the open door to get a good shot of the baby in the car seat. “Gonna be fighting the ladies off you too, my beautiful boy.”

Lennox blinked up at her but her same smile could be seen forming behind his pacifier that bumped excitedly against his little nose. Marigold turned the camera around as she leaned in with Daniel, capturing both of them together and Daniel just smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

She looked up at him lovingly, “Happy first Father’s Day, my sweet.”

“Thank you.” Daniel smiled, meeting her halfway for a kiss. “And thank you for making me a father.”

They shared a few more kisses and ‘I love you’s until Lennox let out a small cry.

“Oh my.” Marigold said, addressing the camera again as Daniel left the frame to care for Lennox, “Well, when Lennox says it’s time to go, it’s time to go! We have church to get to and a bunch to show off at.”

When she was a few steps away, the camera caught her admiring her husband over her shoulder as he finished buckling in the baby.

She looked back to the camera and spoke gently with her wide grin spread all over her soft face, “Lennox Blake, if you’re watching this some time in the future when you’re grown up and annoyed by your parents – just know that you have the best daddy in the whole stinking world. I picked him out myself for you so that’s how you know he’s good.”

The camera clicked softly and a another video played.

The screen zoomed in on Daniel and Lennox across the grass. Lennox was tucked up on his shoulder and Daniel was pointing out little flowers and the buds on the trees as they walked. He finally looked over and caught Marigold filming, a shy smile taking over his face and he rested his head against his son’s tiny body.

And we run

And we run

Daniel was a mess, his stray tears turning into quiet sobs. He turned off the TV, the bright screen of colours and memories turning into a reflection of his pain. He chugged down the rest of his second beer and dragged himself off the couch. The air felt stuffy, like he couldn’t breathe properly. He swayed as he stumbled to the garden door, nearly falling down the steps. A choked sob left his lips and he covered his mouth. He stormed past the bushes of overgrown, wilting flowers.

And we run

Until we break through

Daniel stumbled to the back of the garden, grabbing the support of the garden swing. The tears fell down his face , smudging the darkening colours of the flowers around him. He slid down to the grass, leaning his head back. Daniel dug his fists into the ground, tugging out strands of grass with a yell. The pain in his chest burned into tears and he closed his eyes, drowning himself in his loss. His head felt heavy with what remained of the alcohol in the system and his tears. A soft breeze rustled gently.

If I get high enough

Will I see you again?

A soft hand brushed his cheeks, wiping away the tears.

“My sweet.”

Daniel shook his head, “No, go away.”

“Daniel, my sweet. It’s okay, I’m here.”

He wiped his eyes and took a shaky breath as he saw her again. “Mari.”

“Come on, let’s get you up.” Marigold reached out her hands to pull him up to his feet. She dusted off his shoulders and smiled. “There. Much better. Come on.”

Daniel sniffled, his eyes focused on Marigold in some state of confusion and surprise. Her arm was wrapped around Daniel’s as she guided him inside the house. He lifted his finger to touch her cheek. Marigold giggled softly, “What are you doing?”

“Where are we going?” his voice cracked.

“I haven’t seen Apollo and Venus in so long,” Marigold smiled, looking up at Daniel. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Daniel moved at a slow pace, trotting beside Marigold on her horse. Marigold looked around at the green fields ahead of them, a glow in her eyes. He watched how her hair moved in the wind, her blonde curls flowing. The sun reflected on her face, and Daniel smiled. Her face was full of colour, no longer pale, no longer lifeless. For once she seemed at ease and Daniel had forgotten what that felt like.

Marigold slowed down to a stop and for the first time Daniel turned his head away from her. He gasped softly, instantly recognizing their surroundings, their spot. He followed her movements as she climbed off her horse and sat down at the spot where he would normally park the truck. Marigold shifted closer to Daniel, if it was even possible, and placed her head on his shoulder.

Daniel held her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. Marigold sighed, “No matter how many times we come here, the view still takes my breath away. It’s beautiful.”

Daniel hummed in agreement but his focus seemed to lie on staying as close to her as possible.

“You haven’t been singing much lately, my sweet,” she remarked.

“I know,” Daniel mumbled. His voice trembled and he took a moment to breathe. “It’s hard.”

Marigold smiled softly and caressed his cheek. “Could you sing something for me?”

Daniel nodded. His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper. “A h-heart on the run.” He gulped. His eyes connected with hers and he sighed shakily. “Keeps a hand on the gun. You can’t trust anyone. I was so su-s”

Daniel’s head bowed down and he wiped his eyes, “I-I’m so-sorry-”

Marigold shook her head, cupping his cheeks. She wiped his tears away and smiled softly. “I was so sure. What I needed was more, tried to shoot out the sun,” she sang.

Daniel lifted his eyes to hers, his frown breaking into a shaky smile. “The days when we raged, we flew off the page. Such damage was done,” he joined in unison.

Marigold stood up on her feet, reaching out her hand. Daniel stood up, his hand in hers as she pulled him closer. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and Daniel held her waist, sucking in his breath. “But I made it through, 'cause somebody knew I was meant for someone.”

They swayed gently from side to side. Daniel cried quietly, pulling her closer until there was barely space between them, his forehead against hers. They shared the kisses that had been stolen from them, singing the unfinished lyrics of their song with their lips just a touch apart. A setting sun cast a dreamy light over the couple. Daniel’s singing was consumed by his tears and he buried his head in between her neck and shoulder. He held her tighter, his tears staining her beautiful dress.  

“So cover me up and know you're enough.” Marigold rubbed her hands soothingly over his back and kissed his shoulder. “To use me for good.”

Marigold moved her hands to his chest. Daniel didn’t move, wanting to be in her arms. “My sweet, it’s getting dark. We should get home.”

Daniel pulled away reluctantly, holding her hand as they walked back to Apollo and Venus. Marigold waited by his side as he climbed his horse. She placed her hand on his knee and they leaned closer, their lips meeting each other halfway. Daniel nearly wished he couldn’t breathe when he pulled away for a breath. Marigold pecked his lips again before climbing her horse.

She travelled forward, Daniel following behind. Marigold sped up, urging her horse to gallop faster. Daniel frowned and tried to catch up with her.

“Sunshine,” he was an arm’s reach away.

“My sweet,” Marigold turned back to him with a smile, but it wasn’t the same. There was some underlying loss in her smile and it made Daniel’s heart drop to his stomach. “It’s time to go.”

“Sunshin-” he hurried Venus to run faster. “Sunshine! Marigold, wait!”

And we run

And we run

And we run

Daniel struggled, panting. The wind blew harshly in his face as Marigold moved faster, turning into a blur. Marigold faded farther and farther away until she disappeared. He cried out for her, his voice dying out into violent sobs. “Mari-stop!”.

Venus turned to mist from beneath him and Daniel fell to his knees. He pulled himself up, ignoring the ache in his legs and he broke into a sprint.

He felt himself fade the faster he ran, hearing a voice call out for him, but it wasn’t hers. The distance he covered never seemed enough as the fields ran endlessly in front of him. His legs gave out under him and he fell, head first into the grass.

Until we break through

Daniel’s eyes opened and he turned over with a groan, feeling someone shake his shoulder. “Dad, dad!”

He sat up in a sudden movement, startling Lennox. Daniel pulled himself to his feet, marching past Lennox to the stables.

“Dad, what happened? Where are you going?” Lennox followed him, his school bag bouncing on his bag as he kept up with his father. Daniel entered the stables, his shoulders falling as he found the horses well kept in their pens.  

“Dad?”  Lennox walked up to his side and held his arm, looking up at a distraught Daniel. He looked down at Lennox and brushed his hand over his head. Daniel pulled Lennox close, hugging him tight. Lennox welcomed the hug, unknowing of the inner turmoil in Daniel’s heart. He could still feel her in their own shining star, little remnants of sunshine and beautiful blooming flowers.

“Let’s go inside, Spud,” he whispered.

Lennox pulled away with a smile and jogged back into the house. Daniel watched him go before he turned back to the stable. He looked past the open entryway where the green fields stretched out to the horizon, meeting the sky.

And we run

And we run

And we run

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

Taglist: @jonahlovescoffee​ @bessonbae @hiya-its-amber​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @the-girl-who-cried-wolf​

[mysweetgeo]

Do You Want To Know a Secret ? (Part 4)

Summary: Reader and George have been best friends since they were kids, but when The Beatles got big, they were forced apart. What happens when George returns for a couple weeks wanting their friendship to return to normal?

You didn’t hear from George until the next day, when the call came through just after noon you’d all but jumped to answer it the second it rang.

You cleared your throat before answering, “Hello, (Y/N) speaking.”

“Well hello my love, how is today treatin’ you?” His accent thick and full.

You smiled, “Fair, but much better now,” you answered honestly.

You could hear his smile in his voice as he answered, “Well that’s wonderful to hear, fancy a trip to the pub tonight? John invited me and I’d like it if you’d accompany me.”

“Hm, seeing as I don’t have to work tomorrow that sounds quite lovely,” you replied, twirling the phone cord around your finger. “What time should I meet you there?”

George scoffed, “As if I’d make you drive yourself to the pub,” he muttered. “I’ll pick you up at eight, does that fit into your busy schedule?” He asked, mocking the words you’d said to him just the other day.

You rolled your eyes, “Fine. But next time we go out I’m driving—and paying!”

He laughed, “Fine, fine! It’s a deal, as long as I get to see you again,” he said sweetly, a smile forming on your lips.

It was quiet for a few moments before you spoke again, “I’ll see you at eight then?”

“Eight o’clock, sharp,” he confirmed.

“It’s a date then,” you said, smiling to yourself.

“It’s a date,” he repeated before you hung up.

+

When George knocked on your door at eight o’clock (sharp) you’d been waiting his arrival, ready to open the door the moment he knocked.

He grinned when he saw you, giving your simple outfit a look over.

You wore a pair of high waisted denim bell bottoms with a pair of chunky orange heels. he laughed when he saw your shirt, a Beatles tee you’d found at a local shop when you’d been out and about a few weeks ago.

“Where on Earth did you find that?” George asks, leaning in close to observe your shirt.

“Found it at one of the shops in town, d’ya like it?” You ask with a proud grin.

“I look like rubbish,” he mumbles, running his fingers over his own face on the fabric.

“You do not, George,” you say, swatting his hand away from your top. “You ready to go?” You ask.

He nods and holds the door open for you and the two of you walk to his car.

You ride to the pub in a comfortable silence, completely content just being in each other’s presence.

When you arrive at the pub, George opens your door for you and offers you his arm, which you gladly accept.

You walk into the pub, immediately finding John in a corner booth, with an arm around Cynthia who is sitting beside him.

When John sees you, his face breaks into a massive grin, “George! You brought your girl!”

You blush and squeeze George’s arm a bit, looking at the other couple, “Nice to see you again, John,” you mumble, slightly embarrassed.

Cynthia stands to pull you into a hug, which you gladly accept. You’d missed her almost as much as you’d missed George.

You and George sit across from John and Cynthia, George’s arm slung around your shoulders as John tells you about the crazy things they’d done while on tour.

By the end of the story you’d been clutching your stomach, doubled over in laughter while George sat, his face red with embarrassment.

You were now a few pints in, feeling warm and light—like you were floating.

“Why didn’t you tell me about that Georgie?” You whined, gripping his thigh so that he would look you in the eye.

He shrugged, “Didn’t think you’d wanna hear about all the silly things I’d done,” he replied.

Your jaw dropped, “Well of course I do! I can’t keep pickin’ on ya if its the same four stories from when we were kids!” You said loudly.

“John!” You yelled, reaching over to grab his arm, “You have to tell me all the silly things he’s done!” you slurred.

John laughed, completely knackered, “When we were in Hamburg, George had a girl in the hotel room—while we were all in there!” John said loudly, his head rolling back with a snort.

You felt your heart drop, and suddenly you weren’t in a laughing mood anymore. You scooted yourself away from him, a small movement that John didn’t notice, but Cynthia and George did.

You glanced at George out of the corner of your eye after you’d moved to see him staring back at you, almost like he was apologizing.

You didn’t know why you felt so upset, you couldn’t possibly be upset with George for sleeping with someone when you’d done the same with many guys. After all it’d been nearly two years, you couldn’t expect him to wait for you when he didn’t even know how you felt about him—you didn’t even know how you felt about him.

John was still laughing, not noticing the mood change, when he slapped the table, snapping you and George out of your trance.

“I need another pint!” He slurred, pounding the table.

You nodded agreeing with him, “Me too,” you mumbled, just loud enough so that George could hear you.

+

Three more pints down and you’d completely forgotten what you were so upset over. You were practically attached to George, clinging affectionately to his arm.

You were sipping your next pint, your arm looped in George’s as he watched you.

“(Y/N) how’d you meet George again?” Cynthia asked, yelling over the other voices in the pub.

“Oh! I love this story!” You squealed, “We met when we were just itty bitty little kids,” you said fondly with a smile.

George laughed at your expression as you rested your head on his shoulder, smiling proudly.

“I was five and George was six!” You exclaimed, “He tried to kiss me on the playground and I pushed him in the dirt!”

“Hey! That’s not what happened!” George interrupted after taking a large gulp of his pint.

You turned to him, a grin spread across your face, “Really? Then how do you think it happened?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

George’s eyes bore into your, like dark brown pools. “I wanted to hold your hand, is that such a crime! ‘Was just a boy who fancied a girl,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You fancied me?” You asked, teasing him and poking his nose.

“What? No—I just meant—I—“ He stumbled over his words.

You giggled, “Sounds like you fancied me, Geo!” you teased, nudging his side with your arm.

He rolled his eyes and pushed your arms away from him, “Stop that!” he yelped.

You let out a hearty laugh, “Oh c’mon, George! ‘m only teasin’!”

“Mhm, sure you are,” he mumbled, finishing the rest of his beer.

You grinned, finishing yours as well, feeling warm and fuzzy. “I wanna do shots!” you exclaimed.

John gasped, “Shots!” he yelled, the two of you unable to sit still at the thought.

John flagged the waitress down, getting her to bring your table a whole mess of shots.

You turned to George, a crooked smile on your face, “You gonna do shots too, Georgie?” you asked, tugging at his arm to try and get him to agree.

He rolled his eyes, a smile forming on his face, “I suppose I can do a few,” he answers, which made you squeal in excitement.

John, George, and yourself split the shots amongst the three of you—Cynthia decided against them (probably for the best).

The shots felt endless, and soon you were slurring your words and clinging to George’s arm just to keep the room from spinning.

George was feeling just about the same way, the two of you laughing at something John had said—which neither of you could remember.

Eventually Cynthia dragged a heavily intoxicated John out of the bar, bidding a goodnight to you and George.

George paid your tab, wrapping an arm tight around your waist as the two if you walked out.

The waitress had hailed a cab for you—which you were thankful for because you couldn’t think straight.

You sat practically on top of one another in the back of the cab, staring into each others eyes, trying (and failing) to contain flirtatious smiles.

When the cabbie had dropped you off at your house. you and George climbed out of the cab after paying, immediately going up to your room.

You immediately went to put some music on, putting the Please Please Me vinyl on the turntable, skipping to your favourite song, secretly hoping George would sing it to you.

George grinned when you both heard the familiar chords begin.

You’ll never know how much I really love you

You’ll never know how much I really care

He pulled you close to him, leaving barely enough room to breathe, and began to sway you back and forth.

“Listen,” he sang softly in your ear, “Do you want to know a secret?”

“Do you promise not to tell?” You nodded enthusiastically, your body jittering with excitement.

“Oh, closer,” you felt yourself pressing yourself closer to him, aching for him to tell you.

“Let me whisper in your ear,” he murmured breathlessly in your ear, “say the words you long to hear.”

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered softly, kissing your neck.

You sighed in content, allowing him to attack your neck and jaw with kisses.

“Oh, George,” you murmured.

George’s lips moved to your cheek, progressively moving towards your mouth.

You whined in protest when he pulled away, “Can I kiss you?” he murmured.

All you could do was nod, your body aching for his touch, your lips yearning for reciprocation.

You looked into each other’s eyes before George pressed his lips against yours, and the world stopped.

Your body lighting on fire, feeling the butterflies swarm in your stomach as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

The two of you fell on your bed, George straddling you, kissing you with a patience that did not exist.

You moaned into his mouth, enjoying every second of the kiss, not knowing when it would end.

George brought his hand up to caress your face lovingly, as your tongues danced in each others mouths.

He kissed you with a hunger you’d never experienced, like he thought you’d vanish at any moment.

The kiss felt like you’d been making up for a lifetime of repressed feelings and longing stares.

Too soon you both ran out of air, panting as you pulled away, looking at each other with pure love.

His lips were a deep red colour, swollen from the kiss. you could only imagine yours were in a similar state.

You ran your hands through his hair as you caught your breath, your thumbs caressing his cheeks, running along his sharp jaw bone.

He smiled sleepily, the movements of your hands relaxing him.

His tired eyes met yours, “I love you,” he said in the happiest voice.

Your heart swelled as you held his face in your hands, “I love you, George.”

He dipped his head to give you a quick kiss before his body weight dropped on top of you.

You groaned, “George,” you tried to push him off of you but there was no way to move him, he was already snoring softly into your neck.

You continued to run your hands through his hair, admiring him and soaking in every detail of the moment that you likely wouldn’t remember.

Deep down you knew that was for the best, you’d just gotten George back and you didn’t want to lose him again—especially when these feelings were involved.

His arms formed a tight cocoon around you and he sighed into your neck, completely content.

You smiled sleepily at his state, leaving your hands in his hair as you closed your eyes, letting yourself drift off to sleep.

[thewatermelloncat]

Miscommunication   (part 2)

part 1

Summary: The Hargreeves siblings were made to be rivals, so Ben had never seemed to care much for Five. That is until the day he realises the rivalry was all in his head.

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

Ben slows his running down to an awkward speed walk as he rounds the corner to join his siblings where they are waiting to file in for dinner. The only give away that he had been running is the sound of his panting breath which they all seem to pick up on.

After he’d left Five’s room, he’d quickly gone over to his room to hide away Five’s homework before having to boost it down to dinner. Glancing around at his siblings they all share a silent conversation with him, knowing that Five won’t be joining them. No questions are asked.

His breathing has almost slowed to a normal rate when Grace leads them to file into the dinning room. Although she never appeared to pick up on Five’s absence, their father immediately disapproves of the empty chair at the table.

“Where is Number Five?” he demands with his usual self-important tone.

Ben does his best to remain looking forward across the table. If he averts his eyes, looking the opposite way from his father, he will get caught out. Although his siblings know that he was the last person to know of Five’s whereabouts, none of them rat him out.

“Have you all forgotten how to speak?” Reginald prompts.

“None of us have seen him since training” Diego lies effortlessly.

Despite being untrue, it seems to settle their father who nods to Grace, signalling for her to seek after him. With their mother disappearing from the room, their father turns back to them. “Sit! If Number Five sees fit to ignore the virtue of punctuality we shall start without him.”

It’s a nervous wait for Ben and he barely touches his food, fearing that his idea may not work. Around the table the siblings all trade worried glances, though Ben reads them as a different reason than his own. Knowing that they are concerned about their brother feeling bad enough not to show up, not knowing that Ben was a prominent cause in that decision.

Nonetheless, Ben sighs a quiet sound of relief when he sees Grace re-enter the dinning room without Five trailing behind her. His eyes flick over to his father after hearing a noise of disapproval, him having watched Grace remove Five’s plate from the table.

Though Ben allows himself to relax, beginning to eat more, listening to the sound of the record player instructing how to strangle people in various ways.

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

The good thing about weekends are the informal breakfasts. While there isn’t much of a chance for sleeping in, not having their father join them for breakfast is enough for the siblings. Their father not appearing out of his office until training commences after noon.

With no set time to arrive by, they all file down at their own accord. Luther usually first, ever a stickler for a schedule. Diego sometimes beats him, being an early riser. Klaus can be a hit or miss depending on what his insomnia allows him to do. This morning it is Five who is the last to join them at the table.

All sounds of eating and idle chatting stop when he enters the room. They would be lying if any of them said they expected he’d come down to join them.

“Feeling any better?” Luther breaks the silence as Five sits a few chairs down from them all at the table.

“Not really” Five admits, his voice sounding scratchy. Though his choice to distance himself from his siblings should have been answer enough.

Ben would like to say Five looks better after a little extra sleep the night before, but he really doesn’t. Still pale faced and eyes with shinning rings.

“We can get mum to bring something up to you” Allison suggests.

Five shakes his head. “Can’t miss two mealtimes in a row.”

No one argues that he undoubtably could, but they know he won’t budge.

“You’re going to miss out on training though, right?” Vanya says.

This time none of the siblings look at her and roll their eyes like they normally would when she cuts into subjects which she knows nothing about. If only because this time they wish it were possible.

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

None of them bother to try and convince Five to miss out on training, with it being evidently clear that he is only doing it out of necessity to carry out their father’s instructions. Though it doesn’t stop Ben from hoping that their father will take pity on him and dismiss him. As to be predicted, he does nothing of the sort. So, there they all stand in their line at the top of the stairs, listening to their father’s instructions.

Over breakfast it had become abundantly clear how awful Five was feeling. He could still barely go a minute without coughing and had hardly eaten anything. Afterward they had tried to convince him to go back to bed and get some more rest before training commenced but he’d brushed them off. Claiming that if he went back to sleep now, he’d only wake up feeling worse. It had made sense to them so they had left it alone.

Though now as Five stands next to Ben struggling to keep his eyes open, he wishes that they had all pushed harder.

“… after instruction you will all make your way down the stairs where you will await the sound of the whistle” Reginald continues to instruct while Ben senses Five swallow thickly to keep from coughing.

“… nothing is off limits but you may not hinder your opponents. There will be no accusations of cheating” their father’s eyes flick between Luther and Diego.

They both avoid his gaze until it shifts to Five who can no longer hold back the coughs threatening to spill out of his lungs.

Rattling exhales pitch him slightly forward as he shields them into the crook of his arm, stepping back to lean against the stair railing for balance. On either side of him Klaus and Ben both reach out to steady him on instinct, their hands slow to leave him after the coughs die down. Waiting until they are sure he can stand on his own.

Five is afraid to look up after swallowing painfully, aware of the deadly silence around him.

“Step forward, Number Five” Reginald instructs sharply.

The siblings all watch on as he hesitates, lacking his usual confidence. It isn’t a rare occurrence that Five will be called out of line, but he normally steps forward immediately with a defiant smirk on his face. Unlike now as he reluctantly steps forward, eyes cast down and body shying away from their father.

When his feet stop, their father closes the remaining gap between them, reaching out a hand to place on his forehead. Collectively the remaining siblings grimace and shift uncomfortably on Five’s behalf. There is no sympathy or hint of nurture in the gesture, purely assessment. Still Five curls in on himself wanting to get away from his father’s touch.

“Report to the Medical Wing. You are dismissed.”

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

Being dismissed from training was unheard of. Sure, injuries happen within its duration but Grace normally patches them up and they would either join back in and do what they could or would sit out and watch the rest. To be completely dismissed – well, as previously stated, it was unheard of.

In a way, Five was relieved that he was dismissed because he could rest instead of partake in activities he knew he wouldn’t be able to complete. On the flip side, he despised it because he knows his father now sees him as weak, and that was what he had been trying to avoid for days on end.

As Grace met him down in the Medical Wing and checked over him, he thought about how long it will take to rebuild his status in his father’s eyes. It could take months, maybe years. Though Five knows that his father will never forget dismissing him for his moment of weakness, that he’ll record it down in his journal to be referred back to later.

He’s too tired to listen to what Grace tells him is his diagnosis. Doesn’t even ask her to repeat it once he knows he missed it, only complies as she gestures for him to lie down on the bed. For now, he doesn’t care about his father’s appraisal with sleep dulling his thoughts as Grace lowers the covers over him.

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

“Diego wants to kill you?” are the first words Five wakes up to, finding Ben sitting in a chair next to the bed.

Ben flicks a page over in his book then elaborates when a look of confusion passes over Five’s face.

“Mum gave us all shot of something after training.”

“Well, you tell him I’m sorry” Five says, remembering Diego’s fear of needles. His voice croaky and barely comprehensible from sleep.

Though Ben understands it enough, making a sound of dismissal before telling him, “he’ll get over it.”

Five stops his attempt to sit up as he shields a few coughs into his arm.

“Stay down” Ben says gently, placing his book on the floor and turning to face Five. His expression twinges into a grimace when he looks at him before it is quickly turned into one of pity as he touches his fingers to Five’s forehead. “Mum said your fever was quite high” he tells him as he withdraws his hand.

Five only hums because he doesn’t know how to respond to that before he asks, “what happened after I left?”

“Everything was pretty much the same” Ben shrugs. “Except we didn’t have an even number for sparring so we did a rotation thing.”

“Dad didn’t speak another word about it” Ben tells him after a brief silence, knowing that was what Five had really meant by his question. “No one knows how long you’ll have to stay down here either.”

Five glances around the empty room before his eyes fall back on Ben. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know, somewhere around dinner. I should probably get going” Ben says reaching down to pick up his book. “Not actually supposed to be down here.”

A smirk crosses Five’s face, “Ben, breaking the rules?”

“Shut up, I break them all the time” Ben insists, hitting his book against the mattress playfully.

“Sure” Five drones sarcastically in disagreement.

“Get some sleep, yeah?” Ben says as he walks backward out the door. “I don’t want to be stuck upstairs alone with the idiots any longer than I have to.”

Five is more than happy to oblige as he shuts his eyes, wondering whether he and Ben could be great friends after all.

[janekfan]

Cage

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130172

Jon jerked awake, uncomfortably soaked with sweat and trembling fit to shake apart, each thought swirling into wisps of cloud between his fingers even as he tried in vain to catch them.

He couldn’t breathe.

Not with his chest so unbelievably tight, caught in a vise; there was no room. No room. There was no room.

He ached badly. The caress of the bed linens against his skin was like a brush fire and his head pounded in tandem with his pulse as it hammered loudly through his blood and Jon couldn’t hear anything but a high pitched ringing between his ears. Disoriented, the plaintive sob grated on his sore throat, swallowed up by the deep dark so black he couldn’t see, and sudden tears slipped down his face, over the bridge of his nose where he curled up against the pillow, so hot. So hot. Nerves set ablaze, the roadmap of his veins spreading the pain like an injection of battery acid.

A nightmare. That’s what this was. It had to be.

Please. Just a nightmare or else he was surely dying.

Please. It hurts.

It hurts.

And then there was nothing.

Somehow, Jon slept through his alarm for the first time in his working memory, waking groggy and aching, shaky legs barely able to hold his weight as he made his way slowly to the kitchen. He was late for work. He was never late for work.

Two firsts in one morning.

The texts were. Worried? Martin was worried. Wondering. Wondering where he was. If he was okay.

He was fine. Just. Tired. Headachy. A bit rundown, that’s all. He couldn’t recall with much clarity, but it felt like he hadn’t slept well.

When he looked down at his hands, he found himself gripping the sink for dear life. The only thing keeping him up. Ridiculous. Of course not. He was fine. Jon drank down a full glass of water and forced a piece of dry toast on himself before dragging what felt like someone else’s body to the train.

It was nearing noon when Jon was able to drop into his desk chair, covering his eyes when the lamp was enough to make them hurt and the footsteps hurrying their way towards him inspired a sinking dread in his stomach.

“Jon!”

“Keep it down, Martin.” Abandoning all pretense, Jon flicked the light back off, unwilling to worsen what was already an awful ache, an awful, unrelenting pressure in the back of his skull.

“Oh, s’sorry, of course.” A flash of guilt passed too quickly, as did the moment in time he would have taken to apologize for snapping if his thoughts weren’t processing so slowly. “I was worried. You look. Jon,” and there was no mistaking the worry there. “You don’t look well.” Just as Tim decided to pass by for a friendly jab.

“Long night at the bar, boss?” What was once an endearment now sounded like a curse and Jon repressed the physical wince though it was nothing he didn't deserve.

“Leave off, Tim.” Exasperated, Martin pushed him on his way and opened the door to his office a little wider, speaking softly for his benefit. Kind. Always so kind and Jon didn’t deserve an ounce of it, not after the wrongs he’d done. “You look like you could use a day at home.” The fragment of concerned warmth coming off of Martin was inebriating, like he’d been socked in the jaw with a sudden and excessive want.

Or, like he was seconds away from begging for any and all scraps of affection, of human connection. A touch, another kind word, heaven forbid a genuine smile. He was just so. So.

Lonely.

“Just a bit of a headache.” He swallowed with difficulty, a little nauseated, trying to put forth even a quarter of the effort Martin deserved. “Th’thank you, Martin.” He gave him a wan smile, an olive branch, maybe he could begin repairing what he’d so thoroughly broken, and was almost hysterically pleased when he received a grin in return.

“Alright. I’ll bring you some tea--”

“You don’t have--!” Jon scrambled for words, afraid he’d been found out and Martin felt some sort of obligation, or, or.

“And paracetamol.” He looked back before leaving. “Because I want to.”

The hot drink and medicine revitalized him just a bit, enough to complete a couple hours work before he began to flag. Seconds dawdled. Minutes crawled. The next hour overstayed an incredibly rude and malingering welcome and Jon’s cheek met the blotter long before he would be able to skive off in good conscience. He felt strange. Cold and clammy but uncomfortably warm. His head was pounding in earnest now, an aura taking up residence in the corner of each eye, tunneling his vision and dizzying him despite his not moving. Thankfully, he’d been left alone for the most part.

Luckily.

Because something was wrong.

Wrong.

He felt wrong.

Frustrated, because there was a better word for how unbalanced, off center? he was and he couldn’t think of it.

Time was an unexpectedly slippery thing and as each moment wheeled by Jon became more and more confused, more exhausted, to the point where gulping for air seemed useless because none of it seemed to reach where he desperately needed it to go. When he lifted his head, his vision went spotty, blacking out for a terrifying split second before he laid it back down, tears welling in his eyes.

Why was he like this? So irrational, emotional.

Overwrought. When he finally.

Finally realized what this was.

Finally realized what he'd allowed to happen.

He was sick.

He’d come to work sick, contagious. He wasn’t supposed to be around people when he was sick; it was irresponsible and selfish to put others at risk. How could. After everything he’d already done to them, and now. And now he’s done this.

He would keep them away. He could do that. He was really good at that. Even when he wasn’t capable of anything else.

Breathing harshly through his nose, he forced himself to his feet, catching himself on his desk, a filing cabinet, the wall, in order to make it to the door and depress the lock. He would keep Martin well. And Tim. And stay here until it was safe to go, to go home but the idea of sitting back in the chair was too much. He needed. Needed to lay down. Soon. Now. Just as his knees gave way at the back of his office, behind the desk, and Jon let himself sink to the floor, the inside of him trying its best to claw its way out, and curling into his guilt when the pain and heat and cold crested over him like a smothering wave and he whimpered, pressing his hot cheek against the cool linoleum and shivering.

He wanted to go home.

Crawl into bed and hide from everything.

Isolate himself like he was supposed to so he wouldn’t make anyone else sick. But he couldn’t keep lashes seemingly painted with lead apart. Could hardly remember why he should keep alone in the first place, what he was supposed to be doing. Let himself fade. Until all the misery fell away into the background and he let the rest go.

“Jon?” He jerked awake, biting down on the groan all the aches and pains returning with a sudden vengeance pulled from between his teeth. It took too long to remember where he was, only able to focus on the sticky sweat all over his skin, tacky where his face rested on the floor, his damp clothes and the chill buried in the center of him. “Jon?”

Martin.

“Y’yes?” He flopped to his back, the room split into a double image, and he closed his eyes against it, breath shallow. Panicking a little when he heard him check the handle.

“Are you alright?”

“Mm. Yes.” Forced himself to inject annoyance into his tone. Irritability. He was irritable and wanted Martin to leave him alone. Definitely didn't want any more tea or to see his face creased in something like concern or, or god forbid, he (please) touch him. Because if he came in here he would fall ill. “I’m doing.” Speaking was so hard, tongue clumsy in his mouth. “Important work.”

“With the door locked?”

“In an effort to limit disruption, Martin.” Breathe. Breathe. “If you would, please.”

“Yes, Jon.” Martin was upset with him. That was good. Good because he would stay on the other side of the door. He couldn’t get sick on the other side of the door and Jon let himself go at the sound of retreating footsteps. He’d gotten good at crying silently and did so now. His grandmother didn’t like being disturbed and he could hear her scolding voice explaining that young men weren’t supposed to cry. He doubted men his age were supposed to either. But he was scared. So scared. There were wicked things hiding in the corners, in the shadows, at the outermost edges of his unsteady vision. Flickering in the dark and he curled into himself, covering his head with his arms and pressing against the boxes containing the multitude statements that brought all these fears into being. But he would be safe here. With his eyes closed and hidden among his cardboard walls. Safe. If he was quiet. If he was quiet he would be safe and he clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his silence.

He wanted Martin to come back. To beg him not to leave him all alone. To, to bring him tea. Would feel nice. Martin. Kind. Soft voice that didn’t hurt. Soft hands. Soft touch. Soft.

Jon burned.

Those shapes shifted, transformed into dangerous things. Mean things. Clinging in the corners of the room and coaxing fire from the very walls, unfurling wings of bone and ash and death.

It licked at his body, his skin, his clothes, and hurt, hurt, hurt.

He couldn't breathe.

Couldn't move.

Could only be consumed.

Eaten away to nothing by the creatures in the corners.

“Jon?” Martin was worried. He hadn’t seen Jon since he came in late (already cause for alarm), and his office was locked. “I’m sorry. I know you’re working, but can we talk?” He knocked again, listening hard, and was again met with only eerie quiet. No statements being read or tape recorders running. “Jon?” It was probably nothing. He’d stepped out. He’d gone home. He was ignoring him because Martin was a constant aggravation. But it didn’t seem right. Tim had a skeleton key from a while back. When things were simpler, and he found Tim in the breakroom, poking away at a game on his phone. “I need the key.”

“To what?”

“Jon’s office.”

“Ohh.” He raised an eyebrow, smirking in that knowing way of his and Martin felt himself go bright red.

“He’s not answering the door.”

“So?” He went back to his screen. “Why even bother, Martin? He’s probably just hiding from us because he thinks we’re after him or some other nonsense.”

“Please, Tim?” At least he turned back, knitting his brows at Martin’s persistence. “I think. I think something is really wrong.” With a put upon sigh, he pocketed his phone and gestured for Martin to lead the way.

It was calm and still and for a moment Martin thought Tim was right, that he’d gone home and just hadn’t been noticed.

“Jon?” It felt like he had to whisper, keep the dark undisturbed and was about ready to let it go when he heard something shift in the back of the room. He looked at Tim who just shrugged, leaving to go stand in the hall with his arms crossed. As his eyes adjusted to the dim, he caught sight of Jon’s jumper on the floor, it moved, there was a hiss of pain. “Jon?”

Dusty light from the hall filtered and fell across the figure curled up on the floor, skin ashen and pale despite his dark complexion, face dotted with sweat and dark swathes of charcoal drawn thick beneath half lidded eyes. Each breath was labored, too quick, too shallow, too uneven and Jon moaned, a pitiful, pained thing, struggling to put more room between them though he was already boxed into a corner.

“Jon,” Martin reached out, pulled back when he reacted in fear, glancing around at things only he could see.

“Nnnoo.” Voice thin and thready, barely audible as he panted, letting his temple fall back to the floor. “Mmartin. No…”

Jon, you’re not well.” He glanced back at Tim who at least looked somewhat worried now. “You need help.”

“No…” Fading in and out, chills made his thin frame shake, glassy eyes round and searching in the dark but not truly seeing him. “No. You.” He groaned, shaking his head back and forth. “Can’t. Can’t be here…”

“If this is some spooky shit, you should have told someone sooner.” Tim was angry and Jon winced when he spoke harshly, squeezing his eyes shut and ducking his chin.

“S’sick.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

"Tim, I think, I think he's just confused. He looks feverish."

“C’can’t.” Desperately, Jon was trying to make them understand something but he didn’t seem to have the wherewithal to elaborate, barely even conscious as it was and still distracted by whatever it was he saw in the dark. "M's'sorry. Sorry."

“I don’t understand.” Martin drew closer, pushing forward despite Jon’s frantic warnings. “It. It’s alright, I need to see.” To his horror, his breath hitched and tears rolled down his face. “Hush, it’s alright.”

“No, no. No.” He flinched, closed his eyes against Martin’s form inching closer to his tightly coiled body. “Can’t.” Wretched, small. Pleading and begging them to leave him here as if that were ever an option in any reality, let alone the one Jon was currently trapped in.

“S’alright, love.” He ignored Tim’s snort of derisive laughter.

“Not. It’s not.” Martin hushed him gently, pushing away the strands of sweat damp hair out of his face and keeping his expression and tone forcibly even despite the railroad spike of anxiety slamming straight into his stomach. Jon was burning up under his hand, hot as anything, and he stroked his head when he began to cry in earnest, speaking low.

“It’s alright, I promise, everything is alright. Let me help.” He glanced back at Tim and even through the intentional indifference could see worry in the way he bit his lip. “Can you get the paracetamol from my desk? Some water? Please.” Limp and exhausted, Jon struggled to focus, to move away, eyes fever glazed and vacant beneath damp lashes fluttering like a moth’s wing. “Shh, you’re alright.” Martin knuckled away the tears still tracing paths across Jon’s skin, shifting his shoulders despite delirious protests and rambling into his lap and folding his trembling, frozen hands into his own. “You’re alright.” He wished for a thermometer, Jon was like a brand even through both sets of clothing, but he was responsive if upset, and he’d give him another dose and see where they were in an hour or so.

“I’ll stick around for a while. Be in the office.”

“Thank you, Tim.” Martin knew a bit about what it took for him to make that decision and appreciated it, offering up a grateful smile before crushing up the pills in the bottom of Jon’s mug from earlier and filling it halfway with water. “Sit up for me, Jon. Just, there you are. Drink this down, good, good.” Praising and soft, getting as much water into him as he would take between his fits of pleading.

“Martin.” He sounded miserably undone, coughing weakly against the back of his hand.

“Still me.” Dark brown eyes, pupils blown wide in the low light, stared up at him though Martin couldn’t quite catch them. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Martin.” He stroked light fingertips over his eyelids in response, continuing his murmuring and reassurances, at a loss in this situation where he found himself on the floor of his boss’ office with said boss half in his lap and now dead asleep. Martin let himself lean back against the shelves, listening to the slight wheeze on his breath and shoving the worry away. The medicine would work and then Martin would get him home and into bed.

“What…” Martin put down the supplementals he’d been leafing through to palm Jon’s forehead. Still high. But Jon seemed at least a bit more with it, voice stronger if still tired. “Martin?”

“How’re you feeling?”

“T’terrible?” He hadn’t seemed to realize where he was, still drifting in and out. “Gotta...go.” He sat up on his own, wavering, though Martin hovered, ready to catch him if he began to go down. “Can’t be here.” And he stood so quickly, Martin almost didn’t grab him in time when he started to collapse, blood draining from his already pallid face.

“Whoa! Okay, easy, easy, easy. Sit down.”

“S’sorry.” Bare more than an exhale, Martin was sure it was reflexive. Jon couldn’t possibly know what was going on. Not really, in the state he was in.

“I’m taking you home with me.”

“What?” Jon blinked, not really tracking or Martin was sure he’d argue harder.

“I’d hazard a guess you have few, if any supplies.” Getting him to the beat up car Martin still drove was fairly simple with Tim’s reluctant help, but even he couldn't hide his concern at the heat coming off him, going so far as to reach across and buckle him in when it became abundantly clear he didn’t have the coordination.

“Text me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Tim.”

39.7.

Martin insisted he get a read on him first thing after he helped him stagger into the flat. Jon refused to think about how strong he was, how he probably could have carried him the whole way and blamed the fever for his inappropriate thoughts. It was bad enough Martin felt he had to supervise him.

If Jon wasn’t so very poorly, he was sure he’d be feeling much more embarrassed but as it stood, he was strung out and aching, so cold he couldn't stop shaking. Probably due for more medicine and speak of the devil, Martin handed him a cup of tea and some lemsip, setting a bottle of some sports drink he didn’t recognize on the table beside him and sitting across from him. Jon felt ridiculous dressed in Martin’s spare and well worn clothes, bundled up in a soft, plush blanket that made him feel better somehow though there was no reason for it to do so. Dutifully, he took his medicine and then hid behind the mug because he just knew Martin was going to ask and Jon had a feeling that he’d done something wrong.

“Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell us?” Martin probably thought it was because he felt better than them, better than the help they could provide. Or that he didn't trust them. He knew Tim felt that way. But really. Really. He didn’t deserve it. He’d treated them with suspicion instead of colleagues and friends and on top of that he was infectious, dirty, and needed to be isolated until he wouldn’t make people sick. They deserved at least that much from him and he couldn’t even accomplish that. So he tried again to explain.

“I’m. Sick.” Completely at a loss, and suddenly, Jon felt ashamed. It was becoming clear that his behavior had been abnormal and that at his most feverish he’d gone to harmful extremes. Martin probably thought he was a fool but he just waited patiently, adding quietly,

“I’m not angry or upset with you.”

Because he was such a good person.

“My grandmother.” Would be. Would be furious. Jon paused to turn his head away from Martin and cough harshly into his elbow. He was fumbling with words, worried that he would think. Well he wasn’t sure what he would think. “Wasn’t. I had to stay--couldn’t get anyone else sick.”

“Oh, Jon.”

“No! No, I. I thought. Thought that was what everyone did.” Martin sipped his own tea and Jon copied him. “I.” He withdrew into his borrowed blanket, weary and sick. “I’m sorry. I. Should have known better.” Martin looked upset. It wasn’t the right thing to say but he didn’t know what the right thing was and it hurt to think but thankfully he took pity on Jon’s poor aching self.

“You should get some sleep.” Jon felt small being tucked in but with being so tired it was a comfort when Martin let his hand linger on his forehead, lifted his glasses away to fold them aside and he relaxed.

“Thank you, Martin.”

Tim would laugh if he knew what Martin was thinking about. An even tinier Jon curled up in a dark room, sick and alone, and expected to stay away from everyone while he was ill. How lonely, how sad, to be isolated from any comfort when you were at your most vulnerable. No wonder Jon was so confused at the Institute today and Martin’s imagination had no trouble running wild with different worst case scenarios, so much so that he put aside the poetry he’d been attempting to work on in favor of turning in early.

Something snapped Martin awake and when he looked at his bedside clock the red numbers glared 329 and he almost turned back over to go back to sleep when he remembered who was sleeping on his couch and stepped out to check on him.

A whimper. In the pitch black of the room. He should have left a light on for him.

“H’hello?” He sounded frightened, shaky and his inquiry cracked around what sounded like tears.

“Jon?”

“Martin?” He sniffed suspiciously, voice thick and choked. “Wh’where are we?”

“You don’t remember?” He flicked the hall switch, letting enough light into the sitting room to see by and he met Jon’s wide, damp eyes, filled to the brim with fear, and he shook his head, bottom lip visibly trembling. “You’re at my flat, on the couch.”

“Wh’what?” Martin sat beside him where he was folded up onto one cushion, fever flush high in his face and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his exposed skin. He should have known. Fevers were often worse at night.

“You’ve not been feeling well.”

“Feel.” His throat clicked with a heavy swallow, and when he closed his eyes, tears slipped down his hollow cheeks. “Feel. S’s’strange.” Martin helped him hold the bottle of sports drink, encouraging him to take at least a third and some more medicine, and when he couldn’t cajole anything else out of him, he let Jon’s forehead tipped against his chest, the heat billowing off him intense. Martin cupped the back of his head, let him cling, breath shuddering. “Thought. I thought I saw.” He broke off with a whine, burying his face in Martin and he stroked his back, counting his ribs without meaning too.

“That should help.” Jon breathed unevenly, coming down from his nightmare or panic, the whole of him shaking with chills. “You’ll feel better when your fever isn’t so high.”

“S’sorry.”

“So you keep saying.”

“You’ve d’done so much.” He nuzzled Martin’s tee, curling into him, and it was so Not Jon he thought he might combust because it was adorable, even if he was sick. “And I’ve. I’m.” Now wasn’t the time for such serious conversations. Not when Jon could barely string two words together and was still seeing things that frightened him in the shadows.

“It’s alright.” It wasn’t a hard decision to make. “Up you come, now.” And this time Martin did swing him up into his arms, tucking him close, the gasp of surprise just a puff of warm air against his throat. No wonder this illness was hitting him so hard, he weighed far too little and Martin knew he wasn’t sleeping well. Eating well. He clung to him, dizzied and reeling.

“Head hurts…ev’rythin’ hurts…”

“I know.” He tucked Jon into bed, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear before climbing in beside him.

“You’ll...get sick.”

“I’ll be fine.” When he tugged him close there was no resistance, all pretense and worry stripped away with exhaustion and fatigue, and Jon melted willingly into the comfort he offered, too feverish, too tired, too frightened.

“Mm.”

“Sleep, Jon. Tomorrow, everything will be better.”

It wouldn’t. But the lie was enough for now.

[februaryberries]

Study (?) tips that you don’t see on every study post

Hi gamers, I just finished my first year at college/university!!

This year was really a struggle for me because I was trying to get the help I needed for my mental health, and I did not succeed until literally the week before finals spring term. I just got diagnosed w ADHD and put on meds (thank god) and I’m excited for the next year to come.

Though this year was absolutely grueling I did discover some little tips that can really help ! This is coming from my experience w ADHD but it could relate to other neurodiverse learners as well ! Even if you are neurotypical some of these might help !! 

This post got really long so I’m gonna put it under the cut but, main Idea is bolded w a more in depth explanation underneath ( for those like me who see a block of text and go running)

In no particular order:

If you can/are up for it take a class before noon even if you are not a morning person. I am NOT saying take an 8am when u regularly go to bed at 4am! Bc that is dumb bb pls get some sleep. In my experience once I go to class my brain is like “oh things are happening now, it is actually a day and not just existing in a timeless hellscape.”

Once I am out of bed/out of my room I am at least mildly more productive for the rest of the day. Going to a class before noon means you are up and doing things for the day and early enough that you still have light. This ties into the next one

Start while it’s still light out!! At least for me I gain so much happiness from natural light/sunlight, and it is very hard for me to do things let alone START things once it’s dark out because my brain is like nope the day is over now. Plus in the fall/winter days days are getting shorter and shorter so it’s important to make use of as much daylight as you can. I feel like a plant w how much I rely on light to survive but it really does help! 

Put on ‘Real People’ clothes. This is something that really helps me, even if it’s just like, jeans and a turtleneck, maybe tucked in w a belt. I’ve found that when I put on academic-y clothes or like Adult clothes it helps me switch my brain into school mode. It’s kinda like putting on a uniform for work? If I’m in too loose of clothes or like pyjamas for example, I’m much less likely to be able to switch my brain into productive mode. For me especially its when i’m wearing tighter clothing rather than baggy ones? Like i said a turtleneck which like the sleeves are fitted to my arms, and jeans or pants that are fitted to my legs. I think it helps because it makes me more aware of my body in the space? Idk.  figure out what real people clothes feel like to you, and then have a couple of go to outfits you can slip on when you’ve been in a hoodie and sweatpants all day and really need to get some work done. 

On that note, put on shoes. For me along w the tight clothing, I do better in shoes, specifically ones that lace up and can be tight. Like hightop converse, or boots, or even dress shoes w laces. I think in a way my body needs to be contained so I can focus on something? I’m not sure why I feel like that but i’ve learned to work w it. Putting on shoes for me helps because

1. I’m not distracted by what I’m putting my bare feet on (i cannot stand wearing socks unless im wearing shoes so yes bare feet)

2. I’m not getting distracted by my floor n the fact that hey maybe i should sweep bc there are some crumbs sticking to my feet now.

And 3. You put on shoes when you are going to go outside and go somewhere. It’s like putting pyjamas on to go to bed, you’re brain associates those items with doing something, so putting on shoes can signal to your brain hey we are doing something now, and that something is work.

Talk to your teachers !! I understand sometimes you have a teacher from hell and honestly idk what to tell you at that point but in  a lot of cases teachers can be very understanding !! The amount of support I’ve gotten from my teachers this year is absolutely insane and 100% the only thing that made it so I didn’t get kicked out of college. Like reaching out to your teachers shows that you care! if you have to take a mental health day sometimes let them know !! i would always let my teacher know that I really wanted to be in class but I just couldn’t handle it that day. They also can help connect you to resources you didn’t know about ! 

Look into what resources your school has !! I was talking about how next year is gonna go now that I’ve been diagnosed and such with my friend, and how I was gonna contact the DRC (disability resource center) and she didn’t know you could get support for having ADHD!! Like I know you can get extensions on due dates, attendance forgiveness, and even potentially note taking assistance when you have ADHD and talk to them. even if you are medicated it doesn’t 100% solve everything and there are still ways to get support! Whether its study groups, writing centers/support, tutoring, or even contacting your drc or whatever your school has, it can really help!! I’m definitely going to take advantage of these resources if I can next year ! 

Find a place outside you can go to clear your head (or have a mental breakdown) 

I can’t even begin to count the amount of times i’ve been freaking out over something or stressed out of my mind and my room started to feel to stuffy and claustrophobic and i just needed to get OUT. try to make sure it’s somewhere safe and close that you can go to even at night. (maybe try to shoot a text to your best friend that you’re out and if you don’t let them know you’re home by a certain time to start raising alarm, your safety is the most important) I tend to like to be up high because i’m further away from people, and the streets and I’m closer to the sky.

My go to thinking/breakdown spot is the roof of the parking garage a block away. It has stairs that are easy access and the top levels are usually empty even during the day. It really helps me to just go out and listen to music and collect my thoughts sometimes. My head can start going a million directions at lightspeed and I need to stop and be present, and being outside helps. It’s a good way to regroup.

Spend 10 minutes picking up your desk/work space. I tend to let my room get cluttered and messy and out of control a lot, to the point where I know it’s going to take at least a couple hours to get it clean again. It is also hard to focus when you’re in a messy environment. I would stress myself out and be like “well i HAVE to clean my whole room because I can’t focus if my space isnt clean I cant start until I clean” and then I would put all of my productive energy into cleaning, and get maybe halfway done before burning out and going to bed.

You’re never going to get any work done if you keep in this mindset. So instead just spend 10 minutes picking up the garbage off your desk, put the dishes in the kitchen, and put things back in their place. Then you will have enough space to work on your assignment and that space will be free of clutter so it won’t be as stressful. 

DRINK WATER DRINK WATER DRINK WATER

Have a water bottle in front of you when you’re studying/in class. I get fidgety a lot when i’m in class/studying (thank u adhd) and so having a water bottle is a way for me to fidget I guess? Depending on the water bottle, you have little steps you have to do to drink that help u fidget,

for example: pick it up, take off the lid, drink, put the lid back on, set it down.

Or pick up, push button that opens drink hole (?), set back down.

When I have a water bottle on my desk it satisfies my need to do something with my body and comes with the bonus of staying hydrated, without me having to lose focus doing something else. Also you won’t get distracted by a sore throat or the realization that you are really thirsty.

Pay attention to why you’re not paying attention. Not everything that works for me is going to work for you, so you have to figure out what works for you. I started to notice that I would be uncomfortable or feel funny working when I was in baggy clothes and that helped me figure out I needed to wear real people clothes. If you find yourself getting distracted, take note of what is distracting you. maybe try literally making a list of things that distract you, so then you can identify patterns and how to combat them !

That’s all I have for now, I hope some of these could maybe help? All of these have helped me actually complete an assignment occasionally, and somehow keep my ass in college. I just want to say that my experience is my own and things that work for me aren’t going to work on every one. college can be really tough, especially your first year when you’re trying to figure everything out. I may not have all the answers but feel free to shoot me a message!! i’m here for you if you want to ramble about an assignment you’re fed up with or a teacher you hate or anything thats bothering you !! Everyone’s college (and life) experience is different so don’t feel bad if yours doesn’t look the same as the people around you ! Remember to take care of yourselves !!!

Have a good day :)

[citrussdance]

Cardfight!! Vanguard overDress Unit Lore: 002 “Chakravarthi Divine Dragon, Nirvana”

original jpn found here: https://story.cf-vanguard.com/unit/story002/

The entire world, from every corner of the planet Cray, arrives to wait in great joy and anticipation.

The holy dragon is awakening. It is the beginning of a new era, and the birth of a great many hopes for the future. Now, the sun shines down warmly on us from directly overhead, and a long-lost divinity comes to be on this earth.

O, that magnificent, divine form, soaring through the heavens! The beauty of the ring of light at its back! At long last, our prayers have borne fruit. Behold, the arrival of the “Chakravarthi Divine Dragon” of the shining future--

-

“Rino! Rino, watch out!” Rona yells.

Rino stumbles as her arm is yanked forcefully back. Missing her by an inch, a horse-drawn cart, loaded to the brim with luggage, gallops by. Today, the town of To Lisn is buzzing happily with excitement for the spring festival. The road is busy with people and carts.

“It’s not like you to be so unsteady on your feet.” Zonne straightens out Rino’s men’s clothing. The hand on Rino’s arm doesn’t let go- out of caution, perhaps.

“We’re not walking in open hills and plains like yesterday, so remember to pay more attention to your surroundings, Rino.”

“I’m sorry, I. . .” At Reiyu’s words, Rino realizes that she must have been daydreaming. The sun is directly overhead. At the turn of the hour, it will be noon.

To Lisn is a village in the midwest of the Dragon Empire. For a village along the highway, it is fairly large. Running through the center of the town is a busy road stretching from the imperial capital in the east to Keter Sanctuary in the west. The harbor faces a deep bay that leads to the sea, ideal for the shipping and fishing industries. To the north is the great Dragonia Mountain Range, where the Red Temple of Dawn lies; to the west, a dense forest; and to the east, a mountain range called the “Dragon’s Jaw”. Beyond that is a desert called the “Dangerous Zone” and other diverse lands. At the center of it all, To Lisn is a hub through which many peoples and goods flow.

“I got everyone’s clothes! They’re secondhand, but the quality is good, so don’t worry. Oh, and Egg-kun, wear this canvas.” So saying, Trickstar had handed the girls heavy bags, just that morning.

Rona asks, “You paid for everything properly, right?”

“Of course! I got it a li~ttle discounted, though. Here, I’ll return the change.”

Rino peers at the money. “Wait- it’s just by a bit, but that’s more change than I expected. . . are you sure you didn’t do something weird?”

“Mhmm! I just played ‘four people and one spirit who got separated from its friends’ pretend!”

“So the store owner took pity on you and- ? . . . Good grief.” Reiyu takes the change. She can easily see Trickstar’s eyes filling with tears as it appeals miserably to the store owners.

“Ehe. The man at the store is a really good person, you know.”

“Are you even a spirit, in the first place? Are spirits the kind of beings who casually pop over to the general store to run errands for a human?” Zonne asks. Her tone is suspicious.

“I’ve only just been born onto this planet, you know? There’s no way I could know what kind of creature I am. The only thing I really know is that I wanted to fulfill your wishes, so I manifested. Isn’t that enough?”

The prankster companion who joined Rino, Reiyu, Zonne, and Rona’s party brings smiles to the sighing girls. Trailing behind them, looking like a second Trickstar draped in its white cloth, the Sunrise Egg skips happily.

“By the way, why are we dressed in boys’ clothes?” Rona asked. Like the other girls, her arms are sagging with a bag full of supplies purchased at the town marketplace.

The girls are wearing cloaks that they prepared for their journey, but currently, beneath those are the men’s clothes that Trickstar got for them. If they remove their hairpins, they can be easily taken for four young men.

“This is a lively port city, so I thought that boys’ clothes would be best to help fit in with all the rough sailor men!” 

Its words backfire.

Rino, whose smile can lift the spirits of anyone who sees her; Zonne, who looks better than anyone in boys’ clothes; Rona, with her gentle demeanor; and Reiyu, with her cool appearance all possess outstanding beauty that a mere clothing change can’t hide. That, along with their otherworldly airs- a given, considering they are priestesses of the Red Dawn Temple, said to be the oldest temple on planet Cray- and their two small, white-hooded companions (the Sunrise Egg and Trickstar), make them the talk of the town, no matter how subtle they are.

“Sorry, everyone,” Trickstar says. It seems to be particularly dejected at the fact that it could not help fulfill the Blaze Maidens’ wish- that is, to discover the truth of the world while drawing the least attention possible.

“It’s fine. We’re probably still going to be traveling for a long time, so we’ll do good to have as many fitting clothes as we can find,” Rino comforts. The Sunrise Egg at her feet hops, as if in agreement.

“Thanks, Rino.” A pause. “This is the town square. We’re staying to watch the festival, right?”

Spring festivals can be found anywhere this time of year, and To Lisn is no exception. When the vendors vying for the attention of all the people who gather from the outskirts open shop, the grand scale of the festival can be felt.

“? . . . Hmm?” Suddenly, Rino feels a tug on the hem of her cloak. Looking down, she sees a young girl, about three or four years old, and crouches down to gently say hello. The girl, who seems to be wearing her best dress clothes, remains silent, refusing to let go of Rino.

“Are you alone? Where are your mother and father?” Rona asks.

“She looks like she’s lost. Up you go- do you want some candy?” Zonne casually picks up the girl, who clings tightly to her neck.

Reiyu hums. “With this crowd, there’s no use in trying to call out for her parents- there’s no way they could hear. Let’s wait here.”

The festival seems to have begun with no warning. Already, groups of people have gathered to sing and dance around the square. The girls exchange smiling looks; after all, festivals are the Blaze Maidens’ specialty. Of course, the familiarity would lift their spirits.

Just then--

Above the swelling clamor of the festival, a distinctly different sound could be heard.

“?! . . . What could that be. . . ?” At Rino’s voice, the entire crowd turns to look at the southern tip of the square. There seems to be an argument over stolen luggage.

“A fight. . . ?” Rona wonders.

No, not a fight, the Blaze Maidens soon realize. A tall man wearing a blue cloak is ordering his servants to forcefully seize the belongings of a married couple. Already, a fight is brewing around them.

“Papa! Mama!” The little girl calls out from Zonne’s shoulder.

“Eh- ?! Those are your parents?” Zonne asks.

Seeing the girl’s teary face, Rino suddenly heard the voice of her unspoken wish- “please, save them!”- echoing in her head.

The thieves are using brute force to beat and kick the girl’s parents. Sparkling gems spill from the stolen bags. Perhaps the girl’s family deals in precious gems? Either way, there is no excuse for mugging someone like that.

An unstoppable hot feeling rises from the pit of Rino’s stomach- not quite anger, but a different, inexplicable impulse. 

Suddenly, Rino is running into the crowd. All at once, a huge roar sweeps the crowd. The girls hear the faint sound of screaming from somewhere behind them.

“. . . Rino! Rino! Listen, Rino!”

Ignoring them, Rino steadily crosses the far distance between her and the girl’s parents.

There is someone screaming close by her ear.

“C’mon, listen to me! It’s me! It’s Trickstar!”

Rino abruptly pauses, her hands that had been desperately pushing through the crowd stilling. For her, who had always been the most conscious of others out of the maidens, her actions are clearly out of character.

Right above her head, Trickstar floats, its white hooded cloak cutting a clear silhouette. On its back is the Sunrise Egg. Its covering cloth, which Trickstar took pains to find, has already been blown off somewhere.

“Here, I’ll lend you my power. Try praying for what you want to do.”

“A prayer?”

“Mhmm. You’re a priestess, right? Haven’t you always been listening to others’ wishes, and praying for them to come true?”

“Yes. . . but if I don’t hurry. . . !”

“Rino, trust me!” The girl looks up in surprise at hearing such a strong and serious voice from Trickstar for the first time.

She understands. Even while jostled around by the sea of people, on the verge of being crushed, she joins her hands in prayer.

I want to protect that girl’s mother and father. I want to make that girl smile.

She wished for them to be saved, after all. . . please, I beg- !

The next moment, Rino’s body suddenly becomes as light as the wind. The crowd around her gasps in surprise as she flies up, carried high by extremely strong and solid arms.

“Hey, Rino. That was a good prayer. Let me grant your wish.”

The voice, coming from above her head, sounds both like Trickstar, and completely different at the same time.

Looking up, Rino sees a large humanoid figure with winglike equipment. “Are you Trickstar. . . ?”

“I’m Vairina- that’s the name that just came to mind. But I can explain later- here we go!”

Vairina crosses the entire town square in one leap and sends the thieving servants flying with one hand, the other holding Rino securely. Once she has secured the Sunrise Egg that had been carried on Vairina’s back, Rino approaches the blue-cloaked man. The man is standing on top of a blue tent-like structure that juts out jarringly from the ground. Behind Rino, Vairina crosses its arms, a sign that it is protecting her- a comforting sight indeed.

“Taking someone else’s things without a proper reason is a crime. Return those to their proper owners immediately!”

“It’s not a big deal, I’m just borrowing them. Of course, I’m not gonna return them. . . wait, you’re a girl, aren’t you?”

Rino flushes and straightens her clothes. After being jostled around by the crowd and then taking off into the sky with Vairina, the neckline of her shirt has fallen a little loose. Bitter anger rises from deep within her as the man waves the bag of gems in her face, laughing at her disarray.

Enveloping her hands, her feet, her hair, and even her slim body, the flames of emotion within her flicker to life before her eyes.

“Flame magic. . . ?! Some poor little village girl like you. . . ?!”

“That’s right! With these flames, I will purify your wicked heart. . . !”

The dance of the Blaze Maidens is meant to glorify the sun and offer praise to the holy dragon, but is also a difficult art designed to manifest the flames of life burning within the maidens’ bodies, polished through strict training. The Blaze Maiden Rino, using her entire body to conduct the flames, releases all of her power in the form of great flames at the man in the blue cloak.

“I won’t let you!” The man leaps nimbly back behind a large “thing” that rises to stand between him and Rino. The tentlike thing behind the man is actually a dragon. “Shield me, Recusal Hate Dragon!”

Rino’s flames collide with the dragon and are extinguished.

Recusal Hate Dragon roars, and the festivalgoers scream in terror.

“Ugh. . . !”

“Come, did you not say you would purify my wicked heart? What’s wrong?” The man laughs again. However, Rino is not bitter out of shame- rather, she curses herself for her carelessness.

Recusal Hate Dragon is immune to magic. In order to defeat it, one must use overwhelming force beyond its own, or use some other power to sneak past its defenses.

With the others here, perhaps. . . no, it’s impossible. I’m far away from the other maidens. . . I’m the one who left them to rush here all by myself, aren’t I?

Rino is weak- for now.

Even though she is weak, she has drawn the anger of the man who commands the dragon. As one of the Blaze Maidens, who are supposed to protect the holy dragon’s egg, this predicament is her first failure- and a big one, at that.

“You see- those measly flames cannot defeat me.” Rino knows she has lost- the man is only rubbing salt into the wound.

“No, she can do it. The Blaze Maiden Rino will change everyone’s hopes into power- I know she can.” Vairina’s words are comforting.

“How insolent. I’ll take care of you all at once. . . hmph!” At the blue-cloaked man’s signal, his underlings stand back up, at the ready.

Leave!

A voice that can’t possibly belong to any of the crowd stuffed into the area rings out.

Don’t ruin our festival! Go back to where you came from, you villain! You can do it, miss Maiden! The feelings of all the people gathered at the square lift Rino’s spirits.

And before Rino’s very eyes, the Sunrise Egg stands- as if saying that it is its turn to protect her, instead.

“Sunrise Egg. . . Lord Holy Dragon. . . ?”

As if to reassure Rino’s unsure mumbling, Vairina’s voice thunders through the square.

“Now, pray, Rino! That’s what a priestess does- right?”

Trickstar’s- Vairina’s- voice reaches Rino, and she prays- this time, not in anger, but in a plea to transform the feelings of everyone gathered into the strength to fulfill their wishes.

Once again, flames flicker to life, swirling in a great maelstrom around Rino’s body.

“And I will grant that wish!”

Behind Rino, Vairina, wrapped in a whirlwind, launches itself at Recusal Hate Dragon. With the dragon’s roaring jaw seized in its hand, Vairina twists nimbly in midair, throwing it up and then immediately down in the blink of an eye. Recusal Hate is slammed into the dirt, facing the sky, the mighty impact shaking the very earth and cobblestones it lies on. At the slightest sign of resistance, Vairina presses its knee into its stomach and the edge of its palm to its throat. For some reason, it knows that the dragon’s weak points are its particularly soft stomach and throat. Recusal Hate Dragon lets out an empty, weak growl and falls unconscious, its strength drained.

“I won’t stand for this! Who are you? With what power have you dared to defeat me?!”

“Didn’t I already say? The power of righteous prayers and everyone’s wishes will defeat evil- like this.” With one sweep of Vairina’s large hand, the blue-cloaked man and his subordinates- both already losing the will to fight- are pushed to the ground and bound securely using the ropes from various festival booths. The crowd, who had been holding its breath watching the fight, now begins to cheer in relief and joy.

“Thank you, Vairina.” Still dazed, Rino thanks her new friend. At her words, pop- ! Vairina reverts back to the form of Trickstar.

“You’re welcome. That’s all solved for now- !”

The Sunrise Egg stands in front of a still-kneeling Rino. “You’ve worked hard, too.”

Rino stretches out a hand, as if to thank it. The action must please the egg, for it almost seems to sparkle, faintly. Then--

Just once, Rino sees it, and feels it-

the cheering crowd; the little girl, reunited with her parents; the other Maidens, running over with luggage in their arms; and-

the being before her, no longer an egg.

-

O, that magnificent, divine form, soaring through the heavens! The beauty of the ring of light at its back! At long last, our prayers have borne fruit. Behold, the arrival of the “Chakravarthi Divine Dragon” of the shining future--

-

“Rino. . . ! Come on, you’re staring into space again. . .” Rona whines.

Rino is still on her knees, her eyes closed. Her body trembles uncontrollably with emotion, and her hands, folded in prayer, stretch out-

-only to bump into the head of the Sunrise Egg.

“Eh? Huh. . . ?” Rino shakes herself back to the present. Was what she saw an illusion? It seems only she was able to see it. . .

“Here, your things. Oh, and we took the little girl back to her parents, so don’t worry.”

Rino already knows this.

Reiyu sighs gently. “We can’t stay here for much longer, Rino. Our journey to find the truth of the world without standing out too much has already been derailed enough.”

“This festival turned out to be pretty fun, hm?” Trickstar grins.

“You got far too carried away, Trickstar.”

“Sorryyyy. . .” Trickstar pouts.

“-Well, we should at least thank Trickstar for saving Rino.” At Reiyu’s rare praise, Trickstar and- for some reason- the Sunrise Egg jump up and down in excitement.

“Ehe. Let’s go on, then- on our journey of adventure and prayers!” Trickstar takes the lead, running towards the gates of the town. “Come on, follow me! Hurry!”

Rino, hefting her things, runs after it with the other Maidens following close behind.

The townspeople they are leaving behind will pass down the legend of four nameless priestesses in boys’ clothing, the Sunrise Egg, and Trickstar-turned-Vairina for generations to come.

The sun finally sets, bathing the town of To Lisn in the gentle rays of the spring afternoon.

[bigdaddib]

promise pt.1

I really can’t believe how well my last gendrya was received. Honestly, I’m not totally sure how tumblr really works even after having it a couple of years, but I have this other story I’ve started based on this text post I found, I’m sorry to say I didn’t save it because I never thought I would actually be posting stories on here so I didn’t think I would need it, but it was basically a prompt about how Arya and Gendry making a pact to lose their virginities together. I started writing this with the intention for it to be very short and very sweet, but it has turned into something much longer and more involved than I thought it would, so I thought I’d be posting different parts one of at a time and see how it goes. Sorry if this whole preface ruined it, but I also just wanted to thank everyone for all the kind words and reblogs, the positive feedback was so overwhelming and unexpected, and I’m not sure if it was even that big of a deal in the world of tumblr but it was a pretty big deal for me. So, thank you so much, and here’s a part one that I may be continuing if things continue to go as well. Okay, I’m done talking, sorry lol

Arya and Gendry had grown up making each other promises. 

 The first was made when Arya was seven, Gendry nine, and he had began getting closer with all of her brothers. Before this Gendry had always been hers. Gendry got nervous around the other boys, he felt inferior to them since they had always been together and had always been in the same family. Gendry had only moved in with his father three years before then, and still felt like an outsider, no matter how hard Robert tried to make him apart of everyone’s family.

 Arya didn’t make him uncomfortable though. It was probably because she was younger and she was a girl and in some ways didn’t fit in quite the same either. It wasn’t any where near Gendry’s level of isolation, even if it was self inflicted partially, but she didn’t like the things her sister liked so they never got on very well, and while her brother’s never minded Arya joining in on their games, their mother did. Cat had always been more on the old fashioned side and letting her youngest daughter play outside and climb up trees and roofs or join her older brother’s boxing lessons was too stressful for her to handle. So, Arya was always caught in a middle place, and that was where she met Gendry. On equal footing.

 Jon joined them often but he was also very close with Rob, so Arya wasn’t threatened at first. It wasn’t until Rob began noticing Gendry was just as capable at throwing a ball about and punching stupid boxing bags when Arya started worrying. Once Gendry was accepted with the boys what would he need Arya for? Once he was involved in the family fully, there would be nothing tying them together and Arya would be left alone.

 She knew she had to act quick before too much damage was done.

 Sitting him down Arya fixed him with the most serious of looks she could make as she stuck her pinky out. “You have to promise that you’ll always like me better than them,” She told him in the most mother like voice she’s ever made.

 Gendry raised an eyebrow at her, “Better than who?”

 “You know damn well who I’m talking about stupid. But I always have to be your favorite, promise me,”

 Gendry rolled his eyes but hooked his pinky with hers all the same.

The next real promise was made when Arya was ten. There had been lots of tiny promises here and there on both their ends. Arya promised not to tell his brother where he kept his secret stuff and Gendry promised not to let Arya win anything, he always had to try and beat her fair and square.

 Arya had been listening in on her parent’s conversations for years. It was through listening to their concerns and secret opinions she managed to get anything she really wanted. Like finally getting a turn in boxing lessons and archery, it was how she managed to wiggle her way out of etiquette classes. She had also come across ballet through this method, as a sort of compromise between her and her mother. Arya had went in determined not to enjoy herself, and then found herself thinking about applying to different dance academies her senior year.   

 She was sat high on the staircase, snacking on a cookie mother was supposed to be saving for Sansa’s class the next after noon, expecting them to complain about Rob’s new girlfriend, once again. But that wasn’t the relationship they were worrying about.

  “It won’t be long until he starts to look at her. Maybe even the other way around, he’s already taller than any twelve-year-old boy I’d ever seen,”

 “He’ll probably stop soon, at least. I’d think he would…”

 “Ned, he’ll be noticing girls any moment now. Sansa has already started asking questions about Joffrey,” she was interrupted by Ned’s scoff. “Well, which one would you rather have pursuing her? Joffrey or Gendry?”

 “Tommen would probably be best,” Ned answered and Cat giggled in response.

 Arya set her cookie aside, suddenly feeling uneasy. Gendry noticing girls? What for? Sansa talking about boys? What was there to talk about? Her and Gendry never had much to do with one another before. They were polite enough and walked home from school together sometimes, but Gendry was Arya’s friend. It was one thing being friends with the boys, but he couldn’t have both of the girls, things would get too messy. Sansa accused Arya of messing with her stuff enough as it was, if Sansa suddenly started talking about Gendry…

 Arya sat with this for almost a week. Considering the conversation over and over, and she never liked the conclusion she came to.

 Obviously, her parents were referring to a fancy type of noticing and talking, a romantic type. Arya understood those things well enough, one time she had walked in on Rob’s hand up Talisa’s shirt. So, if Gendry and Sansa started on that road, Gendry would be sticking his hand up her sister’s shirt. She didn’t like that, she liked it even less then when Robb did it.

 She mostly didn’t like what it meant for her and Gendry. With Gendry’s hand up Sansa’s shirt, surely Sansa would become his favorite. Arya wouldn’t stand a chance. And what with Gendry’s hand up Sansa’s shirt and his close friendship with Jon, again, he would have no need for Arya anymore. Arya was awfully frustrated with this, because she thought she had already taken care of that problem last year.

 The way her parents talked about it made it sound like she had some time before she had to act on it though, but it was clear she was running out. She needed to know how much time there was exactly, but she couldn’t go to Gendry about it, she wasn’t stupid. So, instead she went to Jon, who was the same age as Gendry and who she knew she could say anything to.

 “Jon?” he had taken to staying locked up in his room for the entire day and night and got mad when people came in without knocking. Arya forgot to knock very often, but today she made sure to. She wanted him to be in a good mood.

 Jon stuffed his phone under his pillow, “What is it Arya?”

 “Can I ask you something?” she asked innocently.

 Jon sat up on his elbows and gave her a suspicious look. “When have you ever asked my permission before asking me something?”

 Arya decided to ignore that question, “It’s just that…” she closed the door behind her and sat at the foot of his bed, “Its only…have you started noticing girls? And if not do you think you’ll start up soon? And if soon than how soon? Weeks or months? Days?”

 Jon stared, wide eyed. Arya only stared back, determined for an answer. Eventually he sighed and plopped back down onto his back. “What has brought this on Arya?” he asked miserably.

 Arya shrugged even though he wasn’t looking at her. “Nothing I was just wondering…”

 “Are you going to let me not answer you and keep some dignity?” he asked.

 “Not without a fight,” Arya answered, which really meant no, she wasn’t. And Jon knew that.

 He sighed heavily again before emotionlessly saying, “Yes, I’ve noticed a thing or two about girls. Can you leave me alone now?”

 Arya chewed her lip. That wasn’t good, that didn’t leave her much time at all. “Have you noticed everything about a girl or would you say you have a ways to go?”

 “I’m not sure how much more there is to notice that I haven’t already gotten to,”

 Arya heard in his voice that he had reached the limit of how much he was willing to share and any more information had to be drawn out through out the week, or even a month, and she didn’t have the time. At this rate, Gendry would be noticing and Sansa would be talking and Arya would never hear from him again. She didn’t bother to thank Jon as she ran out the door and bicycled her way to Gendry’s house. She climbed up to his window and knocked so she wouldn’t have to deal with Joffrey or Cersei.

 Gendry’s loud, angry music blasted through Arya’s ears as he opened the window for her.

 “I was about to come over,” Gendry told her casually, snacking on an apple.

 “Promise me you won’t notice Sansa,” Arya got out before she lost courage.

 Gendry blinked at her, “What?”

 “Promise me you won’t notice Sansa and put your hand up her shirt,” she clarified, her pinky out and ready.

 Gendry almost dropped his apple, “Put my hand where?”

 “I know you’ve already started noticing girls, and I know Sansa’s the prettiest one, but you can’t notice her, okay? Promise me,” she thrusted her pinky in his face.

 Gendry’s face was now just as red as the apple he was eating. “I-I…honestly Arya what makes you think—”

 “Are you going to promise or not?!” Arya didn’t like that he didn’t agree to this immediately. Maybe she had been too late, maybe he’d already noticed all there was to notice like Jon had.

 Gendry was stiff a moment, looking to her pinky then to Arya and she was sure in that moment that he had noticed Sansa at least a little bit. But in the next moment she saw him let it go and hook his pinky with hers. Gendry had picked Arya and it almost made Arya cry. Arya cheered, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. “Thank you,” she said.

 “Yeah okay,” Gendry grumbled, patting her back.

   It wasn’t long after that, a few months really, the next big promise was made. It came the day after Arya had her first lesson on the birds and the bee’s. She wasn’t meant to receive this lesson, but she often snuck herself into the bigger kids’ classes so she could go back to her own and pretend she already knew everything they were talking about. She had come home that day with lots of questions regarding the video they had watched.

 Her mother couldn’t stop her voice from getting too high and her father kept stuttering so she turned to her oldest brother Rob. She would’ve gone to Jon, but she already made him uncomfortable with the ‘noticing girls’ thing and, if she was being completely honest, she doubted he knew much more about it than she did.

 “Rob,” she said while he was doing his homework. “Can you tell me about sex but be honest about it?”

 Rob threw his head back and let out the longest, most miserable, tortured groan Arya had ever heard. When he was done he just sat like that, his head back, staring at the ceiling. Arya got the idea he thought if he didn’t move long enough she’d forget about it and walk away. But she didn’t. She could wait him out, she didn’t have any homework to do anyway.

 Eventually she won and Rob told her to sit down.

 “Listen, I’m gonna cut to the chase about it, but I’m not going to give you details. I’m gonna tell you the basics and nothing more, and there’s nothing you can say or do that’ll make me give you more, you got that?” he got that serious determined look Arya often copied so she nodded. Secretly she figured she’d give it a day or two before trying him again if she had any more questions, which she probably would. “Okay, so…” Rob suddenly didn’t seem too confident as he looked at Arya’s eager, curious face. He groaned again, rubbing his forehead before he pointed his finger at her ambitiously, “So,” he started again, voice stronger, “there’s a girl and there’s a guy, usually—”

 “Usually?”

 “Hey! What did I say?” Robb raised an eyebrow and Arya rolled her lips together. Robb made sure she was gonna stay quiet before starting again, “There’s a girl and a guy, a much older girl and guy, like ten to twenty years older, and only if they love and trust each other very much, and they come to the mutual decision to have sex. That means, both of you, especially you Arya, will agree to have to sex. You have to be very, very, very, very sure you 1.) want to have sex, and 2.) want to have sex with that person, I can’t stress that enough. Do you understand that?” he looked at her and Arya nodded. “And once you two have talked about it, thought it over, and have come to the decision you want to have sex you…” Rob’s voice got wobbly again and he had to clear his throat, “Well you…uh…okay, so uh…” he closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. Arya rolled her eyes. “gods, I can’t do this,” Rob shook his head and turned back to his homework.

 “Hey!” Arya grabbed his sleeve, “You can’t do that!”

 “I said I’d give you the basic information, and that’s as basic as it gets. Sex is with someone you love and trust, and that’s all you need to know,” he said in the voice that meant he wasn’t going to talk no matter what Arya did. At least, not today, she could try again tomorrow if she wanted, but it honestly seemed like a lot of work if that’s all the information she was going to be getting per conversation. She knocked his text book off the table before stomping away,

 Just like she did before her last promise, Arya sat with the information she had for a while. Sex, whatever it was, should only happen with someone she loved and trusted and should happen in ten to twenty years which, at ten, was almost the same thing as it was never going to happen.

 All those things together made it almost obvious on what was to be done next.

 The next time Gendry was over, right before they started playing video games, Arya stuck her pinky out.

 “What the hell Arya, what is it now?” he asked her, frustrated. Arya was suspicious he was still a little bitter about her making him promise not to notice Sansa.

 “Promise me that the first time we have sex, it’ll be together,” Arya said unashamedly. There’s no one else in the world Arya trusted or loved more than Gendry, other than her family and while Arya didn’t know much about it, she knew sex wasn’t meant for family.

 Gendry’s jaw dropped the widest Arya had ever seen it. “Arya!”

 “What?” she frowned. “I love you and trust you, that’s what you need to have sex with someone.”

 “Well yeah, but—”

 “You don’t love me?” Arya asked, suddenly feeling very sad, “You don’t trust me?”

 “It’s not that! You’re ten years old, I’m older than you—”

 “Not now, obviously, sex doesn’t happen for another ten to twenty years, I’m not stupid!”

 “Arya, you don’t get it—”

 “Sex is for people who love and trust each other,” Arya felt like she was close to tears. She didn’t think this promise would be a big deal at all, she thought it made the most sense in the world. “Why are we even friends if you don’t love or trust me?”

 Gendry ran a very stressed hand through his hair, “Arya that’s not all there is to it—”

 “Well, what else is there?” she was quick to ask. When Gendry struggled to answer she took that as a sign he was lying and didn’t actually love and trust her. Maybe he wanted to have sex with Sansa first, and was mad at Arya for stopping that. “Fine, if you want to notice Sansa so bad go ahead and notice her. I never cared anyway. You can play video games with her for all I care,” Arya left so she could beat Sansa’s old stuffed animals with a stick.

 She barely talked to him for a week. He tried, he knocked at her window, he walked her to school, he waited outside of her class, but if he didn’t immediately promise her what she wanted she ignored him.

 “You’re a kid, Arya! I’m not trying to be a creep,” he said from outside her window. Arya turned her music up. “Oh come on, how long are you going to pout?”

 Arya didn’t answer, he knew exactly how long she was going to pout.

 “Fuck you Arya!” he hit at her window before leaving.

 He stopped trying to make up for two days. Instead he hung out with her brothers in a very obvious and obnoxious kind of way, but it didn’t bother Arya. She knew Gendry and she knew he could never hold out as long as she could. No one could.

 Eventually, while she was eating her cereal, Gendry angrily took a seat next to her.

 She took a bite, looked at him.

 He set his jaw, looked at her.

 Then he stuck out his pinky.

[junie-bugg]

The Heartrender - Chapter Two: Embers

Hey everyone!

Here’s chapter two, in which a truce is struck, crude jokes are made, and we learn more of Peeta’s childhood.

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3 (I suggest reading on AO3 because I add a poem at the beginning of each chapter that I feel fits nicely with the story’s themes or the chapter’s plot.)

Big shoutout to my beta reader @nonbinarypeeta​. You da best music💕

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary:

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

ALSO, I made a map! Yes, I am that level of writer nerd. (If you look closely, there’s a little Hunger Game’s reference in there. Let me know if you see it, lmaooo.)

Chapter Two: Embers

His commander had gone into the city for the night, leaving the crew on standby at the docks. Their ship, lovingly named The Bloody Rose, needed tending and Peeta, an exhausted soldier running on three hours of sleep, needed a drink. He longed for a pint of proper ale. Not the bitter swill that the ship’s cook had distilled. 

A chilled autumn wind whistled through the harbor, jostling netted shrouds and furled sails. The white and blue flag of Sjorkden snapped proudly above the crow’s nest where Thomas Jaclin quietly kept watch. There was a muted hush about the night, as if the world were holding its breath in anticipation, knowing something was about to happen. At this point, with his chores done and nothing left for him to do except lose another round of cards or go off to bed, Peeta wished something would. 

He was nursing a cup of moonshine and chatting with his friend, Yasser Pjengo, when they heard the sounds of a scuffle. He and Yasser crossed the deck and looked down onto the dock that the ship was moored to. 

There, struggling to drag someone up the gangplank, was the commander. 

“Commander on deck!” Peeta announced with all the authority he could muster, hoping his voice carried down to the lower levels to rouse the men from their games. Peeta had only recently been promoted to lieutenant, and he was going to prove he deserved it. He felt a rush of pride swell within him when the crew emerged from their sleeping quarters, blinking both the mist of alcohol and the gleam of gambling from their eyes. 

Commander Snow was of medium height with a thick beard and hard blue eyes. Though the hairs at his temples were gray, the way he carried himself was young. He spoke softly but commanded the kind of respect that caused listeners to lean in and catch every word. He now dragged a young girl with him onto the ship. Her red dress was torn and low cut, revealing the hollow between her breasts. A few strands of hair had been pulled from a tar-black braid to hang limply in front of her face. She had a blooming bruise on her jaw and a cut above her eye but otherwise seemed unharmed. 

“Men! Say hello to our newest addition. From what I’ve seen so far, she’s sure to be a feisty one.”

Some of the crew had laughed and hooted, including Peeta, but the girl snarled as she twisted and spat in the commander’s face. In return he sent a heavy punch to her gut, causing her to whimper and double over in pain. 

“I have to warn you all. This here is no ordinary witch. She’s a Heartrender.” 

Peeta sucked in a breath and felt a chill pass through the assembled crew like a breeze passes through dead grass. 

“A Heartrender…” 

“One of her kind cursed my uncle. Turned his feet backward.” 

“I heard they could snap your neck with a flick of a finger.” 

“They don’t just stop hearts. They cut them out and eat them.” 

Peeta had heard of Krellian Heartrenders. The rarest of the witches, Heartrenders could use their magic to manipulate bodies: peel the flesh from bone, collapse lungs, knot intestines, burst eyes in their sockets. He could only imagine what she would unleash upon them if her hands weren’t locked into those metal hand caps. 

Snow cleared his throat to quiet the men. A hush fell over the deck. 

“I see you’ve all heard the stories. If you let her out of those shackles, we’re all dead. I want at least one guard on her at all times.” His eyes shifted to Peeta in the front row. “Mellark, you take the first watch. Gerholt will take over at midnight, then Dawson, then Pjengo. This will be a rotating schedule. You’ll all get a chance with her before this voyage is over.” He twisted her arm, throwing her into the semicircle that Peeta and the crew had formed around them. She collapsed onto her stomach, a wilted heap of red dress and chains. “Now get her out of my sight.” 

Peeta and a few others bent down to lift her up as the commander retired to his quarters, but she swung out her arms to ward them off. 

“Don’t touch me,” she spat in Krellian. 

“Get up and walk or I’ll drag you, witch. Your choice,” Peeta growled. His accent was thick, but he knew by the way her nostrils flared that she’d understood him.

She stayed crouched on the ground, her metal covered hands in her lap. 

Peeta’s anger erupted. 

“Fine,” he snapped. He wrenched her off the floor, threw her over his shoulder, and listened to her screams the entire way down to the brig. 

X

During their slumber, the witch had commandeered his arm. 

She lay sound asleep, his bicep propped under her cheek like a pillow. He only awoke when his hand had gone numb, the blood trapped, circling and pricking within his fingers like a swarm of wasps scrabbling to get out from under his skin. He watched the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the pulse that fluttered at her temple. She looked peaceful. Almost innocent. But he knew what she was really capable of. 

Her head smacked the ground with a dull thud when he took his arm back. 

“Ow!” 

The witch glared at him as he massaged the feeling back into his palm. She made it a point to rub the tender spot on her head dramatically so that he’d feel bad. 

It didn’t work. 

“Get up,” he rumbled. 

The witch turned over and curled in on herself. “Five more minutes.” 

He rose from the nest of furs, grabbing one and wrapping it around his waist to cover his nakedness, then moved to sweep the curtain out of the doorway. From the watery yellow sun high in the sky, he determined it was noon. 

“Get up,” he growled again, injecting more anger into his tone. “We need to keep moving.” 

“Why? We found shelter,” the furry lump on the ground said. 

“If we want to find civilization we’re going to have to move. We need to get home as soon as possible.”

She turned on her side and rested her head in her hand. Her eyes gleamed like freshly polished silver in the light pouring past the curtain. “You’re letting me go home?”

“I meant my home,” he corrected, allowing the curtain to fall and shrouding them in dusk-like darkness once more.

There was a tense moment where both knew the time to act was upon them. Either kill the other or let them live. Both were risks. If Peeta killed the Heartrender, he’d be left to fend for himself. There’d be no magic to keep his blood warm. But if he hesitated and let her live in the hopes that he could return her to Sjorkden and have her tried for witchcraft, there was a chance she’d kill him down the line. It would be so easy to reach out and crush her windpipe, deaden those bright eyes, neutralize the threat. She may have magic but she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. Peeta had height, strength, and military training on his side. He was arrogant enough to assume the odds were in his favor.

He thought she was thinking along the same lines because she eyed his muscles warily. He was broad-shouldered and obscenely muscular, the product of a decade doing hard physical training at the academy. She couldn’t crush his heart if he lashed out and stalled her hands first. He may be heavy but he was surprisingly quick. After all, he hadn’t become a witcher for nothing. 

She pursed her lips as if considering something. “I think we’d both sleep better at night if we made a truce.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Your word is as valuable as a campfire is to a fish.”

She scowled slightly, a deep line forming between her furrowed brows. “This isn’t a promise that I’ll never harm you, just as I know you won’t agree to never harm me. You are a witch hunter after all. Bloodshed is your life. But let’s make a pact that until we make it out of this, we help each other.” She paused a beat and looked away as if ashamed. “After that, all bets are off.”

Peeta had nodded, but this truce didn’t mean he trusted her to stick to it. In fact, it made him even more suspicious of her. What kind of demon agreed to the drawing out her own demise? He thought her gamble unwise and surmised she had some angle to play against him. He’d have to be especially careful from here on out.

 They faced away from each other and put their clothes on quietly. She still wore the red dress, the one from The Bloody Rose. It looked looser on her now, but the sleeves were elegant, poufed at the shoulders, and fitted down to the wrists. The skirt was still full, even after she had spent so much time sitting in her cell and thrashing about in the sea. She would have looked ready for a party if the dress wasn’t so dirty and torn. 

 She caught him watching her and winked. “Like what you see?” She twirled and the skirt flared like the petals of a blooming rose, twisting and shimmering in the low light. 

Peeta grunted as he did the last button on his dusky blue jacket. His undershirt was still damp against his skin. “It doesn’t fit you where it counts.” He gestured towards her breasts. 

 She had snorted then, happily surprised he was loosening up. 

They set out with empty hands, only having the clothes on their backs and the furs wrapped around their shoulders. The witch had taken a liking to the black one. She stroked it between her thumb and forefinger like a child would clutch to a blanket for comfort. 

The briny scent of the sea permeated the air and even so high up as they were on the cliffside, Peeta felt the fine spray of the waves collect on his cheeks. The constant rushing of wind blew his hair back and whipped the fur about his shoulders. 

They had been walking for hours when the witch asked, “What do you miss most about home?” 

Peeta wished they could just be quiet. 

“A bed to myself.” 

“Right,” the witch crowed wickedly. “I can feel how much you hate sleeping next to me. I felt it pressing into my hip last night.” 

Peeta’s cheeks flushed scarlet. He had never been with a woman. He was a member of the Order: chaste until he earned his talisman and won the right to choose a wife. For his service to the Order he’d be allowed the hand of a nobleman’s daughter. Pretty, young Sjorkden maidens with hair of palest gold and soft, supple bodies. Daughters of the nation raised in the ways of womanly charm and domestic knowledge, basket weaving and child-rearing, dancing and singing and carving. 

He had been dreaming of what his future wife would look like, what their first carnal encounters would entail, the holy honor in producing a child. As a father, a former witcher, and the husband to a woman with status, he would be granted an official seat on the council of Rjaka. His first solid foothold on the ladder of power. It was a lower rung, but it was a start. If only he could get back to his post and fulfill his service, then he would be given his freedom and permitted to marry. 

Those dreams, full of glory, sex, and fatherhood, were the source of his arousal and frustrations, not the witch’s soft skin against his body. Her deep complexion and ebony hair were not of Sjorkden. Her lips were too large, her nose too wide, her body too slender and bony. She looked as if she had spent years scrounging about for meals, with ribs and hips that protruded like sticks in a canvas bag. He liked rounded women with pillowy bosoms, not scrawny little birds. 

Or so he told himself. 

“Why do you say such lewd things?” 

“Because I can. And because I like when you turn red. It does wonders for that pale complexion of yours, valkrӕlla.” 

Valkrӕlla. 

Barbarian.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You like it,” she teased and continued walking, swaying her hips beneath the cloak of fur clasped at her throat and sweeping a glossy curtain of hair over her shoulder. Even here, in the permafrost fields of the tundra, she still smelled of moss and jasmine, as if the misty forests of Krell dwelled within her pores. 

Peeta scowled. He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. 

Not even a little bit. 

X

They walked in the hopes of finding a fishing village, or maybe a trading outpost, somewhere with an inn they could stay at. But as the day dragged on and the sun dipped precariously close to the sea, Peeta started losing hope. The witch stumbled behind him, making her way over embedded boulders and paling tufts of dead brush sticking out from the snowbanks. She squinted against the burning red sunset staining the landscape in bleeding color.

“Maybe we should head back,” she said, though they both knew this wasn’t an option. They were many hours from the whaling camp and turning around now meant they’d just be back at square one, with no food and no fire. 

 Peeta hadn’t been hungry last night, but his adrenaline had burned off, leaving his body weak and watery. He salivated at the thought of rosemary crusted mutton and boiled potatoes, buttered peas in ceramic crockery, honeyed mead, and angel cake with lemon filling. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the vast stone dining hall of the academy, laughing with Yasser through full mouths of meat and drink. After a feast, all the boys would tell stories in large circles or spar each other for prizes. Peeta had been one of the best hand-to-hand fighters among his peers and as such had accumulated a treasure trove of their makeshift awards. The wishbone of a chicken. A fork with a bent prong. A pearl someone had found in an oyster. When he had tired of winning, he would climb the stone steps to his dormitory and sleep dreamlessly on a goose down mattress. He’d wake to the rising sun and Yasser’s deep snores and know that he’d have a day of training ahead of him. Advanced lessons in combat, weapons handling and upkeep, survival skills, sailing, and instruction on foreign languages. He was a well oiled hunting machine, as he was raised to be by the masters. 

 But that was the past, a boyhood he would never return to. Peeta was a man now, and nobody was coming to instruct him. He was on his own. 

 Well, not entirely. He looked back at the witch. Her skin glowed deep bronze in the fading light and her dark hair whipped loosely about her angled face. She caught his eye and winked. 

 No, he thought grimly. I am not alone. 

X

Peeta had only been seasick once. It had been his first time on a ship, sailing from his birthplace to his new home. As the other boys “oohed” and “aahed” at the gray stone towers of the academy rising up from the mists, Peeta had vomited over the banister. 

The others had made fun of him for it. Groups targeted him in the corridors, tripping him or pulling on his hair. Others mocked him, knocked him down hard in training, and then pretended to retch dramatically as he struggled to his feet, fighting to hold back tears. They called him ‘Greenie’, for the color of his skin on that first voyage.

It was better than ‘runt’ but he still resented himself for it, ashamed he had shown weakness. He trained hard after that, alone if he had to. Classes would be over, dinner would be served in the great hall, but the masters would find him in the training rooms practicing his punches on a dummy, or throwing knives, or moving through his stances with a blade. The hours of solitude paid off, and once the students were old enough to compete for rank in the sparring circles, no one came close to Peeta’s brutal technique or raw ferocity. 

And after he broke Geoff Tonson’s leg, no one ever called him ‘Greenie’ again. 

Peeta climbed down into the bowels of the ship, feeling the slight sway of the ocean lapping against the hull as he descended. The Heartrender had been on board for two weeks now and hadn’t earned her sealegs. He shriveled his nose as he came upon her cell. The acrid scent of vomit filled the compartment.

“Time to switch?” Wilhelm asked from his seat in the corner. 

Peeta nodded. He hated guarding the Heartrender. She was in her own cell, isolated from the other witches he and the crew had captured. At least when you guarded the others you could eavesdrop on their conversations. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

Wilhelm Larone, a fresh-faced recruit on his first-ever witcher voyage, rose and stretched languidly. He hadn’t been able to grow a full beard, but his top lip held some promising peach fuzz. “I thought a Heartrender would be more entertaining,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling as a thought occurred to him. “Hey!” He rattled her bars. “Lift up your dress.” 

The witch slumped in the corner, her skin waxy and coated in a film of sweat. Her hair was matted and oily. She blinked slowly at the wall and ignored Wilhelm’s racket. 

He sighed like a disappointed child at the zoo. “I thought the commander said she was feisty.”

“That was before she had vomit on her dress,” Peeta said dryly. 

The witch responded to Peeta’s voice, turning her head slightly to watch him between lanky strands of hair. A chill ran down Peeta’s spine at the intensity of her gaze. They hadn’t spoken since the first night when he had thrown her over his shoulder and dragged her into this very cell, but she remembered him. 

Peeta tore his eyes away. 

Wilhelm had placed his foot on the lowest step, moving to leave when she croaked: “Water.” 

“When was the last time she was fed?” Peeta asked. 

Wilhelm turned, a confused look on his face. “I don’t know. Ask the commander.” 

“At least get her a cup of water before you go to bed. We want to keep her alive for the trial.” 

Wilhelm smiled wickedly. “I have a better idea.” He jumped off the stairs and sauntered over to the Heartrender’s cell once more. “You thirsty, witch? Here, drink up.” 

Peeta watched in horror as Wilhelm unbuttoned his pants and began pissing through her cell bars. Wilhelm’s eyes, which Peeta thought were too far apart in his head, darted up to the older man’s face. “You owe me two gold pieces if I can get it in her mouth.” 

The witch made a strangled sound of disgust and tried to move away, but she was already in the corner. There was nowhere to go and her dress was soon soaked a deeper red. 

“That’s enough,” Peeta said, but Wilhelm’s stream only grew stronger. “I said that’s enough!” he barked and shoved Wilhelm away. 

In his surprise, Wilhelm sprayed the wall. “Damn, Mellark. It's a joke. Dawson’s right. You are no fun.” He shook the last drops of piss from his cock and then stuffed himself back into his pants. He turned to the witch and winked. “Maybe next time you can drink straight from the source. If you promise not to bite of course.” He then fixed his uniform and lumbered up the stairs. Peeta watched him and his half-mustache go. 

“Krą khiăh,” she whispered after the creaking of Wilhelm’s steps faded. 

Thank you.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Peeta snapped. “It was unsanitary, and your kind deserves hellfire, not some quiet death on a ship.”

Peeta spent the remainder of the night sitting on the chair in the corner, breathing in the scents of piss and vomit and misery. He hid his annoyance when the witch started sobbing. 

But the next time he reported for guard duty, he brought her a cup of water.

[carsontheleft]

Hot Mess

Summary: Hot Space is a hot mess and John does not want to not talk to Roger anymore. Things get more emotional than any of them bargained for.

Pairing: JohnxRoger (platonic), RogerxDominique (mentioned), JohnxVeronica (mentioned)

Comment: Hey, look, I’m still alive! I started this a while ago and then I spontaneously finished it yesterday and THEN I thought about posting it immediately and then I DIDN’T and now it’s John’s birthday it just fits quite nicely. Happy Birthday, John! Have fun with this, y’all.

John has to forcibly hold himself back from slamming the coffee pot back into its place. No coffee would only worsen the already disastrous day. Week. Month, almost. For the first time, Munich doesn’t seem to be their lucky place.

But maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s because John finally lets himself push for things he wants, that he likes and doesn’t let himself give in just because Brian is pushing for his way.

Brian. The mere thought of the guitarist turns John’s stomach into knots and pushes up his blood pressure. How can a single person be so fucking obnoxious, bull-headed, old-fashioned-

Okay, stop.

John takes a deep breath of stale basement air and decides he needs to breathe real, fresh, cold air without a huge grey, looming building pressing down on him.

Arriving on ground level, he takes one of the back doors leading to a narrow alleyway to escape. The air here smells a bit sweetly of the rotting food in trash cans, but it’s cold and sharp and already saturated with bluish smoke of cigarettes.

Roger is crouching beside John’s feet, leaning against the grey stone, with a pack of Marlboro Reds at his feet. It’s half empty and it’s not even noon.

“It’s not really the right weather for being outside without a jacket, is it?”

It isn’t. November in Munich doesn’t provide conditions to do anything outside. Where Montreux may have gotten the last golden sunrays of the year or the winter’s first snow, Munich is just grey, dreary and dark.

“I don’t see you wearing one”, Roger squints upwards at John having forgotten his sunglasses downstairs.

“Fair enough.”

Neither of them talks when John lights his cigarette.

Normally, that would be unusual. There has hardly ever been a time where John and Roger didn’t talk to each other, may it be because of an argument or because they didn’t have anything to talk about.

But not-talking is the safer choice of interaction nowadays. Not-talking doesn’t pose such a high risk for arguments.

But they’re friends and John wants to talk to Roger, he wants to explain his ideas and visions just like he’s always done it, but he’s not sure Roger would listen. And he just doesn’t understand why, doesn’t get why Roger and Brian are so afraid of some change, when that’s what’s Queen been about all along, a band not succumbing to trends and expectations, a band that always knew to surprise.

“John, I don’t wanna fight anymore.”

John nearly drops his cigarette when Roger’s voice rips him out of his thoughts.

He’s looking at him, and John is suddenly hit by how young Roger appears with his tousled blonde hair and wide blue eyes, that, admittedly, are blood-shot, but that doesn’t take the child-like innocence out of them.

Despite that, John scoffs.

“It’s hardly me who’s at fault here.”

Roger visibly flinches at that, recoils and turns his eyes back to the dirty pavement in front of him.

John’s worked hard to build up the defenses he’s calling his own now, so thick and impenetrable that not even Brian with his jabs and sniping remarks can get through them.

But now Roger’s ripped through them, just like that.

“Rog…”

“No, no, it’s fine, you’ve made your point”, his voice is a little husky, only barely betraying his hurt, “I’m going back inside, see you there.”

And it’s actually this eerie calm, which is so unlike Roger, that John wakes from the stupor he’s worked himself into and makes him realize they really should stop fighting and get to talking instead.

 Roger’s quiet for the remainder of day, too. And John’s not the only one who notices, Freddie asks if Rog is alright and earns himself a grumbled “Just want to get out of this shithole”; Brian only grants him an irritated look when Roger doesn’t jump to his defense. Mack, Crystal and the other roadies opt for not saying anything at all, they know better but to get into arguments that cannot be stopped anyway.

It’s when Roger practically flees from the studio after they collectively decide they won’t get much more done and doesn’t stay back to joke around with the others that John decides he has to do something immediately.

He gets some beer, the German stuff isn’t really his taste, but Roger seems to have taken a liking to it, grabs two pizzas from the Italian place Mack did recommend and walks over to Roger’s apartment.

It takes the drummer some time to answer his door, two rounds of insistent knocking and a raised hand to start a third one, only then there’s some shuffling, the clicking of locks and Roger opens the door a fraction.

“Why’re you here?”, his blond hair is sticking up in every direction and he’s wearing a dark fluffy bathrobe. There is a flush to Roger’s cheeks that tells John he either pulled his friend from a bath or was just lucky to catch him coming out of the shower.

“To talk. Not to fight”, John holds up the pizza boxes with the beer stacked on top, “Please, Rog.”

Roger stares at him for a moment and for once John absolutely can’t read the usually so emotional face. Then he heaves out a sigh and opens the door to let John in.

The place is cluttered in a typical Roger-fashion. An overflowing ashtray, papers with what could be lyrics or shopping lists, a part of a drumstick for some reason and a colorful array of take out packaging. John winces, maybe he should’ve brought stuff to cook a fresh meal instead of gifting Roger yet another pre-made supper.

“How’s Dom?”

“She’s good. Took Felix and went to visit her parents, escaping the rain and stuff. You know how she hates it”, he does his best to declutter the couch table, mindlessly stacking pieces of paper on top of each other without looking at them or at John, for that matter.

“How are Ronnie and the kids?”

“They’re good, Ron wants to come down next week, but we’ll have to see if it works with Robert and the school. I miss them.”

Now Roger looks at him, but it’s not the look of disdain and almost disgust he wore when John presented them the lyrics of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ and he threw a fit over ‘I’m happy at home’. This one is one of understanding and compassion.

“Yeah, me too. Let’s have a taste of that beer you brought, yeah?”

They mostly eat in silence, only interrupted by the quiet murmuring of the TV and one of them occasionally commenting on the food or the beer. When John’s done with his food Roger is intently watching the 10 pm news. He’s not sure the drummer understands much of it, but John is willing to indulge him a while longer. It’s not like he’s looking forward to this heart-to-heart, but he knows it’s necessary and they’ll feel better once they’re done. John only wishes he could fast forward everything in between now and then.

“We need to talk about this”, John starts eventually when the pretty blonde woman on the TV is done with telling them that the next days will be just as dreary as today.

“And what exactly does ‘this’ entail?”

Roger is already in full on confrontation mood, and John has to force himself to stay calm. It’s Roger, he tells himself, no matter that it was actually him who put up the white flag this morning, he still doesn’t like to be cornered.

“Us not working like we used to. The constant fighting and discussions and nothing coming out of it. You constantly siding with Brian without listening to a word I say!”

Oh shit, he really could’ve worded that better.

“Me not listening? I AM listening, other than Brian and you! I’m listening to both your opinions and then I decide!”

“And it’s always in favor of Brian!”

“Well, if we share an opinion, then yes!”

“But why? Why are you so intent on keeping everything as it is?”, they’ve gotten louder and John really, really doesn’t want this to evolve into another shouting match, but he might not be strong enough to reign himself in.

But, much to John’s surprise, Roger sighs and slumps back against the couch rubbing his eyes.

“Because it works! We’re doing this how long now? 10 years? People know us, they expect our product to meet a certain standard, an expectation.”

“Our- our product? A certain standard? Roger, what are you talking about? Isn’t our music about how we feel? What we think? It’s not supposed to be some commercial bullshit”, John is seriously flabbergasted. Not in a million years he would have thought Roger would start to view their work as a ‘job’ only consisting of deadlines and expectations and goal fulfilment.

He scoots over to the other end of the couch where Roger is sitting and bumps their knees together.

“What brought this on, Rog? What’s going on?”

“It’s just…”, the drummer shrugs, rubs his eyes again and then starts to knead the shoulder muscles that John knows are always a bit tense, always a bit sore.

“We’ve been doing this 10 years, John, ten years! How many bands have made it farther than that? Who says it won’t just all fall apart next month? We can’t just start making different music now!”

“We’ve been always aware of that possibility. There was always the chance we wouldn’t make it, but now we’ve got number one hits in America! We’re an established name!”

It feels a bit weird to take on the motivational part, the part of convincing the others that they have actually made it. Usually, it’s Roger who does that.

“Yeah, but…”, Roger blows out a breath, “Don’t you feel like- like you were 27 just yesterday, snorting all the coke in New Orleans without a care in the world and now, now there’s a child and- and a-“

“A woman you might as well just marry”, John tightly presses his lips together to not let the laughter escape. So, that’s what all this is about, Roger just realized he’s actually a grown-up now and he doesn’t feel too comfortable about it.

“It’s not that!”, Roger argues, “What difference does a bloody certificate make?! I have a family now; I have to provide!”

John sucks in his cheeks to keep himself from grinning. He gets it, he does, Roger’s worries are understandable, and he doesn’t want to ridicule his friend, but from John’s position his worries are a bit ridiculous, when they’re in far better position now than when John first became a father.

“Dom has a job, too, you know?”, John teases, fully intending to lighten up the mood. Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect.

“That’s- Stop making fun of me!”, Roger jumps up from the sofa and hovers over John, fists clenching at his side as if he has to keep them from either punching something or someone or from thrashing his apartment.

“You know, sometimes I feel like that’s the only thing I’m good for! The dumb blonde, that crazy drummer guy, let’s make fun of him, he deserves it! He’s no good for anything anyway, can’t manage to write a good song, and we don’t even need him for drumming anymore!”

Oh. Oh.

So that’s where all this moodiness is coming from.

Roger rarely shares his feeling so honestly, usually none of them does if there are not copious amounts of alcohol and or other substances involved, but Roger especially likes to keep everything bottled up, until it implodes. And that leaves either a destroyed room or drumkit, or Roger in front of a toilet puking his guts out and avoiding just about everyone for a few days after until he’s okay with himself again.

So, to say the least, this emotional outbreak with feelings actually being articulated is uncharted territory for John. And for Roger too, who’s staring at John like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Rog-“

“Forget it!”

He stalks away, fluffy bathrobe and naked feet, and slams his bedroom door shut.

John sighs and settles back into the sofa. He came to talk and he’ll get his talk, even if he has to stay the night. With Roger, that might just be the case.

Well. At least the apartment has a second bathroom.

 John wakes a couple of hours later, around 3 am. It’s a weird feeling, usually they’d still be out and drinking, but it’s probably not the worst thing to get a whole 8 hours of sleep at what is actually night.

A sharp gust of icy cold air wafts through the room and John finds that it was that what woke him in the first place with the flimsy throw he used as a blanket not providing adequate cover.

The apartment is mostly dark save for the lights of the city streaming in through the window and John can see through the door gap into the hall and that Roger’s bedroom door is open again.

He finds him in the kitchen, standing in front of the open window smoking.

“You’re still here”, he notes when John steps up beside him.

“I wanted a talk, an honest conversation. I won’t leave until I get one.”

“Took a note out of Freddie’s book then, huh?”

“Freddie?”, John scoffs, “Try your own.”

Roger turns to him, mouth open and already gesturing with the softly glowing cigarette. “I’m not-“

“Ridge Farm?”

That takes his drive. He turns back to the view, deeply inhaling the burning smoke. John takes one out of Roger’s packet. He doesn’t really like the brand, but it’s better than nothing.

“You taped my drums, John”, Roger eventually says.

“Are you still mad about this? I’m sorry and I promise not to touch the kit again without you knowing.”

“It’s not that- well, that too, but-“, Roger takes a deep breath, steeling himself, “You tape my drums and there’s nothing I can do that a drum machine isn’t able to. Hell, I’m not even the best drummer without them taped, my technique is weird, if you can even call it that, there are guys who are a lot better than me and understand this disco thing you’re prattling on about.”

“It’s not like Brian-“

“He’s trying, okay? He’s trying to get into that kind of music, he’s not sprinkling guitar solos all over the songs like you’d do it with coke on a hooker because he wants to annoy you! Well, not primarily anyway, but he’s trying to make his contribution to what you’re doing! He wants to have part in this and I, I just don’t see it, I’m sorry.”

Roger flips the butt of his smoke out of the window and rubs his eyes.

“But we can’t just stop! We can’t just stop at The Game and that’s it! We need something new, start fresh like we’ve done it with each album.”

John finishes his cigarette as well but makes a show of putting it out in the ashtray.

“I know that, Deaks, I do! I really don’t want to become the guy that needs to be dragged off stage because the people got tired of him playing the same things over and over and over again! But I just can’t do this disco thing.”

John understands this. You can’t force yourself to produce music you just don’t feel. This is like Fred and his love for opera and musical theater, something John will never get the hang of, no matter how often he’ll take Ronnie to the ballet. And while Roger does like a more electric style of music, he’s not really known for setting the dancefloor on fire. Maybe the women on it but not the dancefloor itself.

“I know you and Freddie don’t need me to realize your vision, this album but I- I can’t lose Queen, John, I can’t. It’s everything.”

Roger’s almost too quiet for John to understand resting against the kitchen counter in the dark, half of his face illuminated by Munich’s night life in a loose shirt and a pair of boxers.

And John thinks, this is it. This is what all this is about.

Because John started to play with those guys he now calls his brothers as a hobby, as a distraction and creative outlet opposite his studies. He had never envisioned to become a famous musician; this never had been a goal for him. So he had sat back and let Freddie, Brian and Roger work on the music, on the band, had let them work on their dream.

And then he had turned 30 and for the first time John had thought that this might be what he’d do the rest of his life. And he decided to give it his everything all, to make a monument for himself, to really give his very best.

And for Roger it had always been like that. There never had been a second option, a plan B, go big or go home. John’s pretty sure even if they hadn’t made it, Roger still would still be a musician. If not in Genesis then in some local band or a studio musician, but he never, ever would have gone to work in some lab or, even worse, in a dentist’s office.

“What are you talking about? You won’t lose Queen! Never! We’d lose all our female fans if we kicked you out!”

“Great to hear that that’d be the greatest loss”, Roger grumbles and turns away but John catches his wrist.

“You won’t lose us. We need you. Who’d be there to back up Fred when his voice is shot? Who’d argue with Brian just to draw him out of his funks? And heaven knows, not Brian nor me can keep up with Freddie.”

“Like I can these days.”

And there’s the other worry hanging in the air around them, Freddie leaving them behind more often than not, being more elusive than he’s ever been. But that’s a worry for another night, right now this is about the two of them, the Sonic fucking Volcano.

“Come on”, John tugs on Roger’s wrist, “Get over here.”

“Deaks, no, I don’t-“

John tugs a little harder and then Roger’s body is pressed flush against his.

“Like you ever say no to a good hug.”

“I hate you”, the drummer mumbles against John’s shoulder and heaves out a mighty sigh relaxing into the embrace.

“I’m sure you do.”

They rest like that for a few minutes, which is not really a thing they’d normally do, but they’re both tired and miss their partners. It’s okay.

“Y’know”, Roger says as he detangles himself, “I’m not sure Queen would lose all its lady fans if I left. Not with you looking like some kind of… Greek God.”

He wrinkles his nose and pokes John into his right pec.

“It’s called exercise, Rog, you could try it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t exercise daily on those bloody drums. Also, Dom likes it. She calls me soft and cuddly.”

He sticks out his chest.

“Wow, look at that, Roger Taylor is proud of being called soft, what a turn of events!”

“Well, at least I don’t look like handlebar with an exploded mop on top.”

“Handlebar? I seem to recall you calling me a Greek god not 30 seconds ago!”

“Yeah, and I regret it already. Just wait until I throw you out of the band!”

[gone4neow]

MIGHTY | ⓅⒸⓎ

c h a p t e r s i x

- park chanyeol x oc

- mulan rewrite [very loosely inspired by the disney version]

- warnings : cursing, dark themes, extreme violence

- work count : 3,109

previous chapter or next chapter 

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After a week or so of training, the general announced that it was time to move on from their temporary camp. They would have to meet with another group of soldiers soon enough. Eunyeong was happy to move on. She had hoped that with the move things would get easier for her. Perhaps this would be like a fresh start and all the teasing she was experiencing would come to be ancient history. Of course, this proved to be nothing but wishful thinking.

The general had chosen to follow along the main road leading towards the palace. The woman thought this was strange since it presented a golden opportunity for an ambush for the enemies, but she was unsure of her thinking. He was a well-experienced soldier after all, which meant he would know more than she would.

The dirt path contained several scattered stones. At times Eunyeong would step on them by mistake. Her feet were aching from walking all morning and her calves burned, but she kept her head high. Members from her old training group followed behind her. She could hear them snickered to one another, though it was hard to make out what their whispers were about. Quite frankly, she didn't care enough to turn around and ask what they were giggling about. Ahead of her walked Baekhyun and a few of his training members. She hadn't been placed in a new group yet, but there was little personal concern over that.

The journey came to a temporary halt around noon. Everyone was tired and needed a break. Eunyeong was grateful and had just gone to sit down when she was approached by one of her former training partners.

"Hey," he called out to her quietly. She watched as he scanned the area around them. Then, his features twisted into a troubled look.

"Listen, I want to talk to you about the river thing. Can we go somewhere private?" He asked her softly. The woman analyzed the glimmer in his eyes, looking for a sign of disingenuous intentions. A part of her felt as if she shouldn't bother listening to a word the man said, but the other half of her knew that her father had taught her better than to hold grudges. So, she stood up and followed the man into the forest located next to the road.

"We should make this quick," she warned the man in a low voice as she glanced over her shoulder back at the group of soldiers resting. When she turned back around she ran into the man's chest. She looked up at him and saw a smirk on his face. Right away she knew that she had gotten into yet another dangerous situation. She turned to run back to the rest of the soldiers, but she was cut off by the man she recognized as the one who had forced her under the water. The air in her lungs caught. Suddenly she was frozen, unable to even make a sound. The man behind her grabbed her by her arms and pulled her further into the trees. This way, he would be sure no one could see them.

"You're not going to fight this time?" He asked as he shoved her to the ground. "That makes it less fun."

She could hear his voice, but his words overlapped one another and became a slurred mess. Her heartbeat rang in her ears. Her hands trembled as fear consumed her chest. It felt as if she were being submerged underneath the river yet again. Focus, she told herself, remember Baekhyun's fishing day.

No matter how hard she tried to take control of her body, she couldn't get a grasp. The men hadn't even touched her again and yet she was terrified. Some soldier you are, she thought.

"What's that noise?" One of the men asked.

"It's just me," a third man announced as he stepped into view. He was slightly out of breath and covered in sweat. His friends look at him with confused eyes.

"Where have you been?" One questioned.

"I was trying to see how far away the river is from here, but these guys saw me and chased me back here," he explained causally. The other two men shared a worried glance before suddenly new figures emerged from behind the trees. The three soldiers went to run right away, but the men grabbed them before they could escape. Eunyeong drew in a breath as she was pulled up from the forest floor.

"Do we have enough to tie them all up?" She heard a new voice question.

"No, but this short one is practically limp. He seems to be out of it - if he tries anything we will be able to handle him," another replied. Slowly, Eunyeong was starting to grow aware of the situation. Were they being abducted by the enemies? She subtly glanced around to see her attackers being tied up and forced to walk. The man behind her gave her shoulder a shove and her feet moved hesitantly. She walked at a slowed pace, staggering purposely with hopes that the men would assume she was completely out of it. Ever so often she would even mumble gibberish in a slurred voice. The abductors simply scoffed and slowly quit paying her any attention. To them, she must've seemed like a waste of time.

When she was convinced that they were completely unfocused on her, she slowly slid her hand underneath her top and removed her small dagger from her waistline. Her hands still trembled, but she was beginning to feel a new kind of courage. There were only three of the men. One rode on the back of a horse and the other two walked a bit ahead of her, watching over her former training partners.

It took a few minutes, but when she was sure that her timing would be perfect she sprung into action. The man in front of her was her first move. She stabbed him twice in the side and pushed on his torso with all of her might until he was crashing into his fellow soldier. The men tumbled to the ground soon after. The man on his horse turned around quickly. Anger flashed upon his features when he realized what had happened. Eunyeong was already working on freeing one of her former partners. He stared at her with surprise in his eyes.

When she noticed she said, "I need you to fight with me."

Her voice shook with nerves. Before the man would have taunted her for this, but now he wasted no time in nodding his head in agreement. The man on his horse had jumped down from the stallion and was already approaching them. Eunyeong watched as the man she just freed immediately began swinging his fists. The uninjured man on the ground rose to his feet and turned to the woman before she could work on freeing the second man. He released a growl as he charged at her. She dodged his attack and rolled on the ground to evade him. Quickly, she stood and worked recklessly at the binds on one of the men's wrists. Before she could completely free him, she was tackled to the ground. She gasped loudly at the blow to her side. The dagger in her grasp flew into the brush along the forest floor, hidden from her sight.

Her attacker straddled her and began to throw punches against her face. Each strike felt more forceful than the last. The man she had attempted to free pulled at his wrists until the cloth imprisoning him ripped apart. The woman was relieved when he pushed the man on top of her off. He looked down at her with grateful eyes while stretching his hand out towards her. She took it and allowed him to pull her back onto her feet.

"Let's run!" He called out to her. She shook her head, knowing they couldn't just run. The man who had tackled her tried to attack them again. Eunyeong moved just at the last second. She felt the air push into her as he stumbled down upon the man who had saved her. While they rolled on the ground, she searched the forest floor for her lost dagger.

When she finally found it, she glanced over her shoulder subtly. The first man she had free had knocked out his attacked and had moved to free the last bound man. The second man she had freed was still struggling on the ground with the attacker from the horse. She drew in a deep breath, summoned every ounce of courage she possessed and turned before she stepped towards the attacker.

When she reached him, she grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. Immediately the fight between him and her former bully came to a pause. Everyone watched as she lowered her head until her lips hovered just a centimeter away from the shell of the enemy's ear. Her right hand held her dagger tightly and her arm wrapped around his shoulder just enough for her to position the sharp blade against the stubbled skin of the man's throat.

"You lost," she told him quietly. Her voice no longer wavered. Instead, it held a dark tone to it, one that made even her bullies subconsciously take a step back. After today she would no longer fear confrontation. She would walk into war with her head held high. Her fears would be pushed to the side, even if she was truly terrified inside.

"Go back to your leader. Tell him if he wants a war, we'll give him a war," she instructed him. "Your other men here will be going with us. We'll keep them safe for you."

Slowly, she stood back up at her full height. A few seconds of silence passed before she looked over at the first man she had freed. She gestured towards the man below her and silently signaled for him to knock the enemy unconscious. Her fellow soldier nodded quickly.

"You two, help me with these guys," she commanded, pointing at the men who laid limp on the forest floor. The men didn't argue. In fact, they moved at speeds she would've never guessed they could reach. She quirked an eyebrow at the observation.

By the time they made it back to the main road, their group was gone. They had taken the enemy's horse with them after abandoning its accessories, but obviously not everyone could fit on the creature. So they had agreed to all walk since it would only be fair. The two men they had capture laid across the stallion's back, still unconscious. Eunyeong feared that the men had died.

They traveled along the main road for what felt like centuries until eventually, they came upon a camp. They each shared a glance with one another, all wondering if this was really their group. By this point, the sun was preparing to settle in for the night. Men could be seen sitting around their tents with small bowls of rice in their hands, chatting amongst one another as if they were lifelong friends.

As the small group approached the camp, more and more eyes were starting to find them. Men yelled out in what Eunyeong had assumed were warnings, but eventually she realized they were welcoming the group back. She could see her fellow soldiers' eyes widened as they stared at the enemies stretched across the back of the horse. The blood on the group did not go unnoticed.

"What's this commotion about?" A familiar, raspy voice filled the air. She could see him up ahead. He had stuck his head out to get a look at the source of the noise. His mouth hung open in disbelief as he pulled the rest of his body out of the tent. His second hand followed closely behind.

"General Park! We were abducted by those bastards! But they were no match for us," one of the men began to explain as the group came to a stop. Eunyeong rolled her eyes from the back of the group as she watched the men flex their arms and laugh at one another with excitement. The general strolled over to the group, his eyes analyzing the enemies on the horse. His eyes were wider than ever before and those plump lips of his barely touched. Then, his eyes somehow found Eunyeong's. They scanned the blood on her face. He mentally winced at the bruises on her face, although he had seen them time and time again before.

"What happened?" He asked.

"This little guy saved us, General!" One of the men exclaimed. The general didn't remove his eyes from the small soldier.

"What?" His second hand asked in confusion.

"Kyungsoo, you and these soldiers can take our prisoners. We'll put them in the tent next to yours," the general ordered. "You come with me. I want to hear every detail."

Eunyeong did as she was told. She followed the man into his tent and settled down on a comfy floor pillow before she began recalling the events from beginning to end. Her listened quietly, something that surprised her. Perhaps it was prejudice, but she had assumed he would be the type to try to talk over someone else as they spoke. It was a pleasant surprise.

When she finished speaking the man simply said, "Wow."

The lack of a reaction may have startled anyone else, but Eunyeong found it sort of endearing. Usually the man had so much to say. To see him quietly pondering over the story she had just shared with him made her believe he was truly taking in everything she had said. His eyes flickered to find hers. Was it an egotistical thing to believe she saw admiration shining in his eyes.

"You're quiet the surprise," he commented quietly after observing her features for a few moments. She felt her face warm. If only you knew, she thought to herself.

The man began to quietly laugh to himself. He shook his head a bit as he did so, as if trying to shake away the thought in his mind. His eyes averted away from the soldier before him as his hands suddenly worked on pouring some rice wine. The woman watched quietly as he did so, taking in every detail of his hands that she could make out from the short distance. The man had beautiful hands. His fingers were longer than most of the hands she had seen, the tips of them a light shade of pink.

"Do you want some?" His voice brought her back to reality. Her eyebrows raised at the question, but she nodded her head.

"I know it's a bit early for celebration, but I feel as if you deserve this after today," he explained as he handed over a small glass of the wine. She took it from him and threw it back in her mouth almost immediately. The man laughed as she began to cough while gently slapping her chest.

"You don't drink often?" He wondered.

"I've never drank before," she explained. Her cheeks were flush with embarrassment. The man hummed at the new information, a small smile on his face.

"I'm honored I got to witness your first try," he said. Before the woman could reply, the general's second hand stepped into the tent. Her former bullies followed in behind him, all wearing smug expressions on their faces. They must've felt like war heroes.

"We did good didn't we?" She heard one whisper to the other. The general stared at them with a deadpan expression. He ordered the men to sit down in a voice much harder than the one he had been using before they arrived.

"Can I be excused? I'd like to go find someone," Eunyeong asked. Her fellow soldiers became quiet. They stared at her with a disapproving expression and subtle gestured for her to stop speaking entirely. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The second hand man laughed deeply at the woman.

"You are very brave, huh?" He asked in a humorous tone.

"Go," the general answered her question. "I'm sure they're worried about you."

She nodded and rose to her feet. Quickly, she bowed over respectfully before turning to exit the tent.

"Don't speak out of line to me again," she heard the man warn her just as she entered the evening air.

Baekhyun was already waiting for the woman on the outside of the tent. He nervously shuffled on his feet as he stared out at the setting sun. The sound of the tent's entrance flapping immediately caught his attention. He looked over the messy woman with sharp eyes, searching for a sign of any major injuries. When he found none, he released a breath of air.

"Do you enjoy looking like a nightmare?" He questioned as the corners of his lips lifted just slightly. The woman could still see the concern shining in his eyes despite his effort at humor. She gave a light laugh. Hopefully this way she would ease his tensions some.

"You don't think I'm attractive this way?" She responded. The man sent her a strange expression and gave a nervous laugh.

"Of course," he began. "The women back home would faint at the very sight of you."

Eunyeong quirked an eyebrow at the mentioning of women. She had never thought of women like that before, but the idea of a woman being attracted to her seemed exciting. Did Baekhyun enjoy a lot of women back home? He didn't seem like the type. The woman pondered over the thought for a few seconds before she shook her head.

"Because of the blood? It really highlights my features doesn't it?" She played along.

"Oh yeah. Some may say you look drop-dead handsome," the man replied with a gentle laugh. Eunyeong rolled her eyes before bumping her arm into his and walking away. The man followed after her, singing a teasing song for her as he trailed behind.