#living in the flat lands is pretty in its own way but I grew up in a valley

[thidwicktails]

Daily positive:

[dearharriet]

By Any Other Name; Sirius Black ☕️

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

By God, he was not pulling any punches. His voice being as silky as your knickers didn’t help, nor did his wicked teeth or his lithe hands. It was a feat of its own to close your mouth, and another altogether to speak.

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

summary: by the will of mother nature, you meet your charming downstairs neighbor—who has been dying to meet you just as much.

word count: 3K

warnings: fem!r, sexually implicit comments, lots of mentions of underwear and lingerie

authors note: me 🤝🏼 making sirius act like my other favorite scorpio (ryan gosling)

1978. London, England.

+

More than anything in the world, you wished you had a tumble-dryer. The London winds turned brutal in autumn, and you’d lost nearly ten items of clothing before the season was done.

A pretty sundress, a flannel you’d nicked from your father’s dresser. A skimpy little black nighty, the top only lace and the bottom sheer satin.

That one had been the most recent, only the day before. You blamed yourself, really; You thought you’d be coy and hang it outside for the boy downstairs to see, and the wind tore it off the line and blew it to who knows where. Now some creep probably had it in his sock drawer.

Despite all of this, you still did not have a blessed tumble-dryer. Which meant even at present, in wind that might’ve blown your makeup off, you were outside clipping your soggy knickers to the line. Three clips each, thank you very much.

You can’t say it was all that embarrassing. London wasn’t particularly a town of modesty or shame, especially in more recent times. All the ladies along your alley hung their undies out, and no one seemed to mind. Maybe you just lived on an especially progressive block of the city. Whatever it was, you liked it.

You hummed a soft tune as you hung the last piece of clothing on the line, feeling chilly yet accomplished.

The wind had died down just slightly, leaving the clothes swinging on the line—suspended between your building and the one neighboring it. You peeked across to ensure that everything seemed secure, just in time to watch a pair of silky pink undies slip from their clips and fall a story down into the alley.

You clicked your tongue, promptly making your way down the fire escape to retrieve them.

As you rounded the landing to descend the second half of stairs, you were aghast to see the boy from downstairs—the one you so desperately wanted to see your cheeky nightgown—leant against your flat building. He was smoking a cigarette languidly and intently watching your sad knickers which landed before him.

You stammered at first, unsure what to say. The remaining shreds of daylight were reflecting quite stunningly off of his pitch black hair, in a way that was all too distracting. Eventually, you settled for something apologetic.

“God, I’m sorry.��� You inched forward until you could bend down and rescue the pink knickers from the filthy ground. You frowned at the specks of dirt on them. You’d have to wash them all over again. Or maybe you should just toss them.

Or cast them into the sea. Perhaps donate them to a bluebird to use for nesting. God, you were embarrassed.

For a split second you became mortified with a scenario where you kept the dirty undies and this handsome-boy-downstairs wanted to shag you, only to find you’re wearing the disgusting alley knickers. Your cheeks grew hot.

You pushed the underwear behind your back then, hoping he didn’t see them in full. When you looked up, he blew a cloud of smoke from his nose and smiled devilishly.

“Not to worry, darling. I’m quite accustomed to women dropping their knickers in front of me.”

Your mouth popped open in shock. A boyish but refined laugh bubbled out of him as you failed to respond.

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

By God, he was not pulling any punches. His voice being as silky as your knickers didn’t help, nor did his wicked teeth or his lithe hands. It was a feat of its own to close your mouth, and another altogether to speak.

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

“I can’t call you handsome?” You blurted, and Sirius’ smile got so much worse, which is to say humbler and far more genuine.

“If the shoe fits,” he mumbled.

A gust of wind blew and his hair billowed with it, just as he took a final drag of his cigarette. The embers lit his face warmly.

It fit. It definitely fit.

Sirius stomped his smoke out on the cobblestone and brushed his hands off on his slacks.

“I actually have something I want to give you.” Sirius inched toward his flat window, ignoring your pinched brows. “Wait right there.”

Contorting his long limbs, he slipped inside and disappeared.

Within seconds he returned, holding what you instantly recognized as your black nighty. He walked it to you, growing taller with every step.

“Think this belongs to you,” he prodded. You took the garment from him, smiling coyly.

“Do you happen to have any of the other clothes I’m missing?” You accused, and he ducked his head sheepishly.

“Just this one,” he promised, “it fell last Sunday, just here, like your knickers.”

You flushed. “Sorry.”

Sirius’ expression turned boyish. “You should be. I’d have preferred that you came with it.”

The wind picked up again and wafted his cologne with it, something citrusy and clean. A pit stirred in your stomach.

“Maybe next time,” you murmured, and slipped up the fire escape before he could respond.

+

You sincerely didn’t expect to see Sirius after that. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it felt too simple. Too convenient.

Stunning, charming boy downstairs, holding onto your nightclothes to give back to you…

He had to be a creep. There was no other explanation. Or worse—he was only trying to be nice to save you from embarrassment.

You kept running through your conversation with him, adding new motivations and hidden meanings. Each one was like a warning siren, and it kept you from seeking him out.

Sirius, however, was not dissuaded at all.

A week later and it was the turn of November. The winds were cruel and rain barely ever let up, and any sunny day became laundry day.

One fateful, blessed dry Friday, you popped out to hang your loathsome clothes. If being clean was this much trouble, you weren’t sure it was worth it anymore. You were halfway through the soggy hamper when someone downstairs began to whistle.

“Darling, do you do anything but laundry?” A familiar voice called, posh and smug and handsome.

You peeked over the railing, and Sirius was in the alley with an amused grin on his face.

“Do you do anything but watch me do laundry,” you shot back, which made him laugh.

Sirius was making a paper boy cap look very stylish, holding the lip of it to aid his theatrics. There was something quite old fashioned about him, even in his boyish demeanor.

“I like to hear you sing,” he defended. “You have a pretty voice.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You didn’t entirely realize you sang at all. Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around.

“Does this seem a bit cliché?”

You looked around, too, at your balcony and the shaded alley; At Sirius, who was the shining image of a hopeless romantic, ready to profess his undying love.

“I suppose,” you agree. “Wherefore art thou? No—a minute is not enough.“

Sirius pushed his tongue into his cheek, grinning.

“I was imagining something else,” he said. “Let down your hair…Or—your clothesline?”

You snorted.

“Luckily, this damsel has stairs.”

Smile widening, Sirius raised his eyebrows, wondering if you’d meant to invite him up. You nodded, and he took the steps two at a time.

It was charming. While you were still reserved, you couldn’t help but admire his complexities. He’d seemed so subdued upon first meeting him, but now he was almost howling with excitement.

He was completely out of place on your terrace. A sharp and shining bachelor lording over your half-dead plants and damp t-shirts. He looked like he had a tumble dryer, and an iron, too. Or a maid. Definitely a maid. It was a mystery why someone so put together was living on the floor beneath you.

“What,” Sirius asked, looking dubious.

“What?” Your cheeks warmed. You’d been spacing out.

“You’re looking at me weird,” he accused, but he kept a lightness in his voice. “You don’t still think I stole all your clothes, do you?”

“No,” you denied. Then, feeling cheeky, you added, “just the nighty, right?”

He blinked, looking shy again. “Well. It—it fell.”

“Oh, right, my mistake. It fell,” you nodded, and watched his mouth open and close.

“Y’know, most neighbors bake something if they want to make friends,” you continued, enjoying his squirming, his brown pearly loafers scuffing on the grated platform.

You thought he was handsome when you met, with his cavalier confidence and dangerous smile, but seeing him so embarrassed was just as enthralling; His fair skin flushed pink, his broad shoulders hunched…his voice turned raspy and unsure.

“I was never good in the kitchen.” He said it like it was a fatal flaw, unfixable.

“No, of course not,” you said with unwavering mirth. “You’d hire someone to do that, wouldn’t you?”

Sirius’ head snapped up, shocked, confirming your suspicions.

“What are you robbing my clothesline for, rich boy,” you teased, wrinkling your nose at him.

Scratching his jaw, he blew out a bewildered laugh.

“What gave it away?”

You snickered, making a sweeping gesture over him. “What didn’t?”

Sirius looked down at his pressed white dress shirt and well-fitted vest. He then ripped his hat off, deflating.

“Thought I was doing a good job of fitting in,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” you cooed, though you weren’t sure why. It should’ve been insulting, that this upper-class idiot was so upset at seeming as well-off as he was, but he kept striking you with an odd sincerity. He didn’t seem ignorant, he just seemed lost, and you felt sorry for him.

“If it’s any consolation, you look quite handsome.”

Sirius looked up at you through his lashes and shyly smiled.

“Do I?” He needled. You hummed affirmatively.

“If a bit chilly. Who’s been making your cuppas?”

Grabbing your basket, you backed away towards your window and slipped inside. You waited for Sirius to follow, hoping your invitation wasn’t too indirect. Thankfully, he crawled in after you, loitering by the window awkwardly.

“Well, don’t let all the heat out,” you called over your shoulder, dropping the basket onto your couch and bee-lining for the kitchen. Sirius closed the window and meandered further into your space.

“You’re not going to poison me, are you,” he asked from your kitchen threshold, watching you put the kettle on.

“I’m not sure you should be as paranoid as me,” you said, leaning against the counter. “But I’m fresh out, so not this time.”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, good.”

“So,” you started, crossing your arms to mirror him, “who are these girls dropping their undies for you? I’m painfully curious.”

Sirius sucked his teeth, hiding a grin.

“I’m not sure you have enough tea,” he sighed solemnly. “We’d be here all night.”

Eyes tracing over the long hands splayed over his biceps, you bit your lip.

“I can imagine,” you humored. “A pretty boy like you…you never catch a break, do you?”

Sirius looked constantly unprepared for complements like this, and you couldn’t get enough. He was pink and silent and restless, faltering for something witty to reply with.

In the end, he just shook his head.

When the water was hot, you made up Sirius’ tea, and he thanked you shyly as his hand brushed yours. He put far too much sugar in it, and not a spot of milk, but you found that just as charming as the rest of him. You sat at your kitchen table, smiling over your cups.

“I haven’t had a good cuppa in months,” Sirius sighed, spinning his mug in absentminded circles.

“Thought you had a maid,” you prodded, and Sirius’ responding smile was bittersweet.

“Not anymore,” he said quietly, “not for a while.”

You took a slow sip of your tea, watching him carefully. As you set your cup down, you licked your lips, and Sirius instinctively copied you.

“So…no maid.” You leaned back, lifting a brow. “Who presses your clothes, then?”

Sirius frowned. “I do.”

“Oh.” You frowned, too. “But you can’t make a cuppa?”

“I—“ Sirius chuckled. “I can make a cuppa. It just tastes better when someone else makes it.”

“Ah.” Picking up your cup again, you smiled at him. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

Sirius pulled his lip between his teeth as you drank, rubbing his hands on his slacks.

“Well I—“ he cleared his throat, “—I should go.”

Confused, you watched him as he pushed his chair back and stood, ducking to you gratefully.

“So soon,” you complained. It was odd. You’d been avoiding him all week, but once he was around you didn’t want him to go.

“Yes, well. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Sirius smiled kindly, if a little distant.

“Well, I invited you, handsome. That’s hardly intruding.” Your words were intentionally soft and sticky, cloying, to change his mind.

Sirius’s eyes swept over your face for a moment, his mouth chewing on words that never came out. Eventually, he left a thankful caress on your hand, where it laid dormant on the table.

“Thank you for the tea,” he expressed, and then he was gone.

You sat at the table long after he left, until your tea was cold and his empty cup was dry.

+

The whole week after that, you turned your conversation with Sirius over in your mind again and again, looking for what you’d done wrong.

He’d never seemed angry, even as he left. He was almost sullen.

In the days following, it was like he’d never existed. The alley had a Sirius-shaped hole in it every time you hung your clothes, and—as if it was missing him, too—the wind had stopped blowing.

Singing softly, you hung your final garments, enjoying the still evening while you could. When you sucked in a new breath, it was thick with the scent of burning tobacco. You looked down through the slats, and as you expected, Sirius was leaning where he was when you’d first met him.

Sucking your bottom lip, you looked at the cloth in your hands, and then back at Sirius. At the sudden absence of your voice, he’d looked up, and your gaze met his. He stilled, the ash growing perilous on his smoke, and watched as you held your dark nightgown over the railing. You let it go, and watched Sirius sigh, tracking its feathery fall to the ground.

When he looked back up, you were already halfway down the rickety stairs.

“Darling, don’t—“

“You know, it’s rotten manners to leave a girl wondering what she’s done wrong,” you scolded, plucking the gown off of the cobblestones. “Especially after being so charming all the time.”

Sirius winced. “I’m sorry.”

He looked frustratingly good, more casual than you’d ever seen him. His hair was messy and his collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbow. It only made you bolder.

“Well,” you prodded, “won’t you at least tell me?”

He furrowed his brows, his cigarette long forgotten between his fingers.

“Tell you what?”

“What I did,” you huffed, exasperated.

His face crumpled.

“Darling,” Sirius stressed, “nothing. You’re the loveliest neighbor I’ve ever had.”

The compliment felt like an insult, calculatedly detached, and you wondered if you’d invented the whole thing in your head.

“Why’d you leave, then?”

Sirius shifted, his expensive shoes crunching on the ground.

“I didn’t want to impose.”

Unbelieving, you shook your head in disappointment. It must’ve been something awfully offensive if he still wouldn’t tell you.

“I can’t afford the expensive teas, so if it tasted odd—“

“—Love, it wasn’t the tea, it’s—“ Sirius licked his lips, hesitating. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”

Lost, the corners of your mouth pulled down. Sirius sighed.

“The gown, I—“ He gestured to the satin in your hands. “It was inappropriate. I’m sorry.”

Avoiding your eyes, he finally ashed his cigarette, but left it abandoned in his hand. Stepping closer, you batted your lashes at his shameful face.

“Sirius, if it worried me, I wouldn’t have invited you inside.”

“It should worry you!” His face contorted. “It was manipulative and debauched—“

“Debauched!” You grinned, eyes bright. “What exactly did you do to my nightgown, hm?”

Sirius’ mouth pursed disapprovingly. “Love, please.”

You stepped closer, pouting.

“You didn’t imagine me in it?” Sirius shook his head passionately, but his cheeks warmed. “Shame. I hung it for you, you know.”

Sucking in a breath, his cigarette met the ground as you waded closer. You reached out, tugging on the top button of his vest.

“Will it take a cyclone for you to ask me out?”

Sirius let out a heavy breath and shook his head. When he said no more, you tilted your head and pulled him into you.

“Well then?”

His eyes searched yours.

“Go on,” you said. “I’m not sure someone who likes his tea with seven sugars could be very scary.”

Brightening, Sirius took your hand where it fiddled with his vest. You watched with heat in your chest as he brought it to his face and pressed his mouth to it. He then turned it over and did the same to your open palm.

“Could I please take you out, angel face?” His breath was hot on the inside of your hand, sending chills up your neck. “To repay you for the stunning cuppa?”

Chuckling, you traced a feather-light finger over his jaw.

“Certainly.” You licked over your teeth. “I’ll wear my driest knickers.”

His smile slipped into wicked territory.

“Don’t sweat it, love.” A big hand smoothed over your shoulder, and you melted. “You’ll only be wasting your time.”

+

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

[wytfut]

Soccer.... flat lands style

A bit of my history. As a very young man involved with YMCA sports, my Father who was something of a basketball star at Boelus High School was envisioning me becoming another star like himself. I can't imagine his disappointment in my skills, or even a glimmer of understanding the sport basketball. I didn't have any of it. I was intimated by my fellow team members, and of course the other team.

Pop was also on the Boelus farm Baseball team. Yes, Boelus had their own ball field with lites, just outside of town in a flood plain.

Little Chiefs was the league I went out for, and again, I was way to immature mentally and physically to play any team sports. It just didn't fit the way I thought.

Because of this history, I've never been a fan of sports. Cornhuskers included. Believe me its a brutal position here in Nebraska, home of the bug eaters (who knew I'd ever get a chance to use that term correctly) .

Once I got to high school I did go out for Xcountry, and Track. I wasn't good at either one, but felt to be a part of something social. With my Pop a State Trooper, and my Mom a working RN, it was rare they'd appear when I competed, due to night shifts and day sleeping.

..............

Way back in the dinosaur days.... My oldest and middle sons decided by peer pressure to take up soccer. I'd guess 1rst or 2nd grade. This would be 1983ish.

Back then all soccer was played on Saturdays, at Woods Park, put on by Lincoln YMCA. This very moment in time, the Lincoln YMCA was the largest soccer club in America (over 500?). Woods Park at 33rd and O, was overwhelmed.

Back then, most Cornhusker parents couldn't even pronounce soccer, let alone even know the rules.

With that, I witnessed Parents coaching soccer, like the sport was football. the unhappy "Athletic Parent Syndrome" was very apparent. I witnessed it a lot back then. Its still lives to this day, but nothing like back then.

Parent coaches, parent spectators, were pretty venomous towards other teams, and "boosting" their own team.

All of that made me even more uncomfortable with sports.

After YMCA was fairly established, there was rumor of another soccer club forming in Lincoln, called CSA. CSA "gasp" had paid coaches, that were even certified in coaching soccer. The best of the best in Lincoln usually ended up joining CSA.

By 1993ish, my youngest son Josh was of age to play soccer (kindergarten then). He was coached by one of the Mom's and my oldest son Jake. The next year I decided to jump in with both feet and coach, to learn soccer, via certification thru the "Y". The "Y" was still a volunteer coach club.

I took soccer coach class from the Wesleyan girls coach. He had a winning record, and was a good instructor. In fact I took the class twice, as the team grew in experience, I gained coaching help, and went with my other coaches. (I still have a certificate somewhere, I believe it was the NSSA certification)

In general terms, the teams with "football" coaches, we'd normally beat. And the better coached teams always were weary of us, as we could surprise everyone. "Silly Waverly team... nothing but hicks!"

Our record was running about 50/50 (maybe a little bit better). As I wasn't pushing hard for winning seasons, but more for the education and enjoying soccer. My long range goal was for the boys to get opportunity to go on and play on a college team (I know, pretty lofty).

I had a couple of mentor coaches back then. Ones that I really looked up to, and tried to apply their ways with the boys (and 1 girl the late Carly Pester). A Lincoln high club coach, and Bob Warming at Creighton.

Once I found Bob Warming, I bought season tickets to all home Creighton games. Good times, Jonny Torres was the star reinventing soccer in the midwest. Now Jonny is the head coach (after playing pro on several different teams), and Bob is on retainer as consultant.

Got to meet Bob at a couple soccer camps. Very humble but outspoken coach. Really identified with him.

These guys coached games mostly very quiet for the most part. Their philosophy, was that if you had to yell and scream at the game, it was too late. If the team was failing you had to teach correction at practice. I know, way too simple, but that's what it boils down to. Coach Bob..... went to NCAA every year, and always finished very hi.

..............

This all sounds polite and gentlemanly to a point, but I have a side story to insert here.

My boys had to travel to Kearney for a game early in the season. The team and the parents were the worst poor sports I have ever witnessed. It was so bad, that mentally my kids were completely out of the game, and didn't have a chance. It was a blood bath. It was extreme, we were even badgered in the parking lot when we were leaving. I'd never seen before or since such actions against another team.

Later in the season, Kearney had to come to Lincoln to play us. The Kearney team was playing extremely rough, bad mouthing... just the worst sports ever. Again we lost, as I don't coach that type of playing, so the boys were not mentally into the game.

End of game I told the field ref.... "I'll take the red card, as I don't care..... but we will not becoming onto field to shake hands. This was the worst game ref'd and played I've ever seen"....

Ref became very pissed, and demanded we all come on field and berated us (both teams) for how the game went.

After the game I wrote a letter to the organizers of our league (only time I ever did it) complaining about the kearney team. And that if we got scheduled to play with them again next season, we would take the forfeit.

It turned out we were not the only team to complain. There was another. The next season, they were kicked out of the league.

The following season, they were allowed back in..... totally completely turned around. The best sports ever. All smiling faces. And still a good skilled team. I honestly don't remember if we won or not, but it was a true pleasure to play them.

..............

About the time the boys (and 1 girl) got to Jr. Hi, we ended up taking the league. A very proud moment for such a small silly metal. This particular season, thru attrition, we were slimmed way down on our size of membership. If I remember right, we only had 14 on the bench. That season I received more compliments from other coaches on how "in shape" my players were. And they were, as part of practice was just getting "lungs" to play.....

It was also about at this time I volunteered to help the high school girls team. On the girls team was one of Jake's early girl friends and I had heard a lot of disappointment from her about the coach.

He was a true football coach during season, and was told if he wanted to be a teacher at Waverly, he had to coach the girls soccer team. Nothing like volunteering.

Bret was a good guy, just a terrible soccer coach that didn't want to take any classes, or learn about it. It was filler for spring sports.

I volunteered to help coach goal keepers. I'm not a goal keeper coach, but watching our goal keepers, it was an easy job, they weren't goal keepers. Anything I'd offer, was like magic to them.

Back in those days... there was no "class" for different high schools. All soccer was ALL CLASS, as there were not enough teams to form a season. So inexperienced teams like Waverly (class B), would play powerhouse teams like Lincoln High (class A).

I witnessed a lot of Nebraska high school soccer history during these years. Stuff that now is common, but rare back then.

Cornhuskers decided to start a girls soccer team. Coached by a Canadian National coach (off season). They were playing all home games at CSA champion stadium then. As new as they were, they were always very competitive all the way to NCAA. John Walker is still the cornhusker coach.

......

My boys team eventually made it up to hi school age, and all pretty much went out for soccer, and all made varsity by Sophomore year. I'd still coach them off season. The coach was not a soccer coach, but Waverly had enough talent/skill to go to a long way during season. Making it to state, etc.

I have to comment here, to the credit of THIS coach. Waverly had a huge reputation as a very violent team with the coach before. I remember after watching them play Lincoln High with my 2 older sons, and they were going thru the hand shake line, one of the Waverly kids cold cocked one of the Lincoln High kids, right there in the hand shake line. Oh my....

My hi school girls never became a power house, as a large number had NO experience playing soccer in their lives. Because of this, you'd be lucky if you had 7 experienced players on the field at one time.

By the time I left to retire (2002) from the high school girls, the latest coach Joel was pretty good stuff. He's been inheriting a lot of highly skilled girls, but just can't get a break when it comes to the end of the season tournaments. Joel is still the girls hi school coach and coaches off season.... he's that committed.

Back in the beginning when it was "All" class, we had some amazing athletic studs, that would at least pull the team together mentally. They didn't know soccer, but they knew team sports.

The late Carly Pest went on to play with the girls once in hi school, and was on varsity her freshman year, as a keeper.

I got to see Josh play at state 2 times. But none of the boys I coached went on to play college soccer.

My girls, who kept coming back game after game only to get the shit kicked out of them...... I had 5 girls go on and actually made varsity, and played college soccer. Midlands in Fremont, Wesleyan in Lincoln, Concordia in Seward.

Now I'm watching 3 granddaughters play soccer. One is in 2nd grade. another middle school, and oldest a sophomore in hi school. In the over 20 years since I retired, flatland soccer has evolved huge.

Soccer skills have improved by leaps. No more the isolated star. All players are playing like the stars of past, as those skills are common now.

Too many clubs today, I don't have a clue, how many. Most if not all clubs are paid coaches. Many of the coaches are coaching multiple teams, and coaching as a paid career. (sidenote: for a short period one summer I was coaching 5 teams at once, all volunteer). Kids are traveling very far to be on teams (Lincoln kids going to Gretna clubs). Club teams traveling all over the country to compete in tournaments.

I think I need to stop there, as the "money" being spent on ALL youth today in sports, is a completely another topic, that i'm not sure I can wrap my head around it.

Youth Soccer in Nebraska is in the spring.... the season has started. It'll be another season of me watching my girls, with a smile on my face. They each are showing some excellent skills, that are going to take them places.

[swishyclang]

when I was seven, I thought I could fly.

some background: we lived in a house next to The Field. The Field wasn't its official name, of course, but I have no idea what that was because everyone just called it The Field. it was a patch of council-owned land that filled the valley between our house and the ones on the hill, and we walked across it every day to get to school.

there was a footpath outside our front gate that led down into The Field (though the 'path' part rapidly became more of a dirt track trip hazard just past the garden wall), across The Stream (a pathetic trickle of municipal supply water running along a flat channel between two concrete banks that formed a helpful v shape for me and my siblings to play Zigzags when we weren't running late), and up the steep far side of the valley towards the council estate that backed onto our school. it felt like a miles-long trek when I was seven but in reality the whole thing could probably be crossed in under five minutes.

anyway, we lived right next to The Field. it surrounded our garden on three sides, in fact. to the left of the garden was the path to school. at the bottom was a decrepit patch of trees that had clearly been planted in an (unsuccessful) effort to hide the local emergency electricity generator that backed onto our garden wall. but, most importantly to our story, to the right of the garden was the rest of The Field, which stretched away towards the main road through the town.

this part of The Field was mostly used by dog-walkers, who traversed the other dirt track that ran crosswise through the scrubby grass. it didn't have any good trees for climbing, or any hollows to make dens in, and the banks of The Stream were overgrown and not suitable for Zigzags, so it was of little interest to seven year-old me. there was one thing, though, that drew my and my siblings' attention to that part of The Field every year, and is integral to my flight attempt:

the brambles.

they grew right up against our garden wall, running mostly wild. the council occasionally popped in sometime in the spring to chop the new growth back and stop them taking over that entire half of the field, but they left a solid few metres of bramble thicket every time. our wall wasn't very high - it was dry stone all around, and pretty old - so the brambles stretched freely over the top and hung down to the ground on our side of it like some kind of prickly, tempting curtain. my parents would cut them back at the top of the garden, where they encroached on the path down the side of the house that we used to get to the garden from the driveway, but they were left to their own devices at the bottom.

we'd wait and watch for the flowers every summer, and gorge ourselves on blackberries in the early autumn when we got home from school. we'd routinely show up to dinner with our faces smeared in purple and our fingers dyed to match, and act like it was some kind of secret why we couldn't finish our tea. somehow I don't think our parents were fooled, but we were convinced our forays were Incredibly Subtle and they were kind enough to let us believe it.

all this to say: there was a massive bramble patch on the other side of the garden wall, and our garden wall was not very high, and I was seven years old and thought I could fly.

I think some of you might be able to guess where this is going.

there was a part of the garden wall that had collapsed a little the previous winter, creating a small pile of rubble and a convenient dip in the remaining stones that was just perfect to stand on. the collapse was up near the top of the garden, where my parents would cut the brambles back. they were even more zealous than usual that spring, because they wanted to fix up the wall and obviously it wasn't going to go very well if they had to battle their way through a forest of thorns to do so, so that area was completely bramble free - on our side of the wall, anyway.

then my dad dropped a hammer on his foot, and the wall repairs had to be put off for a while.

I took to climbing that collapsed bit of wall so that I could pretend I was a sailor looking out to sea - the wall being my ship, and the sea being the endless stretch of bramble and Field that ran to the horizon (I wasn't very tall, being seven, so the horizon was a lot closer then). I made up stories about the voyages I was taking on my wall ship, and indulged in all sorts of heroic daydreams.

then, one day in late spring, I had A Thought.

wouldn't it be neat, I thought, if I could fly?

obviously flying would be extremely cool. superman could fly. captain planet could fly. actually there were a lot of stories about people who could fly. okay, so they weren't stories about real people, but it stood to reason that if lots of people were writing about it it was theoretically possible, right? and I was only seven, maybe I just hadn't read enough to know about the real people who could fly? and maybe... just maybe... if I believed hard enough...

I mulled this over for a long time. maybe a whole day, which might as well be Forever when you're seven. I reached several conclusions:

if I could fly, it would be exceptionally, incredibly cool

my teachers would definitely be Very Impressed and might even let me do the afternoon reading in assembly time (I really liked doing The Voices, which were not so much necessary when the afternoon reading was usually a poem or a bible story, but I was a stubborn little shit and I would find a way)

not everyone could fly, therefore:

I would have to believe really, really hard if it was going to work

to kickstart my first flight, I should probably jump off something

to assist in my Experiment, it would be helpful to have a Consequence for failure

because failure is, and always has been, The Worst Thing That Could Ever Happen To Me, Ever, it would be better to conduct my Experiment at home, where no one would notice if it didn't work

if I wanted to achieve my dreams of being The Best Afternoon Reader and also the first seven year-old to achieve independent flight, the answer was obvious:

I had to hang out in the garden, wait for my siblings to go inside for snacks, stand on the collapsed bit of wall that my parents still hadn't got around to fixing, face out towards the brambles, believe really, really hard, and...

jump.

...

...

...

...yeah, it went about as well as you expected it to.

[auxxrat]

Half return/The lawn is dead

Oneshot

Jango/Shaak

Tags - Angst, Jango's past (comic based), both POV's Other Tags - they visit his old home, Jango is seeing the horrors, Shaak thinks everything is pretty though, based on the song Half Return (obviously)

Description - Jango's half-return, and his history with more emotions than hate.

Notes - This is just a little one-shot based on the extensive lore I have for them because they are real to ME. I might/probably will make it into a little series on ao3, mostly because I don't have the energy to write a full book of it just yet-- so follow me on ao3 @/auxxrat! :D

Enjoy!

It’d been a long while since the dirt of this road had been disturbed. It was a long abandoned road, filled with weeds and holes from storms long past. The dirt had never been kicked up, at least not in a long, long time. The winding road cut through anchors of dead field, looking closer, Shaak noticed that whatever had been planted was burnt to the root. The corpses of the dead plants remained, petrified in coal, while the rocks littering the side of the road showed obvious signs of fire. 

Of a fire that burned for hours, hot and heavy, it seemed. 

There was no time for investigation, not when Jango was stomping down the path ahead. He said nothing. Not when they landed and not even when the citizens of this planet explained to him that this farm, and its family, had been dead. Shaak didn't want to be the one to tell them they were staring at a living ghost. 

The path went down a hill, bending and twisting down a small hill that led to even more rolling fields, and behind that– a forest. Or what looked to be the remains of one. Jango followed the path like he’d done it yesterday like nothing had ever changed. Shaak tripped and scuffed her boots on the rocks and roots that stuck up from the dirt, too busy sightseeing. 

There was a large pond in the distance and a river that stretched and curled into the dead forest and beyond their point of vision. Shaak never knew Concord Dawn before the war, before half its surface was burned and holes were blown in it so large you could see it from orbit. She knew this to be Jango’s home, or at least the land his family owned, and even in all its crisp ugliness– she could almost see a flashback of its beauty. Shaak could imagine Jango as a small boy, growing up in such a place, it fit him more than any castle or armor ever had. She could see him bouncing through the fields, curly hair full of leaves, tiny knees scratched, and pink from playing outside. She knew Jango could see it too. He was following ghosts all the way home. 

A huge flat piece of land was at the bottom of the field, after what looked to be rows of gardens (guessing from the remains of burnt fences, now just looking like fire logs). Different burn structures stood around them, the one in the center was large, but only the beams remained. A couple of buildings stood behind it and beside it, farmhouses and sheds, Shaak assumed. Jango stood in the middle of this huge, flat circle of dirt, naked of only his armor– dressed like he never left. 

And Shaak could see it in his eyes that he never truly did. 

𓆩⟡𓆪

There was no more home. There were no more fields, or forests, or ponds to swim in. There were no sunflower fields in front of the house that Mom cared for so dearly, there was no more waiting for Dad to come walking down the path. There was no more Arla. 

Jango knew as much, but he didn't expect to feel so dead inside. To see the place he grew up in, and lost everything in, forgotten about. Like it meant nothing. Everything that happened here was simply forgotten about. 

And it wasn't…. Fair. 

There was no justice, not on this day, and there was no justice when it happened a second time. For the first time, tears built in his eyes. There was nothing to even look at, nothing but ash, and the memory of where his father’s bleeding body lay as he bled out. The ghost of himself, only a child, haunted him. Not in an innocent way, but in a sinister way. Like a cryptic monster curling its fingers around the door to come get him. He could see him, the small boy, somehow more mouthy and bold than he’d ever be at his age. But it wasn’t a pleasant sight. It stared back at him from behind one of the burnt beams, beckoning him to bury himself in the same place his parent’s bodies withered away in. 

“Jango’ Shaak called so softly, creating the only beacon Jango could use to pull himself out of this darkness. And when he turned, Shaak no longer saw the face of a hardened Mandalorian, but the face of a small boy who had all the joy from his life snuffed out. 

“I’m tired, Ti” His bottom lip wobbled, chin quivering as those baby brown eyes got even sadder. Like an old kicked dog, a tragedy for such a youthful face. 

He was standing in his old yard, dressed like a kid in a grown man’s body. Everything was gone, dead. 

But as they walked away from the ruins of his past, Jango couldn't help but take one last look over his shoulder. The burnt fields, the broken structures, the memories that haunted him – he couldn't just leave it all behind without a second thought. It was a part of him, a part that had been scarred and shattered but still held significance.

Shaak understood this too. She knew that healing took time, and sometimes revisiting painful places was necessary for closure. As they reached the top of the hill and looked back at what once was their home, she squeezed Jango's hand gently.

"It's okay to feel sad," she said softly, “You are allowed to feel” Jango nodded, his gaze still fixed on the distant remnants of his past life. He knew he had to let go eventually. To forget this place and its significance in his life– in the Republic’s history. 

"I'm tired too," Shaak admitted quietly. "But we'll keep moving forward together."

Shaak tested the waters, slipping her slender fingers around his rather large ones– built from slave labor. He held her hand rather tight, and tighter each day they got closer to the end of this journey. Shaak didn’t need a verbal response, just started walking (more like dragging) him up the hill. Something in Jango’s entire body screamed not to go, the nostalgia in him cried out for home– to not pass these fields of familiarity and hide here. Forever. Turn back into a farmer, forget everything except for his name. He could keep that, no one cared for the Fett’s anymore, and their history meant nothing anymore. Not even to Mandalore. He wouldn't be able to keep who he used to be, who his family used to be, but he could keep her. She could be happy here, just as his mother was. She could be free, just a girl, just his girl. And then he could finally— 

Shaak kept walking and Jango’s feet followed, but his brain stopped for a moment, and his heart stopped. 

When they got to the top of the hill Jango was able to look down once more at the life he had to forget about, there he saw a figure, maybe two. But he could only concentrate on the one. A figure no taller than he is now, her blond hair fell just above her shoulders, a wood-cutting ax slung over her shoulder. At the same time he had looked, the girl looked back up at him, like she was in her universe catching a glimpse of his ghostly figure. They shared this mutual look of confusion before the blond girl broke out in a large smile, waving, and at that moment Jango swore he heard a whisper in the wind: 

“Come on home Jango! Street lights are going out!” 

[9tzuyu]

exquisite (rewrite)

[old version]

summary: uhhh idk artist!reader gets f*cked by nat

warnings: 18+, smut, choking (verrrrryyy briefly), mommy kink

also its been awhile since i’ve written smut so if this is awful do not perceive me >:(.

thank you moli for proofreading, i love u <3

dt: @nermalina hey bff heres that smut i promised you. consider it a very late birthday gift <3

🏷: @natasha-danvers @kermy48 @yelenabelovasgf @blackxwidowsxwife @slut-for-nat

natasha had been a model for dozens of people, dozens of times. it never crossed your mind that she would model specifically for you. the redhead was aggressively known for rejecting people's pleas for her to let them paint, sketch, or mold her from clay.

so it came as a surprise when you came across an email requesting a one-on-one session with you. had natasha's name not caught your eye, you would've deleted the email and completely missed such a huge opportunity.

you just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.

the all too known model would be at your apartment in half an hour. you had already set up your supplies the night before out of pure nervousness of her arrival.

you stood in the middle of your kitchen, a cup of orange juice in hand as you thought about the different styles you could draw her in. however, your train of thought was unexpectedly interrupted by the sound of a knock at your door.

natasha was twenty minutes early. and god did it feed into your anxiety.

after unlocking the deadbolt, you were greeted with a friendly pair of green eyes. you didn't say anything, only moving out of the way so she could walk in.

she took in her surroundings, and you suddenly felt a little embarrassed about your apartment. it was cheap, invaluable compared to the rich houses you knew natasha had been invited to.

"sorry it's not much," you mumbled.

"no, it's fine. it's different... in a good way i mean." she reassured quickly, "it doesn't scream how much you want to impress me."

you gave an awkward nod and led her into the living room, motioning to her that you wanted her on the couch.

"okay, you can get into any form you want as long as-" seeing natasha with her clothes half off and still going caught your breath. "-you're comfortable."

she saw your panic from the corner of her eye and smirked. natasha tended to have that effect on people, but this was the first time she allowed someone to draw her fully nude. seeing the look in your eyes as they roamed her body gave her the confidence boost she needed.

you bit your lip as you watched natasha position herself. her right arm rest against the armrest, legs situated atop each other while her left arm fell against her hip.

and just when you thought she had finalized her position, she bent her left knee up and spread her legs. you had to bite your tongue to keep yourself from moaning out loud.

"how's this?"

you nodded, "perfect."

normally natasha could keep herself busy with small talk, but you seemed to be much more quiet than the other artists she'd modeled for. she liked that though, because she already knew it would be easy to make you squirm.

her eyes steadied themselves on your face. you were very focused on your work, she could tell by the involuntary frown on your face. when you looked up from your canvas you were met with a pair of green eyes staring directly at you. nervously, you tried to glance at a different part of her body, but that would betray you because the first thing your eyes landed on was her cunt.

you tried to cover up your action, but the sound of natasha's laugh indicated that she saw the whole thing happen.

"do you want a closer look?" her voice was raspy, causing you to freeze. "really, i don't mind. the second i saw your picture online i knew i wanted to fuck you."

you felt the air in your lungs leave your body. she stood up from her position and strutted her way into your personal space. natasha towered over you while you sat on your stool. she thrusted her hips lightly against your back so you knew she was in charge. it wasn’t long before her lips began to attack your neck. sloppy kisses littered the edge of your jawline, a generous specialty of hers.

"but the drawing, i haven't fin-"

"i don't care. now do you want me to fuck you in here or in your bedroom? i'd prefer the bed, but i could make eating you out on the couch doable."

your reply was stuck in the back of your throat, but you wanted her more than anything.

she traced the outline of your face before grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at her. "i don't have much patience and if you make me wait any longer, i'm going to punish you." natasha's eyes grew dark, completely different from the woman who initially walked through the door.

"bedroom," you squeaked, but before you could go to move natasha picked you up bridal style and carried you herself.

you almost regretted underestimating how strong she was by her petite frame. almost.

she placed you flat on your back and in an instant natasha had your clothes ripped from your body. "sweet girl, you won't know your own name by the time i'm done with you."

she tugged you closer to her so that she could prop both legs on her shoulders, keeping you wide and open just as she wanted.

natasha kissed the inside of your thighs as she worked her way up. your eyes screwed shut, and you found yourself fighting back the urge to moan.

the redhead wouldn't allow that though. she wanted to hear every noise you made slip from your mouth, and she would do anything to get what she wanted.

"open your eyes, let mommy hear those pretty little moans of yours."

she kitten licked the outside of your walls while massaging both of your breasts with her hands, occasionally twisting your nipples for extra stimulation. she dipped the tip of her tongue further into your pussy before retracting and going back to kissing your thighs.

"mommy," you whined.

you could feel natasha smile against your skin. "there you go, my love." you tried to grind your hips further onto her mouth by pushing upwards, but natasha's mouth quickly moved out of reach.

"ah ah ah, be patient. only good girls get what they want." you rolled your eyes and huffed, earning a loud slap to the side of your thigh. "do that again and your ass will be bent over my knee seven shades of red."

her glare went away as soon as she buried her face back between your legs. she was downright greedy, almost possessive over the gift between your legs.

natasha's role of being easy on you was put to an end. she shoved her tongue into your pussy, graciously accepting every inch you had to offer. seeing your back arch, hands balled into fists as they gripped the sheets, gave the redhead a sense of euphoria she'd never felt before.

"mommy please-"

"you're so beautiful when you fall to pieces." natasha purred. "aren't you glad mommy's taking care of you?"

your only response was a loud whine as her tongue flicked over your clit. "c'mon sweet girl, i know you can use your words."

"yes!" your voice was strained, a series of incoherent grunts and moans filling the room. natasha’s mouth covered the entirety of your pussy and her lapping only grew stronger the more you cried.

you clenched tightly around her tongue. your legs automatically reflexed to close, but that didn’t do anything for you except grant natasha deeper access into your cunt.

“m-mommy!” the feeling of natasha’s nails scraping the sides of your thighs was enough to let you know you could come. “mmm, that’s right baby. there you go.”

when she pulled away, you were greeted with the sight of natasha’s sticky, grinning face as she moved to sit on your stomach. she figured she could give you a small break before really fucking you senseless.

but that didn’t mean she would stop completely.

her hands found their way to your breasts, squeezing and pinching them again for extra stimulation. “you like that, don’t you baby?”

“yes, please, i want more!”

natasha giggled, mocking your pathetic pleas for her.

“not yet. don’t be the dirty little whore i know you are. now you’re going to lay here while mommy grinds on your stomach until she gets tired of it.” her hand offered a gentle squeeze around your throat.

“you’re going to have to draw me with my fingers shoved in your cunt before i let you cum again.” she taunted, slowly edging herself on your body. it wasn’t long before you began to feel her heat against your skin.

and truthfully, you’d draw whatever the hell she wanted you to just as long as she kept coming back.

[love-and-monsters]

In the Woods

M forest creature X F human, 5,671 words. 

The world has ended and strange creatures now roam the Earth. You survived the end, but can you manage to make your way in this strange new land?

The trees above my head groaned and snapped. I froze, pressing my stomach to the ground. Something skittered through the branches, tiny claws scratching against the bark. It was probably a squirrel. It was almost definitely a squirrel. Regardless, I pressed myself close to the ground until it was gone.

When the forest was still and silent again, I pushed myself to my feet. My muscles were stiff and achy. I’d broken my back building my garden yesterday, and, regardless, I had to tromp through the woods in search of something to eat.

Despite my aches and pains, the hunger gnawing at my stomach, I was still one of the lucky ones. I was alive.

The Surge had happened nearly three months ago. Within two weeks, every major city had been leveled. The ground itself seemed to reach up, like the Earth was trying to slough off its outer skin. Plants had grown lighting quick, vines and roots overwhelming steel and stone within moments. Aftershocks had wracked the globe for another month, but when it was over, there was precious little of humanity left.

And then they had come. Strange creatures. Some of them looked human. Some of them did not. I avoided them. They were unnatural beings, things that grew plants from their bodies and were impervious to attack. I’d been with another group, for a while. The creatures shrugged off bullets and plants jumped to their command. I had been the only survivor.

I had no interest in fighting them anymore. The Earth was gone. I hadn’t seen another human in weeks. For all I knew, I was the only one left. I hoped not, but even if I wasn’t, I didn’t have much hope of ever finding another one.

I’d been lucky to find even a small patch of land to carve out a home in. I’d managed to scrounge up a tent and some blankets, located a few wild plants to start a garden, and even found some prepared food, though not a lot.

Hunting was my main way of sourcing food. I set several snares every night. Guns were difficult to find, bullets were worse, and even if you managed to locate both of them, they almost certainly didn’t go together. Knives didn’t run out of bullets and, providing the snares weren’t badly damaged, I could reuse them.

A rabbit already dangled from my belt. I was getting better at butchering them, and I was glad for its thick fur. Winter was on its way, and I could use all the warming items I could get.

Most of the traps were empty. I reset them one by one and headed to the snare closest to my camp. It was rare that there was anything in that one- maybe the animals knew I was there and didn’t trust the area.

Something crunched as I approached. I froze. The crunching continued. It didn’t seem to be getting closer or further away. There was a wet tearing noise and a sickening snap and my stomach rolled over. That wasn’t something moving through the undergrowth. That was the sound of something eating.

I crept slowly forward, shuffling my feet so I wouldn’t step on any twigs. I slipped behind a tree, breathing deeply. When I was sure I had myself under control, I peeped in the direction of the sound.

There was something hunched over the snare. The wet, snapping noises came from the corpse of a groundhog, which had been pulled open, its red, dripping flesh spread across the ground. The hunched figure was humanoid, roughly. Its limbs were long and spindly, with its fingers coming to dark brown points. Twisting, gnarled branches sprouted from its head, though they were small, probably so they wouldn’t impede its movement. It had long, deep green hair that fell loose down its back. It seemed to be wearing a long coat that flowed around it when it moved. The creature ripped chunks off the dead animal and bit down on them, messily tearing into them.

I gagged. I couldn’t help it. The creature’s messy smacking was disgusting. One of its pointed ears twitched and it spun around.

It was nearly seven feet tall, standing on thin, bony legs. It balanced on its toes, feet elongated like a four-legged animal. Red was smeared all down its front. Its face was human-esque, but its mouth had only sharp teeth and its eyes were flat green, no pupil or sclera. Its chest was the oddest part- it shouldn’t have been able to live. I could see its ribcage, but it seemed to be made out of gnarled wood. There was no skin stretched over its chest. Instead, there seemed to be a small bush in its ribcage, with tiny flowers sprouting out between the bones. It still lifted and fell with breathing, even though it didn’t seem to have any lungs.

Cold terror made me freeze. My knees were trembling. I brandished my knife, but I had no illusions. If this thing wanted to kill me, I would be dead. It could breathe without lungs. How would I even start to kill it?

We stared at each other. The creature cocked its head to one side. A long, slender tongue flicked out of its mouth, trailed around its lips. It seemed to be assessing me as much as I was assessing it.

We stood there for several long moments. I was almost afraid to breathe. Curiosity seemed to be the only thing keeping me alive.

Something snapped a few feet to my left. The creature’s head swiveled, ears twitching. It snarled, baring its red-stained teeth, then plunged off into the undergrowth. There was a crashing, snapping noise that got fainter as it moved away.

I let out a slow breath. Relief made me dizzy. It was gone. I had lived.

Mechanically, I cleared the trap, dragging the dead body away from it. I wasn’t eating it. Scavengers could have it. After some consideration, I reset it. If the creature came back, then I would consider moving it, but I wasn’t shifting it on a one-off. Maybe the creature was just passing through.

I headed back to my tent and butchered the rabbit. It was tasty, juicy. I tended my garden, making sure that everything was properly arranged before I headed to bed.

I didn’t sleep well that night. There was something howling in the woods, a constant screaming that sounded like a cross between a wildcat and a human.

Over the next few days, I became more and more convinced that seeing the creature hadn’t been a one-off. I didn’t see it hunched over, crunching on any more raw animals, but I saw signs of it. Traps that had clearly been tampered with, that had scraps of fur and blood on them, but hadn’t been reset. Trails of disturbed dirt around my camp. Claw marks on the trees, roughly around the creature’s height.

I didn’t like the fact that one of those things had set up camp near me and was stealing my food, but I wasn’t sure there was anything I could do. I hadn’t seen it again, and I was fairly sure I couldn’t drive it off. The only thing I could do was hope I kept avoiding it.

The howling at night hadn’t stopped. It seemed to be getting closer. The sound seeped into my dreams.

It was a chilly morning when I stepped outside to find a dead deer sprawling in the middle of my camp.

I froze. The doe had been killed by something with claws and teeth, its throat torn open and stomach slashed in ragged edges. But it hadn’t been savaged or eaten like it should have been. And it hadn’t been killed here. My camp wasn’t disturbed and I hadn’t heard the sounds of a struggle in the night. Something had killed the deer, dragged it to my camp, and left it for me.

There was a tingling sensation on the back of my neck, like something was watching me. I looked around. Nothing.

Was the deer a threat? ‘If you stay here, this will happen to you.’ I couldn’t move. I’d set up a life here. Moving would mean abandoning most of my belongings and starting over. With winter bearing down on me, it would be a death sentence.

I dragged the deer a short distance away. If this thing wanted to drive me out, it was going to have to do it the hard way. I wouldn’t be taking its threats.

My traps were undisturbed for the first time in a while. There was a chubby groundhog in one of them, which was nice. I attached it to my waist and returned to camp.

It seemed undisturbed. That was reassuring. I tried to fortify the camp a little more, setting up a makeshift fence. I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to stop anything, but it made me feel a little safer.

There was a pile of small animals in my camp when I woke up the next morning. They’d all had their necks neatly snapped and were arranged together neatly. Something intelligent had placed them there.

I buried them outside of camp. The tingling feeling of being watched was worse than ever.

The noises at night were getting closer. I could barely sleep. They were close by, just outside of camp. I kept thinking of that thing I’d seen in the woods, the human frame with those green eyes and strange, open chest.

Animals kept appearing in my camp. They varied in size and killing style- some of them had their necks snapped, some were messily eviscerated, some had simple, clean killing cuts. I dragged them out of camp each time. The amount of corpses was starting to disturb me. They were going to attract scavengers to my camp.

Several days after the corpses had started appearing, I emerged from my tent to see the creature hunched in the clearing. It was crouching over the dead body of a stag. There were no visible wounds on it. It could have been sleeping, except for the unnatural angle of its neck.

The creature froze, staring up at me. Its blank, green eyes betrayed no emotion. My heart thundered in my chest. I didn’t even have my knife on me- it was still in the tent. I’d gotten careless. If this thing killed me, it was totally my own fault.

The creature looked back down at the stag, then, slowly, deliberately, it pushed the carcass toward me. It looked up at me, back down at the stag, then up at me again. Its lips parted over its many sharp teeth.

“Good?” Its voice wasn’t what I was expecting. I thought, if such a thing could speak, it would have a rasping, unnatural quality to it. There was a strange tone to it, an echo that made it sound like two people were speaking at once. The dominant voice, though, was a baritone and surprisingly soothing.

“You can talk?” I said. The creature blinked at me. It took a moment to parse my words, then it rose to its full height. At nearly seven feet tall, it towered over me.

“Is this acceptable?” One of its hands spread, gesturing down to the carcass at its feet. I gaped at it, uncertain what it meant. It waited, still as a statue.

I licked my lips. There was an odd sense in the air, like I was partaking in some kind of ceremony I didn’t understand. But the creature was clearly offering the stag to me, and it felt improper to reject the gift. I took a deep, steadying breath.

“Yes. It’s… acceptable.” There was a faint quaver in my voice. “Thank you.”

The creature bent into a deep bow. Without another word, it turned and walked back into the forest.

I stared after it until it had completely vanished from view, then sank to the ground. My hands were shaking as I examined the carcass. I tried to review everything that I knew. The creature was the one that had been bringing me dead animals. Accepting the gift had some kind of significance, I was sure, but I didn’t know what it was. Stories of fairy deals and people being spirited away marched through my head. I shook them off. Whatever the creature wanted, it didn’t seem to want to drag me off anywhere.

I spent the rest of the day in my camp, carefully butchering the carcass. Maybe it was a bad idea to accept the gift, but I had to admit that it was a lot of meat. Properly dried, it could last a while, maybe over the whole winter.

It was silent that night. I finally managed to get a peaceful night’s sleep.

The creature was still gone when I emerged in the morning. And yet, the tingling feeling of being watched was worse than ever. Every nearby rustle or snap of a twig made me jump. Sometimes, I thought I saw something shifting between the trees, but it vanished whenever I tried to get a look at it. I couldn’t bring myself to leave camp again.

There was no avoiding going out the next day, though. The traps needed to be checked, and I needed to forage. It only took me a few minutes to realize I was being followed.

I couldn’t see what was following me, but I could hear it padding through the undergrowth behind me. I was pretty sure I knew what it was. The creature seemed to be content to follow me from a distance, so I tried to be content just ignoring it. I managed to catch one or two glimpses of it as it slunk through the foliage, but it was pretty good at staying out of sight.

It was as I was checking the trap furthest from my camp that I heard it. The heavy, crushing footfalls of a behemoth.

Behemoth was the general, catch-all term for the oversized monsters that roamed the lands now. They were enormous, unstoppable, and virtually unkillable. I’d seen one get hit with a missile and keep moving. When I’d been with other humans, a behemoth in the area prompted a mass exodus. You didn’t engage. You just ran.

I turned, slowly, and saw it moving through the trees. It looked like some horrifying combination between a bear and a moose. Larger than either, it had a great, sloping body patched in moss. Enormous antlers sprouted from its head, with points like spears, and its muzzle was large and full of jutting teeth.

Its head was low enough that I could see its enormous eyes rolling around to focus on me.

A growl vibrated from its chest, loud enough to set my bones trembling. I scrambled back, but fear was making my limbs numb and clumsy. There wasn’t a point in running, not really. It could catch me easily. And this one was enormous and heavy, ready to bulk up for winter. There was no way it was going to pass up such an easy meal.

I couldn’t turn to run. I couldn’t take my eyes off the enormous, saliva covered teeth as the behemoth opened its mouth. It could snap me in two with a single bite. A solid certainty formed itself in the pit of my stomach. I was going to die here.

There was an echoing, enraged shriek from behind me. I whirled around just in time to see a pale, slender form bolt out of the undergrowth and lungs at the behemoth.

The creature, the one that had been following me, had sprung to an impressive height and attached itself to the behemoth’s face. The behemoth staggered backward, swinging its great head back and forth. Its scream was great and keening, loud enough to make me clap my hands over my ears. The creature seemed undeterred. It raised a clawed hand and plunged it down, gouging a create cavern in the behemoth’s eyes.

Blood sprayed down from the behemoth’s face. I gaped. It was bleeding. I’d never seen one injured. I didn’t know they had blood. But the creature was tearing into it as easily as it would tear into any other animal.

With another grating scream, the behemoth turned away. Apparently, I was no longer worth the effort. The creature dropped from its face and screeched after it, claws digging furrows into the ground.

The thundering footsteps of the retreating behemoth sounded for several minutes in the otherwise silent forest. The creature stared after it, stiff and focused as a hunting cat. When the behemoth’s footsteps had finally faded into silence, it whipped its head back toward me.

Blood trailed down its front. It was dark, almost oily, and an odd sort of rust color. I froze. Had it chased off the behemoth because it wanted to eat me itself? But then why hadn’t it just killed me before?

The creature approached me so its face was only an inch from mine. Its solid green eyes bored into mine. Then it reached out and took my shoulders in its hands, fingertips trailing along my skin.

“Safe,” it said in a tone that could almost be described as soothing. “Unhurt?”

I gaped at it. The creature tilted its head further to one side. “Unhurt?” it repeated. It was asking me, I realized.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m… I’m okay.” I hesitated for a moment. “Thank you.”

Its strange chest rose as it took in another breath. Then it leaned forward, nestling its face into my neck. Its arms came around me in something like a hug. It made a long, quiet noise of satisfaction before pulling back.

It- he- had saved me. I swallowed and slowly climbed to my feet. He watched me, unmoving. After a moment of hesitation, I unhooked a rabbit from my belt and handed it to him. It seemed right.

He took it from me with surprising delicacy. His head lowered and his jaws snapped shut around a chunk of flesh, tearing it from the bone. I grimaced at the wet snapping and tearing.

He followed me as I continued on to the rest of my traps. This time, he didn’t even bother to hide himself. He walked just behind me or at my side, munching on chunks of rabbit. I kept glancing back at him. He blinked back at me.

I’d sort of expected him to break away when we made it back to camp, but he strolled into the clearing like he belonged there. I watched him as he padded around the edges of the camp, sniffing at things. I couldn’t very well drive him off- if he could injure a behemoth, there was no way I was going to beat him in a fight. And his presence was certainly less unsettling than it had been a few days ago. But I didn’t know what he was doing here. What did he want?

When I headed inside my tent for the night, he made to follow me. I froze in the entrance, staring back at him. Fighting him was still out of the question, but I did not want him in my tent with me. There was a long, tense pause, then the creature backed away and slunk to roughly the center of the camp. He curled up into a tight ball, apparently trying to sleep.

I retreated into the tent and wrapped blankets around me. There was something strangely forlorn about him curling up in the middle of camp, alone. He looked… small. Harmless. The unsettling feeling twisted in my stomach until I fell asleep.

He was still in camp when I woke up, ripping chunks off a fat squirrel. He made a soft humming noise as I walked toward him.

“You’re still here, huh,” I said. Talking to him felt weird. I knew he could talk back, but it still felt odd to try and have a conversation with him. He looked back at me steadily. He looked neither confused, nor comprehending. “I don’t know what you want.”

If he could understand me, he didn’t seem to want to answer. He just ripped another chunk off the squirrel and chewed it, still looking at me.

When he was done eating, he stalked around the camp, examining the border. Often, he would reach up and run his claws down the length of a tree, leaving long scores in the bark. I watched him as he completed a circuit, then started fussing at the small barrier I’d created. He seemed to be trying to build it up.

And so it went for several days. The creature stayed in the camp with me, building up a small barrier around the edge of the camp. Whenever I went out to check traps, he would follow me. Occasionally, he would hunt, dragging carcasses back to camp. He always allowed me to take some of whatever he brought. Eventually, I found myself offering a section of my hunts to him. It only seemed fair. A tense sort of partnership had formed between us. As odd as it was, I had gotten used to him. I was enjoying having some company. When I woke in the morning and he wasn’t present, I found a stab of loneliness sinking in between my ribs.

He meandered back into camp near midday, hands cupped around something. I glanced up at him. “Hey,” I said. “What have you got there?”

He opened his hands. There were clumps of bright red berries in his hands. He held them out to me, head tilted, waiting.

“Uh.” I didn’t recognize the berries and, with no leaves or branches to help identify them, I wasn’t going to eat them. “Sorry. I don’t think I can eat those. You can have them.” He blinked at me and extended his hands again. “Uh, no. I can’t have those.” I reached out and carefully curled his fingers over them. His hands were surprisingly warm. I was rather expecting them to be cold and corpse-like. Something twisted in my chest, a wave of loneliness that I couldn’t quite choke back. I was so unused to having someone with me. I’d managed to bury the feelings of loneliness, but they were starting to come bubbling back up.

He stared at me for a moment, then walked toward the edge of the camp, munching on the berries. I went back to the tending the fire. It was starting to frost overnight and the fire was becoming more and more necessary. If I wasn’t huddled close to it, I was walking around to keep my body temperature up. Despite not wearing much more than a cloak and pants, the creature seemed unbothered. He slouched next to the fire, staring into it. I could see the fire reflected in his eyes, a burning emerald flame.

As soon as the sun started to lower, the cold really set in. The sun and the fire were the only bits of warmth in the bitingly cold air and without one of them, the chill came on swiftly and remorselessly. There was no going back to the tent. I huddled next to the fire, shivering. The flame kept guttering in the wind. Leaving the fire to grab extra bits of wood was painful, my fingers stiffening in the cold and my skin almost burning in the wind. I huddled in on myself, wrapping fur over my body. It was still early winter and I was already half-mad from the cold. How was I going to survive the really bad months?

Something nudged my leg. I looked over. The creature was crouched next to me, half his face illuminated by the firelight. The sharp planes of his face made harsh shadows dance over his features.

“Need something?” I said. The creature pressed close to me. He was warm against me, driving the shivers out of me.

Slowly, like he was trying to give me a chance to stop him, he wrapped his cloak around my shoulders. He pressed me in close to his side. Warmth radiated over me, like there was a miniature sun beaming out from his chest.

I leaned into him. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend that there was a human there with me. His hand pressed gently to my back, and where his fingers lay, warmth radiated through my skin. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him closer. My shivering abated somewhat.

Once I was feeling better, I looked up at him. He was blinking down at me, his green eyes difficult to read, but still utterly focused on me.

“Why are you doing this?” Speaking was a little difficult. Breathing in seemed to freeze my lungs. But being close to his warmth helped, and the curiosity was eating at me. He looked down at me. I wasn’t really expecting an answer, but his mouth opened and his voice issued softly forth.

 “Protect you.” His voice was whispery, still with that strange double-tone.

“Protect me,” I repeated. He lowered his head until his chin was resting on top of my head. I could smell him, I realized. It was sort of pine-like, with a smell under that, like sawdust.

“Pack protects pack,” he said. His chest shifted as he drew in a deep breath. “We are pack now.”

“We’re… a pack?” I tried to make sense of his words.

He drew back a little bit so he could look down into my face. “You accepted my offering,” he said. “We have exchanged prey. We are bound now- a pack.”

Things fell together in my mind rather quickly. The marking of trees, the prey dragged into the camp, the way he had lunged to my rescue- he was trying to impress me. He was courting me. And in giving him the rabbit, I had accepted.

I leaned into his chest. It shifted, and his arms came tighter around me. For the first time in a long time, I had a companion. An image of him leaping out to protect me filtered into my mind. A small smile tugged at me mouth.

“Okay. We’re a pack,” I said. And just like that, it was no longer me against the world. It was the two of us.

Underneath me, somewhere in that strange, hollow chest, a rumbling purr started.

I spent most nights with him after that. He was incredibly warm and when I wrapped a blanket around the both of us, it was impossible to be cold.

The first snows came and I carefully kept the camp free of as much snow as I could manage. He focused more on creating a stronger barrier around the camp, fussing with brambles and branches. There was much less prey in the traps now, and I’d taken to ice fishing with little luck. He was much more skilled at catching animals than I was now, and every few days he would bring back some small morsel to the camp. I was always fed first, and he would only eat after I was done. I found myself wondering exactly why I’d been so afraid of him in the first place- after watching him catch snowflakes on his tongue and chatter insistently whenever I didn’t finish a meal, it was hard to see anything frightening in him.

Whenever I decided to check my traps, he came with me. It was reassuring, to have him there. If he could drive off a behemoth, I was fairly certain there wasn’t much that could bother him.

It was when we were checking the traps on the edge of our territory (I assumed it was the edge- he marked the trees there and didn’t like going beyond that boundary), that he stiffened. His pointed ears twitched. A low growl started in his chest and he bared his teeth.

I went still too, straining to listen. There was a faint rustling, like something was moving through the undergrowth. That wasn’t unusual, though, not enough to make him react like that. I drew closer to him and he shifted, like he was trying to cover me with his body.

“What is it?” I whispered. He pulled his lips back from his teeth, the growl coming deeper and stronger.

Something snapped nearby, the sound echoing through the stillness like a gunshot. Our heads whipped toward the noise in unison. He gave a resounding, challenging cry.

Slowly, something emerged from the bushes. It was like him, I realized. The same species, or whatever. They both had long hair, open, wooden chests that had flowers twining out of them. The newer creature didn’t have the small, branch-like antlers, though, and something about its posture or its shape made me think it was female. Regardless, she stood taller than him and her claws seemed longer.

He made a snarling noise that I interpreted as a warning. The other creature’s head turned as she looked between me and him. An expression like confusion crossed her face and she made a questioning noise.

He snarled out another warning, a thin strand of saliva dribbling from his bared teeth. The other creature considered him for a moment, then crouched down, teeth bared. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. I recognized a hunting crouch when I saw one.

She lunged. He knocked me aside and took the brunt of her attack, rolling backward into the snow. I expected shrieking and snarling, but they were oddly silent as they rolled in the snow. All their energy was focused on defeating the other.

He was trapped beneath her, teeth snapping everywhere he could reach. She was struggling to keep a hold on him, but it was clear she was in a better position. Her claws dug into his side and her teeth snapped dangerously close to his throat.

I needed to do something. But what could I do? These things were practically indestructible, at least to humans. But I needed to help him. Her teeth snapped close to his throat again and he made a strangled whining sound.

Fuck it. I grabbed a stick from the ground and lunged. If she killed him, she was going to kill me anyway. Might as well die trying to protect him.            

I jammed the splintered end of the stick down into her face. It just barely missed her eyes, scoring a long, bleeding line down her cheekbone. She shrieked, startled, and turned to see her attacker.

It was the opening he needed. He drove into her, knocking her off him and into the ground beneath them. Before she could focus back on him, he swung down, claws plunging them deep into her shoulder. Blood sprayed into the white snow. With a final, agonized shriek, the other creature squirmed away and bolted back into the forest. He didn’t bother to pursue her. He just stood and watched as she vanished into the trees.

As soon as she was gone, he turned toward me. “Okay?” he asked, looking me up and down. “Safe?”

“Yeah, I’m all right. You?” He appeared uninjured, for the most part. There were a few small scratches and he was moving like he was in some pain, but he didn’t seem badly hurt.

“Bleeding,” he said, pointing a claw at me. I looked down. There was a long cut running down the length of my right forearm. It must have happened when she rounded on me. I hadn’t even been able to feel it. Now that I was aware of it, I could feel the stinging pain.

“Ow,” I said, probing at it lightly. It wasn’t particularly deep, but it wasn’t shallow, either. He moved closer to me and crouched, taking my arm delicately in his hands. His long, sinuous tongue slid out of his mouth and ran once along the cut. The pain grew dull, more of an unpleasant tingling than anything, and the blood dripped sluggishly.

“Home,” he said, tugging on my arm. He stayed close to me as we headed back to camp. We leaned on each other. I appreciated the comfort.

When we returned to camp, I dragged out my medical kit. He helped dress the wound, giving it a few more licks. I was a little leery about allowing him to clean it like that, but he seemed to know what he was doing. I figured it couldn’t hurt that much. Once it was fully wrapped, I lay down next to the fire. He lay down with me, arm draped over my body.

“Who was that, the one that attacked us?” I asked. Warm breath huffed against the back of my neck.

“Wanted a pack. Tracked my scent,” he said. “Was not happy that I already had a pack.”

“She recognized that we were… uh. A pack?” I said. There was an odd, fluttery sensation in my stomach.

“I claimed you,” he said. “My scent surrounds you. As your scent is around me.” He nuzzled closer to me. “We fought her off. She will not return. She knows she is beaten.”

“You did most of the work,” I said. He laughed.

“Would not have won without you.” He pressed his head into the back of my neck. “My mate.”

I looked up at him. “Mate?”

He nodded slowly. His eyelids were starting to droop. “The first two members of a pack are mates,” he said. “We will grow our pack over time. But not now.” He leaned into me, eyes closing. “Now we will wait.”

I reached up and stroked my fingers through his hair. He made a soft purring noise and leaned into me more. The world was different now, I thought. It was a place with new creatures, new ways to live, and you needed to be new in order to survive in it.

It was new, but perhaps it was good. With a yawn, I settled in against my mate for a nap.

[cno-inbminor]

domus

a/n: here we have another short drabble dump! i wrote this up very quickly -- i’m still working on that long fic i’ve been talking about! i apologize for taking so long to put it together. pls take this short fic as an apology for now. stay hydrated, wear your masks, and be safe! love you all so dearly <3 

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else. 

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi 

wc: ~3.7k, will probably have other parts in the future.

genre/warnings: angst with dashes of fluff; mentions of alcohol

pt. 2 | pt. 3

edit: now crossposted to AO3!

When you’re in love, you spend weeks and months wondering why time won’t stop. You sit and ponder over why you’ll have to die someday and leave behind the person you’ve dedicated your entire soul to, or what might happen if your death came early and you didn’t get to say goodbye. You wonder why the seasons seem to pass you by so quickly, that in the blink of an eye, you go from enjoying a cup of iced tea on the porch to holding a mug of hot chocolate inside watching snowflakes swirl in their journeys to the ground.

But when love ceases to exist, time seems to stop. The days drag for longer, the seasons crawl at a turtle’s pace, and the inevitable end feels less terrifying. You no longer fear the eventual sagging of your skin or the spider legs that grow at the corners of your eyes. You no longer cling onto a hope that there will be a lover’s hand holding yours at your bed of eternal sleep. You simply become, just you. Solitary, single, independent you.

It’s no longer you and someone else. The realization stings so badly that it physically hurts you, a whimper leaving your throat. You shakily reach over for the next blouse and fight back the tears, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. The skin is chapped and broken to the point that you would need layers and layers of chapstick to save any semblance of it, a terrible habit that you wish you hadn’t possessed. It’s muscle memory, the way you fold the blouse in half, fold the sleeves in, bending it over your arm before it lands in a neat stack of other tops in your suitcase. Your eyes take a glance at the clock, and you gather you have about another hour before you needed to leave for the airport and make it on time for your flight.

You ignore the male figure hunched over on the edge of your bed, tuning out his pleas and broken promises. He begs you to give him time, to implore that it’s all his fault and he’ll make it work for the two of you. Tetsuro promises that he didn’t mean to and that it wasn’t anything you did, but you feel so empty inside that you can’t even find the energy to argue, to turn on him and say that he was pretending to take all the blame so it’d be a better explanation to all your friends. A relationship involves both parties, and while there were special exceptions, this wasn’t one of them. Something was clearly wrong with you, and you were okay with that. You were just tired of Testuro attempting to take everything onto himself.

“I thought it’d be best to come clean with you,” he says, throat hoarse from lack of hydration. “I know you would question it and I haven’t done anything, I swear, I know you’re amazing and don’t deserve to live a lie and—”

“Do you want me to say ‘thank you’?” You interjected quietly, morosely. Your hands slide open the underwear drawer and take out a week’s worth of underwear, bras, and bralettes. “Do you want me to express my gratitude in your honesty for telling me that you don’t love me anymore? You can easily buy a trophy online and make the inscription yourself. ‘Most honest man alive’? Is that what you want?” You ask, tone flat and not possessing the least bit of amusement and humor.

“Can’t you give me some time? I’ll try, I’ll try to figure out what went wrong, and I can love you again. We can still get married and everything, but please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving forever, Tetsu. I’m just gone for a week, maybe more.”

“Where are you even going?”

“That’s none of your business,” you quickly reply, defenses back up as you make a beeline for the bathroom. You pick up all the toiletries you can, the ones that would be allowed in your carry-on. Strangers won’t care about your missing skincare routine and your complexion not looking its best.

“What if you get lost? Or kidnapped? What if people ask—”

“Easy. Just tell them I had a last minute business trip, family emergency, whatever floats your boat.”

“Can’t you see that I’m trying? I—”

“This isn’t just about you!” You snap, whirling around to look at him for the first time in the last hour or so. Testuro notices with a pang in his heart that your cheeks have sunken in slightly since he broke his revelation to you just last week, the eye circles darker than ever. But your eyes are soulless, dead, no shine or spark that he’d wake up to every morning even muddled with sleep.

“You can’t just expect me to be okay and continue to bend over backwards for you without question. The least you could do is give me my time, give me some space to think about all of it. That’s the bare minimum.”

And with that, you zip your suitcase shut, grab your passport (even though you probably don’t need it), keys, wallet, and phone, and walk as quickly as you can to the front door. The scheduled Uber will arrive in just a few minutes, and as you slip into a pair of flats, you can hear the creak of the bed and Testuro’s padded steps nearing you.

“Just be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything, anything. You’re still one of the most important people to me, so just – text me at some point. Let me know you’re alive at least.”

“You need to rest. You’re on call tomorrow,” you digress while opening the door.

“(Y/n)—”

“I’ll text you. Promise.”

And the door shuts behind you.

-

Your relationship with Akaashi Keiji is…hard to explain. In fact, you’re not even sure what to refer him as in your life. Anytime you spoke of him or attempted to explain, you’d fumble over words and draw blanks. While it was irritating and aggravating at times, you learned to just accept it.

Akaashi Keiji was the neighbor down the street, two years older, and someone who had known you since you were 8. Your moms were attached at the hip not longer after you moved to Tokyo, and that meant holidays were spent together, impromptu get-togethers and dinners were a common occurrence, and you saw him frequently at school. He was a quiet soul, gentle, but reserved. In fact, most of the things you knew about him were secondhand conversations from your mother talking about the family, because honestly his mom was basically your second mom now, and your mother trusted you with everything. His past, his troubles, his personality all relayed through your mom from his own, and when you saw him in the hallways, he wasn’t much of an enigma to you. Many other girls had found the mysterious air around him to be attractive, that the pretty setter who only ever smiled around his volleyball team and kept a tight circle of friends had something significant beneath the layers.

Keiji grew up with you, playing Smash on the Wii to pass time as your parents gossiped away. Sometimes, you’d play an intense game of Monopoly with him, a game that typically tipped in his favor. He never said much about himself, always relayed more about others that overlapped in your lives. The most he ever spoke to you about was when it came to teachers at school, even giving you some of his old notes and pointers. But even you could tell that he kept his guards up, and you wondered if he even classified you as a friend.

Your go-to explanation of Keiji’s standing in your life was a family friend. But that insinuated you were close with him, which you weren’t at all. No matter how many times he walked home with you (mainly at the pushing from his mother), no matter how many times he was forced to entertain you at dinners and holidays, no matter how many times he gave you a small smile in school, there was such a large gap between the two of you. He always seemed so different around his team, like they had the privilege of knowing the real him, and at times, you felt…jealous.

And the weird thing is that you can rely on him somehow – whether it be because he’d get an earful from his parents if he didn’t help you when you asked it or out of the goodness of his heart, he was simply always there. Sometimes, you were bold enough to text him about a show he talked about in the past, and he would reply quickly as if your unexpected, rare text about something benign didn’t faze him at all.  

Yet despite the distance, despite the lack of any semblance of an actual friendship with him, he was the first one you thought of when all this happened. He was the one you wanted to see – maybe it’s because he was the closest thing to home, and you didn’t want to go back to your parents explaining everything. It’s been a while since you’ve been back in Tokyo, ever since you moved to Sapporo for your job and Testuro got matched for a residency at a hospital there.

At 7PM on a Friday afternoon, past the baggage claim with the sunset beaming in through the sliding glass doors, you stare at Keiji’s contact on your phone, thumb hovering hesitantly over the call button. You could count the number of times you’ve called him on one hand, but this was an emergency, right? Is this why your heart is pounding against your chest, so anxious that you feel like you’ll break into a cold sweat any time soon?

You jump into the deep end.

Your hand nervously brings the phone to your ear, waiting with bated breath as the dial tone echoes in the chamber of your brain. Part of you wants him to miss the call so you can avoid this awkward conversation, but another part of you desperately wants him to pick up as if he’ll be able to save you.

Oh god oh god oh god, you panic as the tone stops, there’s a pause, a rustle, and then a hesitant, “—Hello?”

You didn’t plan this out. You’re not ready for this. Shit, what are you supposed to say?

“—hello? (Y/n)?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

Wow, you’re a terrible conversationalist.

“…um, I haven’t actually. I was about to warm up some leftovers?”

Your eyes focus on the taxis driving by, picking up passengers as they get waved down. Maybe you should just find a cheap hotel nearby, continue this conversation tomorrow.

“Well…I’m in town, actually. I just landed about 30 minutes ago and realized I didn’t have anywhere to go and I don’t really want to call anyone else and I don’t exactly know who else to call so I just, um, thought about calling you and asking if you’ve had dinner? Which if you’re busy and stuff, that’s totally fine, I should’ve texted you beforehand instead of springing this on you and—”

“(Y/n), it’s okay, alright? It’s okay. I’m not busy, so you can stop by. Did my mom ever give you my address?”

Keiji’s brief attempt to calm you down works, surprisingly. You allow yourself to take a deep breath despite the stale airport air, but it was some much-needed oxygen. This is going to be okay, Keiji doesn’t hate you quite yet.

“N-no, she never did.”

“That’s fine, I’ll text it to you. My place is about 30 minutes from the airport, I’d recommend getting a taxi instead of an Uber. I’ll order some delivery—”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“You still like the miso ramen from that shop not far from your house, right? They opened up a second store not far from where I live.”

How did he remember that? You’re pretty sure your own mother had forgotten that fact by now.

“Y-yeah, I do,” you smile to yourself. “I still think about it sometimes.”

“Sounds good then. Get here safely then.”

“Okay. Thank you loads again. I’m sorry for all this—”

“Don’t worry about it. Keep me updated, see you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Not 30 seconds later, a text arrives to your phone with an address, a keycode for getting past the main door, and other relevant instructions.

-

Keiji’s apartment is exactly as you expect it to be – prim, proper, neat almost to a fault, with minimalist decorations. The apartment complex he lives in is rather high-end, if the security guards standing outside the main entrance indicated anything. You almost feel completely out of place or like a bug on the wall as you step in after him, a rather comfortable silence between the two of you. His kitchen is spotless and almost sparkles back at you, and the only thing that seems out of place are the containers of your ramen he so kindly ordered for you.

“Your place is really nice, it’s really…you,” you comment, setting your stuff down at the door. Keiji indulges you with a quiet laugh, making sure that there wasn’t anything that would be in your way. His glasses are perched on his head, an old monochrome t-shirt on his shoulders and sweatpants hung low on his hips, yet in this apartment that almost seems like it should be in an interior design magazine, he looks at home. His ethereal beauty, the softness in his eyes, the gentle up-turned strands of his hair – he belonged here.

“The ramen came not too long ago, so it’s still hot. I’ll go ahead and put it together, you can put your jacket on the couch.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Instead, you fold your jacket over your suitcase and quietly make your way into the apartment. Straight across from you are doors to a balcony – darkness had long taken over the city, so you see nothing but your reflection at first. But as you near the plexiglass, the reflection disappears into the view and you almost gasp from the beauty of it.

Blinking lights, flashing billboards, and the brightly lit Tokyo Skytree peer back at you. It only hits you now how much you’ve missed home, and that even though Sapporo was one of the largest cities in Japan, it still wasn’t Tokyo.

“I never get tired of it,” Keiji chimes in while carrying your bowl of ramen to the dining table.

“It’s an amazing view, I can see why you’d live here,” you reply while moving away from it. The table also has two empty wine glasses, and just as you’re about to ask him why they were there, he returns with a newly opened bottle of chardonnay.

“I haven’t had a lot of time to restock the wine fridge, but I knew I was going to kick myself for not having a bottle of that dessert wine we had before you went off to college,” he said with mirth and amusement. “You remember that one?”

“Yeah,” you nearly splutter, almost flushing that once again, Keiji was remembering details about you that you didn’t even know. “Your mom wanted to throw me a graduation dinner and you made it back in time after finals. And she had a bottle of it and between the two of us, we probably drank most of it. Our parents said it was too sweet.”

He nods and sits across from you, elbows on the table as you mutter, “Itadakimasu,” and start eating. You finish your meal silently for the most part, making small talk here and there. Keiji refills both of your glasses and the two of you sip the wine demurely, and while he seems okay with the lack of an explanation, you’re struggling to find the right words.

“So what’s with the impromptu trip to Tokyo? Are you going to see your parents?”

“Should I try to lie to you?”

“It’s up to you.”

Oh, okay then.

But he looks expectant, as if he knows you wouldn’t lie to him – in fact, you’ve never lied to him before. There was never any need to, but did that just mean neither of you ever cared enough?

“Something happened with me and Testuro. I don’t want to bore you with the details, but at the end of the day…I just needed to get away, as cliché as it sounds,” you laugh brokenly. Keiji continues to carefully observe you with a stare that you can’t escape. “I don’t want to tell my parents – you know them, they’ll ask a million questions. Without thinking, I booked a ticket to Tokyo and…now I’m here.”

That was a lie. How are you supposed to tell Keiji that he was the first person you thought of in an effort to run away? You and Keiji have never gotten personal before, he made sure of that. The last thing you want to do is weird him and scare him off.

“…did he cheat on you?” Keiji asked. His voice is darker in his inquiry, deeper than you’ve ever heard before. He has his hands folded in front of his lips and his eyes harden. Testuro may be an old friend to him, but you were in his life longer.

“Nonononono,” you quickly wave off. This isn’t the time to slander your…boyfriend? Could Tetsuro still even be your boyfriend if he no longer has any feelings for you? “Nothing like that.”

“That’s good to hear. If you want, you can tell me another time then. You’re welcome to stay here until you go back to Sapporo.”

You look up at him, eyes incredulous. Could Keiji really be this comfortable with you?

“I wouldn’t mind staying tonight, but I can stay in a hotel for the rest of the week that I’m here.”

“Nonsense,” Keiji refutes, standing from the table and taking your wine glasses to the sink. You follow with your bowl and he starts washing them before you can even offer. “Mom would kill me if she knew I let you pay for a hotel when I have a perfectly functioning bed you can stay in.”

“I mean, if it’s not a bother…”

“It’s not. The futon’s pretty comfortable, I’ve definitely fallen asleep on it plenty of times.”

“We can switch, I would never let you sleep on the futon for a whole week.”

“If you say so then. But for tonight, you can take my bed. Let me grab you an extra towel so you can shower. I’m sure you’ve had a long day,” he says while drying everything off, folding the kitchen towel neatly before heading off to his room. He returns with a large, soft grey towel and you shyly take it from him with a word of thanks, but he stays there in front of you, waiting for something.

“I’m really glad you picked up the phone,” you whisper softly, feeling the effects of the alcohol. You’re entering uncharted territory for the two of you, and this could either kill or strengthen this odd distant friendship. “I meant it when I said I didn’t know who else to call. You were the first person that came to mind and just…I don’t want to make this weird, like you can kick me out,” you begin to ramble. “Don’t feel like you’re obligated to take me in because your mom would be disappointed if you wouldn’t, you’ve already put up with me for over 15 years and it’s fine, I can be on my own and—”

Smooth, calloused hands delicately hold your face, large palms and nimble fingers cupping your cheeks. Your words die on your tongue as Keiji stares straight into your eyes, holding your gaze until your breathing calms down to a steady, languid pace. “You’re my friend, (y/n). So it’s good that you called me.”

“I’m your…friend?” You ask unsteadily, feeling a sense of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms with the corners of his lips turning up slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now go shower.”

“Okay.”

-

You’re fast asleep before Keiji finishes his own shower, his bedroom door left ajar as the hallway light beams through. He pauses in the midst of drying his hair with a towel, letting it bunch and hang off his neck as he cautiously pushes the door open. Keiji notices your even breathing and how much more relaxed you look in sleep. You’re curled up on your side with the blanket pulled up to your face and he can’t lie: it’s adorable and cute, and he shouldn’t really be thinking these things.

He sits on the edge of the bed in the little space that’s provided, lithe fingers reaching out to brush back a few stray wisps of your hair. Watching you sleep pulls him back into a fond memory he’s kept of the two of you, one that might’ve held very little significance to you but meant something so much more to him. He knows you know him well, he knows how much his mother babbles on about him, and adults were more prone to gossip than the rowdiest of teenagers – he’d be painfully oblivious if he didn’t think you knew that much about him, or more than the average friend.

But it’s comforting to him, sometimes. Knowing you, how kindly you think of others, he might not have to explain what he’s feeling in the moment. You would be able to know, and that soothes him to some degree.

Maybe he had a little bit too much wine as well, but ever so subtly, motions steady and unhurried, he deftly leans closer and closer until his lips brush the apple of your cheek. He lingers for no more than a few seconds and sits back up, gazing at you before standing. His hands adjust the blankets and make sure you’re properly tucked in. He pads away, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible as to not wake you.

And when he’s found a comfortable position on the futon with his most comfortable throw blanket, he realizes, begrudgingly, that this week will fly by too fast for his liking.  

[sophie-jen]

water lilies and tadpoles

read on ao3

James rolled onto his back. He looked up at the sun, shining joyfully in the cloudless sky, then immediately groaned, and rolled back onto his stomach.

"You look like a beached whale, honey."

James groaned again. "S'hot," he mumbled. 

"Why don't you go down to the lake and take a swim?"

James did not dignify this question with a response. His mother had been trying to kick him out all morning. She clearly didn’t want him in her way as she pranced around in her sunhat, gardening tools in hand. James was too miserable to care. He just groaned louder and rolled over again. But this was the wrong move, he realized belatedly, as he felt the crunch of his mother's favorite lilies being crushed under his weight. 

Five minutes later and a shovel shaped dent in his skull found James making his way toward the stupid lake. As he pushed his way valiantly through swarms of mosquitoes, he considered the very real possibility that he would drown in his own sweat before he ever reached water. 

The suffocating heat made everything hazy. Overhead, branches swayed. Leaves rustled. Underfoot, twigs crunched. Moss whispered. Streams of light danced around him. Birds croaked. Frogs chirped. A mushroom tipped its cap to him. 

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it occurred to James that he might be lost. Just as the beginnings of panic started brewing in his stomach, his foot caught in a root and he went toppling down a hill. He rolled to a stop next to a small glittering lake, and groaned. This was definitely not the lake his mother had been referring to. He hadn’t known there even was another lake in this area. It really was quite small, resembling more of an oversized pond.

There was something emphatically off about the happy twinkle of the water and the ethereal glow that bathed everything in a golden light. He also couldn’t help but notice that the water lilies were eyeing him suspiciously. To their left, a large, judgmental looking trout poked its face out of the water, took a good look at him, and with a disappointed shake of its head, went back down to report what it had seen. And sat on an outcrop not three feet away, looking straight at him while her fingers combed through her long tendrils of red hair, was a mermaid. This was a little much for poor James to take, and mercifully, after one last groan for good measure, consciousness fled and everything faded to black. 

                                                      *

James gasped awake. He lay in the dark for a few seconds, contemplating the strange dream he had been having, before sitting up. As he did, something cold and slimy slid off his eyes and down his face, taking his glasses with it. He felt around for the glasses, slid them back onto his nose, looked at the lily pad that had dropped into his lap, and felt his stomach drop with it. 

"I thought it might help cool you off."

He looked over at the girl who sat not far away. She was looking at him with an expression of mingled apprehension and curiosity. And sure enough, when James looked down, he saw curled under her a long gray tail, scales shimmering in the sunlight. He had to make a considerable effort not to faint again. 

"I’ve found lily pads are really refreshing. I was afraid you had heat exhaustion or something,” the girl said. 

“Oh. Thank you.” James didn’t know how to explain to her that it most likely wasn’t the heat exhaustion that had caused him to swoon. 

“I'm Lily, by the way."

James considered her for a moment. Considered at what point between rolling onto his mother’s lilies and meeting a mermaid named Lily he had lost his mind. Considered the lily pad laying limply in his lap. Made a decision. 

"I'm James."

                                                      *

“So, uh…” James kept his eyes on the small blue fish eating out of the mermaid’s hand. He was trying not to stare at her webbed fingers. “You live here? In the lake?”

“No, I actually prefer to perch on tree branches.” She gave James such a deadpan look as she spoke that he was inclined to believe her. At this point, he was inclined to believe just about anything. 

“Yes, of course I live in the lake,” she continued after a moment. She turned back to the fish, which was stretching as far as it could out of the water, vying for her attention. 

“Ah. Right.” James mulled this over for a moment. “But where do you-” he paused, trying to think of the best way to ask the question. “Well, where do you, you know, live?” Well said. “I mean, have you got a bed at the bottom of the lake or something?”

“Yep. I even splurged on a water mattress recently.”

To James’ surprise, a snort of amusement escaped him. Lily smiled as she stroked the fish, which flapped its tiny fins happily. 

“Honestly, I mostly sleep on land. I like looking at the stars.” She gave the fish a final pat, before leaning back onto her arms, her tail stretched out in front of her, and tilting her face towards the sun. “I couldn’t really do that much back home.”

“Back home?” 

“I live in the ocean.”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I got caught in a storm and washed up in a river somewhere, so I swam up here.” She leaned over and lifted a clump of moss off the end of her tail, where a large translucent fin lay. The left portion of the fin was in tatters, and an angry looking rip spanned almost the entirety of it. "I can't swim properly with my tail in that state." 

"So, what, you're just stuck here?" 

"Until it heals and I can try finding my way home. But I honestly don't mind. I grew up surrounded by angelfish and dolphins, so lake trout and tadpoles have been a nice change of pace.“ 

Despite her lighthearted tone, she didn’t look particularly thrilled as she said it. James immediately felt compelled to do something, though what that something was, or why he even felt compelled to do it, were beyond him. Instead, his mouth moved of its own accord. "Oh, so you're usually surrounded by a much more so-fish-ticated crowd, then," he said, placing emphasis on the “fish”. He regretted it immediately.

“Did you just-” She looked at him incredulously, but James was thrilled to hear the laughter in her voice. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Yeah, my bad, won’t happen again.”

“Unbelievable,” she said through a giggle. 

Not wanting to push his luck, he stayed quiet, and they sat in silence together. The fish, realizing it wouldn’t be getting anything more from Lily, swam up to James and gave a hopeful wiggle. He stroked it distractedly as the mermaid next to him sighed and readjusted the moss covering her fin. James only hoped she couldn't hear the frantic whirring of cogs as he tried to make sense of the pretty redhead and her tail, quietly soaking up the sun beside him. 

                                                      *

"Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at my tail."

"It looked at me first."

"It's impolite to stare."

"Social norms don't apply when your cousin is a guppy."

A lily pad thwacked James across the face.

                                                      *

The sun was beating down mercilessly. James sat at the edge of the water with his feet dipped in up to his ankles. He watched as Lily resurfaced, yet another trinket in her hands, and swam closer to add it to the row of eclectic objects she had set out on the sand. She called them her treasures, although they looked more like what a demented three-year-old might drag home from the playground. 

While she fiddled with what looked like a vaguely heart-shaped ball of algae, he examined one of the rocks. She had said it reminded her of the hammerhead shark that would dig up her garden in search of crabs. It was oblong and one of the ends was slightly flat. To James, the resemblances ended there, but Lily had been thrilled at the discovery, so he had smiled and praised how hammerheaded the rock looked. 

He set the rock back down and checked to see what Lily was doing. She was still poking at the green blob. Her hair looked darker now that it was wet, pooling like blood in her collarbones and trickling down her back in rivulets. He looked away as soon as she turned toward him, and stared intently at a chipped snail shell. 

“I know, it’s not very impressive.”

“What? No...” 

She raised her eyebrows in skeptical amusement. “I wish you could see the collection I have at home. I’ve got this gorgeous pocket watch I found with all these flowers carved on the back. It doesn’t tell the time anymore though.”

“Where’d you find it?” asked James. He slid into the water and made his way towards a water lily he had spotted. 

Lily hadn’t seemed to notice, focused on smoothing out the wrinkles of the snake skin she had laid out. “We collect them from shipwrecks,” she explained.

“That’s morbid.” He snapped the flower off the stem and waded back over to Lily and her treasures. 

“Is it? I remember when I was little, my sister and I used to go looking for sunken ships and scare the octopuses living in them.”

“Here, add this to your collection.” Lily turned toward him, and he handed her the water lily he had picked. 

“I can’t add that. It’ll start wilting soon.” She took the flower from him, her fingers brushing his as she delicately held the white petals. He dipped his fingers in the water to quell the tingles. 

“Oh. I just thought it was pretty.”

She studied the flower for a moment, before placing it in her hair and securing the stem behind her ear. He watched as she fussed with it, trying to get it wedged properly. “There. That way we can enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I can get you another when it turns brown,” James offered. 

“No, I like this one,” she said. “I don’t want to replace it. Some things are meant to be temporary anyway.”

                                                      *

"GAAAHHhhbrrggllslg..."

"Pipe down, you'll scare the fish."

James came back to the surface, spluttering and coughing. “This clearly isn’t working,” he wheezed. 

“Really? I thought we were making great progress.” 

“Funny, ‘cause I thought that’s the third time you’ve nearly drowned me.” James rubbed his eyes a final time and opened them. Lily floated next to him, her hair like a pool of blood around her. He pulled a piece of it out of his mouth. 

She rolled her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair, picking out a snail that had gotten tangled in the strands. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Well excuse me for having a sense of self-preservation.”

“You’re acting like I’m trying to kill you!”

“Lily, I don’t have gills! You can’t just push me underwater without warning!”

She looked surprised at his outburst, her green eyes were wide with worry, and James immediately felt bad. 

“Listen, it’s fine. I just got freaked out for a moment,” he backpedaled. 

Lily wasn’t listening. “Maybe we should stop.” 

“No, really, it’s fine! I’ll just make sure to plug my nose next time!” 

But she was already swimming away, and with a flick of her tail, she had disappeared to a place where he couldn’t reach her. 

                                                      *

The bite was oozing. Oozing what, he didn’t know. Didn’t really want to know. He had never thought he would be having to deal with fish bites. Hadn’t realized such small fish even had teeth. Evil little bastards. Always sweet and cuddly when Lily was around. But this was apparently a summer of firsts. 

He poked at the angry looking marks, and hissed. Lily would know how to take care of this. Fix it. He had no idea where she was. She hadn’t yet resurfaced. 

Not knowing what to do, he climbed onto the outcrop where he had seen her for the first time, and stretched out. Warmth enveloped him on all sides, immediately making him drowsy. As he drifted off, he thought about how unbothered he was. Everything was fine. He let himself be pulled under, into the depths of sleep, not worried in the slightest. She would turn up. She always did. 

                                                      *

He’s sinking deeper into dark blue depths. His legs keep up a frantic pace as he kicks, trying to propel himself forward. All he can see is her: her long, slender fingers, her wrists, her collarbones, glowing in the murky water as she hovers, ethereal. All he wants is to go to her, but with a laugh she turns and swims further down, engulfed by the darkness. 

He can just make out her tail undulating as she moves inexorably on, never slowing down. As he follows her, going ever lower, several jellyfish zoom by, their tentacles tangling together to form a billowing cloud of exhaust. Somewhere to the side, a school of clownfish float in a large reef together, studying. A preoccupied looking manatee comes out of a dense wall of seaweed and almost bumps into James, muttering an apology as it hurries away. 

James is undeterred, his focus only on the mermaid in front of him. She turns to face him, curls one finger in a beckoning motion, and her smile is a hook that snags him, reeling him in, pulling him closer to her. Her lips are moving. He can tell she’s saying something, something important, but he can’t understand her. The water is filling his ears, muting everything, and he strains to hear her, to make out something, anything. Panic rises in his throat as her face grows troubled, panic so thick it’s suffocating. He can’t breathe, and she’s floating further into the murky shadows, and he hates the greedy gloom taking her away from him with every fiber of his being. As she grows ever more distant, his panic grows, and he’s never felt so lost, so helpless. He has to reach her, to stop her, and she’s screaming, screaming his name, over and over and-

                                                      *

“James!” He opened his eyes, gasping for air. After several steadying breaths, the darkness began receding. He blinked while the world came back into focus. The panic he had felt so acutely was already fading, dripping through his fingers, leaking out of his ears. It was replaced by the feeling of solid rock under his back, the sun wrapping him in warmth, and Lily’s hands cupping his cheeks. Her face was right over his, her hair forming a curtain around them. 

“Here.” He felt his glasses being placed gingerly over his eyes. “You alright?” 

Lily’s voice was laced with concern, her eyebrows knitted so close together they were almost touching. Her face was so close to his that he could see every individual hair in her eyebrows. He focused on one hair that lay slightly askew, pointing towards a freckle on her eyelid, as he finished catching his breath. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just had a weird dream.”

“Oh. Sure. I have those all the time.”

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely. The other day, I dreamed that I had climbed up a tree, and I couldn’t get down. And you were in the water, and I kept calling you, and asking you to help. But you insisted that you couldn’t, because you had to practice your underwater somersaults. And I was so angry that I started picking crabs off the tree and pelting them at you. But you kept catching them in your mouth and eating them. And you were laughing the whole time. And then you said, ‘Look, Tulip!’ and did a backwards somersault with so much force that you created a huge wave that knocked me off the tree. And then I woke up.”

“Sorry about that.” James was trying very hard to keep a straight face. 

“I can’t believe you called me ‘Tulip’,” Lily said with a frown.  

She looked so genuinely offended that James immediately felt compelled to comfort her. “Like I would ever forget your name!” 

“What was your dream?” she said quickly. 

“Oh, I was just drowning.”

“Well that’s not bad. Why do you get to have normal dreams?”

“Probably because I know how to do backward somersaults.”

                                                      *

James stared at the water intently, looking for any disturbances in the smooth surface. In his hand, he held a freshwater mussel the size of a large baseball. Lily had dug it up from the bed of the lake for the game she had devised. She had informed him that the mussels' name was Petunia, mentioning something about the mussel reminding her of someone. 

He tightened his hold on Petunia, causing her to give an indignant shake in response. James had discovered that a firm grip was necessary when handling the mussel. She had a tendency to clamp down on his fingers when he wasn’t paying enough attention, and getting her to let go required threats of feeding her to the snapping turtle that lived nearby. 

A sudden ripple drew James’ attention to a spot on his left. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of a tail flicking above the water. As he scanned the green surface, he spotted a smudge of red. Raising Petunia above his head, his eyes following the billowing of crimson under the water, he took a steadying breath, and aimed. He exhaled. Petunia went flying. 

“Fucking ow!” 

The cry told him he had hit his mark. The proud victor had only a moment to celebrate his success before a wave of water was flung in his direction, drenching him entirely. 

“Bit of a sore loser, aren’t you?” James smiled as the top of Lily’s head surfaced. Her eyes narrowed and the green flashed somewhat dangerously, but he took no heed. He was on a roll. “Seems I’ve o-fish-ially won!” 

His laugh was followed closely by a scream as Lily pulled him into the water, and he felt his nose being pinched shut as he went under, smothered by a wave of red tendrils. 

                                                      *

"You know I can't stay here." 

"Can't you? What's so great about the ocean, anyway? So it’s got dolphins. Did you know dolphins are actually vicious? I read that they kill porpoises just for fun."

“James-”

“And they’ve been known to attack people.”

“Are you honestly trying to slander dolphins?”

“I’m just saying, it’s a cruel world out there. But it’s safe here. I can guarantee you’ll never be attacked by a toad.”

“The other day, I woke up with a tadpole up my nose."

“Small price to pay.”

“Small price to pay for not being viciously attacked by a dolphin? Do you hear yourself?”

“I just don’t get why you have to leave right now. How could it possibly be safe? Your tail isn’t even fully healed yet!”

“It will be soon.”

Quiet settled over the little lake again. She broke the silence first. 

"Mermaids can live for up to 300 years."

"My dad is turning sixty next month."

“I want to go home, James. You can go home any time you want. You can be sure that you’ll be able to celebrate your dad's birthday with him. What about me? All I've got here are the tadpoles.”

"You've got me."

"What?"

"You've got me, haven't you? Or do I not count?"

"Of course you count, you idiot. You count so much, you have no idea." 

James' heart must have swollen so big it cut off the oxygen going to his brain because all he could come up with was, "I'm actually terrible at maths." 

She sighed. “I will miss you. But I can’t stay here forever, hoping you’ll visit me occasionally.”

“That’s not-”

“It is.”

                                                      *

The heat had somehow worsened. The pair floated in the cool lake water together, incapable of anything requiring any more energy. He could sense her presence, sensed it constantly, incessantly, tugging on his consciousness whenever he was around her. 

They floated in silence, the only sound coming from two particularly loud swallows. The birds were having it out over a spider they each felt entitled to. The angry chirping hadn’t ceased for at least the last ten minutes. 

James felt a ripple and saw Lily shift over and look up at the birds. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him. He felt the sudden urge to bottle up her smile and keep it stashed away, to take out and enjoy on special occasions. Instead, he dunked his head in the water and pretended with all his might that his heart wasn’t being constricted so tight it would shrink to the size of a marble and roll out of his mouth when he was sleeping. 

                                                      *

And then she was gone. Just like that, the lake was empty. James sat on the outcrop, and watched as a wilting water lily floated by serenely. A small blue fish poked its head out of the water. The fish looked around and then stared at James for a few moments, as though wanting to ask something, before diving back under with a small splash.

Here’s a painting that I think looks just like Lily

[milfgritty]

constellation of asters | m. frost & j. farabee

❀ ⇢ requested: yes | no ❀ ⇢ genre: poly!au | soulmate!au | gender neutral reader ❀ ⇢ word count: 12.9k ❀ ⇢ a/n: yea i have no excuses for this. enjoy.

everyone has a soulmate, it’s just a simple known fact. a red string, a soulmark, first words tattooed on the inside of your wrist, there’s something to help every person find theirs. except, well, you never had any of those. growing up, you (kinda) came to terms with the fact that you might just not have a soulmate at all. it’s not until you meet morgan and joel that you begin to reconsider the possibility that you actually have not one, but two.

⇢ posted: 02.07.21 . | . masterlist

There are the lucky ones in the world who are born with an identifying soulmark. Something that leads them straight to their soulmate, whether it be a red string of fate, or the date of their other half’s birth, or even a tattoo shared only by the two of them. 

You, though?

You wish you were one of them. But alas, no string, no tattoo, no drawings, not even a damn clock. Nothing to ever even allude to the existence of your supposed other half. When you were younger it terrified you, made you think that something went wrong wherever soulmates were paired. Left you alone, destined to never be the perfect match for anyone. You used to watch in envy of all the kids in the schoolyard proudly displaying their tattoos, showing off whatever new their soulmate drew on their skin that morning. Knowing that they would remember that you were one of the unlucky ones soon enough, the ones people whispered about under their breath, never loudly as though terrified if someone heard them their own soulmate would vanish.

Not having a soulmate was kind of a big deal, if you couldn’t tell. 

And still years went by and you grew up with half-assed reassurances of ‘don’t worry, I’m sure your soulmate is out there somewhere, you’ll see’ and ‘maybe you just have an invisible soulmark, didn’t you know those are a thing?’. Years went by, and you grew up, and you rationalized. 

You didn’t need a soulmate. People without them got along just fine, and sometimes people lost theirs without ever meeting them in the first place. Hell, you were actually luckier than everyone else because you had the free will, the agency, to pick who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. So what if they weren’t handpicked and perfect for you, you would be happy, dammit.

That’s what you told yourself, at least. 

~

Done with a particularly rough day of classes, you figured it was only fair to reward yourself with your favorite drink from your favorite cafe near campus. It was a special treat that you rarely afforded yourself, what with you fitting the stereotypical broke college image to an almost painful extent. Dodging other people on the sidewalk, you clutched your jacket closer around your body to protect from the harsh wind. The bag on your back straining under the combined weight of your single (five subject) notebook, textbooks, and laptop, you cursed yourself under your breath for not at the very least putting it in your car before making the five minute trek. 

Slipping into the tiny cafe nestled on the corner, you allowed yourself a sigh of relief. You took the moment to drop your stuff at a vacant table before making your way to the counter. Waiting in line, your eyes scanned the menu despite knowing exactly what you would get, as you did every time you let yourself come here. Back aching and your hand attempting to massage it from the worst possible angle, the line continued to shorten until you could order and retreat back to your table. 

You were tempted to stay, even after getting your coffee. Free wifi, decent music, and minimal noise? Easily get through at least homework for one class. But a larger part of you yearned for your warm bed and cozy blankets, preferably with pajamas. And so, it was with maximum effort that you picked back up your bag and coffee and slipped out the door and into the windy outdoors once more. 

The walk back to your car was more bearable with the addition of a hand warmer, so much so that you took the longer way through the small park you had walked past on your way there. With the trees above and around you and the dancing leaves raining down, their colors slowly changing from their normal shade to the yellows and oranges of autumn, a smile slipped onto your lips. Your eyes lingered on the flowers lining the pathway, your mind trying futilely to identify which ones they wer—

A body slammed into yours, shoulders knocking violently as you were shoved off balance. Your still mostly full coffee fell from your hand, lid flying off and spilling onto the ground. You landed miraculously not in the growing puddle of hot coffee, but still flat on your ass as you stared up in shock at the man who had somehow remained standing. 

Seconds ticked by as you stared at each other, uncomprehending. The tall and outrageously sturdy stranger broke through his shock first.

“I’m so sorry, holy shit,” he rushed out, hand reaching down to help you up. Gazing unblinking at the outstretched limb, you allowed him to pull you up. Bare skin touching yours, you only allowed a split second of disappointment when there was no discernable reaction before smothering it back down.

Really, you thought, what did I expect? A mark to show up on our hands linking us together? How naive. You really thought you had gotten passed doing that.

“It—it’s fine,” you mumbled, sparing a despaired glance down at your spilled coffee, “don’t worry about it.” How neither you nor your bag didn’t end up in the puddle was beyond you, but you’ll take it. 

His gaze followed yours, landing on the pitiful cup. “Fuck, your drink, I’m so sorry.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. Stop apologizing,” you told him, adjusting your bag and turning to leave. There was no way you were going back to the cafe and getting another drink, this one was already indulging yourself. 

“No, hey,” he lightly grabbed your jacket, stopping you. “Let me buy you a new one, make it up to you for spilling that one.” 

Suddenly much closer to his tall frame, your eyes caught on his brown ones. There was just something about him that you could already feel your resolve chipping away. 

“I was on my way to Starbucks anyway, it’s no problem,” he continued, as though sensing he was breaking you down. At the mention of Starbucks, though, your nose involuntarily scrunched. Something he definitely caught. “Or wherever it was you got that,” he laughed, his smile making your heart catch a beat. 

You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Not when he’s oddly pretty and he could have a soulmate who’s not you and—

“Yea, sure.” You smiled, “Luckily for you, it’s pretty close to here.”

His smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corner, and his hand dropped from your sleeve. It was strange how much you felt its absence, but you pushed the thought away. “After you then,” he stepped aside, gesturing you forward. 

Moving around him, you fell in step together, going back the way you came. 

“I’m Morgan, by the way,” he—Morgan—introduced himself after a beat. Studying him for a split second, you thought the name suited him. 

“Y/N,” you said in response, ignoring the way his smile made you want to smile, too.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” And the two of you kept walking. 

~

Two months. It had been two months of hearing Morgan talk about Y/N this, Y/N that, and Joel still wasn’t quite sure if he liked or hated you. 

Depends on the day, really.

It wasn’t anything against you as a person; it was just, well. He wasn’t sure what it was if he was being completely honest. Maybe it was the way Morgan brightened at the mention of your name, maybe it was how he always brought you up in conversation, maybe it was how obvious it was that he liked you.

But he definitely wasn’t jealous. Of course not. How ridiculous.

He watched Morgan move around in their shared kitchen, rambling on and on. Something about how you joked earlier when you were hanging out that you would wear his jersey if he bought it for you. At that moment, he couldn’t hold the thing he couldn’t quite identify in anymore. “So have you brought up how you feel, yet?” 

Morgan stopped and closed the fridge door that he had half his body shoved inside and digging around in as he turned to face him. Brows furrowed, he shook his head with a look of poorly feigned confusion. “I—what? No, it’s not like that. Why would you even ask that?” he questioned, staring him down.

Joel shrugged, fidgeting on the stool he had perched himself on when Morgan went into the kitchen. He really wasn’t sure why he had asked. He just had. A part of him didn’t want to know why.

“Just feels like the two of you have been hanging out as much as you can. The way you talk, it’s pretty obvious how you, at least, feel,” he replied. He picked at his sweats, avoiding his roommate's gaze.

Morgan cleared his throat, turning back to the fridge. “I don’t—not like that, man,” he told him over his shoulder. He gave the fridge a second glance before closing the door, walking past Joel and out of the kitchen. 

“It’s not a big deal if you do,” Joel said as he followed him back into the living room. “You haven’t found your soulmate yet, plenty of people date before they do.”

“Why are you so concerned about it, Beezer?” Morgan pivoted on his heel to face him, forcing Joel to stop in his tracks unless he wanted to run him down. 

“I—I don’t, I’m not,” he answered, mind racing, “I just think you’ve been practically obsessed with them for months and I haven’t even met them—”

Morgan laughed sharply, cutting him off, “Is that what this is about? Seriously?”

“I mean, kinda? It’d be nice, at least.”

“Fine, then I’ll ask if we can all do something together this weekend. Is that good for you, Joel?”

Ignoring the sarcasm in his last sentence, he maneuvered around his body and flopped down onto the couch. “It is actually, thanks.” In his head, however, he was less certain. How was he gonna be able to interact with you? Would his jealousy—no, not jealousy—be obvious to Morgan, to you?

Aside from the noise coming from the TV, the next few minutes passed in relative silence after Morgan crashed down next to him. Their previous conversation already partially forgotten, Joel became focused on the shitty reality show that had started to play without them noticing earlier. 

“Look, it’s not like I’m an idiot,” Morgan started suddenly, scaring him slightly. Joel’s head turned toward him, brow lifting in question. Morgan glanced at him before returning his gaze to the TV and continuing. “It’s just, yea. Maybe you’re right.”

He trailed off, leaving him to wait. “And?”

Morgan rolled his eyes and shuffled further into the couch. “And, I don’t know if I even have a soulmate,” he steamrolled on, “Just because I might not doesn’t mean—doesn’t mean no one does, you know? I don’t want to be the selfish asshole who gets into a relationship with someone who might have a perfect match waiting for them, someone that isn’t me.” 

“You don’t know if you have a soulmate?” The piece of information stuck out to him. Hit him in the gut and made his heart jump into his throat.

His roommate shrugged, continued to steadfastly ignore him. “Never had a mark or any of the other shit people had. It’s not—not that big of a deal. But I don’t want to be with someone and always be afraid that they’re going to find what I can’t and leave me behind.” 

Joel swallowed roughly, his heart racing. “Oh,” he mumbled, voice as quiet as Morgan’s had become by the time he had gotten done speaking.

“Yea,” Morgan huffed a bitter sounding laugh, “Oh.”

“You know,” Joel spoke lightly, softly, as though worried that talking too loud would ruin everything, “People always say that things work out in the end, even if it’s shit getting there.”

This time the laugh that escaped Morgan was more real, less cold. “Is that your way of making me feel better, Beezer?”

“Depends,” he smiled, bright at the sound of his laugh, “is it working?”

Morgan threw a pillow at him, it bouncing lightly off his head. “Dude, shut up,” he told him, the smile on his face softening his words. Following his advice, Joel adjusted himself on the couch, heart feeling just a bit lighter than it had previously.

~

“So I was thinking,” Morgan started as you walked down the street together.

“Absolutely shocking, continue,” you cut in, rewarded with a shove as you laughed.

“As I was saying,” he stressed, “You should come over for a game night or something this weekend.”

“Uh,” you stuttered out. “Yea, sure. Sounds fun. Will Joel be there?” You hadn’t meant to sound so shocked, but as it was, you most definitely were. In the what, two, three? Months since you had known Morgan, you never went to his place. Never met his elusive roommate. Sure, you had heard about Joel. It was hard not to when Morgan could—and had—talk for hours about his teammate. 

But you had never met him. And to be honest, at this point you were kinda scared to. 

Sure, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Except he clearly meant the world to Morgan, and well, Morgan meant the world to you. And yea, you weren’t sure when he began to mean so much, but he does. And you want Joel to like you. What if he doesn’t?

“Yea, Beezer’ll be there. Finally get to meet him.” He nudged you lightly, shooting you a smile. Smiling nervously back, you ducked under his arm and into the cafe as he held the door open for you. 

Coming to the little cafe on the corner had become tradition, Morgan falling in love with the shop just as much as you had. It didn’t bother you in the slightest since he pays for you whenever you two come. Which is, to say, far too often.

Placing both of your orders and finding a table, you turned to your friend. “Do you think,” you began nervously, picking at the edge of the table, “do you think he’ll like me? Joel?”

Morgan looked up from his phone and tilted his head. “Of course he will. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, lying through your teeth. “It’s just, he’s your roommate—and your teammate—and wouldn’t it be, like, a little awkward if he actually hates me?”

Your question seemed to stump Morgan for a minute, his mouth opening and closing, eyebrows scrunched up as he looked at you from across the tiny table. You sat quietly, watching him think over his answer. Eyes wandering his face, your lips quirked as you just managed to pick out the way his lashes curled at the ends. So unfair, you thought, why does he get the long eyelashes? Finally, he seemed to get his words in order.

“Even if he doesn’t like you, which he definitely won’t,” he rushed out the last half, “But if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like we would stop hanging out or anything. We would just, just keep hanging out the way we have been.”

Watching him, you chewed on the inside of your lip. “Promise?” you asked, voice coming out quieter than you had wanted. You hated the way you feared losing Morgan, scared that he had wormed his way into your life so quickly. 

His foot nudged yours under the table, breaking you out of your thoughts. Eyes meeting yours, your heart gave a tug at the sweet smile dancing across his lips. “Yea,” he told you, “I promise.”

Breath catching, you smiled back. “Then this weekend it is.”

~

The weekend came far sooner than you expected. 

“But you’re on your way, right?” Morgan questioned you over the phone. Figured you were running late today of all days. It was Saturday, dammit, you slept in late. That wasn’t a crime.

“Yes, Morg, I’m on my way. Leaving right now,” you reassured him, grabbing your keys off the counter and making your way to your door.

You heard his—frankly, exaggerated—breath of relief even on your end, gaining a fond eye roll out of you. “Okay, good,” he replied, “See you in like, twenty?”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered halfheartedly in response, more focused on locking up behind you. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

The only downside, of course, is that twenty minutes was definitely not enough time to settle your anxiety. And so soon enough, you were at Morgan’s shared apartment, and walking up to Morgan’s shared apartment, and oh god you were in front of his door, oh no—

This is fine. This is fine. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that no matter what, even if Joel didn’t like you, Morgan wouldn’t drop you. He promised. 

Christ, that sounded lame even in your head. 

Psyching yourself up, you raised your hand to their door and knocked. Ignoring the way your hand trembled lightly, you almost jumped when the door swung open faster than you expected.

“Hey,” Morgan appeared in the doorway, beaming down at you, “You made it.”

A snort left you without your permission. “Yea, you dork, I made it.” 

Catching his eye roll, you grinned as he stepped aside and swept his hand out. “Welcome to our apartment.” Your grin widened at how dumb he was and moved past him, brushing lightly against him as you entered. 

Walking in, your eyes caught on the form draped against the couch. Heart stuttering, all the anxiety that had briefly left you came flooding back. Morgan stepped around you, guiding you over to the living room. 

“Hey, asshole, you gonna say hi or what?” he asked, picking up a pillow and throwing it at Joel. It thumped softly onto his chest and rolled off the couch, causing him to glare up at Morgan. 

You stared wide eyed as Joel huffed and slung his legs over the side of the couch, standing up and unfolding to a height similar to Morgan. Giants, you scoffed lightly under your breath, they’re literally giants. Casually, you maneuvered until your body was just barely behind Morgan.

“Sup,” he did a weird head nod thing, his eyes roaming up and down your body. “I’m Joel, it’s uh—it’s nice to finally meet you.”

You smiled weakly up at him. “Y/—” you tried, cutting yourself off and clearing your throat, “Y/N. Nice to finally meet you, too.”

The two of you stared the other down, silence filling the room as Morgan watched the two of you watching each other. Rocking on your heels, you alternated between looking at him and around the room. 

“You know, uh,” Joel started abruptly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweats, “Frosty talks a lot about you. Can’t shut up, I don’t think.”

“Dude,” Morgan hissed at him as a laugh slipped past your lips. You felt your cheeks warm, your smile finally feeling less forced and more genuine.

“It’s funny,” you told him, ignoring Morgan, “he talks a lot about you, too. Once he gets started, it seems like he can’t stop.”

“I hate both of you. Why did I think this was a good idea,” Morgan said, throwing his hands up and slipping in between the two of you into what you assumed was the kitchen. The sound of yours and Joel’s laughter followed him, the pair of you sharing a conspirator’s smile. 

Joel was the first to break, his smile lingering as he spared you a glance and followed Morgan. “Don’t be like that, Morg. We’re getting along already. Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

Giggling, you walked in after them. “I don’t know what I was worried about,” you teased, sidling up to the counter, “Joel is great.” 

“Oh, you would think so,” Morgan rolled his eyes, pulling a sweet tea out of the fridge and handing it to you. Smiling in thanks, you opened it and took a sip.

“Wait,” Joel stopped and shook his head, “were you actually worried about meeting me?”

Eyes widening and head shooting up, you were positive panic flitted across your face. “Uhhh,” you started, shifting from foot to foot and shrugging, “A little? I mean, you’re his roommate and teammate and he talks about you all the time—”

“—I do not—”

“Yea, you do, Morg,” you laughed, glancing over at him before returning your attention to Joel. “But, yea. After so long without meeting, I guess I kinda built you up in my head and I got worried you wouldn’t like me and things would, I don’t know, be awkward for Morgan. It’s dumb.”

It was dumb, you realized, standing there. Joel was...you didn’t even know how to describe it. He was soothing. Calming in the same way Morgan was to you, like a balm to your anxiety. Easy to talk to, joke with. It had barely been ten minutes and already you could tell that. It was the same feeling that made you let Morgan buy you another drink when you first met.

“It’s not dumb,” he told you, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug, “I guess I felt the same way.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised. For some reason, you didn’t really expect him to feel much of, well, anything when it came to meeting you.

Grinning, he nudged your foot. “Don’t look so shocked. Even NHLers have feelings, you know.”

“Shut up,” both you and Morgan chorused, glancing at each other before laughing. It was then you realized how close the three of you were, the kitchen not exactly the largest room. If you moved one way, you’d bump into Morgan. If you moved the other, it would be Joel. 

“Wanna play fortnite or something?” Morgan asked, clearing your thoughts. He knew you well enough to figure out what the scrunch of your nose after his suggestion meant. “Or not fortnite, you have a better idea?”

“What else do you guys have?” You asked, hoping against odds they would have something that wasn’t completely awful. 

Joel and Morgan shared a look, communicating silently. 

“Uhh,” Joel started, “I think we have like, Skyrim? Never got around to playing it, though.”

Eyes immediately brightening, you straightened. You almost didn’t notice how the move brought you that much closer to him. “Dude, Skyrim came out like ten years ago. How have you never played?”

“Looks like Skyrim, it is,” Morgan muttered, squeezing past you to the living room. 

“I don’t know,” Joel tried to defend himself, “It’s not what I usually play.”

“Well, that changes today, buddy.” 

“Did you just call him buddy, oh my god,” you heard Morgan’s voice distantly, covered mostly by Joel’s shocked snort. 

Thirty minutes later found the three of you sprawled across the couch, limbs just barely intertwining as Joel tried still to make his way through the character creation screen. 

“Is that a cat? Do they have fucking furries in this game?”

“I swear, I’m gonna throw my sweet tea at you,” you threatened while swallowing down laughter at Joel’s commentary.

“Do it, I’m not getting you another one,” Morgan told you, his hand lying lightly on the bottom of your calf. 

“Yea, you would,” you smiled over at him. 

A snort came from Joel’s direction, followed by, “Dude, you would.”

“Shut the fuck up, Beezer, I didn’t ask you.”

Mock gasping, you reached over and hit Morgan’s shoulder, eliciting a sharp ‘hey’ from him. “No being mean to each other,” you laughed, settling back down, shoulder brushing against Joel’s side.

“You heard the lady, Frosty,” Joel smirked, sticking his tongue out at him. 

“I’m never letting the two of you hang out again,” Morgan groaned, throwing his head back. His thumb had paused in the motion of rubbing circles into your leg. 

Exchanging a glance with the boys, you smiled. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

~

“You know,” you had innocently told Morgan and Joel a few days ago, “it’s kinda funny that two of my closest friends are professional ice hockey players and I’ve never even gone skating before.”

He was shocked at the revelation. Horrified, even. And definitely planning on rectifying that minor fact, something Joel fully supported and helped plan. Sadly, it took a few days before he and Joel were both home and didn’t have practice or a game and you didn’t have classes or homework, leaving the three of you able to hang out. 

He always counted it as a minor miracle when all of your schedules lined up. In the months he and Joel had known you, it happened far less than he would’ve liked. But as much as it felt better, more…more right, for it to be the three of you—which was normal, you were best friends; he didn’t like one of you more than the other—he took what he could get and didn’t complain. 

Much.

That’s how Morgan found himself at an ice rink with his two closest friends on his day off, watching one of them tie the other’s skate.

“You could’ve done this yourself,” Joel told you, fingers making quick work of your laces.

You beamed down at him, a satisfied little smile on your face, “But you do it so much better than me.”

Morgan laughed to himself, bending down to finish lacing up his own skates. Joel had gotten his done first and found himself helping you, not that he exactly put up a fight. Finishing up, he stood and leaned against the boards, peering down as Joel worked. 

“You waiting for us? That’s so sweet,” you smiled up at him, resting your weight on your hands behind you. 

Joel huffed a laugh and half turned to look over his shoulder at him, flashing him a smirk, the asshole. “Our Morgan? He’s just a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

Morgan reached out and kicked him, mindful of the blade of his skate. Rolling his eyes, he maneuvered around both of you and stepped out onto the ice. 

“Just for that, I’m going without the both of you.”

Hearing the teasing calls of his name accompanied by laughter, he smiled and went to do laps around the rink. Slowly he went through the motions, glancing behind him now and then to see if Joel had finished yet. 

When he finally did, Morgan made his way back to the two of you. “You ready to see what you’ve been missing out on?” He teased, eyes catching on the way you wobbled unsteadily and clutched tightly to Joel’s arm next to you. 

“Quick question,” your laugh came out high pitched and as unsteady as your walk, “just how hard is skating?”

“Please, don’t worry,” Joel scoffed, shortening his steps to help you. Morgan watched his teammate stabilize you, the steady rock to your choppy sea. “Skating is one of the easiest things in the world.”

“Okay, let me rephrase,” a cheeky smile flitted across your lips, “how hard is skating for us normal people?”

He shared a fond look with Joel, laughing quietly. “Trust us, you’ll be fine.” 

“I do,” you responded without a moment’s hesitation, pausing in your baby steps before continuing. “Trust you, I mean.”

The breath left his lungs in a quick rush, not expecting that, not expecting how sincere and matter of fact you had said it or how it affected him. It wasn’t fair, how quickly you could throw him off balance with what seemed like barely a thought. 

Joel cleared his throat, his hand tightening around yours. “Good,” he told you, voice remarkably soft and low before returning to normal. “I guess it’s time to get you on the ice, then?”

Morgan had to laugh a little at the fear that filled your face at Joel’s words, the way you immediately clung somehow even tighter to him. Smiling, he reached out to you, offering you his hand.

“You said you trusted us,” he told you, “So trust us. We’re not gonna let you get hurt.”

He watched your eyes meet his and fly down to his outstretched hand, back and forth between the two. One of your hands slowly let go of their iron grip on Joel and settled into his.

“Promise?” You looked from him to Joel, eyes painfully doelike. 

Once again, he shared a soft glance with his teammate before looking back at you. 

“We promise.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and appearing to steel yourself. “Okay, alright, I’m good. Let’s fucking do this.”

Laughter peeled out of him and Joel. “There’s our Y/N,” his teammate grinned, helping you out onto the ice. The two of them kept their grips on you tight as you shakily stepped onto the ice, making sure you didn’t immediately fall.

Your first steps were wobbly, with the only thing keeping you from eating ice being him and Joel. Slowly, the three of you made your way across the ice. “There you go,” he encouraged you, “just like that. Slow and steady for right now—”

“Head up, try not to look down so much, alright? We’ve got you,” Joel reassured, the two of them going back and forth, offering advice and making sure nothing happened.

It took a bit, but soon you were giggling and flashing them pretty smiles, your grip on them loosening slowly but surely. It was enough for Morgan to speed up and swing around to skate backward in front of you.

Catching your worried glance, he smiled. “Still here, just letting you skate more on your own,” he squeezed your hand, now being held more for assurance than to help keep you up.

And so the three of you kept skating around the rink with you getting more and more confident until you were on your own and no longer needed them to hold on to. Morgan watched proudly as you went from wobbly steps to actual skating, though your arms still stayed out by your sides for balance. 

“Show off,” you yelled and laughed, attempting to shove Joel when he went to skate in wide circles around both of you. 

“What?” Joel threw his hands up, laughing loudly and dodging you. “I’m just skating circles around you.” 

“Ha ha,” Morgan grinned when you sarcastically laughed at Joel’s antics. “You’re simply hilarious, you dork.”

“I know,” Joel smiled happily, swooping in to smack a loud kiss to your cheek before speeding away. The kiss nearly knocked you over, leaving you gawking after him.

Morgan observed the two of you as he glided in front of you, a wide smile stretching across his lips. Small huffs of laughter left you as you skated—still not great, but definitely better—over to him, grabbing his hand and trying to tug him. 

“Morgan, come on,” you giggled, “help me avenge my honor.” 

“Oh, of course,” he replied, nodding his head in mock seriousness. He pulled you along in chase of Joel, the three of you laughing as you went around and around the rink. 

It wasn’t until you two caught him—Morgan suspected Joel had let them catch him, like they wouldn’t have been able to eventually—and Joel decided to try to teach you how to skate backward as Morgan followed that he realized something. 

He realized as he watched the two of you smiling and laughing, as he skated behind while Joel held your hands, as both of you made corny jokes and looked back at him to make sure he was still with you, he realized that—fuck.

He was fucked. 

Because he looked at you and heard your laughter and felt his heart tighten. Because he looked at Joel and the way he looked back at him with a fond look and toothy grin, and his heart stopped.

Because he looked at both of you and felt the same exact thing. And he realized it didn’t feel right when all three of you were together because you were just his closest friends. 

It was because when he was with the two of you, his heart skipped beats and all of these feelings weighed him down and lifted him up and—and—

Fuck. He was well and truly fucked, that’s what he realized.

~

Humming quietly under your breath, you picked up the plates from the table and made your way back to the kitchen. Stepping around Morgan, you reached down to put the dishes into the sink for him to wash. After you let them sit, you hoisted yourself up and onto the counter next to him and watched as he grabbed for one of the dirty plates.

“You think Joel will be back soon?” You asked him, tilting your head and pursing your lips. 

Morgan met your gaze and held it as he washed the plate. “Hopefully, we can’t start the movie without him.”

Dinner and a movie at their place. It was almost like a date if you let yourself think about it. But you didn’t, because they’re just your friends.

Your tall, attractive friends that you had completely platonic feelings for. Okay, mostly platonic feelings for. Fine, not at all platonic and actually very romantic feelings, but you refused to think about it. There were two of them and one of you and that, that was weird. Right? 

Right?

Kicking yourself mentally, you shot him a tiny smile. “Do we even want to know what he chose this time?” Every movie night, a different one of you had complete control over the movie. Tonight was, regretfully, Joel’s night to choose and he refused to tell either of you what you were watching. 

It went without saying that you were a bit scared. 

“I don’t think so,” Morgan made a face, putting another plate in the dish rack. You laughed lowly to yourself, watching a smile creep over his face as he glanced back at you.

“Either way,” you told him, “he needs to get back soon, I’m starting to miss the weirdo.” Shimmying down from the countertop, you walked over to the fridge to get a drink. 

Morgan made a noise of agreement, finishing up and turning off the sink. He turned to face you, grabbing a hand towel from next to him and leaning against the counter. He stared down at you without responding; the action causing you to grin slightly in confusion. 

“What’s up?” You questioned him, stretching your foot out to lightly tap his.

Head shaking slowly, his mouth opened a bit. Closing it, his eyebrows squished together in what seemed like deep thought. 

“Do you ever think about your soulmate?”

The question caught you off guard, making your body physically recoil just a touch. You shook your head, mouth hanging open. “Uhhh,” you stuttered, a startled laugh making its way past your lips. “Not if I can help it, why?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, brows still furrowed and an intent look painted across his face.

Shrugging, your eyes flitted around the room. At your side, your fingers twitched against the counter, creating a muted tapping noise. “Nothing, just...I don’t know. It’s not my favorite subject. You?”

“Yea,” he said with a forced smile, “Same thing, I guess. Not if I can help it.” 

You hummed softly, trying to figure out his expression and the change in subject. You couldn’t recall ever, ever, talking about soulmates with either Morgan or Joel. Not in the entire time you had known them. It was like some sort of weird unspoken taboo topic, never brought up, never talked about despite how popular it was for everyone else. Never asking what your soulmark was, or what date was splayed across your skin. Like there was a sense of fear lingering around it, which made sense for you but never for your boys. 

The boys. Not—not your boys, you scolded yourself.

“It’s just, you and Joel,” Morgan started, scaring you a little. “The two of you get along really well.”

Was he? Was he implying that you and Joel? Soulmates?

For a split second, your mind ran wild with the thought. To be soulmates with Joel, with his smiles for just you and Morgan, and his wild hair and dumb hats, and horrible facial hair and horrible jokes and—

How nice it would be. How irrevocably nice it would be. 

But even as you let yourself think about it for that split second, you knew it wasn’t what you wanted. Not entirely. Because it wasn’t just Joel in your daydream, but Morgan, too. With his pretty eyes and the look of exasperation he always had when he was with the two of you. The three of you. 

Always the three of you.

Shaking your head before you knew what you were doing, you replied, “Me and Joel? No, no, I mean—”

“You’re always happy and smiling around him,” Morgan cut you off, not making eye contact, “maybe the two of you—”

“I’m always happy and smiling because I’m with the two of you, you idiot,” you rolled your eyes as you cut him off in return, ignoring the way your heart pounded in your chest. 

He pursed his lips, about to retort when the sound of the door opening caught your attention. 

“Alright, assholes. I’ve got the goods,” Joel’s voice called out, the door closing behind him and keys clattering loudly into the horrible gritty tray you had gotten them. You and Morgan remained quiet as Joel made his way into the kitchen, digging around in the bag he was holding. 

He paused upon entering, eyes lifting to look from you to Morgan and back. His arms slowly fell, his face screwing up in cautious confusion. “So, uh, what did I...miss?” he asked, stepping inside apprehensively. 

“Soulmates, apparently,” you told him sarcastically when Morgan kept silent. You made grabby hands for the bag, reaching in to grab your bag of peach rings. 

Joel winced, a just barely audible ‘oh boy’ falling from his lips. “What got you on that god awful subject?”

You snorted, already shoving a peach ring into your mouth, “So you agree? It’s an awful subject?”

“Oh yea,” he nodded, reaching over and tugging at the peach ring balancing between your teeth before it tore in half, shoving his stolen half into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously. 

Pulling back, you batted at his outstretched hands, “you should’ve gotten your own. Stop stealing, thief.”

“I prefer the term rogue,” he replied, shooting you a cheeky grin. A soft ‘oh my god’ left you with a groan as you rolled your eyes and set the bag down.

Morgan’s continued silence worried you, and you could tell it unnerved Joel just as much. You stole glances at him, his posture tense and face troubled. The whole soulmates thing wasn’t your favorite, but what was going on inside of his head that had him like this? Was he still thinking about you and Joel—which was a ridiculous idea. But maybe that’s just because you knew the truth you resolved yourself to. That you just didn’t, for some unknown reason, have a soulmate to begin with. 

“What’s going on in your big boy brain,” Joel nodded at Morgan, eyebrow quirking as he watched him.

Morgan startled almost imperceptibly, his attention shooting to his teammate. He shook his head, “Nothing, just the whole soulmates thing.” 

“Still?” You frowned as you crossed your arms, puzzled. 

“Dude, just move on already,” Joel told him.

Morgan rolled his eyes, shifting his weight from foot to foot. You saw his grip on the countertop behind him tighten for a second before relaxing again.

“What’s going on?” You asked him, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm.

He flinched back, a tiny movement that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already watching. Swallowing roughly, you stopped and let your hand fall, hurt coating your insides. Morgan licked his lips and rubbed at his chin, face screwing up. 

“Don’t either of you ever think about the people you have feelings for being a perfect match for someone else? That it doesn’t matter what you feel in the end?”

Taken aback, you share a look with Joel as you grasped for words. Because you do think about that, about how Joel and Morgan have someone waiting for them that isn’t you and you don’t know when it’ll happen, only that it will and you’ll end up left behind like you always are. Alone. It wasn’t often, but late at night, the knowledge crept over you like thick sludge, refusing to move or leave.

“All the time,” Joel spoke before you could string together a sentence, his voice weak and a frown marring his features. “But it does matter, doesn’t it? Because you still have time with them now, and you can’t waste it for something that might happen.” 

“But it will,” Morgan stressed, the hand that had rubbed his chin flying out to his side with a look of helplessness. “It will happen.” 

“But you don’t know that,” you countered, fighting to get the words out. Your throat was tightening up, your heart pounding away. “No one really does. You don’t even have to end up with your soulmate.”

“Why wouldn’t you,” Morgan laughed without humor, “why wouldn’t you leave to be with the person hand picked for you?”

“Because I don’t have one,” slipped past your lips without your permission, the truth behind your words hitting you like a brick. Tears pricked behind your eyes as you swallowed harshly, stepping into yourself. 

Morgan moved back and hit the counter behind him with a dull thud, staring at you with an unreadable expression. To your other side, Joel looked down at his feet, hands shoved into his pants. 

“I never had one,” you continued, softer, quieter. Weaker. “I’ve always been the person without someone made just for me, but I’ve moved on. Because it doesn’t matter. It’s what I make of it, and it’s the scariest fucking thing, but it is what it is.”

“What if I can’t move on?” Morgan whispered, unable to meet your eyes. 

“Then the people you were scared of leaving weren’t worth it to begin with,” Joel told him, gazing at him sadly. 

Morgan’s face dropped forward into his hands, rubbing harshly. The three of you were silent, the tension nearly suffocating. Waiting, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I can’t just get over it,” Morgan said, shaking his head. 

“Why not,” Joel questioned just as quietly, running a hand through his hair. 

“Because I just can’t,” Morgan threw his hands up, voice raised as he stepped forward. “I can’t stop thinking that my feelings are a waste. That all of this is just a waste.”

“All of this?” You asked, uncomprehending.

“Yes, all of this,” he told you, gesturing wildly between the three of you. “Us. This. It’s a waste.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Morgan,” Joel was the one to ask this time, his voice low and daring. Daring Morgan to say it, to tell you exactly what he means.

“That I look at both of you and see two people who are going to leave me. Two people that I care about, that I want to be with, and know that it won’t last.”

The shock that came from him admitting his feelings and finally giving you the knowledge that you weren’t alone in your pining all these months still wasn’t enough to overwhelm the rest of his confession. The part that said that we were a waste, that cut a part of you that you kept hidden.

“Did you ever stop and think about how we felt?” The words left you as you stepped away, needing to get away. “That we might, for just a second, feel the same?” 

“But it doesn’t matter,” Morgan nearly cried, voice shaking. “It never did.” 

Nodding, you swallowed down tears. “Okay,” you whispered, maneuvering around Joel, who had remained quiet. “Okay.” 

“Where are you going?” Morgan asked, reaching toward you.

Nearly laughing, you told him, “Away. I’m sorry, Joel, but I can’t be near someone who thinks everything about us, our friendship, our relationship, our feelings, are a waste. Not right now.”

Joel nodded, glancing back at you and offering a weak smile. “Don’t worry, I get it.” 

Returning it, you turned and went to grab your things. 

“Wait,” you heard Morgan before you saw him try to follow you, looking between you and Joel. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter, Morg,” you whispered, shrugging lightly. “I’m gonna go for awhile. I need to go.”

“No, please—”

Dodging him, you left the apartment. Vaguely, you heard Joel tell Morgan to stop, to let you go. Silently, you thanked him. You just couldn’t be near them right now, constantly reminded of your feelings and knowing at least one of them thought it was all useless.

All of this is just a waste. Us. This.

You nearly ran out of the building and to your car, just barely making it in before a yell forced its way out.

“Fuck,” you hit the steering wheel, letting your head droop forward to rest on it. You gave yourself a minute to pull yourself together and turn your car on, starting your journey back to the apartment you had slowly considered home less and less. 

And so you drove away from the one you had begun to consider home, and from the boys that made it feel like that, and to the place you could finally let yourself break down.

~

Day after day became a week and then two. There was now this tension between him and Morgan, you weren’t replying to his texts the same way, and he wasn’t even sure if you and Morgan had talked at all since that night. He hated it.

Joel hated this. 

It didn’t help that everything was bleeding over onto the ice and he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop making rookie mistakes, couldn’t do anything when Morgan got yelled at for fucking up on a play. Couldn’t do anything.

The two of them were this close to getting benched, they both knew it. He knew this couldn’t keep happening, but he didn’t know how to stop it. 

He saw his phone light up on his nightstand out of the corner of his eye. Mentally, he debated leaving it and continuing his inner dilemma, but a glance at it convinced him otherwise.

Sitting up in bed, he struggled against the blankets tangled around his legs to reach over and grab it. He crashed back down, lifting his phone above him and pulling up the text.

[10:38pm] armrest ; coffee tomorrow? 

Seeing the name he had you under brought out a grin. You hated it the moment you saw it and argued that everyone was short next to a group of hockey players, which is exactly why both he and Morgan had you listed as it. In a sense, it was a reminder of better times.

[10:40pm] bumblebee ; yea ofc

[10:40pm] bumblebee ; the two of us?

He didn’t miss the fact that you texted just him and not the groupchat—the one aptly named the 3 stoiges, because Morgan made it with a typo and you and Joel kept it there to bully him. Time after time, Morgan tried to change it, and yet every time he went back, there it was once again in all of its dumbass glory. 

[10:43pm] armrest ; yea i wanted to talk about everything. just the two of us for now

[10:44pm] bumblebee ; im there just lmk when

You texted him back the time, and that was that. The entire exchange left him feeling underwhelmed and anxious. It felt wrong. Stilted. He missed the jokes and subtle digs at each other. The goodnight texts that just kept on going. 

He had a hard time going to sleep after that, not that he was doing a good job of it before. Tossing and turning, knowing that his teammate was his roommate and just a door over and that it didn’t matter because they hadn’t actually talked since the fight. And probably wouldn’t, since that was how things seemed to be going.

But tomorrow, maybe tomorrow would change things.

~

Morning came and went and he woke up to his alarm, feeling the opposite of well rested. He had slept like shit, just like he had been for the past two weeks. Getting out of bed, he got ready to go meet up with you, ignoring the absence of Morgan in the kitchen or on the couch. The lack of a good morning and a smile from his arguably favorite teammate. 

He left the apartment in a rush, something he had found himself doing a lot of lately. Not on purpose, he didn’t think. It was just like a lot of other things in his life now; it felt different. Less warm, duller. Void of life, of everything that made it home to him. 

An open bag of peach rings still abandoned on the kitchen counter, never moved. A little shittily made origami crane knocked over on the coffee table, never fixed. Hoodies missing, never returned. Reminders.

He made it to the little rinky dink cafe on the corner soon enough, refusing to admit he hesitated a bit before he went in. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you at all since that night, but he would be lying if he said it was the same as before. 

You were at their usual table, wearing a recognizable sweatshirt—one of theirs, but at this point he wasn’t really sure if it his or Morgan’s—and clutching a cup in your hands with a cup sitting across from you. Hearing the bell ring, you looked up and spotted him, giving him a tiny smile.

He didn’t want to think about the way the sight made the tension bleed from his body, the familiarity filling him with a rush of warmth. He made the short walk to you, slipping into one of the open seats.

Both of you ignored the still empty third seat.

“You’re late,” you told him, with just enough of a smile to take the edge off. 

He grinned back. “You telling me you weren’t, too?”

Your laughter rang softly through the mostly empty cafe. “No.”

“Thought so,” he replied, taking a sip of the coffee in front of him. His go to order, just the way he always got it. 

God, he missed you. 

A few beats of silence passed with the two of you just soaking up the other’s presence. 

Clearing your throat, you looked down at your hands and picked at your nail. “I think it’s probably time we talk about…”

“That night?” he finished for you. “Yea. I think so, too.”

Another pained smile passed between both of you. Another beat of silence. 

“You know—I mean—” you tried to say, taking a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I care about you and Morgan. About both of you. Not—not platonically either.” 

He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading, the heat creeping into his cheeks. “Yea, I figured.” You deadpanned at him and he had to resist the laugh bubbling up inside of him. He nudged your foot under the table. “Me, too. Non-platonically care about both of you.” 

“Yea,” you rolled your eyes, grinning, “I figured.”

Letting the laugh out, he shook his head. “Ass.”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink, “You started it.”

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” you whispered back, smile gaining a sorrowful edge.

Staring at you, he felt so many emotions. So many things, and yet something was still missing. 

Licking his lips, he risked a glance to his right, at the empty seat next to him. “It doesn’t—things don’t really feel the same without him, though.” 

“Yea,” you looked at the chair for a second, pain flashing across your face so fast he almost didn’t catch it. “They don’t.”

Hearing you agree, he let the breath he had been holding go. He picked at his cup, resisting the urge to down it. Dimly, he realized you had gotten his coffee before he got there. Which meant you bought it for him. The broke college student who rarely gets anything from here got him coffee without thinking twice. That feeling in his chest grew, fondness for you radiating throughout him. It was a small gesture, one you probably barely thought about, but it made him fall even harder.

“You know, I keep,” you stopped, tilting your head with a jaded smile before steamrolling on, “I keep hearing him say it in my head. ‘Everything’s a waste.’ And I know he didn’t—didn’t mean it like that, but…”

“But it still hurts,” he finished for you quietly, watching you and the way your shoulders hunched forward. 

“Yea, it still hurts.”

“We’re all just miserable anymore, aren’t we?” he asked, knowing the answer and asking anyway.

You laughed softly, glancing up at him. “That we are.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“No,” you held eye contact, steady and intent, “It wasn’t.”

The bell above the door jingled, your conversation dying down. The two of you nursed your drinks, avoiding the painful subject. Pushing it off and dragging it out just a little more.

“I don’t want us to end here, Joel,” you told him, voice barely a whisper. “Not like this. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“I don’t think I could either,” he replied. He could handle not being everything he wanted with the two of you. He resigned himself to that a long time ago. Could handle not being in a relationship, unable to hold or kiss either of you, to look at you and know both of you were his.

He could handle that. What he couldn’t handle? 

This. 

These past two weeks, the three of you barely talking. The tension, the awkwardness, the lack of everything that made you work. Not having either of you really, truly, in his life anymore. 

“I’m gonna talk to him,” he told you, not letting himself think too hard about it. He nodded, ignoring your unreadable expression, and kept talking. “I’m gonna talk to him and then we’re gonna—we’re gonna—”

“We’re gonna fix things?” You croaked out, gnawing at the inside of your bottom lip.

“Yea,” his throat tightened, making him force out the words, “Yea, we’re gonna fix things.”

~

He cornered Morgan later that night in the kitchen when he finally came out of his room to get something to eat. 

“We need to talk.”

Morgan jumped, keeping his back turned to Joel as he dug through the fridge. “About what?” He asked, the forced casualness of it shining clear.

“I think you know what.”

He slowly drew himself up and closed the fridge. “I don’t think—”

“Yea, we do,” he cut his roommate off, his arms folded across his chest. “We both know we do.”

Morgan turned around, facing him with his eyes closed and shaking his head. “Please—”

“We can’t keep going on like this, none of us can,” Joel forcibly told him, refusing to back down. He was doing this for them, for you and for Morgan and for him. “I was with Y/N earlier.”

Morgan flinched back, ducking his head. “Yea? How—how is—”

“Good,” he softened his voice, uncrossing his arms and taking a step toward him. “Come on, let's go sit down.”

“Okay,” Morgan whispered, nodding and following him slowly to the couch. They sat further away than they usually would, a space left open for the one not there with them. 

Joel opened his mouth to start, but Morgan cut him off before he could.

“I’m so sorry,” he told him, avoiding eye contact. Clenching his hands tightly on his lap, he squeezed them periodically. “I didn’t—didn’t mean anything I said that night. Not really. Not like that.”

“I know.” 

“I was just scared,” he kept going, still not looking at him, “I still am. Fuck, I wish I could go back and just—”

“Morgan,” Joel stopped him, getting up and moving to sit down on the table in front of him. “Look at me.”

It took a second, took him reaching out and nudging his face toward him. 

“We know. We’re all scared. And we can’t take back what was said, but we can move forward. Together. The three of us.” 

Morgan shook his head, tears lining his eyes as he leaned imperceptibly into his hand. “How?” 

He almost laughed, but stopped himself in time. “I don’t know,” he shrugged helplessly, smiling at him. “But we will. Because we care about each other. That’s all that matters.”

“Yea?” 

“Yea,” he laughed this time, his hand pressing further into Morgan’s face, the other coming up to rest on his knee. 

Morgan’s hand found his, and they stayed like that for a while, taking comfort in finally being near each other again. Mentally, physically. 

“I missed this,” Morgan told him, blinking softly up at him. 

Joel grinned back, “Well, I don’t know if we’ve ever done anything like this before, but—”

Morgan scoffed, rolling his eyes and pushing him away. One of his hands came up to subtly wipe at his eyes and Joel pretended not to notice as he reached out and pulled him back to him. 

Hand threaded in his hair, he tugged him in to rest his head against his neck. “Kidding,” he laughed, turning to nuzzle into Morgan’s hair. “But seriously, I did, too.”

Morgan’s hand squeezed his side, the two of them lapsing back into silence. At least, until he broke it.

“So, which one of us is gonna text our better part?” 

~

[8:17pm] frostbite ; come over?

The text from Morgan lit your phone screen and sent your heart into a steady gallop. You knew Joel was going to talk to him, but for some reason, you hadn’t thought it would be so soon. 

Was it bad that you didn’t feel ready?

Honestly, if you thought about it, you didn’t think you would ever feel ready. In a way, this was the buildup of months of dancing around each other. It was terrifying, that tonight everything would be out in the open.

You would be lying if you said a part of you couldn’t wait.

[8:19pm] armrest ; omw over

Rushing around, you put on shoes and threw back on the hoodie you were wearing earlier when you saw Joel. You grabbed your keys and locked the door behind you, making your way to your car. 

The drive to their apartment was short, though it still took everything in you to obey the traffic laws on the way there. The walk up filled you with even more anxiety, your hands shaking despite your best attempts to settle your nerves.

You knocked lightly on their door, unable to manage more than a mediocre tap. Luckily, it was Joel that opened the door, beckoning you inside with a hand on your waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, sending heat into your cheeks.

“He’s in the kitchen making tea,” Joel told you, closing the door behind you. 

You nodded, dropping your keys onto the Gritty tray. Together, you made your way to the kitchen. 

Seeing Morgan for the first time in two weeks, after not having spoken at all was...was strange. It hit you like a fist to the gut. 

You saw how exhausted Joel looked earlier, disheveled and messy. But compared to Morgan, he looked only a bit different from usual. Morgan, though—

He looked rough. 

Heavy bags under his eyes, hair wild, clothes wrinkled. Even his shoulders were hunched in more than usual. Your heartstrings tugged just looking at him. 

“Hey,” he mumbled when he looked up and saw you, mustering up a weak smile. 

Slowly, you made your way to where he stood. He set down the cup of tea he was reaching out to offer you, worry plastered on his face.

He took a deep breath and started to talk, “Look, I’m so sor—”

You caused him to stop mid-sentence, throwing your arms around him and gripping tight. “You’re such an asshole,” you told him, voice muffled in his shirt. Burying your face deeper, his arms came up and wrapped tightly around you.

“I know,” he said, laying his head on yours, “I’m so sorry.” 

You didn’t respond, taking the moment to really let everything sink in. Giving him one last squeeze, you let go and stepped back, picking up the mug that you claimed as yours on one of your first visits.

“Living room?” you asked, smiling at the two of your boys—because you finally let yourself give in and call them that, because they were yours and you didn’t plan on letting go so easily. 

“Living room, it is,” Joel answered, reaching around to grab his mug and guide you over. Morgan followed behind, staying close. 

Like none of you could bear to be more than a few feet anymore. It was just a tad ironic at this point. 

The three of you settled down in your usual seats, with you in the middle, Joel to your right, and Morgan on the left. You put your tea down after taking a sip, smiling when it tasted exactly how Morgan always makes it for you. 

“So, I guess this is where we talk about everything,” Morgan said, putting his cup down next to yours and turning to face the two of you. 

Joel followed suit, nodding. “That it is.”

For a second, the three of you sat there in silence, looking around at each other. 

“Any volunteers to go first?” You ventured finally, raising your eyebrows. Your question earned you a pair of laughs. 

“I’m the one that started this mess, so I’ll go, I guess.” Morgan darted his tongue out to lick his lips, glancing between the two of you. 

“That night, I let my fear take over. And I know I’ve already told both of you, but I’m sorry.”

“Morgan,” you tried, but he stopped you. 

“Let me talk,” he smiled, so you let him. “At that point, I just really let myself consider that I had feelings for the two people I thought of as my closest friends. And it made me scared, because there are soulmates out there and I know—I think—I don’t have one. But as far as I knew, both of you did. The thought of losing you to someone I had no chance against, it made me lash out. 

That was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. We’re adults, mostly, and I should’ve handled it better. I’m sorry.”

You were aware you were gaping a little, but you were unsure on how to stop. Joel got his bearings back before you.

“Yea, you definitely handled it like shit,” he said, shrugging and getting a snort out of you and a ‘fucking hell’ from Morgan. “But it is what it is. It got the ball rolling and we can’t go back. We can only go on.”

“When the fuck did you get good at talking about your feelings?” You turned to him, an incredulous look on your face. “Seriously, you were like the last person I expected to be spouting off relationship wisdom.”

“What can I say,” he grinned, “I’m a man of wisdom. Isn’t that why you care about me non-platonically?”

“Why do I like you,” Morgan muttered to himself, covering his eyes, “Literally why.”

“Moving on,” you announced, choking back a laugh, “On the subject of soulmates, as far as I’m aware, I don’t have one either, so there’s that. And right now, I don’t know if me having one would even stop me from wanting to at least see if this is something worth having. Which I think it is.”

“Yea, I remember you mentioning the soulmate lack,” Joel nodded, “And I agree, with the second part.”

Bumping his shoulder, you went to pick up your tea. 

“So that’s two out of three?” Morgan asked, looking at both of you.

“Make that three out of three,” Joel butted in, raising his hand. “Like 99% sure I don’t either.”

“So none of us have soulmates?” You looked between Morgan and Joel. “Really?”

“Lucky?” Morgan hazarded a guess. 

“I’ll take it.” Joel grinned.

“And to clarify, there are mutual feelings here? Threeway feelings?” 

“Don’t—don’t call it that,” you replied to Morgan, wincing. “That’s just bad.”

“I don’t know,” Joel told you, grinning, “I like it. Threeway Feelings. New groupchat name?”

“Yes.”

“No.” 

You glared at Morgan, repeating, “No, motion overruled.”

“You’re two to one,” Joel teased.

Smiling sweetly back, you told him, “Cute that you think this is a democracy.”

Laughter rang through the apartment. It was almost like the past two weeks had never happened at all. 

“But let me clarify,” Joel started, sitting up straighter and holding up a hand, fingers up, “All of us think we’re soulmate-less, and even if we’re not, it’s something we’ll deal with when we get there,” one finger down, “All of us have feelings for the other two people in this room,” another finger, “and we’re not dating yet?”

“Correct,” you confirmed.

“Sounds about right so far,” Morgan nodded.

“But we should, though,” Joel said, glancing at you, “Date, I mean. It’s the next logical step, right?”

“Kinda worrying when he uses logic,” you leaned over to stage whisper to Morgan. 

He nodded, leaning close, “I agree.”

“I’m right here, jackasses,” Joel threw a throw pillow at Morgan, apparently taking the name literally. 

“Were you? I couldn’t tell,” Morgan replied sarcastically, throwing it back. 

Closing your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath and tried not to laugh. 

“I agree with Joel, though,” you told them, stopping them in their tracks. “About dating.”

“You wanna date us?” Morgan asked you, Joel pointing at him to back up his question. 

Rolling your eyes, you smiled, “Yes, I wanna date you. Do you wanna date me?”

You felt ridiculous for asking, like a flashback to kindergarten with a note saying ‘do you like me? yes or no’.

“I don’t know, what are the options?” Joel asked, pretending to think about it.

“Yes or yes,” you deadpanned.

“I think I’m gonna have to go with yes on that one,” Morgan told you, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’m gonna have to go with yes, as well,” Joel nodded, kissing your other cheek. 

“Okay,” you tried to ignore the pulsating heat in your cheeks. 

“Wait,” Morgan stopped, clearing his throat and looking over at Joel, “Are we? I mean—”

“Dating?” Joel asked, lips quirking into a soft smile. 

Morgan nodded, staying quiet. 

Joel shook his head and laughed, “Yea, I think I could manage dating both of you.”

“Yea?” Morgan smiled. 

“Yea.” Joel returned it.

“Cool,” Morgan said, running a hand through his hand before stopping and frowning. “I know that all of that shitshow was my fault, but we’re never doing that again, right?”

“Oh, seconded,” you immediately replied, “Never again.”

“Thirded,” Joel agreed, nodding wholeheartedly.

You looked at your boys—now officially yours—and smiled. 

~

Their first date, it was decided, would be dinner at Morgan and Joel’s apartment, just the three of them. Private, no pressure. 

You showed up, dressed up but not too much, as per Joel’s vague instructions, at 8pm on the dot, making it the only time you were ever on time for something. You liked to think that if it wasn’t at your boys’ apartment, they’d be late, too.

“Well, don’t you look lovely,” Morgan let you in, bending to kiss your hairline. 

“I could say the same for you,” you replied, taking him in, pressing a kiss to his chin.

Not the usual pre-game suit, you noticed, unable to decide if it was disappointment or relief in your stomach. He was clad in a nice pair of pants, his dark blue button up undone at the top and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Sans shoes, because of course.

On the whole, a very nice look, in your humble opinion.

He noticed your glance down at his lack of footwear and grinned, “Footwear optional.”

“You should’ve mentioned that sooner,” you groaned, bending down to remove your own shoes that had already begun to pinch at your toes. 

He laughed, waiting for you to finish and take his hand, leading you to the kitchen. 

Joel waited for you there, bent over a pot on the stove. Shirt completely unbuttoned, tie hanging around his neck. Shaking your head, you stepped up behind him to wrap your arms around his back, kissing his shoulder blade. 

“Who let you be in charge of dinner?” You teased, catching his eye as he turned around in your embrace to return it. 

“Say the word and we’ll order pizza,” he whispered back into your ear, lips lightly brushing it.

A tingle ran down your spine as you withdrew, sharing a secret smile and ignoring Morgan’s snort. 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” you told him, leaning against a counter. 

A laugh bubbled up and out of you at Morgan’s subtle wince. “Dinner’s just about done, anyway. Guess we’ll find out,” he said, getting out a few plates. 

“So, what exactly is on the menu?” You questioned, unable to quite tell. 

Joel looked up at you, opening his mouth and closing it quickly. “You know,” he answered, hand bracing on the countertop, “I’m not sure if I can pronounce it right.”

Giggles flew out of you even as you felt a sense of apprehension take over. “This is gonna be good.”

Sharing a laugh, you got to work setting the table and bringing over the food, which you cautiously noted smelled somewhat decent. Not—not really entirely good, but decent.

“Not gonna lie,” Joel told both of you once everyone was seated with a plate, “Kinda scared to eat this.”

“You’re really not filling me with confidence here, babe,” you replied, getting a tiny forkful of food. 

“On three?” Morgan proposed. 

“On three,” you and Joel agreed. 

“One,” you started.

“Two,” Joel continued.

“Three.”

You shoved the food into your mouth, barely giving yourself a moment to reconsider. Slowly, you chewed, watching your boyfriends’ faces.

It seemed the general consensus was…not good. 

“I think we fucked up somewhere,” Joel swallowed loudly, grimacing.

“Oh, we definitely did,” Morgan agreed, pushing back his chair and standing. “I’ll get my phone.”

“Pizza?”

“Pizza.”

~

“We’re only here to get essentials,” Morgan reminded the two of you, grabbing a cart. 

You and Joel followed behind, hands swinging between your bodies. “Yea, totally,” you smiled, “Essentials.”

“Of course,” Joel nodded gravely, before turning to you and whispering, “We’re definitely getting the stuff for ice cream sundaes, right?”

Giggling, you nudged into him. “He said essentials, Joel. Obviously, we’re getting the stuff for ice cream sundaes.”

“I can hear both of you, you know,” Morgan called back, looking over his shoulder at the pair of you. 

You shot him a smile and blew him a kiss, knowing Joel was beside you doing something just as cheesy.

The next thing you knew, Joel was speeding up and dragging you along to catch up to your other boyfriend. “I’m getting in,” he dropped your hand, lifting a leg over the side of the cart. 

“No—Joel—oh my god,” Morgan tried to jerk the cart away, laughter spilling out of him.

“Joel, you’re not getting in the cart,” you shoved him, blissfully ignoring the stares coming from the old lady down the aisle. 

Joel pouted exaggeratedly, turning to face you. “Why not?”

In a quick motion, you propelled yourself into the cart. “Because I am!” Your giggles came out maniacal, joined with Joel’s bark of laughter and Morgan’s groan of disappointment. 

“Where’s the food gonna go?” Morgan asked, continuing to push the cart with you in it. 

“In the cart with Y/N,” Joel told him, bumping lightly into his shoulder with a grin. 

You pointed at Joel, agreeing. 

Morgan shook his head, that exasperated fondness prevalent on his face as he sighed and tried not to smile. “Fine,” he relented. 

~

“You know, that monkey kinda looks like you,” Morgan overheard you tell Joel as he paid for the cotton candy. 

“You’re such an ass,” Joel pushed you, laughing. 

“Speaking of asses,” Morgan said, coming up behind you and handing over the cotton candy, “Do you think they have donkeys here?”

You threw your head back with a loud laugh. 

“This is the zoo,” Joel replied, grabbing his hand, “...I actually don’t know. We should check.”

“In the whole zoo, you want to see donkeys?” You asked in bemusement, leaning into him. 

He shrugged, wrapping his unoccupied arm around you. “What can I say, I’m a man with taste.”

“Oh, for sure,” Joel retorted, snorting and squeezing his hand in his own.

~

Limbs tangled, you relaxed on the couch with your boys.

A book in one hand, you carded your fingers through Joel’s hair with the other. Sprawled across your lap as you rested against Morgan, he was the perfect image of relaxation. Rain pattered against the windows as a romcom played in the background, the volume just low enough to zone out. Morgan and Joel—okay, just Morgan, because you were pretty sure Joel was half asleep at this point—were watching, attention set on the tv.

All in all, an excellent night. 

~

Seeing your boys over the summer was difficult, but you made it work. You always did.

It was one of those incredibly rare days where you lounged about in the midsummer heat with them, Morgan and Joel taking a slight break from offseason training to just be together. It was nice, and it was quiet and exactly what you needed. 

You had made the mistake of putting on one of their thinner, more threadbare hoodies last night and the decision was catching up to you. You untangled yourself from the pile of limbs on the bed belonging to your two boyfriends, ignoring their cries of protest, and just barely managed to get up. 

First, you were gonna turn up the air conditioning, and then you were gonna take off this damn hoodie. 

Meandering over to the A/C, you accomplished one mission and moved on to the next one. Pulling the hoodie over your head, you felt your shirt slide up and refuse to separate from it. 

“Hey,” you heard Joel call from behind you, “Did you get a tattoo without telling us?”

Confused, you yanked the hoodie the rest of the way off and turned back to them. “No?” You answered, but it came out less sure than you would’ve liked. 

“I definitely saw something on your back,” Joel insisted, reaching over and swatting at Morgan to get his attention. 

“Hmm?” Morgan grumbled, switching sides to look at you. 

“Come here,” Joel beckoned, an action you reluctantly obeyed. His hand on your hip turned you to face away from him, your back in his line of sight.

You shivered, feeling his fingers glide across your skin as he lifted your shirt. In an instant, you felt his grasp waver, a choked gasp slamming out of him.

“Holy shit,” Morgan breathed, the bed creaking as he shot up. 

Spinning, you turned to face them, grabbing at your back. “What?” You demanded, terrified of their answer, “What it is?”

Adrenaline poured through your veins as Joel lifted his gaze, now wet with tears, to meet yours with a wide smile.

“It’s a soulmate tattoo,” he told you, standing up and cupping your face. His lips came down fast and hard to yours, the emotion behind the kiss slamming into you. 

You felt Morgan come to stand behind you, lifting your shirt to look. His fingers traced down your spine, almost reverently, sending shiver after shiver through your body. 

“Liar,” you croaked when you and Joel split, refusing to believe it. 

Joel shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, “I’m not. Go look in the mirror.”

You pulled away, making your way slowly to the mirror by the door, your boys close behind. You twisted around, craning your head as you pulled up your shirt. Your breath stilled to a halt when scrawled writing along your spine become visible out of the corner of your eye with every inch of skin shown. 

And there, once your shirt was all the way up, was an indisputable soulmate tattoo curving down your spine.

morgan frost ~ joel farabee

The names of your boys—your boys, you nearly cried—written in calligraphy on your body, separated only by three flowers. 

“Soulmates,” Morgan whispered, finger stilling on the flowers. 

Recognition sparked deep in your mind, a memory surfacing behind your eyes.

Your eyes lingered on the flowers lining the pathway, your mind trying futilely to identify which ones they wer—

“I know those flowers,” you mumbled, lips parting as you stared uncomprehendingly. 

Joel laughed a little, fingers running up and down your side. “I didn’t think you were into flowers.”

You shook your head, fixated and unable to look away. “No, I know those flowers. Asters. They were—”

“In the park by the cafe,” Morgan finished for you, catching on, “The day I bumped into you.”

“The day we met,” you said, smiling. “I was trying to figure out what kind they were, it’s why I was distracted. Why we—”

“Met,” Morgan gaped, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. 

You nodded, unable to talk just yet. The sight of those flowers, ones that you hadn’t really given any thought to after you had googled them one day after being curious. Flowers that were now imprinted on your body, a permanent reminder of everything you gained in such a relatively short amount of time.

To your side, you watched Joel take off his shirt and turn around, revealing flowing names down his spine separated by three dainty flowers. 

y/n ~ morgan frost

Morgan mirrored him on your other side and sure enough, there were your names in identical print and the same tiny three flowers. 

joel farabee ~ y/n

A perfect set.

~ fin ~

[writeblrfantasy]

excerpt from acogs: agathon

been a while since yall have seen acogs content, hm? this has to be one of my favorite pieces of it, certainly one of my favorite backstory pieces. i'm so endlessly proud of this part and i just. ahhhh. please enjoy nikolai's innocent childhood bisexual love <3

wc 2100

When Nikolai was ten, he met a boy.

He had brown skin and golden eyes, and the wonder in them could’ve only been matched by Nikolai’s own. His hair never seemed to lie smooth, no matter how much he pushed it down, contrary to Nikolai’s, which always stuck flat to his head and forced his tickly bangs into his eyes. It still does.

He carried the sun around with him, captured pieces of it in his eyes, infused its warmth into everything he touched. Nikolai heard the sun in his laugh, saw it reflected in his smile. In his confused, cagey, ten year old heart, he understood he was around something special.

Agathon, that was his name. Agathon. So smoothly it rolled off the tongue.

He and his family, all seven of them, arrived in Nikolai’s town with their canvas covered wagon, their camels—this was when Windcarpets were less trusted than they are now—and right into Nikolai’s heart. They came from a remote village on the Urkon-Cairic border, a family who made their living from weaving rugs and clothes.

Nikolai was interested in them the day he saw them, but he always thought they paled in comparison to Agathon. His parents were kind to Nikolai, always offered him honey cakes and tea when he visited, and Agathon’s siblings shared their toys. Agathon’s eldest sister taught him to play the lute.

But Agathon…oh, Agathon.

Agathon took to Nikolai immediately. His first words to him were, “You have spots on your face!” which Nikolai later understood to be the light smattering of freckles that appear across his nose in the summertime, put there by the sun.

He and Agathon spent their days talking about everything and nothing, as ten year olds did, racing each other through the long grass to the west of their desert town. Where the Pelia ended on the north side, at the edge of the village, they would drink and dip their feet and shriek when the water was too cold.

In the winter, on the rare days when the cold rains came and they all had to go inside, Nikolai would beg his mother to let him stay at Agathon’s house until she gave in. The two of them slept side by side under layers of fur that only got used once a year, for occasions like this.

Agathon’s father would read them stories by the fire. Nikolai’s house didn’t have a fireplace, and he was always fascinated by this one. Those were the soundest nights of sleep he ever had, his head nearly buried under fur with Agathon’s hair in his face, his father’s soft voice lulling him to sleep. Nikolai took to calling him Father for a while.

Nikolai rapidly felt himself falling into something he was too young to know. All he understood was that his chest seemed to be expanding every day, a little more, filled with a little more sunlight and warmth every time Agathon laughed at one of his jokes.

Nikolai didn’t ever want to say goodbye to him at the end of the day, he wanted to stay for dinner and stay in Agathon’s room, sleeping on the floor by the fireplace if it was too hot for the furs. They would stay up all night talking and waiting restlessly for morning to come, where they could wander farther than their parents knew and would’ve never let them go had they known.

His mother never invited Agathon to their house, but that was okay. Nikolai didn’t want her sourness, her constant scolding bringing darkness to the light in his chest. One touch of Agathon’s hand and he swore he could fly into the very sun that beat down on them every day.

Nikolai once pressed his lips to Agathon’s cheek on impulse, no self-restraint so young, and he remembers the swoop in his stomach before Agathon turned his head and smiled at him with all the warmth in the world. Nikolai didn’t know what it meant, but he knew enough to sigh in relief and accept it when Agathon grabbed his hand. They ran through the grass field together that day, instead of a race.

And then, like most things in his life, his mother ruined everything.

That’s not something he realized until he was much older and she was dead. Hell, even recently, thanks to Katya, he’s been examining her ghost differently. Agathon was the first in many, many incidents she stripped away his privacy, his privileges, down to the way he thought about himself and his desires. Everything became about pleasing her just enough to keep her off his back.

Nikolai had been working up the nerve to tell Agathon how he felt for a few months, because even then he knew that sort of thing wasn’t always met kindly, when his mother broke the news. They were moving, going north to the capital city Thiria, leaving the town he’d lived in his whole life. Agathon wasn’t coming with them.

It would take a year, his mother said, but she would establish herself and her ideas enough to get her son elected by the community as queen. Nikolai had never had a day of sword training in his life, he couldn’t be a king, a fighter, but he had a silver tongue. He would be a queen.

The clever system of choosing queens and kings in every Actium country puts a pressure on the person to be worthy of the throne. If they are both a good diplomat and a good fighter, they choose whichever label they like best. If they are neither, they should not be on the throne. How simple.

After he’d be elected, his mother would buy herself all the fine clothes and indulge in all the food and get all the attention she’d lacked in her lonely life. Nikolai was merely an instrument. Which is exactly what happened.

It’s an accident that as he grew up in the throne, he started to care about Urkon and the people who brought their problems to him every day. When he learned about the ticking time bomb in his front yard, the one that wouldn’t ever explode but always had a small chance, he breathed through it and went on.

He grinned and bore the knowledge, at eleven, twelve, thirteen, that Urkon was so much more than his little western village and Agathon’s old home. He dealt with farmers who needed a land dispute settled, ambassadors from the west and east and north, he had servants waiting on him, silk and velvet, stuffy city air.

He goggled at just how much his mother didn’t care, but how much effort she put into pretending.

He has risen from nothing, as they all do, to luxury and power, bringing with him an unconscious air of the inexplicable magic that stems from the Staarenclock. From the cerulean diadem that drips from his hair while he sprawls on his throne, to the shining black paint on his fingernails, to the jewelry that rests on his neck, he attracts, he seduces, disappoints.

He’s never tried, and until he was queen, he never noticed. When he did, it became a tool to sate his momentary desires, a temporary fix for his long term ache, a way of fooling people. No one believes a pretty queen is capable of anything.

Good.

Nikolai doesn’t remember much from after his mother’s bombshell announcement, which is partly good. It’s a lot of gaps in numbness and anger he can never get back, and she’s not around to fill in the details. He remembers holding back tears so many times with Agathon, not wanting to ruin their last precious weeks together.

Nikolai went kicking and screaming. He doesn’t want to know how he looked to the villagers, to Agathon’s family. He remembers the tears running down Agathon’s face, the gold fading at long last from his sunshine eyes. Nikolai’s mother was dragging him away, he was no longer close enough to touch him and shudder through the warmth seeping into his skin. Just the knowledge that he no longer could made him ache for it all the more.

Agathon was screaming for him, too. The pair of them must’ve been the most dramatic thing the townsfolk had ever seen, acting like they were dying. Nikolai remembers the agony on Agathon’s mother’s face, the effort it was taking her to hold her son back from running to Nikolai again. He broke free anyway, sprinting toward Nikolai and tripping over himself.

They were locked in each other’s arms for one last time, ugly crying into each other’s shoulders. “I love you,” Nikolai said, as he had seen Agathon’s parents tell each other while they cooked side by side, laughed, shoved each other playfully when bickering. He knew it meant something. He knew it meant everything.

His mother picked him up and carried him on her shoulder the rest of the way, but he watched Agathon mouth it back.

He only had a year with Agathon, but being ripped away from him was like reaching into his chest and pulling out an artery. He had never known pain like that. He told his mother over and over that first year when she was working her way up in Thiria that his heart wouldn’t stop hurting, he missed home, he wanted to go back.

Of course, he didn’t miss the town that much. Thiria was intimidating, but there was so much to do, always something to occupy him. The one thing he missed more than anything in the world was Agathon and his sunshine smile.

As a child, his feelings were so much rawer. He didn’t bother repressing them because he didn’t know how yet, and his mother wasn’t deep enough yet in her madness to teach him to.

Two years later, when he was queen with his mother the real queen behind him, while he tried and failed every day to buck off her hold, he met Saige.

He had forgotten and moved on from Agathon somewhat, of course. He learned from both his mother and practicality that he couldn’t spend all day crying in bed and begging to go back, threatening to steal a camel or a Windcarpet when he got truly desperate. Agathon wasn’t in his head every moment of every day, but he took one look at Saige and it all came back.

The day he met her, he had heard nothing about her but the king who had been put through hell and needed no one but her war of vengeance, and she heard nothing about him but the queen whose mother always seemed to be there.

The day he met Saige, he got his mother to leave them alone for a while. Looking into her brown eyes, her little smirk, her friendly smile, a little piece of his chest ached, but in a different way than it did for Agathon. Hers was the ache after a dislocated joint snapped back into place. Hers was the stretch in the morning, an ebbing headache, the ache of waiting for a healing wound to finally close over. Something that punched the breath out of you, but in a way that was right. Like it was supposed to happen.

The day he met her, he heard Agathon’s parents in her voice, bickering, shoving each other, watched her move and saw them bumping hips as they did the dishes together. He saw Agathon mouthing his final words to him when she spoke.

He’s never told her this, but Saige healed him. It only got better after that day. After stumbling, falling, she guided his feet and helped him find his footing. She did not replace Agathon, because that would be a disservice to both of them. Nikolai found space easily in his heart for her. It was as though she had just been waiting to move in to the space he had prepared for years.

He loves her. He would burn down the world for her, as he hopes she would do for him.

He doesn’t tell Kayani that, however. He skims over the depth of his feelings for Saige—he’s at peace with them, he has nothing to be ashamed of, and he’s pretty sure she knows, but it’s for them. Not Kayani, not anyone else. Not that.

When Nikolai’s done, Kayani is still watching with rapt attention, a bit of shock. He looks up at the moon and inhales. He didn’t realize he’d been rambling so long. Saige is still asleep, thankfully.

“Did you ever try to find him again?” Kayani asks.

“No. It was never the right time, even after her death.” He thinks of it, now. Trying. But the thought makes his chest ache, so he puts it away.

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring @sleepy-night-child @florraisons @faithfire @croctears @inkovert @kait-writes

[haleigh-sloth]

Not BNHA related at all but what is it like living in Texas and is it as bad as everyone claims?

Please watch this legitimate NEWS REPORT that aired last year in MAY(mid-pandemic) from one of the local news channels. This is what it's like. Lmao. Seriously watch it if you want a good laugh, and to feel crushing disappointment.

Okay no, that's just South East Texas, which is just a whole nightmare of its own. It's where I grew up and finally moved away from this year, and I'm never going back lol.

The short answer is: there are pros and cons. A lot of these depend on where you live though, which I'll elaborate at the end. I'll try to keep it short because I could honestly go on forever on the cons lol. Also, I am very biased. I was born and raised here and would like a change of scenery. My opinion won't be the same as others from different areas.

Cons:

Relevant to current events: COVID is basically over. I mean, it's NOT. But Texas (and the rest of the fucking south from what I saw on my vacation last week) doesn't give a single fuck.

It's Republican hell

There are STILL Trump 2020 flags flying proudly here

There are lots of CONFEDERATE flags flying proudly here--it's like, almost normal to see

Blatant racism is just expected at this point

The education system is garbage

The child welfare system is COMPLETE garbage (I know this from experience)

They have basically almost effectively banned abortion twice now (that I know of in my life time), only for it to backfire on them later. But they will try again, and again, and again.

The social services and mental health services SUCK

It's hot. as. FUCK. If you're living on the coast it's hot AND humid AS FUCK

The gun laws are just.....non existent. Guns are a polarizing topic but I feel like everyone with common sense should agree that not everyone should be able to just walk around with a gun strapped to their person for everyone to see.

THIS^^^^^ was a picture I took at the beach in October.

Okay--I've listed *some* of the many shitty things about this state, but I'll list the good stuff too. The things that have kept my family here, and the things that bring a lot of people from other states here. I keep meeting more and more people who have moved here from elsewhere and their reasons are always the same, but I can't imagine actually wanting to live here...lol

Pros:

It's pretty low cost of living. I don't think it's technically the cheapest, but jesus christ when I started looking up north in the east AND west coasts, I was uhhhh not excited about those rent prices. Jeez.

Texas is big. There is a lot of space, which means it's way more realistic for people down here to be able to buy a house. Lots of my high school classmates have bought homes already. I've also just met a ridiculous amount of people from other states who moved here specifically for the low cost of living and being able to house their families in adequate spaces at not-asinine prices.

Lots and lots of land to buy and become the farmer you've always wanted to be lmao

Texas is tax friendly. Meaning, there is no state income tax. Less money out of your paycheck. I didn't even know state income tax was a thing until I started looking to move. I was baffled.

Having the coastline means cheaper gas. I was shocked at the gas prices in Colorado when I visited....RIP

Again, Texas is HUGE. Which means one part of Texas looks completely different from the other. There are beaches in the south if you want to live by the ocean, piney woods in the east with some hills, flat land in the north, the hill country is smack dab in the middle, the desert is in the middle-west/north-west, and then in very very western tip is the mountains (where ideally I'd like to go if I do decide to stay here for whatever reason).

So, is it bad? Well I'm tired of living here. But while I'm dying to get out, my parents have no intention of leaving ever. They want to go to a different part of the state they're in right now, but they don't want to leave the state. A lot of my high school classmates don't plan on leaving either. Which, they're young so....idk. I couldn't imagine being pigeonholed here forever.

Also I said I'd elaborate---growing up in, say, Austin (the capital, which is surprisingly the most liberal city in the state) is way different than growing up in like, any small town just on the outskirts. The big cities such as Houston, Austin, San Antonio, and Dallas are going to be more open minded in general and the in-your-face republican crazy bullshit is....way less prominent. But once you get to the outskirts of those big cities, it's back to hell.

Anyway, this is my personal experience that spans over 20 years (4 years of my life were in Cali lol). It's good and bad. There are things here that I definitely take for granted and didn't realize until I decided I wanted to live elsewhere. The space, the price to rent decent sized living spaces is....the biggest factor imo.

[atlantis-scribe]

AU-gust 2021 ( Day 17 )

Wings

(in which John has the swiftest pair of wings in all of Lantea & Rodney is his newest student who’s in serious need of flying lessons) 

.

The grass around them sways as John lands, fists on his hips and one leg on the ground as the other folds, kicked up and shooting out. The pose gets its intended reaction when, a couple of yards away, Rodney crosses his arms and scowls.

"Great," Rodney grouses. "That's just great. Do you want me to fetch Lorne so he can paint a picture? You can sell posters during the next fair. The extra coin should be enough to help you buy a ticket out of preadolescence."

John smirks. "Or we could get you a working sense of humor."

Rodney's new wings, a bright and brilliant stretch of blue that stands out against the colorful meadow, flare out behind him. Their ‘span exceeds even John's own, so the wind they carry when Rodney moves them almost knocks John flat on his ass.

Almost.

He spreads his own wings to catch the force of the fabricated breeze, letting it carry him a few inches up before he settles down again, just as gracefully as the last time.

"Come on, Rodney! I thought we're here to have fun?"

"No." Carefully, Rodney folds his wings again, all the way down until they're nothing but a hard outline that borders his tense form. "That's you. You wanted to have fun. I wanted to have a productive morning, and you somehow had me convinced it would be by learning how to control these pesky appendages I'm suddenly forced to deal with."

Even if he's not the sharpest knife in Ronon's collection, John has known Rodney long enough to tell the difference between the usual snits and a genuine episode.

Rodney's sincerely freaking out this time.

John wipes the smirk off his face and tucks away his own wings. He crosses the distance between them with his feet and stops just outside the circle of Rodney's known personal space.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Even before you got your wings, you're the foremost expert in flight theory. McKay's principle, remember?" John steps back to slash at the air with comically stiff arms. "Lift! Drag! Air Pressure!"

Instead of the usual eye roll, all John gets is Rodney’s crumpled face. “That’s the thing! Flight theory, and all of that was before this whole wings business, before Queen Elizabeth deemed me finally ‘worthy’ enough of the one thing I wanted two decades too late simply because I’m the only person in this entire kingdom smart enough to save us all from utter ruin!”

Complete silence follows Rodney’s outburst, and while it’s Rodney who is red-faced and visibly panting, John feels like he’s the one struggling for breath.

He remembers that dreadful morning when everyone on Lantea grew sick, wings nothing but limp things hanging from their backs. No one could work, no one could get out of their homes, no one wanted to live.

No one but Rodney, who’s spent his whole life without wings and has survived that way up until two weeks ago, when his ingenuity uncovered the plot of the Asurans, the only other winged race of humans in all the land, and used that knowledge to save them all.

It wasn’t so bad, John recalls, not being able to fly. He loves to be in the air, to feel the cool, daybreak breeze against his feathers, but when your best friend has been making gliders since you were children, there’s very little distinction when it counts.

It isn’t the sickness but the quest to find out what happened that plagues John to this day. It’s the dangerous journey that John and Rodney, along with their other friends Teyla, and Ronon, had to go through to save the kingdom that he’s sure he’ll never forget.

It’s the image of Rodney, bloody and half-dead in John’s arms because he’d faced the Asurans on a battle to protect Lantea’s power source, that continues to haunt him.

“It wasn’t about worth.”

Rodney frowns, no longer mad but still pretty upset. “What?”

“Queen Elizabeth,” John whispers, hanging on to the echoes of the woman’s words to him when she found John by Rodney’s bedside as they recuperated. “People’s wings show up when they’re five years old, yeah, but that’s because they’re expected. Everyone knows flying is what we do. But you— Queen Elizabeth said yours probably didn’t because you wanted more than just flying. You wanted to reach beyond the skies, to conquer even the stars, that your wings became nothing but an afterthought.”

“If you have a point, I suggest you get to it, Sheppard.”

John sighs, a sharp and frustrated sound, as he runs a hand down his face. “I’m saying it’s not because you were suddenly worthy that your wings finally appeared after saving all of us.” 

He looks up and wills Rodney to meet his gaze. When Rodney does, John prays to all the Ancestors for the other man to finally see everything John has wanted him to understand for years now.

“They showed up because you stopped trying to run away,” he tells Rodney. “Your wings mean you’ve finally started to consider this place, and all the people here who care about you, as your home.”

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Desiderium

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter One

A JSE Fanfic

Hey! Hey! New AU! :D I’m really excited for it! As you can probably tell from the title, this is a fantasy-themed one. Taking place in the kingdom known as Glasúil, where magic and strange creatures are common, a man called Chase lives a simple life in a mountain village with his family. But of course, something just has to happen, and, well...you’ll see next chapter ;) Feel free to ask me anything about this AU, even though it’s still in its early stages I have a lot of ideas that I’m eager to share!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The forest floor was blanketed in a layer of fallen leaves, red and orange and yellow matching the colors of those still on the tree branches. Bushes and shrubs made the terrain difficult for most people. But a single rabbit hopped across the ground, unhindered by the underbrush and making no sound on the crunchy fallen leaves. It stopped by a small bush, sniffed its leaves, and started to nibble on them.

Thwip! An arrow suddenly appeared next to the rabbit. It had barely landed when the rabbit was already running, darting off quickly. “Wait, no! No!” Someone shouted. A man appeared, shooting to his feet from where he’d been hiding behind a nearby bush. He nocked another arrow and let it loose, but it missed by a mile, landing in the trunk of a nearby tree. The rabbit was already gone.

“Damn it,” Chase cursed, looking down at his arm. That last shot had been sloppy; if he wasn’t wearing his arm guard, the bow string could’ve really hurt him. He tightened the guard straps and went to collect the arrows from where they’d landed. The one that hit the tree had its point chipped a bit. “Damn it,” he said again, whispering this time. If he kept chipping arrows, he’d have to buy more, and they couldn’t afford that right now.

Maybe he’d missed because it was starting to get dark. Chase looked through the branches of the trees towards the sky. He could see the rosy hint of a sunset in the distance. Well, if that wasn’t a sign that it was time to head back, he didn’t know what was. He’d already checked the snares he’d set up yesterday and set up new ones; there was nothing more to do. Disappointed, he turned back and headed east, towards town. Hopefully tomorrow he’d find more in the forest than three squirrels and a rabbit that he failed to shoot.

The trees soon thinned. Chase walked down a familiar slope of land and quickly saw the familiar buildings at the edge of town. Well, it wasn’t really a town. It was too small for that. It was actually a village, but people called it Hilltown, and so naturally it was shortened to just town. People said things like “Hey I’m heading back to town,” or “The millers live on the edge of town.” That might be confusing in a more urban setting, where there were more cities and towns close together, but they lived in the mountains. The village was the only “town” for miles.

Chase slipped in between two buildings and officially entered the village. These buildings were made of wood, and a bit rickety due to being built on sloping ground. When the village was founded, it was first built on a relatively flat area. But as it slowly grew, it had to creep upwards onto the incline that led up to the forest. The way the buildings continued onto the slope was the reason people started calling it Hilltown, though Chase had never been fond of the name.

“Hey! Is that you, Chase?”

“Huh?” Chase stopped, and looked around. He quickly spotted the source of the call: an older man, with a black beard streaked with gray, standing in the doorway of a house. “Hi, Kieran. How’re you doing?”

“Doing fine, boy,” Kieran said good-naturedly. “Come back from hunting so soon?”

“Well it is sunset. Do you expect me to shoot in the dark?” Chase commented, raising an eyebrow.

Kieran chuckled. “So...did you shoot any beaver today?”

“No, Kieran, there are no beavers in the mountains,” Chase sighed. The older man had been living here for three years, and he couldn’t seem to grasp that.

“Ah, if you say so,” Kieran waved away. “If you ever do catch one—”

“—I can bring the pelt to you, I know,” Chase finished. And again, he’d been offering that same proposal for three years.

“That’s the spirit! I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Be seeing you.”

Chase headed onward. As the ground started to level out, the buildings became sturdier, with more made of stone bricks, and grew closer together. The streets weren’t paved, but they were cleared, dusty paths well-trod. A few people were out, though not as many as there would have been earlier in the day. Mostly small kids running around and a few people taking turns getting water at the well in the center of the town. Chase waved at them, and they nodded back. One of them, Terrance the tailor, called out “How’re you doing?” and Chase answered, “Doing fine!”

Shortly after passing by the well, he came across the tallest building in town, and was once again stopped by someone calling his name. “Mister Chase!”

He stopped and turned to face the building: the temple. The couple that ran it were standing outside the doorway. One of them, Mother Aoife, was waving at him. “Hello, Mother. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, well, can I ask you a question?” Mother Aoife said. She gestured at the entrance. “Do you think we’d have room for another holy symbol up there?”

“Uh...” Chase took a step back. The doorway to the temple had two symbols on either side of it, showing that members of either faith could practice inside. To the left was a blue candle, almost as long as a person’s arm, burning and dripping wax. To the right were two interlocking circles the size of someone’s head: one gold-ish with small triangles around the edge, one silver-ish with a line down the center. “I mean...I guess you could put one above the door.”

“No, we can’t do that!” Mother Aoife said. “That would imply that one faith is higher than the others.”

“Right. Then, I’m guessing it would be the same if you put a symbol in the space beneath one of the other two?”

“Exactly.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work.” Pastor Cait frowned. She was the other leader at the temple, and was Mother Aoife’s wife. They’d actually held two ceremonies, one for each of their respective faiths. That day had been one of the most active days Hilltown had seen in the past ten years. “Besides, nobody in town follows the Forger.”

“But it is becoming popular with those down in the flatlands of Glasúil,” Mother Aoife insisted. “What if someone comes to visit and spread the faith?”

“Well, neither of us even know anything about the Forge, anyway,” Pastor Cait pointed out.

“We could always find someone.”

“That runs into the problem of nobody in town following the Forger.”

“Um...is that all you wanted me for?” Chase asked awkwardly.

“Oh no, I just thought I’d ask you first,” Mother Aoife said. “Stacia stopped by. She said to tell you that she was leaving early and would be home when you were done hunting.”

“Really? That’s strange.” Stacia usually worked all day, and with the fall harvest coming up, she’d probably be out on the farms from sunrise to sunset. “Why?”

“She said something about Quentin,” Mother Aoife said, frowning as she tried to remember. “I think he might’ve been getting sick? There was something wrong.”

Chase felt his heart drop, leaving his chest cold. “Why didn’t you start with that?!”

“Well, I—” Mother Aoife’s explanation was wasted. Chase was already running.

It wasn’t too far from here. He sprinted down the street, not bothering to look at any of the people he passed by, heading for the other edge of town. The buildings started to spread out again, small patches of vegetable gardens dotting the rows of low stone houses. He kept running until he reached his own, recognizing the garden of radishes outside and the rough chalk drawings on the stones outside, drawn by children. Without waiting, he threw open the wooden door and rushed inside.

“Dad?” Amabel, his daughter, was sitting on the edge of the rough wooden table, carefully trying to  tie the end of a string into a loop.

“Hi, Amy. Where’s your mother and brother?” Chase asked.

“Bedroom,” Amabel said, pointing at the doorway, blocked off by a hanging length of cloth.

“Thanks.” Chase ruffled her red hair as he walked past, not wasting any time and ducking underneath the cloth. “What happened? Is it bad?!”

Stacia looked up, clearly surprised. “Chase? What do you mean what happened?”

“Mother Aoife, down at the temple, she said that you said something happened with Quentin a-and that you were leaving early because of it,” Chase hurried through the explanation. “Is everything okay?!”

“Did she...well I guess it would sound bad if that’s all she said,” Stacia muttered. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

“Hi Dad!” Quentin was lying in the big double-bed that Chase and Stacia usually shared, propped up against the wooden frame. Their thick winter quilt was wrapped around him, his little face and dark curls being the only thing to poke out of the patchwork cloth.

“He fell in the water trough for Rainer’s sheep when I looked away,” Stacia explained, sighing. “Got pretty wet.”

“There was a goat staring at me!” Quentin said. He didn’t seem any worse for wear.

“It’ll probably be fine, but considering his...constitution, I-I thought it’d be best if I took the rest of the day off to keep an eye on him.” Stacia pulled the blanket up over Quentin’s head, much to his delight.

All the tension immediately drained from Chase’s body. He stumbled against the wall, losing his balance in the flood of relief. “Oh thank the elders,” he breathed.

Stacia stood up. She walked over to the bedroom window—the only one in their cottage to have glass—and made sure it was firmly closed. Then she turned to face Chase. “Did you...did you get back to town early and decide to check on us?”

“No, I just got back, I ran all the way here,” Chase said, catching his breath for the first time.

“Oh.” Stacia glanced at the arrows in his quiver, then at the three squirrels he had slung over his back. “Sorry, I guess I just thought, since you didn’t seem to find that much—”

“It’s fall, Stacy, animals are starting to hibernate,” Chase said, rubbing his eyes.

“Right. I always forget that.” Stacia nodded.

“How are things going at the farm?”

“Alright. Busy. You know, Jane told me that down in the flatlands, where it’s warmer, they grow potatoes through the winter. Which makes sense, but it’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Yea, pretty strange.” Chase stood up straight. “Well, I’m going to go take care of these squirrels.”

“Oh!” Stacia’s eyes widened. “Wait, before you do, do you remember that you’re going to start teaching Amabel shooting on Hunt’s Day?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” Chase assured her. “I already have a great spot marked out.”

Stacia let out a breath. “Good. With everything today, I almost forgot until now.”

“Well, clearly Amabel didn’t forget. I saw her trying to make a bow string in the main room.” Chase smiled. “It looked pretty good, for her first time doing it on her own.”

“Wonderful.” Stacia turned back to Quentin, who was picking at the seams of the quilt. “Now go take care of those squirrels. Are you going to make dinner or should I?”

“Uh. You seem busy, I’ll do it,” Chase offered. “Right after the squirrels.”

It was well into the night by the time everyone was settled down. Quentin was fine, he hadn’t caught a cold, which was a huge relief. He’d been born a bit weaker than other children, and didn’t have as much energy as them. He often fell ill, and it was always a worry to Chase and Stacia. Amabel was heartier, but she was a quiet child. She often wandered about on her own, and was very familiar with the layout of Hilltown and the potato farms on the edge of the village, where many people worked, including Stacia. At ten years old, it was about time for her to start taking up more serious chores, and she’d asked Chase to take her hunting more than once. Of course, she had to learn to shoot first, and luckily for her, he was ready to teach her soon.

They had mutton for dinner, which they’d traded for with Rainer. Chase had managed to shoot down a bird last week, and the farmer had gladly traded a sheep for that. Now they were all sitting, taking the time to rest. Stacia was sitting in the rocking chair, patching up a hole in one of her tunics, while Amabel and Quentin were sitting by the stone fireplace, both of them now under the winter quilt.

“Don’t get too close, kids,” Chase called from his position near the window, where he was drawing their curtains closed. “A spark could fly and catch that fabric on fire.”

“It’s fine,” Amabel said, pulling the blanket closer and wrapping it around her and Quentin’s legs. “Dad, we need new curtains, those are old.”

“I know, Amy,” Chase muttered, glancing at the threadbare fabric. “But we can’t get any right now, so we’re keeping these until they fall apart.”

“Hmm.” Amabel hummed. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Can we have a story?”

At that suggestion, Quentin perked up. “A story! Yes!”

Chase’s eyes lit up. “Oh, well, I guess we could have one.”

Stacia looked up. “It’s late. And you need your sleep, Quentin, just in case.”

“It’ll be a short one, then,” Chase said. He walked over and sat down in one of the three rickety wooden chairs by the table. The kids spun around so their backs were to the fireplace and scooted a bit closer, though not out of range for the heat of the fire. “Where do you want your story to be from tonight? Down in the flatlands? Maybe along the coast or in the ocean? Or even in Suilthair, where the king lives?”

“What about...here?” Amabel suggested. “In the mountains?”

“Hmm...” Chase stroked his chin, fingers running along his beard hair. “You know what? I think I could work with that.”

Quentin cheered. Amabel stayed quiet, but she leaned forward, ready to hear. Stacia sighed quietly, continuing to patch, but occasionally glanced upwards, showing she was listening as well.

“Do you know what our mountain range is called in the flatlands? It’s just home to us, but to them, we live in the Dragon’s Teeth.” Chase paused for Quentin to gasp. “It’s called that for two reasons. One, because of how high and pointy they are, looking a bit like teeth. Two, because years and years ago, before people moved up into the mountains, dragons lived here.”

“What?!” Quentin whispered. “Big dragons?! Like in the warrior story?”

“Even bigger! Because up in the mountains they had a ton of space to grow into. They lived in caves, and each dragon had its own mountain.” Chase smiled. “Of course, there aren’t any dragons anymore. At least, not in our kingdom. Who knows? Maybe there are more across the seas. But dragons were very magical, and a whole bunch of other magical creatures gathered around the spaces where they used to live, sucking up all the leftover magic.”

“Do wizards get their magic from dragons?” Amabel asked.

Chase shrugged. “I don’t know. Our family’s not that magical, so I never learned that. Maybe you could find that out one day.”

Amabel nodded, her little eyes determined to answer this question someday.

“But even though there aren’t any dragons anymore, there are a lot of other creatures. You know what I always say to do if something bad happens in town?”

“Run to the forest,” the kids said in unison.

“Exactly.” Chase nodded. “Mom and I will come find you. And if nothing’s happened by the next sunset,  you come back to town on your own.” That last part was added at Stacia’s request, since she was concerned about food and woodland animals. “You know all the rules about avoiding wolves and bears, but...there are magical things in the forest. So I have three more rules for you: if a deer has golden antlers, don’t bother it. If you see a horse out on its own, don’t touch it. And if you hear a woman crying, don’t go after it.”

Quentin nodded, but Amabel tilted her head to the side. “Why? And that last one, what if it’s Mom?”

“Well, you could recognize Mom’s voice,” Chase said. “I mean if it sounds like a strange woman. Because that might not be a woman at all. That could be a banshee. They won’t mean you any harm on their own, but if they see you, they’ll try to tell you about coming tragedies. Sounds like a good warning, right? Except that hearing this warning makes the tragedy more likely to happen. So you should stay away. One time, while I was out hunting about, um...ten years ago, before you were born. I was out with Micheal down the bend, we heard someone crying. I decided to walk away, but Micheal chased after it, and when he came back he said he found a banshee. And the next morning, very suddenly, his mother died.”

“Oh no,” Quentin breathed. “What about the other two?”

“A deer with golden antlers probably isn’t a deer at all. It could be the Elder Horned One in disguise. If you disturb him, you could find yourself whisked away to join his hunters. And a horse out on its own definitely isn’t a horse at all. It’s actually a kelpie. And if you touch a kelpie, you’ll get stuck to it. It’ll run into the nearest water and drag you under, and you won’t be able to let go.”

“Alright, I think that’s enough for the night,” Stacia said, standing up. “Amabel, Quentin, you’re all washed up?”

“Yes, Mom,” they said in unison. 

“Good. Off to bed with you.” Stacia hurried the kids over to the corner, where the small bed the two of them shared was tucked against the wall. “We’ll be seeing you in the morning,” she said, pulling back the blankets and tucking them in once the kids were under.

Chase wandered over. “Good night, Quen. Good night, Amy.” He gave them each a kiss on the forehead.

“Good night Dad,” Amabel said. Quentin was already yawning, face buried in the pillow. “Good night Mom.”

“Good night,” Stacia said, giving her and Quentin a kiss as well.

With that, the two adults retreated to the separate bedroom, quickly getting ready for bed. “You ended that story abruptly,” Chase commented.

“Well you did say they were going to get drowned by a kelpie,” Stacia pointed out.

“No, I said that they wouldn’t be if they didn’t touch it. It was a cautionary tale.”

“Still, not the best to hear at night.” Stacia ran a comb through her hair. “And also, I don’t think we should tell them to go into the forest anymore. Not without an adult there.”

“Really?” Chase frowned. “Why?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, come on, Stacy. I know it is, but you can’t tell me you didn’t run around the forest when you were their age. I know I did, and I walked out. Michael did. Terrance did. Wendy and Emilia did.”

“Things are different now,” Stacia said slowly. She shifted uneasily on her feet, then glanced out the window, as if making sure nobody was outside. “Look, you know Rose, Aodhan’s wife?”

“No, but I definitely know Aodhan, he runs the potato farms.”

“Well, Rose is married to him. The past week, she’s been working with us for the harvest, and...she says there are...new things in the forest.”

Chase paused. He’d been about to blow out the candle in the sconce by the door, but something about the way Stacia said that made him pause. “Like...what?”

“Townsfolk have been seeing the figures of...people,” Stacia whispered. “But not your regular, everyday people. These ones carry weapons, a-and they wear...masks. Masks shaped like animal faces. They move quickly and silently, and some think that they’re spirits of some kind.”

“I’ve...never heard of spirits wearing animal masks,” Chase said in a low voice.

“Neither have I. But here’s the thing: Rose doesn’t believe those rumors.” Stacia paused. “Did you know there’s trouble down in the flatlands? People are...unhappy. With how the king is running things.”

“What? That’s strange,” Chase muttered. “I remember hearing that he’s the best king Glasúil ever had.” Though now that he was thinking about it, it had been a while since he’d heard something like that.

“Well, it’s trouble either way to have people thinking that about a king,” Stacia said firmly. “And Rose thinks that these spirits in masks are just people running around the forest, hiding out, being rebels. And that’s dangerous, Chase. Animals and magic behave by certain rules you can expect, but people...you just don’t know with them.”

“I guess you’re right,” Chase muttered. He paused, then blew out the candle and headed back towards bed. “Well, I haven’t seen any of these masked spirits. And I’m in the forest every day. So it’s probably nothing to worry about yet.”

“That forest is big, Chase,” Stacia said, clearly worried despite his reassurance. “You’ve probably only explored a tiny part of it, and the same goes for anyone else in town.”

That was true. Even in his farthest hunting trips, he’d only gone far enough to find his way back to Hilltown relatively quickly. “I still say it’ll be fine,” he reiterated. “I don’t see why any rebels would bother us, even if they were out there.” He climbed into bed. “If I see something weird when I’m out tomorrow, I’ll reconsider it. Besides, it’s not good to think about things like this before bed, as you pointed out to the kids.”

Stacia sighed, and got into bed as well, pulling the blankets up. “I just...don’t want anything to happen to them.”

Chase nodded. “I don’t either,” he agreed softly. Then he took a deep breath. “Good night, Stacy.”

“Good night, Chase.” Stacia leaned over and blew out the candle on the bedside table, leaving the room dark except for the moonlight coming through the window. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning went the same as every other morning. The family had breakfast, either Stacia or Chase went out to manage the garden while the other took care of the kids—today it was Chase for the former and Stacia for the latter, though they switched every other day—then Stacia got ready to go to the farms and Chase got ready to go hunting. As always, the kids went with Stacia, wandering around within eyesight and earshot of her while she worked. Though Chase could tell Amabel was eager to start going into the more dangerous forest with her dad, judging by the way she kept looking at her miniature bow, still unstrung. He ruffled her hair and reminded her that Hunt’s Day was just two days away, then headed off, waving goodbye to Stacia and the kids.

Passing through town was the same as ever as well. Some people were lined up at the well, as they always seemed to be. It looked as though the temple was unchanged, so clearly Mother Aoife and Pastor Cait had resolved their issue. Kieran waved goodbye as Chase walked past, and reminded him to look for beavers to shoot. 

And from there...the day was largely uneventful. Which was not good. Hunting was always a lot of waiting and wandering and being quiet, occasionally interrupted by action as you aimed and shot at an animal. But in the fall like this, that last bit of action was becoming rarer. And it didn’t help that it was really starting to get cold. Chase could see his breath in the air in front of him, and he kept pulling his felt hat down over his head. It was old, and almost nobody else in town had one like it, but he kept it because it had a handy brim for blocking the sun. It was also good for cold days like these, when he hadn’t grabbed his jacket because he mistakenly believed it would be as warm today as it was yesterday.

The sun passed overhead. Chase stopped around midday to have a lunch of bread and jerky, then moved on. He stopped by his usual snares, but found that nothing had stumbled into them. Not even a few squirrels like the day before. Growing frustrated, and more than a little desperate, he wandered farther into the forest, but still found nothing. This was bad. Sure, they had a stockpile of preserved meat and jerky from his hunts during the summer, but that would run out eventually. And what if Quentin got sick, and needed something more hearty than dried, stringy meat? What would they do then?

It was starting to get late when he saw it. Just a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Chase stiffened, and slowly turned. There, right in between two trees, fully in view of him...was a deer. Its coat was dark brown, almost black, and it was grazing peacefully, not paying him the least bit of attention. It had been a few weeks since he’d seen a deer. That was a bit unusual, really. But it didn’t matter anymore. There was one here now. Slowly, he drew his bow.

The deer raised its head and started to walk away. Carefully, Chase followed it. He stepped carefully, making sure there were no twigs or crunchy fallen leaves before putting his foot down. After a while, the deer stopped again, grazing for a bit. Chase made sure he was in a good position, then raised his bow and reached towards the quiver on his hip. Then the deer started walking away again.

Chase followed it, for longer than he probably should have. The shadows grew more slanted, then started to take over, but he kept following the deer. Every time he got into a good position to shoot and started to grab an arrow, it moved on. After a while, it felt like a game. A game of...chase. He almost laughed when the thought occurred to him, but stopped just in time to catch the sound.

It was well into dusk when the deer wandered into a small circular clearing. Chase stopped, still hidden by the trees, and gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. Once the sun went behind the mountains in autumn, the temperature dropped rapidly. But it wouldn’t be long now. He had to get this deer. They needed it. And now it was just standing there, ears twitching. Chase raised the bow again, and this time when he reached for an arrow, he pulled it out and slowly nocked it, steadying his stance to take aim.

But then...no, something was different. The deer’s antlers...had they gotten bigger? More...curvy? Chase paused, puzzled. Then he took a closer look.

The antlers were...glinting. He was sure they were ordinary bone before, but now they looked almost...golden.

Gasping, Chase instantly let go of his bow and arrow. They landed in the undergrowth with soft thumps.

The deer’s ears stopped twitching. But instead of running away, it turned around. And it looked at him. And there was something different about its dark, dark eyes. Different from other deer eyes, from other animal eyes, that Chase had seen before.

He slowly raised his hands. “I—I didn’t kn—”

The deer looked away from him, turnin to the side, staring off into the distance. Then it broke into a run in the opposite direction, hooves making no sound on the forest floor.

For a long, long while, Chase just stood there, shivering, breath pluming in the air. Had that...really happened? Or had he just imagined it because he’d been out in the cold for so long? After some time, he bent over and picked up his bow and the arrow he’d dropped, putting them away. Well, it was also dark. He could’ve been just...seeing things in the moonlight. And speaking of moonlight, he should really be heading home by now. He was late. Now...which way was it?

He’d wandered a long way following that deer. It was dark and he wasn’t as familiar with this part of the forest as he was with areas closer to home. So by the time he found his way back, it was definitely night, no longer twilight. Stacia and the kids must be so worried. Chase picked up the pace.

Wait...if it was night, then why was there an orange glow in the distance? It was well past sunset. Chase squinted, and in a split second, he realized a few things: First, the glow was coming from the direction of Hilltown. Second, even if it was sunset, the forest was west of town, and therefore the town wouldn’t be between him and the sunset. Third, he was getting closer to the glow. Closer in a way that just didn’t happen with a setting sun. His heart froze. And he burst into a flat run, easily clearing the edge of the forest.

The village was on fire.

Chase just stood and gaped for a moment, feeling the heat from here. The wooden buildings that ran up the sloping ground were all ablaze. He could see dark shapes in the streets, and the figures of people running around, with—horses? A lot of horses. There were only about four in the whole town, and this was definitely more than that.

Snapping out of the daze, he ran, but in his haste, lost footing on the uneven ground and fell, tumbling head over heels for a bit before he managed to stop himself. “Ow...” he groaned, lifting himself up and coming face to face with the flames. Quickly, he threw himself backwards, scrambling to a safe distance.

Now that he was closer, he could definitely make out what was happening. The dark shapes on the ground between the burning buildings...were bodies. He couldn’t recognize anyone, but then again, he couldn’t bring himself to look for any longer than necessary. And there were strangers wandering around. Some on foot, some on horses, but all wearing chain mail armor underneath dark tunics. Chase stared at them, wide-eyed. The strangers were shouting. To each other? To their horses? To anyone left? It was hard to tell.

But they hadn’t noticed Chase. Quickly getting to his feet, he started running around the edge of town. He had to get home! At this time of night, Stacia would be there, Quentin and Amabel would be there—were they okay?! They had to be okay! He didn’t know what he would do if—He wouldn’t forgive himself if he was away and missed being able to help them.

Going around town was a lot slower than going through it, but everything—everything—was on fire. Even the stone buildings! How was that possible?! If the stone buildings were on fire, their cottage could—he pushed himself to run faster.

He couldn’t avoid it anymore. He had to run into the town to get home. But the smoke—even from here, his eyes were watering. So he took his hat off and pressed it to his face, filtering it before he could breathe it in. And he plunged into the raging flames. Even staying in the center of the path, the heat was almost unbearable. But Stacia—Quentin, Amabel—

The cottage. Their home. It was also on fire. The old curtains were ash, the vegetable garden was a raging inferno. “Stacia!” Chase shouted. “Stacy! Quentin! Amabel! Stacy! Quen! Amy! Where are you?!”

Voices. Chase turned and saw some of those strangers nearby, one on a horse. And...he hadn’t noticed this before, but there was a symbol on the back of their dark tunics. A shield, black and blue striped, with a green circle in the center, a black dot in the center of that. The symbol was—it was—the symbol for their kingdom, the kingdom of Glasúil. Chase had never seen it in person, but everyone grew up learning of that insignia. And they also learned that, while local militia may wear a simplified green ring on their clothes, only soldiers working directly for the royal family were allowed to wear the full crest.

Chase recalled this fact dimly, but it didn’t really register. One of the strangers—the soldiers—started to turn around. And gasping, coughing a bit, Chase turned and ran right back out of town, never stopping until he was well clear of the last few houses, out onto the potato fields. In the distance, he saw the house of Aodhan and Rose, the farm owners. It was also on fire.

What was he supposed to do now?! Stacia, and the kids...were they...? No, no they couldn’t be.

The forest.

He’d told the kids to run into the forest if there was ever any danger in town. And sure, Stacia was concerned about rebels in the woods and those strange masked figures, but in the face of this? Maybe she would do the same. Well...it was all he could think of. The only straw he could grasp. Stumbling, Chase turned around and ran back the way he came.

The trees enveloped him in a strange sense of calm, a world removed from the blazing horrors of the burning town. He stumbled for a moment, tripping over some brush, then ran faster. “Stacia! Quentin! Amabel!” he yelled. Even with the distant light from the flaming ruins of the village, the trees above blocked out most of the light, leaving him in shadows. His eyes darted about for any movement. “Where are you?! Can you hear me?”

Abandoning all his hunter’s instincts telling him to stay quiet, he ran through the woods, staggering over brush and rocks that he couldn’t see in the darkness. “Can you hear me?! Answer me! Stacy! Quen! Amy!” Chase’s cries pierced through the silence. There was no sign of them. Maybe they’d gone farther. Thinking that, he plunged deeper into the trees.

Things quickly became unfamiliar. Whether it was because of the distance or because of the darkness, he couldn’t say. But the strangeness only spurred him on. What if his family was lost out here? Alone in the woods? He’d taught the kids something about foraging for food, but not enough, not in this situation. And Stacia was a farmer, not a hunter or a forester. He had to find them. He had to—

Chase noticed the lack of ground beneath his foot a split second after stepping forward. Then he fell. Luckily, it wasn’t off a cliff, but he did land with a loud splash! as he fell into some shallow water. Pebbles and rocks bit into this arms as he extended them out to brace for impact. He sat up, spluttering, now completely soaked. What was this, a stream? A pond? He couldn’t quite see in the dark, but he did know one thing: there were no streams or ponds near the town, and certainly not in the parts of the forest he knew.

Securing his hat, he stood up. His bow and quiver knocked against his side, and he then realized that the fall had caused most of his arrows to fall out. Well...that wouldn’t be good in the future. But he couldn’t see where they’d fallen into the water, and there was no time. He pressed onward.

The trees were close together, heavy branches blocking out the sun. Chase kept his arms out in front of him, to make sure he didn’t run into a trunk. If he couldn’t even see the trees, he definitely wouldn’t be able to see a person. And they wouldn’t be able to see him. “Stacia! Kids! A-are you out h-here?” He gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. It was cold before, and now it was later, and he was wet, making it positively freezing. “Stacy! K-kids! Are you here?!” But he kept going.

The rush of emotion was starting to fade. He was getting tired. Maybe if he took a rest...no! No, what could be happening to them while he rested?! And besides, he’d be easy prey for any predators out here if he slept. He staggered forward. The forest was practically pitch black, but he kept shouting, his voice growing hoarse, and hoping to hear a reply. 

The underbrush must be thicker here, because he kept tripping up. He fell down twice, but pulled himself to his feet and went onward. His hands were shaking...shivering. “S...Sta-asha. Quen...Quentnn…Ammbel,” he mumbled. It was hard to keep his eyes open. Where was he? Shouldn’t he...shouldn’t he have found some town by now? No, the forest went on for...for acres. He knew this. How could he forget...“Plea...pl’se...say y’r here...I...wher...?”

He couldn’t...couldn’t stop now. He needed to find them. Couldn’t...leave them. On their own. He kept pressing onward. It was getting so hard...he had to use the trees for support sometimes. Stop to take a break. But not to give up. “Can’...give up...St-stace...Quen...Am...ple-please...”

And once again, he stepped somewhere without support. But now he couldn’t even register it. He just knew he was falling, rolling down, down a hill. Coming to a stop when he hit...something. A tree? Those felt like...roots, beneath him. His arm moved a bit, trying to grab something to pull himself up. Fingers drifted across a bark-covered surface, but couldn’t...couldn’t grab. So his arm fell back down. Maybe...he should rest for just a few minutes.

But after just a few seconds of staying still, he heard a strange rustling sound. Raising his head weakly, he saw...a strange sight indeed. People. No, not quite people. Human bodies, dressed in dark clothes...but with white-feathered bird faces where heads should be. Four or five of them...Wait. No, not bird heads. Bird masks. Masks made out of some sort of white material. Hadn’t...hadn’t he heard something about masks recently?

The masked figures drew closer. Chase stared up at them. He was so...so tired. He wouldn’t be able to run even if the thought had managed to...to get through. 

One of them knelt down next to him, pulling off a glove. They pressed a pair of fingers to his neck, and he shivered. He wasn’t cold anymore. Or he was, but this bird person’s hands were colder.

They stood up again, and turned to the others. He heard the sound of voices, but his head couldn’t process the words. What were they...were they hear to...help? Or...?

He was too tired to think about it. He let his head fall back to the forest floor.

The last thing Chase felt before losing consciousness was the sudden lift of someone picking him up.

[darlingpeter]

i’m asking you to stay.

this is the third (and perhaps final?) part to my pre-movie!eddie series. in this one, eddie and the reader finally find the time to get intimate with one another. as always, this could be read with the rest for full context but could also be read well on its own! 

pairing: pre-movie!eddie x reader

warnings: fluff and smut (oral sex f!receiving, protected sex)!!! - please only read if you’re 18+

length: 3,703 (i got a little carried away)

part one - part two 

You and Eddie weren’t able to meet up and go on what you’d consider to be a date date for over a month. 

The two of you were able to cross paths for coffee or lunch some days, spend an hour or so chatting and catching up, and then part with a quick kiss. You loved spending whatever time you could with Eddie, but you missed the kind of closeness that came with being alone together. The way that your first date ended made it pretty clear that he wanted you as much as you did him, and you wanted so badly to just find a supply closet somewhere and pick up where you had left off, but for the time being, you were content with his thigh pressed against yours as you sat on the same side of a diner booth and holding his hand whenever possible. 

But then he had to leave the country for a story that he was working on. For three weeks.

You kept in contact the same way that you had been, texting each other as often as you could and continuing to send things everyday on twitter that you knew would make each other smile, but the distance definitely made you miss having him close. 

He felt the same way, which was made clear by a voicemail that he left you with a week left in his travels. He was very clearly drunk, the cacophony of voices and sounds of passing traffic making it clear that he was standing out in the front of a tavern. “I can’t wait to be able to kiss you again.” He slurs, which is met with a few groans in the background. His local friends must have been trying to dissuade him from giving you a ring. “Shut up, you guys,” His voice is distanced from the receiver before he comes back close again. “I just think it’s really fucked up that things were goin’ so well before I had to leave because I like you a lot n’ I don’t want you to like, think that I’ll forget about you or anything because I actually miss you a lot. I can’t stop thinking about you. ‘S that stupid? I feel like that sounds kinda stupid.” There’s a pause, and then Eddie laughs. “Forgot tha’ this is a message n’ you can’t answer me--” a car horn honks twice. “Fuckin’-- ‘m coming, ok? Jesus, I gotta go. G’night or morning or whatever time it is in San Francisco right now I don’t remember, but I’ll see you in seven short days, gorgeous.” He hung up. 

The first time that you heard it, your heart bloomed in your chest. The next day you texted him about it, and he was embarrassed and quick to apologize, but after you told him that you were feeling the same way, you made plans for when he got back. 

Finally, the day of his return rolled around. 

His flight came in later in the evening, so the two of you agreed to meet up at your place for drinks. A few hours before his flight was due to land, you were bustling around your apartment, straightening things up and doing a bit of cleaning that needed to be done in order to make you feel comfortable welcoming him into your space. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you imagined him doing the same thing before your first date over at his, which calmed your worry that you were going overboard with the whole ordeal.

When you heard him knock at your door at about 9PM, you did a quick assessment of your place and took a quick glance at yourself in the mirror hanging in the living space. This was by no means a formal date, and although it was agreed that there was no expectation to go all out for this meetup, you tried your best not to feel insecure about the t-shirt and pajama pants that you were wearing. 

That unease immediately vanished when you opened the door and Eddie was positively beaming at you on the other side. 

“Hey,” He said, his voice soft and slightly breathy, and his cheeks were pink like he had practically ran up the stairs to get to your doorstep. 

“Hey, you.” You grinned, stepping aside so that he could step into your place. He took the same glance at his surroundings that you gave to his place, and for a moment you were anxious, but that feeling subsided when he fixed his warm gaze back on you.

Before you could make some remark about how you had tidied up, Eddie was moving forward the few steps that separated you, grabbing your hands where they hung at your side and leaning in to kiss you. You leaned into it, looking up at him as you separated. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He admitted, his voice soft, and you beamed up at him in response, leaning forward to pull him into another.

His hands released yours so that he could grab at your waist and pull you flush to him, and you cupped his stubbled cheeks in your hands, sighing into his mouth when he nipped at your bottom lip. He broke away to bite at your neck, and you laughed, running your hands down his chest and over where his nipples were hardened under the fabric of his shirt. “Do you want that drink or do you want to cut to the grand tour of my bedroom?” 

You could feel him stir in his pants from how closely you were pressed together, and if that wasn’t any indication of his answer, the excitement and lust behind the look that he fixed you with certainly was. With one more quick peck to his lips, you took him by the hand and dragged him in the direction of your bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, knees spread. You stood between them as you began to lift the hem of your shirt, he gently swatted them away. “Let me do that.” He reprimanded softly. 

He pulled you into his lap, knees on either side of his hips in a position reminiscent of the one the last time things got heated between the two of you, and butterflies swirled in your stomach in anticipation. You lifted your arms to help Eddie as he pulled off your shirt, and once he saw that your breasts were bare underneath, he let out a groan that sent a spark down your spine. “So fucking beautiful.” he murmured, staring up at you with dark irises. His hands smoothed up your ribcage to cup your tits, squeezing them softly with a groan as your nipples hardened against his rough palms. 

Hands planted on his chest, you pushed him back to lie on the bed. You reconnected your lips briefly before he broke away to give a small, surprised “oh,” as you began rolling your hips over his covered crotch. He moved his hands down to grab the flesh of your ass to help guide your movements against him, and when the ridge of his zip caught your clit just right though your pajama bottoms and your panties, you panted out a desperate whimper against his lips. 

“I’ve been wanting to hear you make that sound for me since I met you in that coffee shop.” Eddie confessed, his voice low. Heat flooded to your core at his words, and while he had you dazed, he picked you up and placed you gently on your back on the bed. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as he stripped off his shirt, revealing his toned torso and broad chest. You smiled up at him as he popped the button on his jeans, and he fixed you with a puzzled look. “What?” He asked. 

“Is there a ranked list of the hottest journalists in the United States? Because I feel like you would make the top 5.” You mused, and Eddie barked out a laugh as he pushed his pants down his equally toned thighs. 

“Top 5? That’s a little generous, don’tcha think?” He struggled a bit to get them off from around his ankles, and once he did, he was left in a pair of tented briefs. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Ed. You’re a stud.” You stretched out a leg so that you could poke him in the side with your foot as you complimented him, but squeaked as he grabbed you by the ankle and pulled your ass closer to the edge of the bed. 

You giggled as he got between your legs, placing his elbows on either side of your head as he kissed you sweetly. “You don’t have to woo me, angel. You know I’d want to get my mouth between those pretty thighs even if you were telling me I would come dead last.” Grinning, you brought your hands up to cup his face as he gazed down at you, his stubble rough on your palms as he mirrored your expression. “Now, can I get these pants off of you?” 

“Please.” You breathed, and you almost started laughing at how quickly he grabbed at your pajama bottoms, hooking his fingers underneath the waistband of your pants and your panties so that he could pull them both down in one go. You lifted your hips to help him, and after they were tossed aside, Eddie got down on his knees between your legs. You felt suddenly self-conscious as he smoothed one palm over the outside of the thigh of the leg he had placed over his shoulder. Prepping yourself up on your elbows, your face grew hot as he took in the sight of your bare pussy for the first time, which was undoubtedly already dripping wet. “Eddie, you don’t have to if you don’t—“ 

“Sweetheart, I promise that I want to. I really really want to.” He wet his lips and turned his head to brush his cheek against the inside of your thigh, the slight burn of his whiskers against your sensitive skin making you hiss. “Please, let me.”

You sat back on your elbows, heat flooding to your core at the intensity and the lust in his eyes. “Ok,” you breathed, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

The first contact of his tongue on your folds had your eyes fluttering shut with a moan. He circled around your labia with the flat of his tongue a few times, and the first time he delved into your slit he let out an appreciative grunt against your heated flesh. One of his hands was holding your hips down, and the other rubbed circles against your clit as he licked into your dripping core and made your hips tick up into his mouth.

“Oh fuck, Eddie, please,” you whined as two of his fingers began teasing at your entrance at the same time he suckled at the bundle of nerves. To your dismay, he took to kissing the inside of your thigh instead, and your brows furrowed. “Eyes on me, gorgeous. Come on.” He coaxed your eyes open, and immediately you felt the weight of his gaze on you. There was something playful lurking behind his lust-darkened eyes, and the intensity of his stare had heat coiling low in your belly. Keeping his eyes on you, he drew his tongue flat in a slow drag against your clit as he pushed his fingers inside of you, and your mouth dropped open in a gasp as your body took in his thick digits. You reached for Eddie, running your fingers through his hair as he began to suckle on your clit at the same time he pressed at the spongy spot on your front wall. 

It had been too long since you’d had anything other than your fingers or a toy to help you get off, so when he began massaging that spot inside you that made you see stars, you couldn’t hold back the shriek that left your lips, your back arching as he drew you to the edge. “Eddie, I’m so close,” you flat-out whimpered, meeting his blown pupils from where he was between your legs. He only intensified his actions, seeming to relish in the sounds that he could coax out of you and the slick noises as he worked your pussy. You tumbled over the edge in no time with a loud keen of his name, your body trembling as pleasure sang in your veins. Eddie kept at it, drawing your orgasm out for what felt like blissful minutes before you were shaking with oversensitivity, tugging gently at his hair to get him to stop. “Oh my god,” you laughed breathlessly as he drew out his fingers from your dripping center and stuck them casually in his mouth. “No one has ever eaten me out like that before.”

And Eddie grinned from between your legs, his mouth and chin glistening wet. “You deserve to have your pussy eaten like that hourly, sweetheart.” He responded, and the gravelly tone of his voice gave you goosebumps. As he stood from his position on the floor, you moved yourself onto your still shaking knees to pull him into a deep kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue. His hands moved to your ass, pulling you so close to him you swore he could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

When you gently cupped his cock through the front of his briefs you felt a wet spot against your palm and Eddie sharply inhaled, pulling away from the kiss. “You want me to return the favor?” You asked sweetly, gently squeezing him through the fabric, and his length throbbed in your fingers.

He gave a nervous laugh, taking you by the wrist and giving you one more tender kiss. “As much as I would love that, and I would love that, I gotta take a raincheck. I wanna be able to last when I’m inside you.” You let out an audible whimper at his words, and then gasped as he gave a playful smack to your ass. “Get on your back, baby.” 

At his soft command, you did as you were told, laying back against the soft pillows of your bed with your knees spread. You watched as Eddie fished for a condom in the pocket of his discarded jeans, and once he retrieved the foil packet, took off his briefs. His thick cock was hard, the pink head shining in the lamplight. It was gorgeous, and you told him as much as he settled between your legs, knees propped wide and thighs braced up against the undersides of yours. He  blushed and then let out a groan as you took the warm weight of him in your hand, stroked him gently, and ran your fingers over the ridge of his cockhead. He swatted at your hand with the condom packet, and you squawked in surprise. “What did I just say about a raincheck?” He reprimanded, his voice comically high, and you rested your hands on the bed by your head with your palms facing up in surrender as you laughed. 

With the condom rolled on, he rocked his hips forward, running his covered cock through your slick folds. He hooked one of your knees in his elbow and planted his hand on the bed sheets next to your waist, shifting your hips and opening yourself up further to him, and when he looked up to meet your eyes, he looked almost giddy. “This is still ok?” He asked.

“Yes, Eddie. Please.” You breathed, and with your express consent, he used his free hand to guide his cock so the blunt head was pressed to your center. He pressed into you steadily and easily thanks to your previous orgasm, but you still whined high in your throat at the burn as your body accommodated the girth of him. Your fingers gently circled your clit to ease the moment of discomfort, and you reached down the slightest bit further to stroke lightly at the base of Eddie’s cock. 

“Oh… oh fuck,” He grunted once he was seated fully inside you, working his hips in short thrusts as you got used to the feel of him. “You feel so good.” You reached up for him, grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him down into a searing kiss. When he started to thrust forward more forcefully, you gasped into his mouth and grabbed at the taut bicep of the arm hooked underneath your knee. 

He adjusted himself to sit higher on his knees, and the new angle that he maneuvered your hips into made warmth coil low in your belly. “You’re right on my g-spot, oh -- my god.” You moaned brokenly. Encouraged by your wanton squeals, Eddie fucked into you harder, the sound of your ass hitting his hips filling the space of your bedroom. 

“You look so fucking beautiful like this.” Eddie hissed, enamored with the blush coloring your cheeks, the swell of your kiss-bitten lips, and the tears brimming in your eyes. “Split open on my cock, taking me so well, angel. So fucking tight around me.” You whimpered at his praise, legs starting to shake around his abdomen. “You close, baby? Tell me what you need.” 

“I’m gonna cum, Eddie! Please, keep-- just like that.” You babbled, hand falling to grip the sheets as Eddie’s fingers replaced the ones working at your throbbing clit. Between the tight circles that he traced around your bundle of nerves and the brutal pace that he continued to fuck into you with, your orgasm rolled over you blissfully, surging through your veins and causing your eyes to roll back. You were so lost in your release that you barely registered Eddie pulling out of you before he had his face between your legs again, rolling his tongue over your clit and fingers slipping back inside to stroke at your g-spot and draw out your orgasm as long as he possibly could. You let out a sob as your high crested and your body began to tremble through the aftershocks, eventually having to reach down and grab Eddie by his hair to pull his face from your core before it became too much. 

He grinned up at you, planting kisses on your abdomen and the tops of your thighs as you caught your breath. You broke into a tired laugh as soon as you came back to yourself. Gently, he guided you to lay on your stomach. He straddled the back of your thighs, his heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. When he took himself in hand and pressed back into you from behind, he moaned lowly. Your body sang with oversensitivity, and you let out a whimper as he thrusted shallowly, his hands spreading your cheeks so that he could stare down to where your pussy was stretched around the girth of him. “Is this ok?” Eddie asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes, fuck, give it to me. Use me.” You moaned, your cheek pressed to the bed and your hands gripping the sheets of the bed tightly. He made an unholy sound at your go-ahead. He planted a hand against your shoulder and the other against your hip, bracing his weight against you and pinning you to the mattress as he leaned forward to rut into you hard. You clenched your pelvic floor around him, rocking your hips in the slightest bit that he could to meet his thrusts. Eddie grunted out praise of your body, your pussy, and of how good you were from him until he let out a pornographic moan, burying himself in you as deeply as he could as he emptied himself into the condom. He thrusted shallowly a few more times as he rode out his own release before he pulled out, slipping off the condom and tying a knot in the top. As you turned onto your back to look up at him, he held it up with blissfully glazed eyes and a questioning look on his face, and you laughed. “There’s a garbage can in the bathroom.” You told him, and his face lit up comically. He got up from the bed and you watched his broad, sweat-dewy frame disappear from the room. 

After a minute or so had passed, Eddie slipped back in the room comically, holding a glass of water. You smiled at him as he placed the glass of water on the nightstand. He then flopped on his back next to you on the bed with enough force to bounce you off of the mattress the slightest bit, making you squawk out a laugh. He pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply as he pulled your leg to rest over his hip. “That was…” He trailed off, a blissful look on his face. 

“Yeah.” You grinned, running your fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck. He placed his head against your sternum and hummed contentedly, and you laid like that for several moments unencumbered by the rest of the world.

“Don’t forget about that water. Hydration is important, and you did invite me over for drinks.” He broke the silence with a quip, tracing patterns onto the muscle of your outer thigh as you laid together. You considered breaking away from the snuggle to reach for the glass, but you weren’t that thirsty and your tired muscles had begun to settle into the softness of the bed and of Eddie’s embrace. 

“Maybe the drink we were talking about could be coffee. Over breakfast?” You ask coyly, and Eddie practically beamed up at you, kissing you sweetly. 

“I’d like that a lot.” He hummed, burying his face in your neck and littering kisses along the underside of your jaw. The hand that he had on your thigh drifted to your ass and gently squeezed, causing you to roll your hips forward into his. “And I can think of a few things that we could do to pass the time.” 

taglist: (which is open! pm me to be added!)

@howlingbarnes @maybe-mikala

[raelly-writing]

The Lord of Embers

Since I started in Limsa, the Ifrit questline is the first time Thancred and my WoL really interacts and work together, so I wanted to write something for that first impression sort of stuff.

---

The merciless midday sun bore down upon the land, and only a mild breeze stirred the dry air, barely managing to keep it from feeling too stifling.

For all his years in the region, Thancred felt grateful for the shade of the solitary tree that clung to the rocky slope. Leaning against its trunk, he kept one eye on the Amalj'aa encampment further up the ravine, while scanning the lands below, seeking for any solitary figures moving across the flat plane in his direction.

Hopefully the latest addition to their merry band wasn’t completely incapable of following the directions he’d left with the alderman.

Fishing out his water flask, Thancred took a small mouthful to wet his throat. Even for Thanalan, the heat was near unbearable. If he drew Viana’s ire for making her trekk out here for what was a task he could easily do himself, then so be it - he wanted to see for himself how capable this mercenary from Limsa was.

Not that he doubted Y’shtola’s estimation of her abilities - Hells, by his dear colleague’s strict standards, her praise had been positively glowing.

Still, while he’d had no cause for complaints for her conduct so far, his curiosity remained piqued. Even if Y’hstola hadn’t informed them that their new recruit was training with the marauders’ guild, it’d been plain to him from the moment she had stepped into the solar, just from the way she moved, that she didn’t carry that axe just for show.

Just then a dark shape moving amidst the low brush of the lands below caught his attention. Thancred straightened up a little, instantly on the alert. The figure was too small to be one of the beastmen, and there wasn’t much reason for anyone to be heading this way towards the Amalj’aa’s encampment. So, either it was Viana following his directions, or it was another spoken in league with the beastmen.

Fishing out his small spyglass from his bag, he focused onto the figure. Though the armoured figure stayed off the well-trodden path the Amalj’aa utilised, it was easy to pick out their dark red hair and the great axe on their back.

“Well, well, she did not get lost at least,” Thancred mused to himself as he folded up his spyglass. He should be easy enough to spot from her angle of approach, but if needed to, he’d leave the shade of the tree and meet her at lower ground.

But it soon enough became clear that she’d seen him, and Thancred leaned back against the tree once more to wait for her, his eyes locked on the Amalj’aa encampment and ears trained on the sounds of rocks sliding that slowly grew louder. Seven Hells, he didn’t envy her wearing that armour out in this heat. But she was quieter in her approach than he had expected.

Turning his head, Thancred offered her a welcoming smile when she crested the edge of the slope. “Ah, there you are, Viana,” he greeted her. “So good of you to come!”

Viana gave him a curt nod and joined him under the shade of the tree. Wisps of hair had escaped the bun she’d gathered it up in, but other than a mild flush to her cheeks she seemed fairly unbothered by the trek across the plains. “Apologies, didn’t mean to leave you waiting.”

“No harm done,” he replied with a shrug and held out his water flask to her but she shook her head and unhooked her own from her belt. Well, perhaps he should’ve expected a Highlander to know to be prepared for hot weather.

“Did you hear about Sister Ourcen before you left?” she asked before taking a sip from her flask.

Thancred kept his face neutral as he replied, despite the small pang of guilt. “Indeed, I’ve heard all about good Sister Ourcen. Isembard said her wounds were serious. It would seem my suspicions about the poor rose were misplaced.”

Not for the first time in the past few days, he was on the receiving end of a cool and an appraising look. But rather than saying anything, she merely gave him a silent nod and took another sip from her bottle.

Taking the measure of one's comrades was probably something of a useful skill in the mercenary field, but at the back of his mind Thancred had the distinct feeling that he came up short to whatever expectations she had of him. Oh well, he’d play the fool for a while longer still. “But, onto why I asked you to meet me out here,” he spoke casually. “False though they were, perhaps my suspicions were not entirely without merit. Whilst following Sister Ourcen near the Golden Bazaar, a band of Amalj’aa caught my eye.”

He gestured towards the encampment. “And I tracked them as far as here, but…” He slipped on a charming, apologetic smile as easily as one might put on a well-worn glove. “Well, let us just say that I would much prefer to keep my distance and remain here.” He watched her eyes narrow ever so slightly, clearly anticipating his next sentence. “This, of course, brings me to why I requested you, dear Viana. Would you be so kind as to take a look inside?”

There was a flash of something sharp in her expression, a subtle tightening of her brow and flexing of her jaw, before she exhaled in a slow and controlled manner, “As you wish.” It was the polite, well-practised tone of someone used to not making her annoyance with a request too obvious.

Disregarding the feeling that he was poking a bear with a stick, Thancred put his hand on his hip and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. “Is aught amiss, my dear?”

While making her way past him towards the slope down into the ravine, Viana hooked her water flask back onto her belt, and loosened her axe from its holster on her back, taking the hefty weapon in one hand. “Nay,” she replied over her shoulder. “Merely trying to figure out if there’s more to you than just a pretty face and clever tongue.”

Thancred couldn’t help but chuckle. “Pretty am I?”

But she’d already begun to jump and slide her way down to the encampment below.

----

The distant sounds of soldiers groaning in pain bore down on Thancred’s shoulders as he made his way out of Camp Drybone’s inn and into the mercifully cooling evening air, with a tray of simple breads and pitcher of water in hand. He did not look forward to reporting to Raubahn how things had gone. Luckily, they had suffered minimal losses on their hasty rescue mission at the Amalj’aa’s inner sanctum.

But there were those who still drew breath who were all but walking dead.

Thancred grit his teeth, his eyes searching for the one person who had somehow escaped the primal’s influence. After a moment, he spotted Viana perched atop some crates in a solitary corner. There were a few bandages wrapped around her arms, but scrapes, singed hair and minor burns had thankfully been the worst of her injuries and from what he could see, they did not seem to hinder her much as she gave her weapon and armour a critical look-over.

“Ah, Viana, there you are!”

At the sound of his voice, she immediately looked up. Despite the attentive edge to her gaze - the look of someone expecting orders to move and continue onward, that rest could wait for later - he could tell that she was tired.

“Come now, at ease, you’ve more than earned a rest, I’d say.” He held up the pitcher and tray in his hands, a couple of simple clay mugs balanced amidst the bread rolls. “Some refreshments.”

Her body language relaxed a little, and she pushed together her gear before moving to the side, making space for him where she had been sitting.

Thancred set down the pitcher and tray by her side, before he with a long exhale sank down on the crate. It’d been a long day, both physically and emotionally.

“You alright?” Viana asked just loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the people milling about camp Drybone.

Thancred shot her an easy, disarming smile as he poured up some water. “Flattered as I am about your concern, there’s no need to fret, my dear,” he replied while offering her the mug. “Despite the rather diligent attempts of the Amalj’aa zealots, I’m quite unscathed.”

Viana sighed, the tilt of her head giving him the impression that she’d only just resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she gave him a weary, contemplating look as she accepted the mug from him. “Good to hear.”

“Well, my contributions to this mission have been sorely lacking,” he responded while helping himself to a piece of bread, “so it seemed the least I could do.” He felt the weight of her gaze on him, but before she had the chance to reply, he continued. “Speaking of, I do believe I was in the process of apologizing. I do hope you can forgive me.”

“For what? There’s nothing you did wrong.”

Thancred huffed out a laugh that sounded more tired than he would have liked. “That’s kind of you,” he replied, managing a casual, carefree tone, while he tore off a piece of bread. “But there’s no denying that I arrived too late to be of any use… to you or the abductees.” A heavy silence followed his words. Absently, he popped the chunk of bread into his mouth but barely registered the taste of it as he chewed slowly. The heaviness on his shoulders grew deeper. If only he’d been faster. Stronger. More alert.

It was never enough. He was never enough. And people always died because of it. The bread tasted ashen in his mouth as he slowly ate piece after piece.

“But you tried.”

To his surprise, the firm, guarded edge was gone from her voice.

When he looked at her, he expected it to just have been a momentary slip, but gone was the reserved professional facade. In its stead was perhaps not the relaxed demeanour he might have expected from a friend, but there was an earnest warmth to her gaze when she looked at him.

“Don’t get me wrong, it was a shite situation,” Viana continued with a brief, wry smile, “And it would’ve been the practical thing to just write us all off as an unfortunate loss and not risk any more lives.” She paused, briefly, and he caught the flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “But you mounted a rescue anyway.” She shrugged and looked back out over Camp Drybone. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I’d probably have survived Ifrit only to get skewered on some Amalj’aa’s spear while trying to get out of there.”

At the back of his mind, he noted how frankly she spoke of her own potential demise, with not a hint of mirth to soften her words. The reassuring words did nothing to soothe the choking sense of failure lingering in his chest. If he had been faster to mobilize a rescue force, he might have been able to reach them before they’d even been brought before Ifrit to start with. Despite his internal turmoil, Thancred mustered a disarming smile and winked at her, “Of course I did, I’d hardly leave a fair lady as yourself to her demise!”

This time, Viana did roll her eyes and sigh, but there was the hint of a smile on her lips. “Suppose I should thank you for risking a scratch to mar that face of yours,” she drawled, then gave him a side look. “Thank you, Thancred.”

The earnest, somber tone made his chest feel tight. Thancred swallowed and was a little grateful that a sudden commotion between a couple of residents of Drybone gave him an excuse to look away from her. He watched as the two men were quickly shushed and led away by a guard, before things escalated. Try as he might, his smart replies didn’t come as easily to his far too dry tongue. “Well, at any rate, I should have accompanied you to the ambush site,” he murmured.

“For what? It was a simple mission, you had your own tasks to see to and couldn’t have known there was a mole amongst the Flames.” He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off, her voice growing rough with poorly contained bitterness that echoed what he himself felt about the situation. “And if you had been present, you would have risked ending up tempered as well and about to be mercy-killed with the rest of the soldiers.”

His stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought all while his overactive mind was constructing a dozen what-if scenarios where he successfully turned the tide at the ambush, or slipped away unseen to swiftly return with reinforcements before the prisoners even set foot within the Amalj’aa’s stronghold.

A multitude of alternate realities where a score of good men and women were free to return home safely to their families tonight. But wish as he might, there was nothing to do but to face the harsh reality before him, once more.  “You know of the unavoidable fate of those put under a primal’s thrall then,” he remarked matter of factly.

Viana made a low noise of acknowledgment. “I’ve been around long enough to have heard the tales,” she replied grimly. “In Limsa, they often speak of the Company of Heroes’ victory against the Leviathan.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cross her arms, and he could all but picture the mournful frown on her face when she continued, “I wish I could have somehow saved the others, maybe lent them whatever power it is that kept me from falling under Ifrit’s control.”

With a quiet hum of agreement, Thancred picked at the forgotten remains of the bread in his hand, feeling the slight brush of the crumbs that fell to the ground. “Well, loathe as I am to say it, there’s naught we can do for them now, but to give them a swift, merciful end,” he said. Taking a deep, fortifying breath he pushed away those dark, churning emotions into the deepest recesses of his mind. Surprising as it were, he’d rather not risk losing this sudden favourable improvement of his standing with her. Smiling, he met her gaze. “And I dare say there’s still some reasons to rejoice this day.”

Curiosity and confusion flickered across her features as she frowned at him.

Thancred made a gesture that was the faint echo of a bow as he inclined his head, bread still clutched in his hand. “Ifrit is slain, and by your hand no less. That, my dear, is the deed of no ordinary individual.” He leaned back with a satisfied look on his face, almost relieved to slip back into the theatrics of this well-worn cover persona of his. “Not that I ever thought you were ordinary,” he finished with a dramatic wave of his hand, like he was presenting her some magnificent work of art, rather than waving about the sorry remains of a piece of bread.

Viana raised an eyebrow, the doubt clear in her eyes, and snorted. “You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

“What can I say? My fine eye for talent remains undimmed.”

“Mhm, and would that be why you didn’t just investigate that Amalj’aa encampment yourself?”

Inclining his head, he gave her the placating, pleading look of a man begging for forgiveness. “Why, I hardly had the pleasure of fighting at your side as lady Y’shtola did. You can’t fault me for wishing to see your prowess with his own two eyes, surely.”

She huffed out a short laugh. “Could have just asked me to slay a beast, rather than doing all the theatrics.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that, my dear?” he retorted. “Anyhow, on the topic of your splendid victory; I dare say Minfilia will be proud beyond all reckoning when she hears of your deeds.” With that, he rose up from the crate, letting the rest of the bread fall back onto the tray. He’d barely eaten a quarter of the already modest roll. “I trust you shan’t object to my bearing the tidings to her. That way I can claim to have contributed something to this mission,” he continued and dipped into an elegant bow, then busied himself with straightening his clothes. “You, meanwhile, have earned yourself a rest. Take some time to relax, and return to the Waking Sands when you are good and ready.” He glanced up at her and gave her a wink. “Just don’t take too long, will you? The realm’s problems won’t solve themselves.”

Viana was giving him a barely concealed look of exasperation, clearly waiting impatiently for him to finish talking. “Seven hells Thancred, sit down. You’ve barely eaten, nor drank anything.”

Thancred paused, a bit taken back by the firm tone of her voice that was a rather disconcerting reminder of Y’shtola when she got in a particularly stubborn mood. “As much as I would love to-” He interrupted himself when she tilted her head to the side and the crease between her brows deepened a fraction.

“Really, you’ll be of no use to Minfilia if you collapse on her doorstep due to dehydration.”

HIs posture tensed. He felt torn between the guilt that spurred him onwards and that well-honed, professional instinct to dig deeper for more information - the urge to seek out the next task and try to succeed there instead to make up for this failure fighting the curiosity that bid him to stay and see what else he could learn about her. Another, more logical side that he ignored far too often, saw the wisdom in her words. He was hungry and the back of his throat still felt dry with dust and ash. Thancred swallowed thickly, which did nothing to alleviate the sensation. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, surely? Just long enough to fill his belly and quench his thirst. “Very well,” he finally relented with a charming smile. “It’d be rather ungentlemanly of me to leave a lady to dine on her own, after all.”

Viana huffed out that weary laugh once more, its dryness betrayed by the hint of amusement in her eyes and faint smile on her lips. “Aw Hells, maybe I made a mistake,” she drawled.

“Ah, how you wound me, my dear,” he replied as he settled back down onto the crate. “Many a fair maiden can vouch that I am a most entertaining dinner companion.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all.”