#location: the frigid depths

[deliciousangelfestival]

Secret Sorrows || Bodyguard AU

Summary: Former special ops, Bucky, seeks solace in a cold refuge to escape his past. However, his haunted history catches up, unraveling mysteries that persist relentlessly.

Words Count: 2,253

Warning: Death character.

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing within the mystery theme. I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

In Antarctica's vast, frozen expanse, where researchers braved the harshest conditions, Bucky, a former military man seeking solitude in the icy isolation, served as the stern yet vigilant security presence.

One frosty day, Bucky diligently checked the storage temperatures, surrounded by the frigid air that mirrored the chill in his own heart. 

As he focused on his task, he was approached by Chef Jack, who had recently returned from the mainland to visit his grandchildren.

Bundled in layers against the biting cold, Chef Jack grinned at Bucky. "You're a charming man, Bucky. Why are you still single? The female scientists who work here have been flirting with you.”

Bucky, his breath visible in the freezing air, chuckled softly. "I just haven't found the one."

Chef Jack, his eyes reflecting the wisdom of age, patted Bucky on the shoulder. "I see. Still can't forget the former? I understand."

Bucky's gaze dropped to the snowy ground and fell into a heavy silence. He nodded subtly, not wanting to delve into the painful memories beneath the icy surface of his stoic demeanor.

In a sudden turn of events, Bucky received an emergency alert: "We need backup."

Without hesitation, he swiftly responded over the radio, "On my way," and rushed towards his waiting car.

Emergencies were a rare occurrence in this remote location, and deaths resulting from foul play were even more uncommon. 

Upon arrival at the scene, Bucky was met with a chilling sight – two in orange swimming suits, eerily floating in the icy waters. 

Drowning was the cause, an unusual and unsettling occurrence in this frozen realm. The onlooking tourists, shaken and fearful, murmured amongst themselves.

The atmosphere was tense as one tourist anxiously mentioned, "They have a kid, right? Where is their son?"

Bucky, now profoundly concerned, hadn't even seen the faces of the victims yet. His focus shifted to the potential tragedy of a child being left alone in such extreme conditions. 

Ignoring the bitter cold, he resolved to search for any sign of the missing child, determined to navigate through the frigid wilderness in a race against time.

Bucky, determined to find the missing child, declared, "I'm going to find their kid."

Meanwhile, young Ethan, feeling out of place in the freezing Antarctic surroundings, had been running away from the group. He voiced his displeasure about being on the tour, unable to comprehend why his parents insisted on such a cold adventure.

"Why did Mom and Dad want to come here? And who was that scary man looking at me?”

As Ethan blew on his cold hands, a sudden shadow engulfed him, casting a momentary relief from the harsh Antarctic winds. 

Looking up, he found himself face to face with a tall man, his piercing blue eyes reflecting genuine concern.

"Hey buddy. My name is Bucky. I'm here to get you safe," Bucky reassured him.

Still shivering from the cold and the frightful encounter, Ethan stammered, "Sa-save me."

Sensing the depth of the child's fear, Bucky draped a warm blanket over him and gently scooped him into his protective arms. Ethan, seeking comfort, curled up against Bucky, his small frame shivering against the chill.

"I want my grandma," Ethan mumbled, his voice barely audible over the Antarctic wind.

With a reassuring tone, Bucky responded, "You will, buddy," holding the frightened child close.

Bucky, carrying the shivering Ethan to his car, couldn't escape the grim reality as he passed the body bag containing the deceased. 

In an impulse, he took a brief, painful glance before it closed – a glimpse that nearly brought him to his knees. The face inside, now concealed, triggered a rush of memories from his past, a haunting connection he hadn't expected.

Iris Aston. His first love. 

The weight of the revelation hit Bucky hard, but he refocused on the scared child in his arms. The realization struck him – Ethan was Iris's son. 

As he gently placed the child on the office couch, Bucky's mind raced, processing the unexpected intersection of his past and the present.

Bucky tried to steady himself by pouring a cup of hot chocolate for Ethan. "What's your name, buddy?" he asked, his voice revealing the underlying shock.

"Ethan Van Alen," came the soft reply, intensifying Bucky's internal turmoil. After separating from Iris, he had heard about her marrying into an old-money family – the Van Alens.

Bucky, grappling with the revelation, inquired about Ethan's aunt, hoping for some grounding in this unexpected twist. "Is your grandma here too?"

Ethan shook his head, his eyes reflecting fear and uncertainty. "No, she's not.”

"I'm sure she will come here as soon as possible," he assured.

As Bucky received a call from his concerned colleagues requesting assistance, Ethan, overcome with fear, clung desperately to Bucky's leg. "No. Don't leave me," he pleaded, his small frame trembling with anxiety.

Bucky's colleagues, now understanding the gravity of the situation, exchanged somber glances. The shocking reality dawned on Bucky as he realized that the couple who had tragically perished was none other than Ethan's parents.

Sensitive to the child's distress, Bucky, without hesitation, scooped Ethan into his arms, providing the solace the orphaned boy desperately sought. Now cradled in the safety of Bucky's strong arms, Ethan felt a sense of reassurance that had eluded him before.

Bucky entered the empty storage room where Iris's lifeless body was being kept. As he gazed upon her, memories flooded back – of a time when they were inseparable, studying together at the military academy. 

Their connection ran deep, but Iris had abruptly left, and her icy rejection had marked the last encounter.

He could still hear her words, cutting through him like a bitter wind, "Who do you think you are? Don't touch me!" A painful reminder of the social gap between them, a gap that fate had widened.

Looking down at Iris now, her once bright smile extinguished, Bucky couldn't shake the heartbreak that lingered from their past.

His colleagues reported no visible signs of trauma on Iris's body, adding a layer of mystery to her sudden demise. Seeking answers, Bucky turned to the only witness – young Ethan.

Ethan joined the conversation, his voice shaky but determined. "After my dad and mom drank something, they walked funny and fell into the water. And... and..."

Bucky, offering a reassuring presence, prompted, "What happened next, Ethan?”

The boy hesitated before continuing, "A scary man looked at me and walked towards me. That's why I ran." 

Bucky's colleagues updated him, saying, "The tour guide has called the family. They already sent someone."

Still in Bucky's comforting presence, Ethan inquired with hope, “Grandma is coming?"

Bucky gently patted the kid on the back, assuring him, "Yes."

Finding solace in the knowledge that his grandma was on the way, Ethan felt a wave of relief wash over him. 

Bucky thought, never underestimate the power of money, expecting the relatives to arrive by ship. However, a large plane unexpectedly landed. Bucky, still carrying Ethan, and others anxiously awaited the arrival of the guests.

As the plane's door opened, Bucky, from a distance, couldn't discern who was stepping out. Restlessness overcame Ethan, and he wanted to get down. "Grandma," he exclaimed when he saw a familiar figure.

But Ethan abruptly halted in his tracks. The unexpected figure approaching him wasn't his grandma but his aunt. A surge of fear gripped him. He had always been scared of her.

Bucky, equally taken aback, felt a shockwave of disbelief. He had witnessed her lifeless form in the cold storage room, and now she stood before him – alive, breathing. 

How come Iris came back to live?

Is he seeing a ghost? Or a zombie?

Unable to conceal his astonishment, he stammered, "Iris?”

Ethan suddenly chimed in, "That's my mother's name. This person is my aunt. Her name is Y/N.”

Y/N's reply was devoid of emotion as she spoke in a cold, matter-of-fact tone, "I'm her twin sister." 

Twin sister? Iris has a twin sister? She never mentioned this to him. Bucky was shocked by this revelation

Y/N's demeanor showed no signs of sadness or grief. "I'm here to collect their bodies and bring Ethan back home."

Offering his condolences, Bucky expressed, "My name is Bucky. I'm sorry for what happened to your sister. It sounds crazy, but I knew your sister from the military academy."

Y/N's response was detached, "I see. Could you show my assistant which documents to sign so we could leave?" 

Her request held no trace of emotion, contrasting sharply with the heartfelt sentiments Bucky had just conveyed.

Taken aback by the stark difference between Y/N and Iris, Bucky found himself grappling with the realization that, despite their identical faces, their personalities were worlds apart. 

As the simple yet somber process unfolded, the body bags were carefully loaded onto the plane. Before departing, Ethan looked at Bucky, a silent exchange containing layers of unspoken emotions. 

Ethan glanced at Bucky, hope flickering in his eyes; he asked, "Can brother come with us?"

Y/N, who was busy with her phone, responded, "If he wants too."

Struggling to fully comprehend the stark differences between Y/N and Iris, Bucky leaned down to Ethan and softly said, "I hope we meet again someday." 

The words hung in the air, a wistful expression of the unexpected bond formed amidst the cold Antarctic challenges.

Absorbing the sentiment, Ethan offered a slow nod, the weight of recent events etched across his young face. 

Y/N didn't spare Bucky a glance as she entered the plane, her demeanor as cold as the Antarctic winds. 

Today, Bucky encountering his first love only to find her lifeless, meeting her son, and discovering the existence of her twin sister.

Despite Y/N's demeanor, icy as the landscape around them, Bucky couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity. It wasn't just the shared face with Iris; there was an unspoken connection, an elusive something more that lingered in the air. 

Bucky had a bunch of questions swirling in his head. He couldn't determine why Iris never told him about her twin sister. Even though he wanted answers, he hesitated to ask.

He wished he could talk more to Y/N.

The Van Alen and Aston household seemed full of secrets. The news about the company heir's death hit the headlines, and it got crazier when someone tried to kidnap Ethan, the heir's son.

Something felt off to Bucky. First, Iris died, and now there's a danger to Ethan. Y/N, who looked like Iris, came to mind. He worried someone might go after Y/N, too.

Not willing to let harm come to them, Bucky packed up and left Antarctica, arriving in a warm New York. He headed to the Van Alen residence, seeing many cars and guests offering condolences.

Thinking he couldn't get in, Bucky was surprised there was no security. But then he learned that Ethan had gone missing – a kidnap attempt had just happened. Ethan is missing from his room.

As Bucky approached the Van Alen residence, he noticed the branch of a nearby tree shaking. Looking up, he sighed, realizing it was Ethan.

"Ethan?" Bucky called out.

"Bro? Bucky? Is that you?" Ethan responded from the tree.

"What are you doing?" Bucky inquired.

Ethan explained, frustration in his voice, "I hate everyone. No one talks to me!"

Feeling a pang of sympathy for the grieving child, Bucky opened his arms, saying, "Come down. Everyone is worried about you."

Reluctantly, Ethan descended from the tree, landing in Bucky's protective embrace. As they stood together, security personnel, witnessing the scene, moved forward, intending to detain Bucky.

Before they could intervene, Ethan intervened, proclaiming, "No. He's my bodyguard." The unexpected declaration left the security team momentarily puzzled, but Ethan's insistence shielded Bucky from further scrutiny. 

"You've created unnecessary chaos," Y/N stated, appearing with five people behind her, resembling assistants and bodyguards. 

Bucky couldn't help but think that Y/N, Ethan's aunt, was too cold. She didn't even make an effort to coax her own nephew.

In a burst of emotion, Ethan exclaimed, "Nobody cares for me. Everyone wishes I was gone so Aunt has everything!"

Bucky, taken aback by Ethan's outburst, never expected him to yell like this. Y/N remained silent, eventually sighing, "Be grateful you're still breathing."

Ethan flinched and cried in Bucky's arms, expressing, "Huuu, nobody in this house loves me.”

Bucky tried to comfort the distressed child, saying, "I will talk to your aunt." 

Bucky followed Y/N, expressing concern that Ethan was grieving and suggesting she should be with her nephew during this challenging time.

Y/N's bodyguard attempted to push Bucky away, but she raised her left hand, signaling him to stop.

At that moment, Bucky noticed a small tattoo on Y/N's left fourth finger. His eyes widened as he recognized the same tattoo he and Iris had gotten together back in the day. 

How was it possible that Y/N also had the same tattoo?

Y/N calmly remarked, "Seeing you so eager to protect Ethan, I'll hire you as his bodyguard. He's the reason you're here, right?"

Bucky didn't argue, though his motive extended beyond protecting Ethan; he was also there to find Iris's killer and the person behind the attempt to kidnap Ethan.

Y/N continued, "I'll take that as a yes. My assistant will draw up the contract."

Surprised by her trust, Bucky questioned, "You trust me?"

Y/N replied, "Your effort in coming here to protect Ethan is enough to judge that you're sincere." Bucky was taken aback by her astute judgment. Y/N was not as ignorant as he had initially thought.

Before Bucky could delve further, Y/N declared, "That's good. I need a trusted person to protect Ethan because that kid's life is more important than mine." Bucky sensed a hint of self-pity in her words. 

Before leaving, Y/N added, "Back then, Iris trusted you. I hope I can feel the same. Don't disappoint me, Barnes." Her words hint at a sense of expectation and reliance on Bucky's capabilities.

As he pondered asking her about it, Y/N departed with her entourage, leaving Bucky with lingering questions and a newfound role as Ethan's protector.

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[insult-2-injury]

Debts Repaid

Dan Heng x F!Reader

When a stubborn Dan Heng is injured in battle, you insist upon healing him. He's never liked debts, but being beholden to you wouldn't be the worst thing, he thinks. Not when there are so many ways to balance the scales.

AO3 Link, 4k, fingering, cock warming, dirty talk, p in v, light pain kink

~~~~~~~~

“You’re hurt.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“I knew it!”

“Move aside, please.”

Despite the inherent lack of sincerity in his ‘please’, you allow Dan Heng to finally slip past your wide-armed defensive stance and into the safety of his bedroom. 

“I knew it,” you repeat, following him inside without much forethought. “I knew you’d been hurt the second you vanished after that fight. You act all humble and weird when you’re in pain. Let me see it.”

The tight-laced man, forever stoic, sighs and your existence seems to be well… nonexistent as he goes about his business as if you aren’t trailing him like a fly buzzing over his shoulder. Nothing new, really. The duality of Dan Heng is that regardless of his short, but not infrequent check-in texts when the two of you are separated, he avoids you on the Express like you’ve got some disease he’s reluctant to contract.

It’s just that you’re a healer. Your job in and out of combat is solely to make sure everyone stays alive and well, and if you can minimize unnecessary discomforts, well, it’s in your nature to do so. There’s just one person who complicates things. But Dan Heng and you have always had each other’s backs on the battlefield, so it should stand to reason that you should have each other’s backs in the more civil, quiet corners of the cosmos as well. 

“Come on, let me help. Then I’ll leave, I promise.” 

His eyes narrow over his shoulder. “I hear March calling for you.”

“Filthy liar. Where did you hurt yourself?”

“There she is again.”

You glower at the back of his head. “Oh, you’re a comedian, too, huh.”

“Something like that,” he says, forever impassive as he puts his things away with a well-hidden stiffness that belies the pain you can sense he truly feels.

“Fine, you want to go old-fashioned? Be that way.” When he predictably fails to provide the location of a first aid kit, you take it upon yourself to rummage through his lower cupboards.

He’s terrible at tolerating help, like he’s been hard-trained into an accepting solitude. And when he denies you, it’s automatic, a spring release that holds the cold weight of indifference. But you’ve seen him throw himself into the fray when your wellbeing is at stake. 

Dan Heng cares in his own ways.

Your fingers find the handle of a first aid kit.

“A-ha.”

“I said it was nothing to worry about,” a frigid voice says and you nearly leap out of your skin at how quickly he’s moved to stand behind you, the top of your head banging against a cabinet shelf hard as you swing to meet his downward gaze.

“It’s not nothing,” you grit out, rubbing the top of your scalp. “I saw you trying to hold your shit together, saw you make a break for the hallway the moment we got back. You’re stupidly stubborn, you know that? Stop saying it’s nothing.”

A strange bout of nerves creeps in as you scowl up at his towering form from where you kneel – the signature, flat, unamused slant of his lips, the glacial gray of his eyes not leaving yours.

His gaze narrows almost accusingly and, with an aching slowness, the tips of his fingers extend to graze the crown of your head. Not patting in condescension, not running through the strands there as you might have liked, just resting there at first, warming the top of your head. Until he draws those fingers together, clutches a small handful before releasing, measuring your reaction as he roots around the depths of your wide-eyed, questioning stare; seems to come to some conclusion before he backs away silently. 

Your jaw opens and shuts as your response speaks for itself, staying put for far too long to appear unphased, that same jittery feeling in the pit of your stomach as after a warp; except this time tainted with a sickening need to crawl beneath the spotlight of his gaze again. Perhaps nuzzle further into that strange contact. Never before has he touched you willingly; never without pulling away like it scalds.

With enough space to draw breath now, you leap to your feet, albeit on weaker legs. “So?”

“So what?” he says as if nothing has transpired, wincing as his clothes move against whatever wound is on his chest.

“Where is it, then?” You tip your chin up, determined now. “Your injury.”

He doesn’t reply, observing you, gaze steel and unflinching as he puzzles you out.

“I’m serious, Dan Heng, it’s why I’m on the Express in the first place. Unless you don’t trust my elemental process, which is totally fair. We can go another route, then, or I can go grab someone else. I just can’t in good conscience leave you here without at least knowing what shape you’re in.”

You trust him implicitly. Does it go both ways? Regardless, gone are the days you watch with an ache in your chest as he limps back to the Express with a tight-lipped grimace to tend to his own wounds. The crew says it’s fruitless, that he’s like an oyster snapping shut the moment you so much as look in its direction. Cold, dark, and mysterious, he might be. Impenetrable, he is not.

There are few things in life as hard as cracking through the exterior of the man standing before you, and few things that would be more satisfying. Dan Heng, you think, is an oyster worth cracking. And sometimes to crack the shell of a particularly tough one, you can’t ask permission.

“Your elemental process is sound, and you’ve never, to my knowledge, produced less than desirable results. You are highly capable,” he responds flatly after a time. “But I don’t care to be in the debt of others.”

“Enough of that talk. You won’t be in my debt.” You wave off his foolishness, feeling your cheeks heat, throat tighten a little at the compliment, however oddly phrased. “Do we need to draft up a legal document, something that will hold up in court? Or maybe Welt can tally up our debts, lord knows he’s looking for something to do.”

It is a victory when a tiny, amused huff punches from between his lips. “No,” he says after what feels like minutes, “no, that won’t be necessary.”

“Good. Besides, I don’t think Welt would approve of what we’re doing anyway,” you say before you realize how it sounds. Something flickers behind Dan Heng’s eyes. “I just mean talking silly debts.”

He nods, gives an acknowledging hum before turning away from you, allowing your heart to start beating again. “I suspect Welt would be too busy delighting in our collaboration to find much issue with talk of misplaced obligations.”

Dan Heng shrugs out of his jacket, movements stiff and jerky.

“I mean,” you blurt lamely, “if anything, I’d be in your debt. You’ve rescued my ass countless times.”

“Nonsense.”

You haven’t thought this far ahead, haven’t anticipated the inevitable intimacy of the situation. And it’s almost scandalous the way his black long sleeve shirt clings to his lean, athletic form – you should be feeling sorry for him, not eyeballing him like some degenerate. 

Dan Heng tosses his coat carelessly over the back of his desk chair. “Debt can be easily mistaken for ownership.” You’re quickly losing your nerve, fire blazing across your skin as his fingers find the hem of his shirt. You turn away quickly.

He continues. “It has a tendency to… complicate things.” He clearly has no reservations about modesty – you can hear the struggle as he draws his shirt up over his abdomen, unsticking it with an agonized groan from the unseen injury you can only assume is on his chest. “I don’t intend to own you, although it wouldn’t be the worst thing. But maybe you’re right, it’s best if we mutually agree to balance the scales.”

The air is thin, suffocating, and you have no capacity to process his words, suddenly, their meaning much too big to untangle.

Your thoughts spin in a hopeless broken circuit; shit. What are your intentions here? Hadn’t they been purely to help? Oh, you’d be kidding yourself if you said you weren’t endlessly intrigued by Dan Heng but this… were you eager to settle a debt just as much as him?

The pad of approaching footsteps has you spinning on your heel.

Dan Heng, shirtless, clad in nothing but his black trousers now, the lean muscles of his hard chest on full display. He takes in your clear, doe-eyed trepidation with nothing but a sharp calculation.

But the weeping crimson across his left breast shatters the hyperawareness of his proximity. You gasp at the three ragged, parallel claw marks, each about the length of a forefinger.

“I’ll be fine, my body heals quicker than most.”

“Doesn’t matter if this gets infected,” you exclaim. “You’re so frustrating. I’m going to heal you and then I swear I’ll pummel you right over again.”

He hums.

“You should’ve come to me,” you scold, too absorbed in concern to consider how close you are to him. “How were you even going to fix it at this angle, huh? Sort of just look in the mirror and hope for the best? You can’t do this again, Dan Heng.”

You don’t wait for a smart remark, pointing to the space where his bed meets the cherry paneled wall. “Go sit, I’ll grab a washcloth. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

At least he follows your instructions, albeit with an inclement downturn of his lips as you aid in propping him against the wall, grabbing a pillow for his head. He seems inherently uncomfortable with the fussing but says nothing of it, and you care little as you settle in beside him. The wound leaks, not a terribly worrisome amount, but enough that there’s an urgency to your actions as you dab around the claw marks.

“I’m so mad you,” you say after a time, trying to distract yourself from the way his eyes haven’t left your face since you started. “For not taking better care of yourself. I get worried when you disappear like that, you know. I don��t even want to ask how many times you’ve handled all this by yourself.”

“It’s easier that way.”

“To be alone?” Your eyes meet his and the intensity of his stare has you swiping the cloth a little too close. A groan of pain catches in his throat.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

You trail off. His face is contorted beautifully, like he’s lost in some kind of strange daze as his eyebrows furrow, like he’s concentrating on the feeling. You sit back on your heels with a tumultuous sigh. “I need to disinfect. It’s gone untreated long enough that I don’t want to take chances.”

His eyes slit open, roll over to yours with a sardonic tilt to his brow that says haven’t we already agreed to this

“It’s just… it’s going to sting. A lot. Obviously. But the rest is comparatively painless.”

You bite at the inside of your cheek and his eyes fall to the nervous tic, his pink tongue flitting out to lick at his bottom lip. With a nod, his hand slides to rest innocuously atop your knee as he settles back against the wall.

“I trust you.”

A lump climbs into your throat at the unexpected honesty of his words. It’s not only the bleeding heat of his palm that has you dizzy, it’s the weighted significance of what he’s just allowed to slip into the light. A trust you’d rather die than break.

You nod back, watch the rise and fall of his chest to steady your own. What would the rest of the crew think if they knew where you sat, thigh pressed hotly against Dan Heng’s? Your heart pulses in rhythm to whatever strange tension is bridled amidst the growing silence, his hand resting upon your knee like a comfortable promise.

Okay.”

Tentatively, you swipe across the first lesion. He goes rigid and the strangled groan that comes out of him doesn’t sound entirely like one of pain, you think, the noise reverberating up your spine and worming its way into the back of your brain. 

You pause, allowing you both a breath, your palm sliding down his bicep and squeezing comfortingly, yet in the same instant, Dan Heng anchors his nails into your thigh. Hard.

You wait for him to unlatch from you, something anxious and excitable rising from the pit of your stomach. But he doesn’t release, his fingers scalding against the bare skin where your skirt has ridden up.

Whatever rationality you have left, you call upon it, legs squeezing together to assuage the flash of startling heat between them when his thumb swipes back and forth, like he’s the one comforting you. “Almost done,” you say, throat humiliatingly dry.

Not daring to meet the icy vortex of his gaze, you wet another cloth and clean him with quaking hands, pressing hard to remove the grit that has crusted around the wound. He jerks again, the lean muscles of his legs tensing against the sides of yours as his hips almost roll with the movement.

The silence is punctuated by your name, rasped out with an almost reverence, the tendons in his neck flexing as his head falls back against the wood. You stiffen in disbelief, and his hand goes back to kneading into the soft of your flesh. 

“Do you need a… um. Do you need a break?” you breathe.

“No, keep going.”

The aching pulse between your legs acts as gravity, his palm drawing a little further up your leg, lethally close to breaching the point of no return. You balance on that tightrope, a single glance revealing fully the effect you’ve had, as well, his arousal pushing intently against the confines of his trousers.

Not trusting yourself to speak, you finish cleaning the wound, something shockingly perverse relishing in a small way the audible clench of his jaw, nails digging half moons into your flesh as he rides out the sensations. You shudder at the twitch of his hand, like he’s restraining himself from providing some sort of relief to the insistent need between his legs.

“Well,” you swallow, “all that’s left now is the easy part.”

Your eyes lift to his and a dangerous change ripples through him at whatever he finds there. Deliberately slow, as if not to spook you, he wriggles a palm between your thighs, prying them gently apart for better access, tracing delicately along your trembling skin.

“You c-can’t.”

“I can.” He slides to cup you between the legs.

The sudden, bleeding heat of the pressure of his entire palm cuts off your protest in an exhilarating rush. Your head lolls forward. Placating fingers move to drag across the flimsy cloth barrier between him and your cunt, pressing accusingly into the space you’re most wet for him with a satisfied hum.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks softly.

“I just need to finish up h-healing, then we can–” Your tongue is too heavy to speak as he brushes lazy figure eights across the crotch of your panties, probing with a perfect pressure, solid yet tender, but not only for your benefit. He’s drawing pleasure from this, too, gaze mapping across your features like he can memorize every delectable crease at the corner of your eyes, every tiny flare of your nostrils as you utter vacuous objections.

“You are.” He nods grimly. “You said I should have come to you sooner. I wish I would have.”

“Just let me finish–” Fingers slide beneath sodden fabric to dip two fingers inside you with humiliating ease, a depraved squelch the only sound of your resistance shattering as your hips lurch to chase his touch. 

“It’s a shame that I kept my infatuations with you in the dark for so long. I could’ve had you some time ago. Don’t be mad at me,” he insists and a torn whine releases from your throat. “Consider this recompense for the lost time.”

The position is slightly awkward and his pumps are shallow in turn, but you concede to shamelessly grinding against his palm. You think you should feel some terrible guilt in the way you’re being driven by baser impulses, even while his wounds still call to be tended to. But the concern lies deep beneath the high of watching the enraptured look on his face at your display.  

Gently, he slithers his grasp beneath your thigh in order to lever your position up and over one of his legs. 

“That better?” he asks, fingers finding a more comfortable home again between your legs, rolling in a perfect rhythm across your clit.

You nod mechanically.

“Good,” he hums low, “that's good.” 

The subtle flush of his pale cheeks and his own labored breath as he gets off on the pleasure he’s giving you sends an exhilarating thrill down your spine, expanding until you’re drenching his fingers with a long, final whine.

“There you go.”

When your spasms dissolve into delicate flutters, Dan Heng drags his fingers from you. Mindlessly, you kick off your panties completely.

“I thought we weren’t talking debt anymore,” you catch your breath, heart slamming against your ribcage still. 

“Consider us even.” He inhales deeply, letting out a long, cleansing sigh. 

“I don’t think we’re even. Does that mean you own me?” Your eyes rise purposefully to meet his and there’s a long silence before he speaks, voice lower.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Debt is a scapegoat, you know, for the formidable pull between you. Deliberately unbalance the scales here and you’ll be inclined to return to each other for more. Not that you wouldn’t have anyway, but you realize this moment gives an excuse to provide an answer to the overarching question between you of what this was, what this could be. And you know you want more. It doesn’t stop at cracking his shell. You want Dan Heng.

“I need to heal you now,” you say and he just blinks at you. “Can you hold still?”

He searches your features before his head dips in a slow nod.

You reach down to pop open the top button of his pants, rewarded by the shaky sigh that fans across your face as he fully comprehends. You’re grateful he’d saved you the trouble earlier of removing his intimidating top layers. He doesn’t protest, settling back to watch with a hawklike precision.

You guide him out tenderly, his cock springing back against his belly, precum drooling, smearing across his skin. Aside from the gentle whirring of his database behind, the only sound is Dan Heng’s appreciative groan as you pump him twice, caging his legs between yours as you delight in the heated weight of him in your palm. 

The still glistening fingers he’d used to pleasure you with he slides across the tip of himself in small circles, wiping you off there, gifting you the sight of him mixing you in with his own beading arousal.

One hand wrapping his base, the other bracing on the wall beside his head, you raise your hips to position him at the soaking wet heat of your entrance. Palms seize hold of your waist.

“I’m warning you now, if this is what you want…” he grates, tone taking on a darker edge. “I won’t spare you my compulsions any longer. I’ve wanted you too long to be satisfied with having you just the once.” 

You smile at the admission, answer clear as your drenched folds envelop him with undue ease, the stretch exquisite as you bear down on him slowly, the both of you unable to do much more than share a shallow gasp. Dan Heng’s abdomen pulls deliciously taut as he’s taken inch by inch.

Your lips part, eyes flutter shut. There’s no going back, you agree. Not now that you’ve felt the needy throb of him inside you. “You’re going to have to hold still,” you repeat.

He pinches the hem of your shirt between thumb and forefinger. “Take this off.”

You smile, pull your top over your head, the movement jarring you atop him, tearing a hiss from between his teeth before he’s back on you. His greedy palms take the immediate liberty of exploring. sliding across your bare skin and you savor his focused infatuation for a moment before you gently tug his wrists away.

“Stay still,” you repeat. “I can’t very well patch you up if you’re moving all over the place.”

Dan Heng’s eyes darken on yours with a cold, severe impatience as he registers your intent with a tick of his jaw. He’d all but admitted earlier he likes his pain served hot; so he won’t mind you warming his cock while you put him back together, will he?

A long, calculating stare before he answers, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Of course.” His head falls back against the pillow, throat bobbing when you sit back to settle more comfortably onto his length, the ghost of a grimace upon his lips.

It’s a strange experience on both sides, the process of electro healing. Some say it’s an itchy, distressing sensation; some say it’s pleasant, the feeling of your skin knitting itself back together.

If you were to go by Dan Heng’s reactions, you’d say it’s the latter. Every bit of him is a live wire, tensed and vibrating as you guide your healing hands across each mark on his chest, electricity prickling and drawing stubborn skin back together. It’s a drawn out process, one that requires the touch of a patient hand in order to not leave behind scars.

It’s difficult work, made infinitely more so by the fixed state of tortured lust recycling between the both of you, stoking with each subtle shift of him inside you.

“You’re doing well,” you murmur softly, years worth of proper bedside manner taking hold.

His cock twitches at the praise, but otherwise he’s stone cold, jaw set, eyes seeming to fight in order to focus with a vicious intensity on the space you’re connected, like he’s tormenting himself with the sight. 

“Almost done,” you whisper, a bandage weaving its way into existence as you trace your index in a rectangle around his wound. “There shouldn’t be pain, but some people say they feel a bit of a phantom itch around the area, so I like to bandage over it regard–”

A hand threads into your hair and the world spins as you’re flipped with impressive speed onto your back, your head hitting the soft of his pillow with a gasp. His palm wraps the front of your throat lightly, keeping your head effectively trapped within his frigid gaze, almost daring you to try and look away as his thumb seeks the support of your ratcheting pulse.

Dan Heng kicks his pants off the rest of the way, wasting no time shoving your skirt carelessly above your waist before spearing himself into you again, his pool of restraint run dry by your teasing. “I should keep you here for good. Never let you leave this room.” Your legs wrap his waist as he spears into your folds, hitting a spot again and again that has your toes curling.

His lips slam against yours, tongue pressing in to better devour your cracked whimpers. You’re going to pass out, you think, can’t even seem to draw a breath as he spirals atop you. He pulls back to lick across the seam of your mouth, groaning appreciatively. “I hope you had fun. I have my proclivities. But so do you.” He leans into your ear; soft, even voice a contrast to the way he fucks recklessly into you, each thrust brutal and precise. “You did such a good job on me today. Nobody could have done it better. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to fuck you like this–”

With a shattered cry, you climax, back arching against his as he pulls back to drink in your twisted expression. “Tell me how I own you,” he pants, breaths coming quicker,  “tell me who you belong to now.”

His mouth captures yours again, not even wanting of an answer, and even through the white hot heat of your release, you search out his lower lip with your teeth and bite down. The choked splutter that escapes from his throat is beautiful, his striking features twisting into a snarl as he picks up a devastating pace, driving himself into you with a ferociousness on his face you’ve only ever seen aimed at shared enemies.

His hand clutches a handful of hair at the crown of your head as he leverages himself to slam as deep as he can. Each stuttered jerk of his hips is bliss as he spills inside you, his head falling into the sweat damp crook of your neck as if he can’t hold it properly upright as he groans out a lengthy release.

Fingers comb through your hair and slowly you’re rolled over onto his chest as your breathing evens out, tucking yourself into his side, hand splaying across the bandage there. You look at him, feeling utterly spent, and are rewarded by a contented sigh when you smooth your palm across his stomach.

“So, how do we know if the score is settled?” you say and he huffs a small laugh.

“We’ve got time.”

You smile to yourself. In the meantime, it wouldn’t be the worst thing, you think, being Dan Heng’s.

[vahalia-cress]

⸸ The Inevitable ⸸

Melee/Tournament: DAY 1 @daily-writing-challenge

The breeze in the cabin was cool, something more akin to what she was used to as Vahalia stood looking out over the deep water to observe the ships that could not make port. There were vibrant specks of lights that danced over the ripples and the moon hung above the waters stealing the blanket of night from pure and utter darkness. Not too far off The Red Queen remained, partially one of the few things Vahalia had traveled to Tural for but she would have to be patient.

There was a plan and it had been set in motion for weeks, however, she, Cordelia, Castien, and Wren would have to execute each with care and precision.

Just a year ago she had been in Ishgard partaking in events, jousting tournaments and soirees, a melee of political discussions and meetings that captured her attention. Now, she was leagues away from the comforts of the frigid city she called home.

Could she ever truly consider it a place of respite?

She was born there, grew up there, had family there and it was a place of familiarity but deep down the nagging sensation of more harkened to her. Ishgard was a placeholder, another hole to which her ancestors simply fled. 

Idalia stirred quietly in the bassenette at the other end of the room with Evran still indulging in his cozy slumber. And it was the roaming shadow in the room from the furthest recess that eventually traveled in Vahalia’s direction, the curling whisps of shadows spilled along the floor as Creature materialized behind her, the entity fully unexpurgated as it loomed high above her as Creature often did. His size was nearly immeasurable in some circumstances.

“We leave at dawn.” Vahalia finally spoke, her eyes drifting over the horizon of the hellish depths of the sea before them, her attention now pinning on the location of The Sea Scorpion and the small boats that peppered the roil of slow waves, lights growing ever closer as she knew it to be the mounts they were transporting swiftly from the vessel.

“𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔡𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔰𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔢?” the haunting voice chittered.

“Nothing short of a perfect performance.”

“ℌ𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔢.” The reply from Creature came swiftly and eagerly, his large eyes turned towards Vahalia and a heavy chill rested on the mantle of her attire.

“In due course.” she offered, her hand diving into the pocket of her robe as she procured a silken cloth, fractures of sapphire resting in the slope of her palm as she unwrapped it and showed Creature to her left, “I need you to track the person this belonged to. This will be your current goal.”

The cacophony of sounds, voices, and hissing was expelled and soon died down as Creature boughed to sniff at the essence of the broken pieces nestled into the cloth, “𝔄𝔥…” he cooed seemingly pleased, “ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔲𝔩.”

“It’s of another Magi. I’ve never been acquainted with what they are capable of aside from deceit but we will find out just how much of a battle this might become. 

“𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰.” he warned her as he dipped his head lower to inspect the pieces, tongue slicking out to rove over the sharp edges and an insatiable sound emitted, hunger striking his core.

“As much as I have suspected. This belonged to another though I cannot tell if it is a regular gem or a soulstone. In any event, much will be expected of you and you will be required to participate in the hunt.”

“𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔲𝔰, ℑ 𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔴𝔞𝔦𝔱 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔨. 𝔖𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡.” he warned.

A crimson smirk split Vahalia’s lips, a dimple pinned into her cheek as she regarded her familiar with a glint in her sharp eyes, “Since when have you known me not to give to those deserving of praise?” Silence lingered and Vahalia tucked the cloth-covered pieces back to where she had procured them from, “You’ll get your piece and you will be deserving of it should all go without fail.”

[nahoney22]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request a SFW wrecker/reader fic? I had an idea where they're stranded in a blizzard and have to take shelter in an abandoned house, but there's only one bed. Cuddles ensue. Pre or post relationship! Thank you in advance :DD

My Choice is Always

Wrecker X GN!Reader

word count: 2.2k

One Bed? Snow storm? That could only mean one thing.

warnings: lots of fluff! Mutual pining, pre relationship, minor injury to reader and also minor mention of nudity (depends on how you read it though, nothing happens), cuddles and kisses. Gender neutral reader.

authors note: so sorry for the wait anon! Absolute sucker for a share a bed trope.

The frigid air pierced your bones, sending shivers down your spine and causing your lips to chap in the unforgiving gusts of wind. With each step, you battled through a daunting wall of snow, reaching depths of at least seven feet.

Hoth, a planet you had once dreamed of visiting, had become a reality, albeit under less desirable circumstances. This visit was not by choice, nor was it during a time when the planet showcased its awe-inspiring beauty like you had seen on holopictures. Instead, you found yourself in the midst of the worst snowstorm you had ever encountered.

"W-Wrecker," you managed to utter, your teeth chattering uncontrollably, while your arms clung desperately to your coat, offering little respite from the biting cold. "How much farther?"

"Tech said a few more klicks south! You hangin' in there?" Wrecker's voice came through his helmet, the snow mercifully unable to sting his skin like it did yours.

"I've certainly had better days," you responded, a wry laugh escaping your lips. "F-freaking freezing!"

Wrecker emitted a sigh of agreement, adjusting his pace to accommodate your slower stride. It was just the two of you, having split from the rest of the boys and Omega on this stupid mission. All to recover a lost artifact for one of Cid's clients which you knew the pay would be less than adequate. Wrecker however, always caring, frequently checked in on you, a habit you were much grateful for.

You had long been aware of Wrecker's affection for you, and truth be told, you reciprocated those feelings. Strongly. However, you had hoped for a more romantic setting to explore the depths of your connection. Instead, you found yourselves locked in a relentless battle against a blizzard, with no end in sight.

As luck would have it, the situation managed to deteriorate even further. With each step you took, anticipating the soft cushion of snow beneath your feet, you instead encountered an unforgiving thick slab of ice. Slipping on it, it sends you hurtling forward with your ankle twisting uncomfortably upon impact.

A cry of pain escaped your lips, immediately drawing Wrecker's attention. "What happened? Are you okay?" Wrecker's eyes darted over you, his worry palpable is his tone.

You gritted your teeth, clutching your injured ankle as if it would dull the throbbing pain. "I'll survive," you sighed, though the lack of conviction in your voice betrayed you. "But I think I've sprained my ankle."

Wrecker muttered a quiet curse under his breath and contacted the rest of the team to inform them of the situation. Kindly, they did ask about your well-being, but you had no choice but to admit that for you to continue with this mission was a no-go.

"I've marked your location, and there's a settlement just east of where you are now. It should provide shelter for the night," Tech relayed calmly. "Given the treacherous conditions, it's best for all of us to find a place to stay until morning."

"I agree with Tech," Hunter's voice chimed in through the transmission. "We can't push through this weather any longer. Let's all find shelter for the night."

And so, that became the new plan. The only problem was that you couldn't exactly move forward at all.

"I've got you," Wrecker responded to your unspoken thoughts however, his large hands sliding underneath you as he effortlessly lifted you into his arms.

Despite the unpleasant weather and the pain throbbing in your ankle, you couldn't help but find this gesture somewhat romantic. "Are you sure you want to carry me? We don't even know how f-far this place is!" You shouted over a fierce gust of wind that felt like a slap to your face.

Wrecker chuckled behind his bucket, adjusting his grip to secure you more comfortably. "I'll always carry you when you need it."

A swarm of butterflies erupted in your chest at his words, but fortunately, you were already in his arms, sparing you from a potentially embarrassing swoon on the ground.

After a few minutes of walking, you both caught sight of a sizable structure in the distance, undoubtedly the shelter Tech had pinpointed. Wrecker forcefully and of course impressively kicked open the door, to which was already partially unhinged.

The building appeared weather-beaten and worn, but it offered much-needed shelter. Carefully setting you down, you steadied yourself against the wall while he quickly gathered chairs, dressers, and a table to barricade the door, ensuring as much protection and security as possible.

"Maker, it's colder in here than out there," you shivered even despite the absence of wind and snow.

Fortunately, your eyes landed on something promising—a fireplace. "Don't suppose ya have anything to light it with?" Wrecker inquired. You rummaged through your damp coat pockets, and to your relief, you found a box of matches.

"H-here," you replied through chattering teeth, tossing the matches to him. Wrecker effortlessly caught them, crouching down in front of the fireplace to ignite a flame.

"That should warm things up," he stated, rising to his feet and removing his helmet, placing it aside and rubbed his hands together in front of the crackling fire. You nodded in agreement, and his gaze shifted to you, filled with concern. "You look freezing, cyare." You tried to ignore the endearment, but a flush spread across your cheeks, conveniently attributing it to the cold.

"I am," you dryly laughed, as he approached you and gently guided you toward the fire with his arm around your waist. He fetched an old dusty chair and helped you sit down. "Thanks, Wrecker." You smiled up at him but frowned when realising that there was only one chair available— the one you occupied—while the other was pressed against the door. So, Wrecker settled himself on the floor.

"Is that comfy down there? We can switch if you want."

"Nah, don't be silly. I'm alright!" Wrecker grinned up at you, rubbing his hands together by the fire. Then, he carefully gestured toward your ankle. "Is your ankle alright? You should take your boots off, I bet your socks are wet."

He was right. As soon as he mentioned it, a tingling sensation spread through your feet, prompting you to waste no time in removing your snow-dusted boots and socks. "That's better," you whispered to yourself, relishing in the warmth that enveloped your toes as they bathed in the heat of the fire. You watched as Wrecker took your socks and boots, placing them near the flames for them to dry. You eventually removed your coat too, seeing no benefit in keeping something drenched in snow covering your body.

"I hope the others found some shelter," Wrecker voiced after a comfortable silence. You suggested he try contacting them, but sadly, there was no signal to be found.

"We should try again in a bit, or wait for them to contact us first," you suggested, your hand gently resting on Wrecker's shoulder, offering reassurance as you noticed the hint of nervousness on his face when there was no reply. "I'm sure they'll be alright."

"Yeah, you're right," Wrecker replied softly, finding solace in the warmth radiating from your touch that seemed to charge his entire body.

Seizing the opportunity, you surveyed the small room, which consisted of an open space with a modest but now dusty lounge area centered around a fireplace, a tiny kitchen with stripped and empty cupboards, and one large bed nestled in the corner.

Wait. Pause. One bed?

"Wrecker, there's only one bed," you nervously pointed out, preemptively addressing the potential awkwardness to save any embarrassment later on.

Wrecker leaned back, his gaze shifting between the bed and you. "Uh, I can stay on the floor if you want?"

You quickly shook your head, earning an amused raise of his eyebrow at your eager rejection. It made you slightly embarrassed, but given your intuition about the mutual feelings between you, maybe sharing a bed wasn't such a bad idea after all. "Don't be silly," you finally responded, clearing your throat as your arms instinctively hugged your trembling body. "The bed is big enough for both of us. And it'll be... erm... extra warm."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Wrecker's lips, his eyes lighting up with a mix of gratitude and anticipation. "Alright, if you say so," he replied, his voice carrying a subtle hint of excitement.

Together, you both prepared for the night, a mix of nervous anticipation and comfort intertwining in the air. Stripping out of your wet clothes felt somewhat vulnerable, but you both understood the need for dry garments in the morning. To your relief, Wrecker's gaze held no trace of objectification, only warmth and understanding.

After setting your clothes out to dry by the crackling fire, you hopped your way toward Wrecker, mindful of you ankle, who had pulled back the sheets on the bed, managing to find some extra linens in one of the dressers.

"It ain't much, but it should do," he said, offering a genuine smile as he settled onto the bed. The creaking of the mattress accompanied your weight as you pulled the covers close and sighed. "Not too shabby, to be honest," you commented, snuggling into your pillow and gazing up at the dull ceiling, aware of the impending intimacy of sharing a bed with Wrecker for the night.

"Man, I'm starving!" Wrecker groaned, his stomach rumbling in agreement.

"Hunter always tells you to pack some rations," you teased, smirking up at him, knowing full well that he hadn't stocked up before the mission.

He rolled over, his eyes meeting yours. "Oh, yeah? Where are yours then?" Your smirk faded, and you playfully swatted his arm.

"Shut up." Okay, so maybe you were guilty of forgetting to pack rations too.

The two of you embraced the comfortable silence, maintaining a respectful distance as you listened to the sizzling fire drown out the howling wind outside. The others had yet to make contact, but you hoped for a response in the morning.

"Can I tell you something?" you blurted out, your mind swirling with ifs and buts.

Wrecker turned his head, nodding, his gaze filled with gentleness. "Always."

A smile tugged at your lips at his reply, and it took a moment for you to gather your thoughts. "I hate Cid," you confessed, the weight of your words lifting as they hung in the air.

Wrecker's smile widened, and a hearty laugh escaped his lips. "With all the bickering ya do, I could never tell," he teased, earning a playful eye roll from you.

"But," you continued, fidgeting with your hands beneath the covers, your heart racing, "I'm kinda glad she assigned us this mission."

Wrecker studied your face, his eyes filled with understanding. While some might consider him slow to pick up on certain things, he had an innate sense that allowed him to decipher the unspoken. "Yeah," he spoke softly, his usually booming voice now a tender rumble, "I'm kinda glad too."

Your gaze shifted to him, drawing closer as his arm enveloped your shoulder, tracing small circles on your skin. "I think I'd always choose to be stuck in a snowstorm with you, Wrecker," you murmured, closing your eyes as the comforting warmth of his body washed over you.

His eyes closed as well, pulling you a little closer. The sensation of your bodies pressed against each other filled you both with euphoria. "You’re so warm," you whispered, and without thinking you placed a kiss to his arm that you nestled into.

And without hesitation, Wrecker whispered, "You missed my lips."

You open your eyes, already seeing him look at you as the weight of his words lingered in the air only for a short amount of time until the tension became unbearable.

The room is filled with a gentle warmth as you gaze into each other's eyes, the world outside forgotten. You lean in, capturing his lips with you own and savoring the taste and the tender connection that has formed between you. Your hand caresses his cheek, feeling the roughness of his scars beneath your fingertips. In response, Wrecker's arm wraps around your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

As the kiss lingers, you can feel the electricity coursing through your veins, igniting a fire within you in this blizzard. His touch, his embrace, sends shivers down your spine, not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of the moment.

When you finally part, breathless and filled with a newfound sense of closeness, Wrecker's eyes meet yours, his voice filled with sincerity. "I've always wanted to do that," he admits, his dazed eyes glowing with a mix of emotions.

A mischievous grin plays on your lips as you tease him. "Is 'always' your favorite word today?" you ask, planting another subtle kiss on his lips.

He chuckles, his hand gently kneading your waist, his touch both tender and possessive. "I suppose it is," he admits, relishing in the feeling of having you lying beside him. He showers you with soft kisses, peppering your hair, the side of your head, and any available space on your face. "Always wanted to be beside you, always wanted to kiss you," he whispers, his words barely audible.

Your heart swells with affection as you intertwine your fingers with his. "Always you."

More wrecker works

Masterlist

Tags + those who I think will appreciate some Wrecker love: @theawkwardartist12 @moon-wrecked @unknownforknown @nimata-beroya @littlemissmanga @merkitty49 @l-lend @wreckers-wife@kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @the-good-shittt @imalovernotahater @crystal076 @blustalker @s1st3r @by-the-primes @the-bad-batch-baroness

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Her Secret Side

Summary: Icy is embarrassed to be in love with a nerd. Except Icy is also very much a nerd too so it's fine.

Why him?

Her heart—she apparently does have one—always makes the wrong choices.

On some level or another, it latches onto the wrong people. 

The people she would rather it not. 

Darkar, Valtor, Tritannus…they had all been strange choices in their own rights. She clearly has a preference, her own odd taste. An acquired one for certain. But at least those choices had made sense for her. 

But him?

Him?

She sits across from him, watching him tinker with her laptop. With a reassuring smile he promises that he will make it work again, no magic required. “In fact,” he informs her, “the best way to fix a broken laptop is to put magic aside and pick up traditional tools.” 

“Maybe that is the best way for someone who can locate the motherboard.” Icy folds her arms across her chest. 

“It’s actually pretty easy to find!” Timmy declares. “The good news is that we don’t need to. The laptop isn’t shutting down because of a motherboard malfunction. It’s overheating because the fans are broken; all we need to do is tighten a few screws and replace a few blades and the fan will be working again.”

She comes to conclude that she, in fact, has more in common with her laptop than with Timmy. But that doesn’t stop her frigid heart from seeking him out. Had she maybe dropped her laptop on purpose to create a believable reason for talking to the man? Sure. But her sisters will never pry that confession from her.

Not that it matters. Even though he and Tecna had gone their separate ways, it isn’t as though Timmy has any affection for witches. Especially one of the three that had made a point of calling him a dork and a dweeb. 

“I can show you how to do it.” Timmy offers. “So you can repair it yourself next time.”

“I’m not paying you for that.” 

Timmy shrugs. “I wasn’t going to ask you to. I just figured that you wouldn’t want to have to talk to a loser like me if you don’t have to.”

But she very much does want to and so she makes a point of forgetting everything that he has just told her so that she can approach him again to fix the fans. And then she swears that something else had broken when she dropped the laptop. He promises that it is functioning perfectly well. And so she deletes a few important files and pretends like she has no idea how to recover them. 

He probably thinks that she is an idiot. 

Better that than him realizing that she has affections for him. 

This time when she sets her laptop before him he sighs. “Alright, I think that I need to give you more in depth lessons.” He pushes his glasses, those stupid dorky glasses, up the bridge of his nose. “Free of charge, no worries.”

She nods. 

That will suffice. 

She can stop making up excuses to bring her laptop in and tell her sisters that she is learning how to fix it on her own so that she never has to talk to the dweeb again. Maybe if she spends enough time with him she can convince herself that he is cringe worthy enough to fall out of love with. It is a perfect plan that doesn’t work. 

A perfect plan that is perfect only in how flawlessly it has backfired. 

She finds that she quite enjoys working with the man. Enjoys listening to him explain how different hardwares and softwares work and tips to get them to last longer than they otherwise would have. “Although, I would recommend getting yourself a new laptop pronto. This one is built like a tank but you’ve dropped it like five times now. If I were you I would get the same model, it seems very durable.” 

He inspects the laptop and tells her the make and model as well as the exact coloration and the amount of space on the harddrive. She asks him if he can come with her to the store and help her pick out the best one. 

He has almost certainly put two and two together. 

He tells her that he knows that she is smarter than that.

He goes with her to the store anyhow.

He calls it a first date. 

She doesn’t dispute it. Denial will only make jesting and teasing worse. 

.oOo.

Icy knows that things are coming to an end when he declares, “I don��t want to be your secret anymore.” She supposes that it was always going to end this way. It really couldn’t end any other way. Either she chooses him or she chooses her reputation and the image that she has so carefully and painstakingly built up for herself. The cool and intimidating demeanor that she throws over most other aspects of her personality. 

She can’t let go of it. Not when the witches are eagerly waiting for a chance to pounce upon her and knock her off of her throne. She can name several witches who would love to pay her back for all of the pranks and insults she has thrown their way. 

And so she has to let him go. 

Has to pretend like she hadn’t spent months with the man taking computers apart and watching horror movies on them upon reassembly. 

She has to let him go. 

But he is the only one who has seen her wearing those glasses that she hates so much; they make her look ridiculous. 

And he is the only one with whom she feels comfortable having lengthy discussions about horror movies, the intricacies of true crime, her classwork, and various birds, crows especially.

He is the only one who seems invested in helping her work through each case, trying to dissect angles that detectives have missed and the theories that other enthusiasts have come up with.

He is the only person who won’t take jabs at her for genuinely enjoying classwork and for taking such pride in the high marks that she pretends have nothing to do with actually paying attention in class and getting invested in the material. 

He is the only person she thinks wouldn’t question why she has such a fascination with birds and why she knows all of their scientific names. 

He doesn’t think that it is dumb that she wants to collect horror movie posters and figurines. He buys them for her now and again. She never displays them. 

She has so many facts that she can prattle off about any one of the subjects that interest her and he is the only one who doesn’t cut her off or start to yawn halfway through her spiels. He like to go on rambles of his own and she has grown fond of letting him do so. 

“If you’re that embarrassed by me then why talk to me at all?”

“I’m not embarrassed by you…” She mumbles, folding her arms across her chest. 

Timmy furrows his brows. 

She hates that she can’t take what she dishes out. Resents that she will probably break if people start to treat her the way that she treats them. But more than anything, she dreads that Darcy and Stormy won’t want anything to do with her over this. Darcy is still mad about Riven. Riven who is also open and available now that Musa has,according to Timmy, declared that she has reached her limit with him.

“Yourself?” He guesses. “You’re embarrassed by yourself?”

“Timmy, if there was a second me in this room, I would probably kick my own ass.” Or at the very least she would relentlessly and ruthlessly bully herself. She supposes that she doesn’t need a second her to do that. She accomplishes it well enough on her own. 

“Why?” 

“Why!?” She frowns. “Well why wouldn’t I?” She gestures to her glasses. To the spread of true crime case notes on the floor. To her collection of DVD’s and posters. To the things that make her who she is. 

“You’re allowed to have interests, you know? And you don’t have to dull them down.”

Not when she is with him she doesn’t. But with every one else… “Yeah. I can have interests. Interests that aren’t nerdy.” 

“Horror movies aren’t nerdy. I thought that witches love horror movies.” Timmy points out.

“But birdwatching is an old lady hobby.” Icy grumbles. And with a shake of her head she adds, “and yeah, witches love horror movies but they don’t…”

“Cosplay.” He fills in.

She nods. 

“Who cares?” 

“Who cares?” Icy repeats. 

“Yeah. Who cares? Who cares what they think?”

She does.

Apparently.

“I’m pretty sure that you could just encase them all in ice or something. You probably don’t even have to do that—they’re scared of you, all you have to do is give them one of your ice cold glares and that’ll do the trick.” He tucks her bangs behind her ear, fixes her glasses onto her face, and kisses the tip of her nose. 

She doesn’t want to lose this. 

Doesn’t want to lose the one person who hasn’t had one bad thing to say of this side of her. 

But she doesn’t want anyone else to know about this side of her.

She also doesn’t want to lose her high ground.

“How about this?” Timmy offers. “Tell Darcy and Stormy at least and let me tell Sky and Tecna.”

“You still talk to Tecna?”

He laughs, “no need to get jealous…”

“I am not jealous!” 

She absolutely is the possessive type. 

“We’re still friends, Icy. She just…she decided that romance isn’t for her and that’s okay with me.” He pauses. “Nice try with changing the subject though. Can you at least tell Darcy and Stormy about me and let me tell a friend or two and then we can go from there?”

“I know what happens when one person knows a secret…”

“Tecna is great at keeping secrets and Sky pretended to be Brandon for months and we didn’t suspect a thing.”

Icy grumbles, “I wasn’t talking about your stupid friends, I was talking about mine.” 

Timmy sighs. “Witches.” 

“Fine.” She scowls. “I’ll tell them.” 

Timmy’s cheerful smile returns. He ruffles her hair. She hates that she has to pretend to hate that. “Great! Eventually we’ll get to a point where you feel comfortable enough to tell everybody else the truth.”

Icy sniffs. “Yeah right. Stormy is going to open her big mouth way before I get comfortable with anything.” 

He takes her into a hug. “You’ll live.” 

Clearly her sassy and sarcastic nature is rubbing off on him.

“You’ll live and you’ll realize that it’s perfectly okay to be a total dork.”

“I thought that you said…”

“I didn’t say anything about you not being a dork. You’re definitely one of the biggest nerds that I have had the pleasure of discussing the intricacies of comic book plotlines with. I said that I enjoyed that you’re a dork and think that you should embrace it.” 

She turns her head before he can see the flush creeping across her face. “Whatever. Let’s just start listening to the podcast before I get the both of us featured in one of them.” 

They turn the lights off and light the candles. It is her favorite ambiance for horror movies and true crime podcasts. He lets her stretch herself out upon the couch and lay herself across his lap. He likes to hold the hand that she typically rests beneath her sternum. 

She would very much miss this if she had to let go of it. 

And so she resigns herself to dealing with Darcy and Stormy’s cackles for at least a week.

[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

The Black Death: Part 5

In the subsequent days, the guard meticulously gathered a group of his most trusted men, forming a secret alliance fueled by a shared purpose. True to his promise to Augusta, he orchestrated her discreet release from the confines of the dungeon, providing her sanctuary in the knights' quarters. Seated around a dimly lit table, they convened, plotting the downfall of King Wilhelm. Augusta, her resolve unwavering, proposed a strategic strike during the late hours of the night, precisely when the changing of the guard offered the opportune moment. Unified in purpose, the conspirators collectively acknowledged that this marked the beginning of the end.

Several days later, on a frigid winter morning, King Wilhelm lay ensconced in the warmth of his bedchambers, immersed in a deep slumber. Abruptly, his restful repose was shattered as one of his guards entered with an urgent demeanor. "What is so pressing that it's worth disrupting my slumber?" Wilhelm bellowed, his voice resonating through the chamber. "Your Majesty, I'm deeply sorry to disturb you, but an unsettling breach in security has occurred. We believe there's a threat to your safety within the castle. I urgently request you to accompany me to the knights' quarters; it's the safest location for you," the guard instructed, his expression reflecting genuine concern.

Reluctantly rising from his bed, Wilhelm, gripped by apprehension, followed his guard down the dimly lit hallways, the weight of impending danger hanging heavily in the cold, early morning air.

They traveled through the corridors of the castle, descending into the shadowy depths of the basement. As they entered the dungeon hallway, a gnawing sense of unease crept over Wilhelm. He turned to the guard, agitation evident in his voice. "I thought the knights' quarters were further down the hall. Why have we stopped here?" Wilhelm questioned, his tone laced with frustration. The guard met Wilhelm's gaze, an ominous smile playing on his lips.

"Funny, isn't it, Your Majesty? How the mighty can fall. Your castle, once a symbol of power, is now but a fortress of your own demise."

Before Wilhelm could voice his confusion, one of the cell doors swung open, revealing a formidable assembly of guards, effectively blocking any escape route. Standing among them was his own daughter, Augusta, wearing a smirk that mirrored her newfound resolve.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Wilhelm shouted in a rage.

"The meaning, Father, is the inevitable consequence of your cruelty. Your reign of oppression ends here, and the people you've tormented will finally see justice. These guards have chosen the side of righteousness, and Windenburg will be free from the chains you forged." Wilhelm tried to order the guards to apprehend Augusta, but his influence had diminished, and, in turn, they forcefully restrained him. "Unhand me! I am your King!" Wilhelm desperately shouted. Augusta delivered a final statement to her father, "You hold no kingship over us." With that, the guard forcefully threw Wilhelm into the dark cell, swiftly locking the door behind him.

As the heavy door closed with a resounding thud, sealing Wilhelm within the confines of the dimly lit cell, reality set in. When he turned around, a haunting sight greeted him—the room was filled with the anguished presence of plague-ridden souls, their hollow eyes reflecting the torment of the cruel disease. A palpable sense of terror was etched on Wilhelm's face as he desperately pounded on the unyielding door. "You won't escape the consequences of this, Augusta! I'll make sure you pay for this betrayal. Mark my words!"

Realizing that no one was listening to his desperate pleas, Wilhelm crumbled to the ground, his head in his hands. The weight of his own suffering mirrored the agony he had inflicted upon others. The following morning, Cordelia lay in her chamber, having endured solitude since Wilhelm's last visit. Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupted her solitude, "My lady, forgive the intrusion, but I thought you'd want to know that young Prince Alvin is here. He's missed his mother dearly, and I thought it best to reunite you both."

Cordelia initially believed she was lost in a dream, but as she opened her eyes, the reality before her was as tangible as anything. Positioned by the entrance to her chambers, Cordelia's guard and Lady Philippa stood with Prince Alvin in her arms. Overwhelmed with emotion, Cordelia rushed out of her bed, racing to her son and embracing him tightly. She turned to Lady Philippa, her eyes filled with curiosity, and inquired, "How did you possibly get Wilhelm to agree to this?" Lady Philippa responded with a subtle smile, "His Majesty has been missing since last night, Your Grace. There's no trace of him anywhere." She continued, "I've been asked to escort you to the council chamber; everyone is waiting there, Your Grace."

As Cordelia stepped into the chamber, Prince Wilhelm rushed into her arms, marking the long-awaited reunion of their fractured family. Joy and relief filled the air, enveloping the room in a momentary respite from the shadows that had cast a pall over the kingdom. However, amidst the warmth of familial embrace, an eerie silence lingered, a stark reminder of the absence that loomed over the reunited kin.

In the ensuing days, a gradual decline overcame King Wilhelm. The unmistakable signs of the plague manifested on his weakened form as he sat on the unforgiving cold stone floor. The once-mighty ruler now grappled with a sense of profound loss and despair. The weight of his deeds bore down on him, and the impending specter of his own mortality loomed ever larger.

Locked in the dark chamber, Wilhelm faced the cruel irony of his fate. The same suffering he had inflicted upon others had come full circle to claim him. Each passing moment carried him closer to the precipice of his inevitable demise. In the shadows of the castle that was once his seat of power, Wilhelm confronted the consequences of his actions, and the haunting silence echoed with the reckoning of a ruler who had lost not only his kingdom but also the compassion he had forsaken.

[the-wasteland-tales-fallout]

https://discord.gg/yUEPQs4QAf The year is 2287 and the world is still recovering from the nuclear fallout that nearly wiped out all life 200 years ago.

Somewhere buried below the ground in the Commonwealth lays a frozen tomb, with one soul still yet to arise from the frigid depths and see the surface. What was once a massive prospering city is now little more than numerous smaller settlements and towns built up from the scrap of its remains. Paranoia reigns over the populace as friends and family turn on each other, echoing whispers of the great boogeyman of the Commonwealth—The Institute.

Out in the Mojave, tensions are high between the countless groups and factions as each waits for one to make a move. The Vegas Strip shines like a beacon in the center, guiding gamblers, tourists, and traders through desert to see the brilliant lights. A courier shot dead outside of Goodsprings marks another soul claimed by the wasteland, but the reason behind their murder remains a mystery.

In the Capital Wasteland, a different tale is told. One of hope, prosperity, and of sacrifice. The water has been slowly recovering its purity due to the efforts of a father and son, both of whom selflessly gave their lives several years ago to restore a small piece of the world destroyed at the hands of those brutal bombs. While violence persists there, most inhabiting the rubble of the Capital still speak of The Lone Wanderer and their ultimate sacrifice.

------------------------------------------------ Welcome to "Tales From The Wasteland", an 18+ Fallout roleplay server that takes place in 2287 and uses the locations of Fallout 3, 4, and New Vegas. You can play canon characters or OCs, and there is even a texting system to communicate across the various apocalyptic settings your muses find themselves in.

Don't want to roleplay? That's fine too! Feel free to share art, memes, and everything in-between! We have a selection of fun bots for you to play around with, including blackjack and UNO! We'd love to have you! ------------------------------------------------

CURRENT CANON TAKEN LIST: Arthur Maxson Paladin Danse John Hancock Butch Deloria Arcade Gannon

[writing-the-stars]

Moonlight Miracles

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Reader

Summary: On the night of your escape, you lose the love of your life. Or so you thought.

Warnings: Angst (Nothing's changed), Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy Ending, Typical Vampire Diaries Violence, Death. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I have been working on this story for TWO YEARS!!! I'm honestly just relieved to have it finished finally. The title admittedly sucks, but I believe the story makes up for it. Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy. Have a wonderful day!

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

The fabric of your underdress billows at your feet as the crisp night air washes over you. You cling closer to the trunk of the towering White Pine– the rough bark tugging at the fabric of your garment. You hope to shroud away in the depth of the forest, hiding from the unwanted gaze of your village in the shadows of the looming trees. Your hair wafts gently in the breeze and a shudder travels down your spine as the chill of the night seeps into your bones. 

You wait, patiently, for your betrothed in the same location you met him every night for the past four full moons, hiding in secret as you exchanged solemn vows and acts of romance– planning for this day to arrive. Your deerskin bag rests at your feet, filled with the goods you plan on bartering for your passage into your new life. Away from the cruelties of Elijah’s father and the prohibitory life your father has arranged for you. Away from the danger of the men who turn into beasts who have taken so much already. You have lived through 20 winters– it is time you take your life into your own hands. 

“Hello, my love.”

The silence that encapsulated you is suddenly broken– a sharp gasp breaking through your lips. You turn swiftly, finding your beloved with an endearing smile gracing his lips– looming in the shadows of the trees. A smile adorns your face at the sight of him. 

“Elijah, you frightened me.”

He emerges from the shadows– the pale moonlight illuminating his porcelain skin. The unobstructed view of your betrothed robs the smile from your lips– something was wrong. While he appeared to be the same man, there was a chilling air of danger around him– one that was never there before. 

“I’m sorry,” the brunet apologizes, gliding over to you, “I did not mean to alarm you.” 

His hand is frigid as he places it against the downy surface of your cheek– the alarming contrast of temperature making you flinch away from the very touch you used to crave. 

“Elijah, your hands are freezing,” you proclaim to the Mikaelson, attempting to gather his large hands into yours to provide them some warmth. You are confused to find the usual rough texture of his calloused hands has now been made smooth as if he had never labored a day in his life. 

Elijah’s laughter pulls you from your musing and the warm familiarity of it eases your concern. You would never grow tired of the sound of his joy– it is a sound that has comforted you through many sorrowful evenings. It is a sound that reminds you, despite the struggles the two of you face, everything will be okay. 

“What?” you inquire, curious of the moment’s motivation for your favorite sound, but he simply shakes his head, knowing how useless your endeavor is. His body will never be able to emit warmth again. 

The Mikaelson looks down at you with his keen eyes, studying all the details he was unable to perceive before. The unique blend of color swirling your eyes, the distinctive pattern of strands that design your hair's texture, and the subtle lines and contours that create the structure of your face. A chill creeps up your spine as he examines you– the pools of chocolate brown shine with an intensity, a darkness lurking within their depths. It unsettles you. Your hands, instinctively, retract from his, your feet placing a small amount of distance between you. A frown draws on Elijah’s lips at your sudden shift in attitude. 

“Y/N, beloved, what’s the matter?”

There is a sharpness to his voice– one that holds a lurking threat, sending shivers down your spine. You are conflicted about your next course of action. All of your body is on high alert, telling you to run from the danger before you, but your heart urges you to stay– only seeing the man that you love so dearly. Elijah takes a step toward you, attempting to close the distance you have subconsciously put between you, but you continue to add more to that distance. The Mikaelson grows frustrated with your newfound prudence of him– the darkness within growing stronger. 

You watch, fearfully, the animalistic nature in which he moves toward you– a predator stalking its prey– as you finally come to a disturbing conclusion. The man before you is not the man you fell in love with many moons ago. There is a dark evil living inside of him now, consuming every fiber of the man you knew before. Adrenaline courses through your body, tears painting your cheeks, as you realize the danger that you are in. You run. As far and as fast as you can– desperate to escape the creature taking over your betrothed’s body. 

You run to your home– the same place you were desperate to flee mere hours ago– only to be stopped by Elijah’s sinister figure, suddenly in front of you again. Eyes widened, you come to a halt, astounded by his swiftness. You step back, in an effort to get away from him; however, your foot catches the skirt of your underdress and you stumble back, landing on your rear.

Elijah approaches you menacingly– eyes blood-red, shining in the moonlight while tiny black veins dance underneath. A gasp of horror escapes you at the sight. In all of your winters, you have never seen anything as terrorizing as the display before you– whatever your beloved is now, it certainly is not human. 

“W-what are you?”

Something breaks within the Mikaelson, seeing you tremble in utter fear at his feet. It pains him to watch you, the great love of his life, be absolutely petrified of him. 

The monster subsides, retreating back into the depth of his soul and, for a moment, you see the man you fell in love with break through the darkness. Your heart softens as you stare into the tender umber eyes that stole your heart moons ago. You slowly reach out to him– frightened that if you move too swiftly, your beloved will disappear and that creature will resume its place. 

Your hand never meets him as a guttural cry tears from his lips– face contorted in the most grisly display of abject agony. Elijah falls to his knees, the blood-soaked tip of a blade piercing through his chest. You scream for him as if that will somehow undo the act that has been done.

“What did you do,” you cry out in horror as you look to your sister who stands horrified– hands shaking feverishly. 

“Y-you weren’t in the room when I woke, so I-I grabbed Father’s blade for protection and went to look for you. When I found you, y-you seemed frightened, so I thought he was attacking you. I-I did not…,” your sister stutters through her tears, realizing the gravity of what she has done. Her first reaction to your danger was to stop the thing that was hurting you; however, she did not want to kill the Mikaelson boy.

A sob rips through your throat as you cradle his pallor face in your hands. His blood seeps into the garments of your dress, horrifyingly warming your body from the crisp chill of the night air. 

“I am sorry,” your sister cries, bile rising in her throat, “I thought I was protecting you.”

Another sob wracks through your body as you clutch his lifeless body to yours, willing life back into him. You know it’s a useless endeavor, but you have to try anyway.

“Leave,” you command your sister, unable to stand her presence any longer. She took the love of your life away from you and had the audacity to grieve. 

“Y/N, I-”

The sickening sound of your father’s blade tearing through Elijah’s body once again as you pull it from his chest leaves your sister silent. The action makes your stomach churn as you shove the hilt into her chest, “Just go.”

Your voice is dark– heavy with the hatred you now hold for her. Because, in spite of the creature Elijah had become, you still loved him with every fiber of your being. To you, he was still the same man whose winsome smile charmed you the moment he wielded it on you. The same man who always strived to make the impossible happen for you just to see you smile. The man who was willing to leave the family that he loved and the life that he knew just to be with you. He was absolutely devoted to you and you were to him, willing to give him everything you have, everything he could ask of you. Now he is lost to you forever– the hole in your heart being the only remnant left of the love you shared. 

-*-

You stand in front of the Mikaelson home, unaware of how you came to be before the residence. You are certain you walked the distance, but you have no recollection of leaving the forest. Nor are you aware how long you have been standing in front of the wooden dwelling.

“Y/N,” a voice calls to you, luring you from the dazed state you found yourself in. The figure of a man appears before you, one you soon recognize to be Klaus. Concern is etched into the features of his face at your disheveled state. The tear stains blemishing your face and your soiled, bloody garments not signifying a good thing. 

“He’s gone,” the words push past your lips, your voice dry and void. A numbness courses through your veins robbing you of feeling anything else. You believe it to be a blessing from the gods above. The nothingness is preferable to the torment of mourning him.  

“Who?” Klaus inquires, hands grasping your shoulders in an attempt to keep you steady. You appear seconds away from crumbling, only adding to his unease.

The silence intensifies as you struggle to force your mouth to shape those dreaded words.As the silence grows heavier, the more indefinite the Mikaelson’s worry for you grows. He knows of the secret love affair you have with his brother. Initially, he was adamantly opposed to it; with your families being rivals, he knew the fury his father would unleash if he discovered the betrayal. But as he observed you, his perspective began to shift. Witnessing the gentle way you treated his older brother—the tenderness, the unwavering care, and the joy you brought into his life—Klaus realized that you were the best thing for his brother. He came to cherish you as he does Rebekah, and seeing you in such profound despair deeply unsettled him.

You can only shake your head, paralyzed by the weight of the unspeakable truth that clings to your tongue, refusing to be voiced. The fear of solidifying such a grotesque reality makes you hesitate. The blond gazes past you into the darkness, his eyes searching for some trace, some hint of what has transpired. 

“Y/N, where is Elijah? Did he meet with you?” Klaus questions once he has confirmed there is nothing hidden beyond you. 

Your lip starts to quiver as the dam holding your emotion begins to break. With a shuddering breath, you manage to utter, “He’s dead.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and your knees collapse beneath you, unable to bear the crushing weight of your sorrow.

“Elijah. He’s dead.”

You sob as the second coming of your grief crashes over you with a force even more devastating than the first. A raw, piercing pain tears through your chest, shattering your heart with the finality of the truth. The sobs that wrack your body are deep and relentless, leaving you utterly inconsolable. Lost to the world around you, you are entirely engulfed by the consuming abyss of your sorrow. 

The third eldest Mikaelson son stands in disbelief. His mind struggles to comprehend the meaning of your words. How could his brother be gone? That shouldn’t be possible. It defies all reason, especially given the curse that should protect them. Yet, the raw, palpable intensity of your grief casts a shadow of reality over the implausibility of the situation.

Klaus gathers your trembling form into his chest, his heart aching with each ragged breath you take. He desperately wishes he could offer you an explanation, something to ease the unbearable pain that clutches at your soul, but he's unsure if he can. Unsure of the nature of vampirism– doubtful of its functionality altogether, given the depth of your sorrow. The Mikaelson is at a loss for how to comfort you, grappling with the profound helplessness of the moment. However, he is certain of one thing. If his father were to see you weeping in his arms, his wrath would be uncontrollable. So, Klaus carries you back into the woods where he lets you sob until every tear is spent and you have nothing left to give. As he holds you, he scans the shadows of the towering pines, almost expecting his elder brother to emerge with one of his infuriatingly calm reassurances. But the forest remains silent, offering no solace beyond the embrace of the darkened woods.

Until. 

“Y/N.”

The achingly familiar voice pierces through the suffocating silence, cutting straight to your heart and freezing you in place. You hold your breath, paralyzed by the fear that this fleeting sound might be an illusion—your mind’s desperate attempt to soothe the unbearable ache constricting your chest. Yet, despite the gnawing doubt, your ears strain with desperate hope, yearning for any sign, any hint of the voice’s reality, clinging to the faintest possibility that it might be real. 

“Y/N, my love.”

You release the breath you have been holding— eyes drifting to the blond Mikaelson, seeking confirmation of the impossible. When you find Klaus’s gaze fixed beyond you, you know that this must be real. That he must be real. 

You turn to face the man you lost mere hours ago, stunned by the miraculous sight before you. There, bathed in the gentle glow of the moonlight, Elijah stands as impeccably whole as he did before the night's horrors unfolded. His chest, the place where your father’s blade had torn through him, now unmarred. His eyes, which had once struck fear into your heart with their cold, sinister gleam, now hold a profound, unwavering love.

Klaus releases you gently, allowing you to approach his brother. 

“Elijah?” you call for your beloved— voice barely a whisper. You fear anything louder may cause him to disappear. 

He takes a step towards you, the movement graceful and deliberate, “It’s me,” he replies, his voice steady and reassuring.

You reach out tentatively, still uncertain if this is merely an apparition. But as he draws nearer, his hands grazing your skin— his cool touch leaving a wake of sensation in its path— the sheer reality of his presence overwhelms you. A sob of profound relief and unspoken hope bursts from your chest as you envelop him in a desperate embrace, clinging to the tangible warmth of your beloved.

“You’re here,” you cry out, pressing Elijah as close to you as physically possible, uncaring of the discomfort of the fabric digging into your skin. You cling to him with an unwavering grip, anchoring yourself to the Mikaelson and vowing not to let him slip away from you once more.

“I thought you were gone,” you cry into his chest, your voice muffled by the fabric of his tunic, “I thought I lost you forever.”

Elijah's arms encircle you with a tenderness that matches your own desperation, holding you just as tightly. “I’m here, my love. I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your shattered heart.

You pull back just enough to gaze up into his umber eyes, your voice trembling with disbelief, “How—how is this possible?”

Elijah's lips curl into a gentle smile as he brushes a strand of wind-swept hair from your face, relishing the chance to hold you close once more.

“I am stronger than you know,” he says softly.

You stare at him, your mind a whirlwind of confusion as you struggle to reconcile the living, breathing Elijah before you with the haunting image of his lifeless body. Your fingers roam over his face, his hands, every part of him within reach, desperately seeking the tangible reassurance that he is truly real.

“Elijah, I… I saw you… You were dead,” you stammer, your voice quivering with confusion, “How can you be here?”

His expression is one of gentle understanding, “I know, my love. I am not entirely sure myself, but I promise you, I am here. I will always come back to you.”

Klaus observes the reunion silently, a rare smile touching his lips. “It seems the universe isn’t ready to part you two just yet,” he says softly, his eyes reflecting a depth of unspoken emotions.

Elijah turns his gaze towards his brother, gratitude shining in his eyes. “Thank you for looking after her, Niklaus.”

Klaus nods, stepping back to grant you both some much-needed space. “Just make sure to keep her safe, Elijah. Father won’t be pleased to learn of this.”

Elijah’s eyes return to you, his resolve unshaken. “I will,” he promises with unwavering certainty. “We will find a way to be together, my love. No matter what it takes.”

You feel the warmth of his words seep into your bones, dispelling the lingering chill of the night. You rest your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart reassuring you that this is real, that he is real. You allow yourself to fully embrace the reality of the moment, embracing the hope and love that Elijah’s return has rekindled within you.

Taglist: @catmikaelson20 @jennyamanda8 @tsukilover11 @gamarancianne @hazgold @devotedlycrookeddonut

If you want to be a part of my taglist, please submit an ask and I will happily add you!

[everrainrp]

I may have missed this in my perusing of lore, but do leaders of each Clan have multiple lives, and if so, where do they come from? Since their spiritual beliefs vary so widely, is it different for each Clan?

Hello!

This is something I need to add and talk about, but to keep things minimally confusing between each Clan, each leader does indeed have multiple lives!

And with the idea that none of their spiritual beliefs are necessarily wrong, they still receive their lives but in different ways and rites. In the end, they act very similarly to cats of history giving lives in the form of some sort of leadership ideal, ie. a spirit granting a life and willing the leader to lead with wisdom.

Rite of the Changing Tides

Shoreshimmer prospective leaders, both Landbound and Seabound, are to go to the bleached whale bones found on their southern shores, and sit within them as they face the ocean. From here, they will spend a full day and night in meditation, watching the ocean and it's tides, contemplating life and death and how everything is intertwined. This symbolizes their patience and understanding of the rise and fall of the tides and the ocean and it's cycles. From here, they will enter a tidal cavern called Tidal Keep that is only accessible at low tide. As the tide rises and ocean water laps at their paws as sea spray and mist fills the cavern, it is here that the souls of the cycle will appear to the leader. With each beat of the waves, a new soul will appear in the sea mist and grant the leader a life, and with each life the leader feels a new thrum of energy and invigoration, as if the ocean itself was pulsing in their veins. This will last until it is once again low tide and the leader may exit the cave and return to camp, which they are welcomed as a new and official leader.

Rite of the Drowning River

Torrentfall prospective leaders must go through one of the most dangerous rites of their Clan, of which symbolizes their acceptance of the raw power of the water they deeply revere, and their willingness to push for survival and sacrifice. Prospective leaders are lead to the "Thunderpool", the most dangerous location within their territory where the water is composed of the raging and cascading waters from surrounding waterfalls, creating a dangerous, swirling pool. From here, they must enter the river and submit themselves entirely, in mind and body, to the currents. They are dragged deep under, and must not fight the pull, and as they descend further and further into the frigid waters, they will slip into unconsciousness. When awaking, it is not in the physical realm, but the afterlife, the Endless Currents, where the water is still and shimmering, creating a serene picture. Ancestors and deceased loved ones and kin will approach the leader one by one and grant them their lives. As opposed to the life giving thrum of Shoreshimmer's life ceremony, Torrentfall's feels as though they are being crushed by the weight of the water before feeling breath returning to them each time, granting them grit and resilience needed to rise from the depths again and again. Once over, the cat will resurface and be pulled to the riverbank by awaiting Clanmates who will bear witness to the first breath the cat will take as new leader.

Rite of the Veiled Whispers

Mistshroud prospective leaders will proceed to a moss covered boulder deep within their territory and consume a liquid blend of herbs that induce vivid dreams and a trance like state. The prospective leader will fall into a trance upon the moss covered boulder, named the "Veil Stone", and upon entering this trance their soul will appear in the mists of their territory. From here, they are tasked with navigating a maze with nothing but their senses and instincts, back to the location that camp would be. Instead of being greeted by their living kin, in the camp they are greeted by past ancestors and deceased loved ones that inhabit the mists of their world. From here, the spirits will grant the leader their nine lives, but this is often done in silence as those passed believe wisdom is best conveyed without words. Once this is complete, the leader will wake from their trance like state, and return to camp in reality, where they will be greeted as the new leader of the Clan officially. Not only do they carry the nine lives, but also the unseen and quiet wisdom of past lives.

Rite of the Hunt, the Howl, and the Heart

This rite revolves around their pantheon, the great boar Thornmaw (survival and the hunt), the quick wolf Silverhowl (unity and pack loyalty), and the regal stag Bravehart (leadership and compassion). Prospective leaders of Thornrush Clan must go through several trials pertaining to their pantheon before receiving their nine lives. To start these trials, they must fall into a deep sleep under a natural stone arch found in their territory called the "Traversing Stone". It is here that when they awake, that they awaken in Thornmaw's Hunting Grounds, where the greatest and most honorable of their ancestors reside in the afterlife. Their first test begins here, the test of the Hunt, where they must track and hunt a fox, a symbol of survival and cunning and a direct mirror to Thornrush Clans willingness to outlast and outlive challenges, made out of roots and brambles through the hunting grounds. A group of spirits wait underneath a great redwood tree for the leaders success and proof. From here the next test begins, the test of the Howl. The leader must lead the group of spirits through rugged and treacherous terrain, ascending the side of a mountain to reach Silverhowl's den. No cat must be left behind and one must be willing to ensure every spirit makes it, even if it means sacrificing their own comfort or safety. As Silverhowl embodies the belief of strength in unity and that a leader must never abandon their pack, this test is done to ensure that the leader can lead in unity and trust in the group. Upon arrival to Silverhowl's Den successfully, it is time for the test of the heart. The test of the heart symbolizes Bravehart's leadership and compassion, standing tall with a regal air even in the face of adversity. This test will have the leader making a symbolic sacrifice that would be for the good of their Clan. This sacrifice will vary greatly between leaders, and often revolves around something that they are unwilling to let go of. Upon successful completion of these trials, the spirits that the leader had guided in the test of the Howl, approach one by one to grant their lives to the leader as well as place a crown of thorns upon their head, allowing the leader to bear the weight of leadership and feel it. These lives are filled with power and greatness, the very same bravery and honor that the spirits hold embodied in each life given. Upon awakening, the leader will bear a crown of thorns, and may return to camp where they will be greeted as the newfound leader.

Rite of Ascension

In Skyreach Clan, prospective leaders must ascend, both physically and metaphorically, to their new rank. This is done on "Star's Summit" , one of the highest peaks bordering Skyreach's territory. The prospective leader must make this climb alone, exposed to the elements and the high winds as they hike up the ledges of the mountain. This symbolizes their willingness to rise above the struggles of below for their Clan and what they are willing to do for their kin, as well as their readiness to reach for what may otherwise be out of reach and go beyond, and to ascend to be closest to their ancestors. Upon reaching the very top, there is a cave that they must enter where many cairns are stacked by previous leaders, the amount of stones symbolizing how many years a leader had led. Few cairns are stacked due to the age of the overall Clan, but a new leader will begin a new cairn. It is here that they must fall asleep in the frigid temperatures, closest to their ancestors. When they awaken in the spiritual sense, the stars will descend to the peaks, falling rapidly through the skies leaving blazing trails behind them. But instead of brutal impact, these stars gently touch the ledge and take on the form of their deceased loved ones, as they file into the cave, turning it into almost a planetarium of sorts as stars and stardust fills the empty space. As the spirits gather, they bestow upon the leader their lives, each life filling them with a sense of wonder and willingness to carry themselves and their Clan far, each life making the cat feel as though they are drifting through the clouds on open wings with nothing to stop them. Upon waking, they may return to camp, where as the rest of the Clans, are welcome as a new leader.

[a-solitary-sea-rover-backup]

The wreckage of the Quest, the vessel used by famed Antarctic explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton, was found earlier this week, 62 years after it sank off the coast of Canada. The discovery was made by an international team of researchers, oceanographers and divers from the Royal Canadian Geographic Society.

“Finding Quest is one of the final chapters in the extraordinary story of Sir Ernest Shackleton,” expedition leader and chief executive officer of the Royal Canadian Geographical Society said in a statement on Wednesday. “Shackleton was known for his courage and brilliance as a leader in crisis. The tragic irony is that his was the only death to take place on any of the ships under his direct command.”

The Quest was discovered using sonar equipment on June 9, lying at a depth of 390 meters in the frigid waters off the coast of Canada’s Labrador and Newfoundland province. The discovery was aided by extensive research of historic ship logs and maps along with data on currents and weather conditions to try and pinpoint the Quest’s location, search director David Means on Wednesday.

[hvrtroads]

open starter: @anchoragestarters cap: none! date & location: early march, around town

there were many irons in the fire, if one couldn't tell by the very appearance of one boo jonghyeon. he'd gotten just slightly ahead of himself, absorbed in his work for the entire duration of the day, and now he was left to simply kick himself for not planning better ahead of time. you see, schedules were extremely important to the keyboardist, always followed diligently ( instances like today were rare ) – with it being thrown off, he was left feeling thoroughly of his depth. not to mention the contemned fact that the sun had set, and he had no way of contacting his bandmates... fuck. he'd left the theatre some time ago, set out towards delilah's, bag slung over his shoulders and a binder of sheet music held to his chest, cheeks rosy from the frigid air. the weather was far from ideal for numerous reasons, one of them being the pain and stiffness that the cold brought his leg; he really could not get home soon enough. however, the approach was derailed, quite abruptly, at that, as he collided with another body, not enough attention being given to what was in front of him. in the bat of an eye, he was on his ass, landing on the ice with an oof!, papers flying everywhere, as if they were particles of a blizzard themselves. curse his balance issues, and the snow. what a miserable night. “ mianhae, ” he voiced, “ i'm sorry. i wasn't looking... ”

[travelella]

Arctic Ocean

The world's smallest and most shallow ocean. It is also the coldest and least salty ocean.

About the size of Russia.

The Arctic Ocean is divided by an underwater ocean ridge called the Lomonosov ridge

Located at the North Pole, the Arctic Ocean has polar ice. Over the years, glaciers have melted threatening sea levels to rise.

Despite the IHO recognizing it as the “Arctic Ocean”, some oceanographers still call it the “Arctic Sea”.

The Arctic Ocean is the most diverse in terms of fish species. It has a wide variety of marine species including whales, jellyfish, etc.

But because of its frigid temperatures, it has little plant life. This makes it one of the most fragile ecosystems on the planet.

Area

Total: 15.558 million sq km

Area - Comparative: Slightly less than 1.5 times the size of the US

Includes: Barents Sea, Beaufort Sea, Chukchi Sea, East Siberian Sea, Greenland Sea, Kara Sea, Laptev Sea, Northwest Passage, Norwegian Sea, and other tributary water bodies

Coastline: 45,389 km

Ocean Volume: 18.75 million cu km

Percent of the World Ocean Total Volume: 1.4%

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Bathymetry

Continental Shelf: A rather flat area of the sea floor adjacent to the coast that gradually slopes down from the shore to water depths that are typically less than 200 m (660 ft). Dimensions can vary: they may be narrow or nearly nonexistent in some places or extend for hundreds of miles in others. The waters above the continental shelf are usually productive in both plant and animal life, both from sunlight and nutrients from ocean upwelling and terrestrial runoff. More than one quarter of the Arctic sea floor is continental shelf. The Eurasian shelf is very wide extending out 1,500 km (930 mi) and is the largest continental shelf in the World. 

Barents Shelf

Beaufort Shelf

Davis Sill

Chukchi Shelf

East Siberian Shelf

Kara Shelf

Laptev Shelf

Lincoln Shelf

Continental Slope: Where the ocean bottom drops off more rapidly until it meets the deep-sea floor (abyssal plain) at depths exceeding 3,000 m (9,850 ft) water depth. The deep waters of the continental slope are characterized by cold temperatures, low light conditions, and very high pressures. Sunlight does not penetrate to these depths, having been absorbed or reflected in the water above. The continental slope can be indented by submarine canyons, often associated with the outflow of major rivers. Another feature of the continental slope are alluvial fans or cones of sediments carried downstream to the ocean by major rivers and deposited down the slope. 

Litke Trough

Novaya Zemlya Trough

Svyataya Anna Trough (Saint Anna Trough)

Voronin Trough

Abyssal Plains:  At depths of over 3,000 m (10,000 ft) and covering 70% of the ocean floor, are the largest habitat on earth. Sunlight does not penetrate to the sea floor, making these deep, dark ecosystems less productive than those along the continental shelf. Despite their name, these “plains” are not uniformly flat; they are interrupted by features like hills, valleys, and seamounts.

Baffin Basin

Canada Basin

Fram/Amundsen Basin

Greenland Abyssal Plain

Iceland Basin

Makarov Basin

Molloy Deep; note - deepest point in the Arctic Ocean

Nansen Basin

Norwegian Basin

Mid-Ocean Ridge: Rising up from the abyssal plain, is an underwater mountain range, over 64,000 km (40,000 mi) long, rising to an average depth of 2,400 m (8,000 ft). Mid-ocean ridges form at divergent plate boundaries where two tectonic plates are moving apart and new crust is created by magma pushing up from the mantle. Tracing their way around the global ocean, this system of underwater volcanoes forms the longest mountain range on Earth. Fracture Zones are linear transform faults that develop perpendicular to the line of the mid-ocean ridge which can offset the ridge line and divide it into segments. 

Gakkel Ridge

Mohns Ridge

Undersea Terrain Features: The Abyssal Plain is commonly interrupted by a variety of commonly named undersea terrain features including seamounts, guyots, ridges, and plateaus. Seamounts (see Figure 1) are submarine mountains at least 1,000 m (3,300 ft) high formed from individual volcanoes on the ocean floor. They are distinct from the plate-boundary volcanic system of the mid-ocean ridges, because seamounts tend to be circular or conical. A circular collapse caldera is often centered at the summit, evidence of a magma chamber within the volcano. Flat topped seamounts are known as guyots. Long chains of seamounts are often fed by "hot spots" in the deep mantle. These hot spots are associated with stationary plumes of molten rock rising from deep within the Earth's mantle. These hot spot plumes melt through the overlying tectonic plate as it moves and supplies magma to the active volcanic island at the end of the chain of volcanic islands and seamounts. An undersea ridge is an elongated elevation of varying complexity and size, generally having steep sides. An undersea plateau is a large, relatively flat elevation that is higher than the surrounding relief with one or more relatively steep sides. Although submerged, these features can reach close to sea level.

Lomonosov Ridge

Gakkel Ridge

Alpha Ridge

Mendeleev Rise

Chukchi Plateau

Ocean Trenches: note - there are no oceanic trenches on the Arctic sea floor

Atolls: note - there are no atolls found in the Arctic Ocean

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Highest Point: Sea level

Lowest Point: Molloy Deep -5,577 m

Mean Depth: -1,205 m

Ocean Zones: Composed of water and in a fluid state, the ocean is delimited differently than the solid continents. The Ocean is divided into three zones based on depth and light level. Although some sea creatures depend on light to live, others can do without it. Sunlight entering the water may travel about 1,000 m into the oceans under the right conditions, but there is rarely any significant light beyond 200 m.

The upper 200 m (656 ft) of the ocean is called the euphotic, or "sunlight," zone. This zone contains the vast majority of commercial fisheries and is home to many protected marine mammals and sea turtles. Only a small amount of light penetrates beyond this depth.

The zone between 200 m (656 ft) and 1,000 m (3,280 ft) is usually referred to as the "twilight" zone, but is officially the dysphotic zone. In this zone, the intensity of light rapidly dissipates as depth increases. Such a minuscule amount of light penetrates beyond a depth of 200 m that photosynthesis is no longer possible.

The aphotic, or "midnight," zone exists in depths below 1,000 m (3,280 ft). Sunlight does not penetrate to these depths and the zone is bathed in darkness.

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Natural Resources: Sand and gravel aggregates, placer deposits, polymetallic nodules, oil and gas fields, fish, marine mammals (seals and whales)

Natural Hazards: Ice islands occasionally break away from northern Ellesmere Island; icebergs calved from glaciers in western Greenland and extreme northeastern Canada; permafrost in islands; virtually ice locked from October to June; ships subject to superstructure icing from October to May

Geography - Note: Major chokepoint is the southern Chukchi Sea (northern access to the Pacific Ocean via the Bering Strait); strategic location between North America and Russia; shortest marine link between the extremes of eastern and western Russia; floating research stations operated by the US and Russia; maximum snow cover in March or April about 20 to 50 centimeters over the frozen ocean; snow cover lasts about 10 months

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Environment

Environment - Current Issues: Climate change; changes in biodiversity; water pollution from use of toxic chemicals; endangered marine species include walruses and whales; fragile ecosystem slow to change and slow to recover from disruptions or damage; thinning polar icepack

Climate: Polar climate characterized by persistent cold and relatively narrow annual temperature range; winters characterized by continuous darkness, cold and stable weather conditions, and clear skies; summers characterized by continuous daylight, damp and foggy weather, and weak cyclones with rain or snow

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Ports and Terminals

Major Seaport(s): Churchill (Canada), Murmansk (Russia), Prudhoe Bay (US)

Transportation - Note: Sparse network of air, ocean, river, and land routes; the Northwest Passage (North America) and Northern Sea Route (Eurasia) are important seasonal waterways

[marsdenlee]

Location: Sapphire Sea

With: @eilonwyj

The lake was so deep and saline that it rarely ever froze but that didn't stop the waters from reaching frigid temperatures, luckily it hardly phased the siren as he half lounged along the shoreline, looking like an aquatic creature from the depths that was emerging to bring terror to the town populace. He was not, at least not today it wasn't on his to-do list. He instead had his phone held in his hands, gray and black shifted skin smooth and gleaming like an oil slick along the exposed parts of his body, tattoos decorating his arms and torso, elbows dug into dark damp sand to support his weight as water lapped around the sides of his black tail, half submerged but the sharp points of his ruffle like fins directed upwards.

Gills on either sides of his neck revealed shallow dark slits that disturbed the images inked into his skin and no hair on his head, only more ruffle like fins held down by a black backwards baseball cap, the rest of the fins running down the back of his neck and along his spinal curve and his eyes, vibrantly blue against the surrounding black set of them, no whites at all, his siren appearance barely human at all, only the vaguest sense of the humanoid creature he normally was.

"Hey, come here," Mars gestured with a webbed hand, nails pointed sharp and translucent, not looking up at whoever it was that he was hearing walking by, his eyes still glued to his phone screen. An odd sight, such a creature like this holding a smart phone along a shoreline. "How many cats ya see in dis picture? I only see four. There's supposed to be seven?"

[ironheartedfae]

Timing: Current Location: Deersprings Feat: @lithium-argon-wo-l-f & @ironheartedfae Warnings: mild gore tw Summary: Ren is so small she steps in a puddle and it looks like she dove in the deep end.

Night had fallen, and with it the temperatures. Few folks roamed the streets at this hour, fewer in a place like Deersprings. Not where the respectable citizens of Wicked’s Rest made their homes. Where less things went wrong. Or at least less than everywhere else in this accursed place. Cozy streetlamps hummed with electricity. The few houses with inhabitants still awake lit up with their warm orange glow. Dispelling the gloom of the rain outside. Even the more built up areas of the neighborhood seemed to have a hush pulled over them. The streets themselves appeared to glisten with the dancing droplets of rain. Lulling everyone and everything into a false sense of security and comfort.  

It would have been a picture perfect depiction of a cozy town in rural Maine, except– Except this was Wicked’s Rest. And nothing was ever as it seemed. 

The silence broke like a brick through glass. A splash (far too big for the puddle it came from) erupted out of the nestled little pothole it sat in. Seemingly pouring out a pool's worth of liquid that did not want to stop. A scrawny arm braced itself on the ‘edge’ of the puddle, and tried in vain to pull itself from the depths. Something just underneath the surface was thrashing and trying its very best to keep whoever’s arm that belonged to from doing its job. 

With as much grace as a turtle trying to right itself from its back, a second arm and a head appeared above the water. With one final push against something the tiny redhead was able to dive out of the water. 

Ren gasped for air, greedily taking in anything her hoarse throat would allow. Anger was perhaps the only thing keeping her going, because it sure as hell wasn’t preparedness or well-restedness. Did she really ever stop to take care of herself? No. Did it matter? No. Of course it didn’t. She had a job to do, even if she wasn’t getting paid. If she wasn’t going to take care of the monstrous puddles and the disgusting creatures they housed, who would? 

Another head…thing… bobbled up from the puddle. An ugly moss covered maw, hungry and wildeyed. Clearly just as displeased with the situation as the nymph. Though it was more on the ‘get this iron knife out of my side, and let me eat you’ side. Ren whipped around and screamed at the thing, not quite ready for another plunge into the frigid waters that still soaked her through to the bone. Maybe if she could just entice it out of the water, then she could do some real damage. 

Rainy. It was certainly more wet here than Gael supposed he expected from a place in Maine which seemed kind of obvious the more he thought about it. Granted, it’s not as though he wasn’t used to rain; indeed, he remembered the knee-high mud of the wet seasons. Unlike then, however, he was thankful that he had his own place this time, located in the rather nice neighborhood of Deersprings - a normal place for a normal guy like him. It was evening now, and instead of frequenting one of the many bars in town or having a preexisting engagement with one of the many unique individuals he had met online, Gael was at home, curled up on an old couch in his highly minimalist (and only half-unpacked) living room, a lamp on the small table next to the arm as his only source of light. In his hands was a tattered old copy of one of the Star Wars books from the extended universe and a pair of reading glasses that he didn’t realize he hadn’t needed in several months rested on the bridge of his nose. Setting down his hot tea, steaming from a wide mug with a chemical equation pun on it, he started to turn another page of his book when his head turned so sharply it made his neck pop and he dropped the novel, where it landed on the hardwood floor with a papery smack. Gael, eyes wide, didn’t think twice as he leapt off the couch with unexpected agility, flying across the room and wrenching open the door as he heard a female scream pierce through the rain, through his walls, through his concentration. Out he stumbled into the chilled night air in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, quickly glancing around for the source of that noise. It didn’t come from a neighbor’s noisy movie, he was sure he would’ve been able to tell… Then he spotted something. At the far end of the stretch of road was what appeared to be the silhouette of a figure on the ground. Gael broke into a sprint, splashing in the puddles and blinking back the raindrops that caught in his eyes as he kept them on the figure on the ground. “Hey!” He called to the figure before clumsily coming to a skidding stop near what seemed to be a young adult and he dropped to a crouch. “Hey, are you okay?” He asked urgently, placing a hand on her shoulder. She was frigid to the touch but he didn’t recoil, though he did immediately notice it and put a pin in that. “Did someone hurt you?” He asked, before turning his head to regard the…. “What is THAT?”

Waterlogged and far too cold to function, Ren barely noticed the man racing up to her side. Instinct, and a stark lack of comforting gestures in her life still worked though, as she jumped when his hand found her shoulder. Scrambling to the side for a split second getting stupidly close to the puddle once again. The nymph didn’t respond. She didn’t have time to. The creature saw the opportunity just as plainly as the stranger had seen it. 

A sturdy set of jaws opened wide, yawning hungrily as it came down on Ren’s leg. Grabbing just above the ankle and pulling. The vodnik could have just as easily snapped the limb right off, right then. It wasn’t like the bug was hard to break. It wanted to bring her back to the depths. Back underwater where she couldn’t breathe, could barely see, and it had all the advantage. 

Wide eyes frantically searched for anything that would slow her descent into the frigid pool. One hand was able to use her remaining knife, drive it as far into a crack in the concrete as she could. The other reached out, a rare and desperate call for help. Even if her voice betrayed her, even if she couldn’t vocalize how scared she was. How she didn’t think she’d be able to really survive another plunge. And how she didn’t want this to be where her story ended. Ren’s terrified gaze shot up to the stranger. 

Please. Please be able to do something. 

The girl flinched, which Gael supposed was to be expected - she was shaken, frighteningly cold, and they were both staring down some… mutated snapping turtle or something that poked its ugly head out of the water. He had never seen anything like it and for a moment, he was frozen himself, tensing up as what was happening before him happened. She moved away and the creature took an opportunity to snap at her, ensnaring her ankle and starting to drag her into the murk of what he thought was a normal, shallow puddle. A knife went into the concrete and her hand reached out to him. Move. Her expression shredded through his animal fear and without a second thought, Gael pushed himself onto all fours for a second before one arm extended down the length of hers, wrapping his hand around her upper arm and starting to pull her towards him or, specifically, away from the puddle. Leaning forward on his knees, he reached forward, past her and attempted to grasp a handful of the slimy substance that was on the turtle-salamander thing. With a heave, he started to pull IT up too, with the shaken understanding that if he got both of them out of the water they could try to get it off her. “It’ll be okay,” He assured her, his voice urgent but strong and while Gael couldn’t be sure if that was true, he wasn’t about to let whatever this was go. “C’mon, you ugly–”

Just like that, the touch she’d run away from had become a lifeline. The stranger was pulling Ren away from the puddle. Using her as an anchor, he was able to wrench the vodnik from its watery den. He probably had no idea how good of an idea that was. Or maybe he did. Either way, the nymph wasted exactly no time to use the distraction (and the leverage) to add a little oomph to her kick. The beast’s jaws were still tight around her other leg, but now that it was out of the depths she could see her other knife. Still buried between a mound of rock like flesh, and algae coated shell. A flash of excitement washed over her. The tides had turned. 

Cold as she was, the next few movements were quick. Far more so than anyone in her situation should have been, but slower than she’d like. Ren twisted, wrenching the bite in further, but giving herself access to more of the creature. The previously concrete-bound knife found its way into the thing’s jaw. It roared in pain, which gave the nymph a split second to remove her leg. 

The moment she was free she was on top of the thing. Knives blurry, hitting any and every target that wasn’t completely sheltered by the creature’s thick moss covered carapace. Adrenaline was doing most of the work. If she slowed up, even for a moment, it would fight back. The pain in her leg would get to her. The frigid temperature shift would slow her to a crawl. Ren had to keep going. For both their sake. This stranger who pulled her from certain death didn’t deserve to follow her into that fate because she made a mistake. No. She’d keep going until the job was done. Possibly well after. It wasn’t like she was thinking clearly after all. 

As Gael pulled the two of them further from the puddle, he noticed that she also thought quickly, much quicker than he would’ve if he was on the other side of his scenario. He felt her weight against him, using him as a support point as he was using hers to heave the monster. She kicked the creature and around the time he acknowledged that there was a knife lodged in the monster, she had pulled her other knife from the concrete and plunged it into the mass of moss, flesh and teeth. The creature cried in pain (or was it rage), Gael fell back with a splash as the sound reverberated in his ears and the girl, who was moments ago in the jaws of the mutant, now took her knives to it in a flurry of attacks, visceral stabbing sounds, blood being pulled from the body with the metal of the blades. And for a few moments he sat there wondering if maybe he– he definitely hadn’t made a mistake but from the way she moved, the way she had bitten back as soon as she was able, the man knew that he didn’t just help out a random stranger; she was trained, though he couldn’t be sure in what. But, despite her being a stranger and an efficient weapon-user, she still seemed so young. She persisted after the pained grunts of the mutant turtle-salamander stopped, effectively dead (or so he thought) and again, without thinking about the long-term, Gael reached for her and, placing his strong hands on her icy upper arms, started to pull her away from the monster. He wasn’t sure how she would react and he was ready to take a knife to the arm himself but he figured she was in fight-or-flight mode. He was familiar with the adrenaline pumping through him - he had to be pulled away from fights sometimes too. To feel someone else, to pull him up from the edge he’d stumbled from. “It’s okay,” He said, making himself heard clearly through the rain that fell on them. His tone was loud enough but carried a calm, even if he was still afraid about the situation, about what she could do to him. “It’s okay.” He repeated.

A rush of air was all Ren felt as she was pulled from the beast. Now still, dead as a doorknob, blood pooling around it as the wake of destruction and fury subsided. Its powers now gone, the puddle was just a puddle. And the kid was just a kid. Scared and frantic, being pulled off of the vodnik and into someone’s arms. Her mind was moving too quickly to process. Too panicked to stop and think about the reason she’d been so aggressive towards the creature was at least, in part, because of the stranger. Because she wasn’t the only one there, the only one who’d lose if she failed. 

“Let me GO you stupid–” Her heartbeat was still raging against her chest. “–stupid turtle!!”    Each thump grew a little more distant though, as the cold caught up with her. Ren’s struggles against the arms that held her were less like a trained soldier trying to escape, and more and more like a tired toddler vehemently disagreeing with bed time. That, and the puncture wounds in her legs. Draining life down into the sewers with the rest of the rain. 

It took more than a few moments for the nymph to really tell what was going on. That the creature before her was already gone, and the only danger she was still in was from blood loss. Harsh ragged breaths slowed and calmed to a steady and even keel. Ren’s unblinking stare relented as she relaxed, if only a little. She turned, cocking her head to the side so she could see exactly who she was dealing with. Surprised that the face wasn’t as unfamiliar as she might expect. Gael. From the internet. The kind man who asked– 

“Gre–eeen.” A strange first word to say, definitely not a thank you. And followed quickly by a slumping. As adrenaline crashed, shock came. Ren passed out. 

Her pulse pounded in his ears, her low body temperature clashing with his, her thrashing against him was reminiscent of a child but at least she didn’t take her knives to him. Gael remained as sturdy as he could, the rock against her crashing waves of fear and primal response to survive and as she slowed down, no doubt because of both whatever hypothermic episode her body was going through coupled with the open puncture wounds in her leg freely flowing down into the gutter, he pulled her a little farther away from the corpse of the monster, a little closer to him. She didn’t want to hurt him, that much Gael was able to gather both from how she actually didn’t attack him and how her brain still raced with thoughts of the monster that lay in its blood before them. Her heart rate lowered, as did his and when she turned her head, he tilted his in kind, wanting to make eye contact with her, show her that he was there right now. ‘Green’. That was all she said before she fell unconscious and he adjusted quickly, catching her before she could hit the pavement. It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots. “I have you, little fern,” He said quietly, getting to his feet, cradling her close to him to share his body heat with her and, with one last look to the mossy abomination at the edge of the puddle, he turned and carried her to his house as fast as he could.

* * *

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but in the span of it, Gael had taken the girl home, wrung out as much of her as possible, dried her the rest of the way and used one of his at-home kits to patch her up. He wasn’t sure how to fix her alarmingly-low body heat so he did what only made sense to him - he started a fire in his previously-unused fireplace and cranked up the heat. She was on his floor in front of the fireplace on a pallet of blankets, underneath his thickest comforter. Near her was a spare change of clothes - they would’ve been too big for her but dry clothes were better than none, or so he figured. Gael sat next to her on the floor, close to her, having since picked his book back up though he made sure to be positioned in a way that he could see and tend to her the second she responded. He checked her heart rate periodically - slow, but there.

In the time between falling and waking, there was a sense of peace that Ren didn’t often get to experience. Dreamless sleep, however short it stayed for, however it came to be, was preferable to the litany of nightmares and anxious imaginings of a troubled mind. Eventually, Ren’s eyes fluttered open. The crackling of a fire almost had her believing she was back at camp, but her camp had never been this warm. Not quite enough time had passed that she’d been able to fully heat through to her core, but the blankets on blankets on blankets did a number for her skin. For the strange tingling in her leg that still didn’t quite feel like it was there. A blessing in disguise, surely. If she could feel it, she’d feel the pain that came with. 

Everything was like a foggy daydream. The kind of comfort that only existed in stories and only for princesses and those who were pure of heart. Ren wasn’t that. She couldn’t ever be. The nymph was only ever doing her best to be something she wasn’t. Doing her best to not be a monster like the vodnik outside. Memories filtered in like falling snow. Bits and pieces here, slowly coating everything and uniting into one big picture. 

She had been hunting down the creatures. Reports of puddles, and people falling into them, had tipped her off to the possibility of the hulking fae puddle jackers. Ren followed her senses to one, and promptly started a battle she had no real hope of winning alone. Bitterly, she also remembered Emilio’s words. Ones that almost stung as much as the bruises and bumps that now littered her body. Even the poorly healed wound on her side had something to say about this endeavor. Opening up slightly, and weeping blood and fluid into the flannel that still stuck to her skin with the rain and sweat. 

Clothes sat beside her. And beyond them, Gael. A concerned gaze drifted around the room, until she finally got the energy to speak up. “This is… your house?” 

She stirred and after a brief coin toss in his mind, Gael opted to tilt his head from his book, regarding the girl with a gentle expression though he couldn’t keep the relief he held inside from tumbling out in a sigh. “It is,” He smiled softly. “It’s good to meet you in person,” He said, setting the book aside and starting to get to his feet, the bones in his knees and back popping like a symphony of twigs being snapped. “Ah, I’m getting too old to sit on the floor,” He scoffed lightly. “Stay there, let me get you some tea.” He made his way into the kitchen where he had a fresh kettle brewed, one of his mugs set aside. “I’m pleased that you’re awake,” He called briefly, pouring the tea and bringing it back before stooping to put it on the ground next to her. “I closed you up on your leg,” He explained. “But I didn’t change your clothes or force-feed you any medicine.” He assured before realizing that she might not even remember what happened before this moment in time. Or even if she knew his name. Gael supposed he was just… he wasn’t sure if it was his ability to quickly move on from events or the inevitability of what might happen if he lingered too much in the past but he needed to remember that she was attacked by some… mutated turtle, they were both in the rain, she killed it with such anger that he had to pull her off of the corpse. It was a lot and while he didn’t want to dredge the topic, he felt like maybe he needed to. “I’m not going to ask what that thing was out there,” Gael started slowly. “So instead I’ll ask if there’s anything else I can do to help you right now.” He gave her an earnest expression, not sitting down yet in case she did need something, whether it was painkillers, a bandage for that wound on her side that he didn’t dress or address, or an anchor to pull herself up so she could stand herself.

Coming in to a place she didn’t recognize would’ve been a lot more startling if she hadn’t talked to this not-quite-stranger for so long. The internet was odd. And Ren couldn’t fully understand most of what she saw there, but on the ‘social media’ thing, there were a few folks who’s steady influx of advice and dare she say friendship kept her going. Kept her focused enough to do her job. And maybe even helped her be better at it. Even if that wasn’t something she was ever going to share. 

She should have been more nervous. Maybe blood loss and the chill that still bit at her bones kept her calmer than normal. Like a beehive in smoke, or any other bug during winter. Instead, the nymph took the time to take in her surroundings. Mentally writing things down so she could chart them later. Gael hadn’t made it to a file yet. After this though? Probably would earn more than a few pages. Silently, Ren thanked whatever divine force saw fit to inspire her to leave the journal at home for this particular hunt. If she had brought more than her knives, they either would have been lost to the dizzying abyss that the creature made out of the puddle, or they would have been soggy and useless. 

A bit like she was feeling now. “You are very kind to do these things.” Ren tucked her legs up, strained as it was to do so, it felt better. Safer. Curled up in a tight ball with the blankets still surrounding her. “I should just go.” The house seemed bare, empty. Like he hadn’t been there very long. But it was warm and inviting all the same. Not to mention huge. Like one of the bigger buildings back at the compound, but most of them were brimming with activity. “Do you live here alone?” 

“I’m happy that I heard you,” Gael responded before realizing what he said and he cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m not happy that… whatever happened happened but I’m glad that– Well…” He furrowed his brow as he thought about what he wanted to say that didn’t make it seem like this was a positive encounter. Granted, it probably would’ve gone worse had he NOT had his… strangely sensitive hearing. That wasn’t a conversation for now though and instead, he faltered for a moment before nodding at her first statement. “It’s no problem.” He settled on saying. The second one rolled around and the professor wanted to protest - she was still injured, chilled and the rain hadn’t subsided yet, which he didn’t think he wanted her out in. Not that she was Gael’s child, but his fatherly tendencies, the ones that admittedly sometimes misfired due to his inability to have children of his own, activated the second he saw her and it hadn’t subsided yet; he wouldn’t tell her but he found himself protective after their interaction online and what had just transpired. “I used to; recently I got a roommate and he’ll be moving in soon,” He explained, opting to sit next to her once more, slowly lowering himself with a grunt as he made sure not to move too quickly as she seemed like the type to be put on edge easily. Once he was on the floor again, he used the back of a knuckle to scoot the mug of tea closer to her, if only to let her know that it was okay for her to drink. As though to prove to her that it was safe, he gathered his own mug from the table behind him and held it up, propping his elbows on his knees as his legs were loosely crossed at the ankle. “And… I can’t tell you what to do but it’d give me peace of mind if I could at least drive you to wherever you live,” Gael added softly, taking a sip of the tea - ginger and lemon, one of his favorite combinations. “I also have a spare room if you don’t want to do that and you can wait until the rain is gone.” He offered, nodding behind him to the darkened hallway. “You can change your clothes, it’s on the ground floor so you can see the door.” He wanted to ask where she did live, if there was someone he could or should call to help her but he didn’t want to move too fast - she was the one in an unfamiliar environment after killing a monster, she was the one who had to adjust to a new location. She reminded him of his eldest sister. “What’s your name?”

Happy he heard…? Oh. The scream. A moment of anguish too loud to keep inside. Ren didn’t have the time to feel guilty about it then, but now? Well there was a list starting to compile. Was this what Emilio meant? Worrying about people you barely know. With Gael, even less than the detective. Only a few conversations, not even in person. Ren could see use in herself with the way she walked Perro for Emilio, but it wasn’t like she’d ever done anything for Gael. Nothing but be a stubborn little shit online. Slowly coming to senses on things she never really knew how to interact with. 

She was an arrow, when she wasn’t pointed at a target, what good was she? Ren’s gaze flicked down to the cup. To yet another source of radiant heat. Why were people always trying to give her food, drinks, clothes, and a place to stay? Her mind tried to wrap itself around the mug and what it meant just as her hands physically did. As they curled around the warm ceramic her fingers actually started to come back to life. Breath was still an effort, but each rush of air that wasn’t icy cold was nothing short of miraculous. 

The nymph was quiet. But that wasn’t surprising for her. She was always one who was better at listening than any hope she ever had at being a conversationalist. He wanted her to stay or at least wait out the rain. But Ren already felt like she was an imposition. Walking the line between grateful for the help, and still somehow feeling wrong for accepting it. The two conflicting feelings swirled in her stomach like a stormfront. All she could do was focus on what sensations surrounded her right then and there. Emotions and their ilk would have to come later. Would have to sit and fester for just a bit longer. Waiting out the rain didn’t seem like such a bad idea. 

Each bit of speech came with another set of notations. The door, the clothes, the way the rain continued to beat against the windows. How every once in a while she heard a fat drop sizzle on the fire, having made its way down through the chimney. She noted boxes, either the new roommates or maybe from whenever Gael had made this place his own. There was the kitchen, a set of stairs, a couch with a strangely sparkling side, that seemed to drip down to the floor below. Dizzying and dazzling in the firelight. Ren hadn’t hit her head or anything like that, but she was still reeling from her unconscious stint. Still seeing long trails to every source of light. Almost made her want to kick back to the other kind of vision, mapping things out by heat rather than visible light. However, she wasn’t sure she had the energy for that effort. 

“Til the rain ends.” Ren agreed. Though, it’d been raining the last few days. Maybe it’d rain forever. Maybe she could sit in this dreamlike fantasy and pretend it was normal. Pretend she was human. Pretend she could have family. Then when the rain washed away, dried up and opened the skies once again, she could vanish. Back to normal. To hunting and protecting. To learning and living on her own. 

“You… you can call me Ren.” 

She was quiet. Gael was also able to gather that online - English wasn’t her first language and if she was as similar to his sister as she seemed, it probably took her a while to compile her thoughts into sentence structures that were considered ‘passable’ to outsiders. So when she did speak, he made sure to pay close attention to the things she considered important enough to say. To his relief, she agreed on waiting for the rain to pass and he smiled, taking another sip as he noticed that she held the mug if only to get some of her lost body heat back. “‘Til the rain ends, you got it.” Things had calmed down, and now that the two of them weren’t actually in the cold, ceaseless rain, hearing it on the windows and roof brought a sense of peace with it. Although… should Gael have gone back out there to dispose of the body? Would it even still be there? Surely he could send it to the biology department or one of the labs in town, right? Maybe Dr. Kavanagh would like it– no, she dealt with people though she DID like taxidermy. What… what was he going on about. A thing was dead on the street, the girl had signs of hypothermia and Gael was just sitting on his floor like a fool thinking about whether or not a doctor would like to taxidermy it. “It’s nice to know your name, Ren.” He pulled himself out of his silly thoughts and gave her a smile. “I wish we met under better circumstances but that was clever, reminding me of your favorite color.” He gazed at the fire now. “You don’t… have to answer if you don’t want to but what are you doing out here? Do you live around here?” He was expecting her not to answer; she seemed like a private person, after all, and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by prying. Maybe he should’ve asked if she was hungry. “Ah, never mind. Are you hungry?” He asked instead. “I can make you some–” What did he have available. “Sandwiches.”

It was a toss up. Ren wasn’t even sure if she was going to answer. It was perhaps the least he deserved. Most people didn’t take it super well when you told them you were there to hunt creatures like that down. Unless they were also a hunter, which… Between the cozy environment of the less-than-filled house, the gentle nature, and the constant emotional support… Gael was probably not one of them. It was something she wasn’t sure what to make of. Be honest, open to conversation, as it were. 

Silence won. For now. The concern that laced her brows together showed off the war going on inside. The nymph simply shook her head. “I cannot speak of this. Just… I am trained for it. Keep people from being hurt.” A compromise. Somewhere between honest and safe. “Creature was called Vodnik.” There were more in the area, that part was better to share. The more information Gael had, the less likely he was to fall into a deep puddle and never come out. “Makes small puddles big. Angry, territorial. Many arrive because of rain.” Didn’t really account for the cold though. Maybe the deepened water was just naturally chillier than what would have been seasonal. That didn’t fully explain why it felt almost icy. Magic never really made a whole lot of sense though did it?  

“You are Gaheel, yes?” Not at all pronounced correctly, but Ren had only ever seen the name online. It didn’t fit on her tongue super well. Didn’t mix well into the strange accent she carried all her diction with. “I– It is– nice. To meet you in person too. You have many words, all of them are well thought out.” Strange, how someone who spoke so eloquently could pull that out of someone else, almost like he pulled her from that puddle. Around someone like Emilio it was easy to remain the quiet wallflower. Just watching and giving what amounted to a little more than grunts and affirmations every once in a while. With Gael, she felt like she had to give something back. Like it was unbalanced, somehow. With her quiet nature. 

“Sandwiches…” It wasn’t unfamiliar. Ren had plenty of sandwiches before. Carbs, protein, it was a good way to keep herself going. Easy to make, and sometimes she could even find partial loaves of mostly not-moldy bread in the dumpster. If she was lucky, she even got to them before the mice did. “...Why are you doing all of this?” 

Another pause. Gael took a drink of his warm tea, though he was starting to feel the effects of his heater turned up as well as the fire, combined with the fact that he chose sweatpants. It was fine, so long as she was comfortable, or rather less uncomfortable. When she started speaking, again, he took her words and put them into a mental notebook of his own - she wasn’t just studying flora and fauna, she was a hunter of beasts, which in his mind was compartmentalized of “mutations, possibly having escaped from a lab”. ‘Vodnik’, in his mind, was either a corrupted version of lizard or snapping turtle as it carried qualities of both. Then again, it was coated in so much moss and slime that it was hard to get a distinct shape of the creature, save its flapping maw and sharp teeth. Possibly a young alligator? As for the puddles, he was sure that the rain was just getting in his eyes and Gael was falling into the illusion that the puddle was deeper than it actually was. None of this was verbalized, and instead he shook his head with comprehension. “Okay. You’re a protector, and you heard about this… vodnik, so you came here to keep it from hurting anyone.” He summarized her explanation, keeping a note to mention that she was the important part of it, not the mutant. He didn’t want to think about what sort of nightmare camp she might’ve trained at - he knew people who were hunters, but she gave him the impression that hers was less of a familial hobby and more of… child soldier stuff. She then said his name and Gael recognized it even if it wasn’t correct, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. “I appreciate the compliment, Ren,” He bowed his head respectfully at her though he couldn’t keep himself from smiling slightly sheepishly. “I imagine a lot of people think I talk too much about too little so it’s nice to hear that sometimes maybe that’s not the case.” He raised one of his eyebrows and set the mug down. Sandwiches floated through the air, as did his recollection of what all he had in the house for her to eat, when she asked him a new question and brought him back down. “Well,” Gael reached up and tapped on his shadowed chin in thought. “I heard someone call for help, I went out there and saw someone getting attacked by a creature.” He walked through the series of events. “You said you keep people from getting hurt but you got hurt.” The chemist spoke mildly, keeping his tone from getting serious or dramatic. “So I couldn’t protect you from getting hurt but I can do my best to help any way that I can now.” He leaned forward slightly, giving her a soft expression. “I’ve had my share of accidents, my share of getting hurt on my own and sometimes I wished someone would be there to lend me a hand; so I lead by example. I wasn’t about to leave you outside, in the rain, injured and dying from exposure regardless of who you were or why you were here.” He shrugged. “I guess I just like helping people.”

All of this was a lot to consider. And considering her lack of practice in the act, it was a play on more than just words. Ren shifted, trying to find a better position to sit in. One where she could keep her head on a swivel, even if she didn’t need to right now. The open concept (though that wouldn’t be what Ren would call it) house was actually quite good for her state of mind. Being able to see almost all the doors and windows from one central point, whoever designed it must have been quite smart. Or so the nymph thought. Ren had a tendency of thinking most  people were a lot more intelligent than her. 

Gael was definitely among the top. Right up there with Nora and Emilio, though each possessed a different kind of intelligence. Emilio knew a lot about a plethora of supernatural things. Nora knew a lot about modern things, social media and other things teens and young adults would like. And Gael, well, it seemed he knew a whole lot about the heart. Cared more than maybe anyone Ren had ever met. Or at least, cared in a much softer way than most. In a way, the wounds covering her body were far more familiar than this shared comfort. Than soft voices and careful explanations. 

She could tell (or at least thought she could) that he was being far more cautious around her than he might have been if it was someone else. Maybe that was a good thing. Ren knew well enough from the argument with the detective that going around and telling people who’ve already made the dumb decision to care about her that she was something worth derision more than gentleness, it didn’t really go over too well. 

But he liked helping people. That’s what he said. Emilio couldn’t really verbalize it more than just the fact that Ren was a kid. An infuriating statement the nymph tried her best not to take poorly. It wasn’t untrue. And maybe that’s what made her more mad. Just like everything else, it was one more thing she was trying to pretend she wasn’t. Like she wasn’t a monster, she was a hunter. She wasn’t fae, she was human. She wasn’t a burden, she was accepting help. She wasn’t a kid, she was just…  She didn’t know the alternative. Adult? Sure, but that carried weight she didn’t know if she could properly carry. Not alone. 

“I try to protect people.” There was a long drawn pause. A breath and a release. Both the air in her lungs and the weight keeping her shoulders held up and tight. “I am beginning to think I am… not as good as I should be at it.” Not good at picking out right from wrong, not good at fighting things by herself. And where did that leave the fae hunter of fae? Ren didn’t know how to be a person. Not really. “It was–” Another pause. A risk. “Thank you for helping me. I did need it. I do not know what would have become of me or beast if not for intervention.” 

“All any of us can do is try,” Gael replied gently after the newest pause; he wondered what she was thinking, what all was going on under the surface. He often wondered that about Ariana too but he had long since grown accustomed to waiting for answers, if they came at all. He also had gotten used to sometimes not receiving any. “Helping others is one of the most fulfilling things you can do, whether you’ve been trained for it or not.” He said mildly. “You protected me. Your knowledge and intuition, your skills and tenacity kept that… vodnik-thing from hurting anyone else here.” He gestured in the direction of the neighborhood. “These people, including me, had no idea there was anything out there. “You’re young and very skilled.” He continued. “I’ve been doing my job for 20 years and I still learn things, wish I did things differently.” The professor glanced at Ren. “But all we can do is try to be better, improve ourselves.” Gael licked his lower lip, picking up his mug and taking another drink of tea. As he did, Ren thanked him and his brow raised in evident surprise - he recalled when they last talked and she vehemently told him not to, to take it back and he heard from other people not to do that. She must’ve considered it at length if after the way she responded the first time, she thanked him now. It caught Gael off-guard but only for a moment before he shook his head. “Keep it; you don’t owe me anything.” He waved lightly. “I’d do it again.” He smiled before starting to stand again. “Now! You want a sandwich?” He asked, deciding to try to let her know with his actions and way of conversing that he wasn’t thinking hard on this, debating, judging her. She was here, he was here right now.

Ren hadn’t needed more proof of Gael’s kindness, but he kept supplying it all the same. Not accepting the thank you in the way that she learned was enough to release her. For the first time since she picked it up, the nymph sipped on her tea. Let the hot liquid soothe her frayed mind. Reminded her of the days Darya would bring soup to the shack in winter. Ren missed those days. When all that was expected of her was to survive the cold so she could learn more in the spring. Cons of bringing a bug into your family. Ren wasn’t much good to anyone when she was this chilled. 

In her mind, the acts displayed were not even. Gael said he’d do it again. Said she was skilled and that she kept the neighborhood safe. But that was what Ren was supposed to do. To the not-warden warden, this was just like… breathing. It was a struggle sometimes, sure, but it was a part of her life. It was what gave her purpose. Patching people you barely knew up, after pulling them from the jaws of certain death?? That wasn’t his. It felt mismatched. Like she did still owe him something. 

“Try to be better.” She repeated, quietly this time. More to herself than anything else. Settling into the phrase in more ways than one. Ren nodded and took another sip. Food would be welcome, might even make her start feeling more like herself. The clothes would probably do wonders too. One of her hands fell to the pile, while her eyes flicked over to the door that Gael had mentioned. 

“I– will get these on. If you do not need help in the kitchen.” 

After more creaking of his bones and a hand resting on his back for a moment, Gael had made it to his feet again and he shook his head. “No no, you can go wherever and do whatever; sandwiches are very easy to make.” Her muttering about ‘try to be better’ didn’t go by him unnoticed but he let it go as he tended to do that, as well. “Take your time.. And the bathroom is right next door in the hall.” He spoke clearly and pointed to let her know, not that he wanted her to stay in the parameters that he set but rather so she didn’t get mixed up or The professor headed into the kitchen as he assumed the young protector was going to change her clothes and he opened the fridge, holding it open for several long moments before realizing that he didn’t know what she’d want to eat. Instead of asking her, however, he just got a few different options out and he’d put them on a plate for her to pick for herself. Ham, turkey, a half loaf of bread… Cheese. Gael only had one type of cheese. He figured she wouldn’t be picky but still. He gathered all the ingredients, leaving the condiments put away for now - if she wanted them, he could get them. He got a serving platter and placed all the different options on it in a rather “By the way, I appreciate your help,” Gael called as he made the platter look as special as it possibly could considering it was a bunch of packages of processed meat and cheese. “It takes a special person to go out of their way to protect other people.” When it looked serviceable enough, he gathered the plate and made his way back into the living room.

With Gael in the kitchen, she had a little space. Enough room to decide that standing on her own was a good idea, even when it really really wasn’t. The weight on the limb, not all together that much but enough, sent a shiver of pain right through her whole body. The couch was enough of a crutch, the most Ren would accept right then at least. As if to mark her for being weak the strange scratchy and shimmery substance that coated the arm of the chair stuck to her still sweat-damp skin. Wouldn’t come off, even when she shook it vigorously. Her mouth opened to ask, but caught a piece of the plastic on her tongue instead.  

“Ah- aaugck.” What followed was a bit of a dance. Uncoordinated and extra clumsy with the added injuries, but something to behold all the same. Ren rattled her head like a dog that had just licked a lemon, just as surprised and just as disgusted. The plague of glitter only spread, leaving almost a cloud about the girl like she’d just been sprinkled in fairy dust. Irony at its best. “Gaheel what– Why does your couch attack with glimmery dandruff??” 

The man was already returning, a plate of something in his hands while hers were still battling with the tiny shards of plastic. Just the right amount of ridiculous, all things considered. Ren had gone toe to toe with the creature in the streets and yet a bit of glitter managed to throw her so far off her game she was acting like a puppy or a kitten testing out its new limbs. Afraid to touch anything, lest it spread more. It was remembering the vodnik though, that brought something out of her. A bark of laughter as the girl imagined what it would have looked like, dealing with the same predicament. Instead of moss, a thick coating of shiny…whatever this was. The laugh multiplied, as a spell of silliness slipped through the delirious state her mind was in.  

It wasn’t often she was able to just be a kid, but something about this place felt comfortable enough to try. 

Gael was on his way back, somehow not having seen her when he heard her call his name in her unique way of saying it and he glanced over to find her in a sporadic pseudo-dance, fine particles of– uh oh. Hurriedly placing the platter on the counter, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing as she did - it was a new sound, hearing her emote in such a positive manner. It was uplifting and even though he hated that damned glitter, he internally thanked it for creating this particular scenario which seemed like something she needed after the stiffness, the closed-off behavior, the frenzied stabbing of the monster. “Gah, I’m sor–” He cut himself off with a laugh, approaching her, braving the puffs of glitter once more to rescue her and Gael offered out an arm for her to take as support. “I forgot about your ankle!” He tried to sound worried but instead, he just kept smiling and it grew wider. He waved the glitter out of the air but of course the stupid stuff was so fine that he couldn’t keep himself from breathing more of it in and his laughter became mixed up with coughing. “It gets everywhere - you’ll be seeing it in your dreams,” He coughed out another laugh, gently leading her away from the couch where he gently tried to pat some of it off of her. 

“Sorry, little fern,” Gael used the nickname without even realizing that he had, though he DID notice that she was warmer than before - still cold but it was more manageable than when he first found her. “It’s very… sensitive–” He barely finished his sentence before turning sharply, dipping into the shoulder opposite her to sneeze. “Aaagh it got up my nose again.” He still smiled though and regarded the girl who now shimmered in the light of the fire. “You can take a shower - most of it will come off. If you don’t want to do that, it won’t be the end of the world,” He shrugged casually, taking a step towards the room. “Would you like some assistance?” He asked once he got his own breathing under control though he stuck his tongue out, feeling the particles in his mouth - a curse. That’s what it was. But also somehow a blessing right now.

Just like that, they were both caught in a storm of shimmer. Of much needed levity to dispel the gloom. The rain had brought her here, for that she had to thank fate. Even if to do so meant stepping more towards the way the fae would think of things. That’s what they did, right? Listen to fate and nature as if they were the divine words the world turned by? If it meant moments like this, Ren could see how one might fall to its siren song. 

Each time she tried to compose herself, more glitter got stuck. Either on herself, or on Gael. In a way that only made the fit of laughter worse. It was a breaking point, for better or worse. Everything that had happened up until then, everything that Wicked’s Rest had thrown her way, Ren had weathered. More or less. She had learned so much, almost none of which was what Darya had wanted her to. With each new day, each new face she greeted, each that she allowed to see her as a person, she was starting to feel a little more like one. 

The dizzy smile faded back to the stoic stare, but maybe just maybe it was lighter. Warmer. Not just in temperature (thanks to the professor and his quick thinking) but like her soul had lifted something off of it. Like laughter was the medicine she had needed all along. It wasn’t a crime to smile. She didn’t have to feel guilt for finding glimmers of joy in moments of anguish. Ren did her job that night and she was able to be a person after. Didn’t have to be one or the other. It’d take some practice, but this town was pulling her in a new direction. Only time could say where it would lead next. 

[prof-lemon]

Lental Logs 01, Ecosystem of Lental

Lental is an archipelago consisting of four primary island groups. Each island has its own distinct climate and ecosystem. Very few species of Pokemon are found common between islands. Magikarp and Vivillon being the exception, populations of both have been identified on all major islands. My time spent here will be on three of these islands.

The Maricopia Islands are a small island chain that resides above a reef. Most studies here do not focus on the islands themselves, but rather the aformentioned reef and surrounding underwater ecosystem. Notably, the seafloor reaches extreme depths in certain areas. This provides unique oppurtunities for deep sea explorations.

Voluca Island is defined by its volcanic activity. The Fireflow Volcano is an active volcano located to the island's east. To the west are deserts are canyons. Due to the lack of plant life on the island, the species here are highly predatory.

Durice Island is the largest of the islands. It is an arctic desert, consisting of heavy glacial activity and frigid temperatures. The extreme cold here lends itself to Ice type Pokemon. However, other species less adjusted to the frigid temperatures find themselves in the expansive Outaway cave system. Spanning a large area of the western mountain range, Outaway cave is a sprawling cave system stretching deep underground. Interestingly, there is an area of the cave covered in significant amounts of flora. It is believed the light from the rare diamonds here, the same ones that attract the legendary Pokemon Diancie, were able to stimulate the growth of plant life.

[writernopal]

hey so fun fact, time is a construct and I thought it was Friday, imagine my office-worker brand sadness ANYWAY HAPPY WBW

In honor of my 7th consecutive week of Dredge brainrot, are there any locations the pirates whisper about in hushed tones, where even the most fearless captains fear to sail? Or even a lost island full of cursed treasure, sunken deep into the sea where its owner prayed it would never be found? Do any of them have mundane explanations or is there truly something Not Quite Right in those waters?

— @outpost51

Happy WBW, Outpost! also that bit about thinking today was Friday OW I felt that in my soul!

Rubbing my hands like a greedy little fly at this question hohoho! There are!

The Ofler's Sea is renowned for being tempestuous and extremely dangerous to sail in. Some of the most experienced sailors in the world have drowned in those depths. It's so dangerous, in fact, that The Pale Navy and, by extension, The Pale Kingdom, will not sail into it. No one really knows why that sea is so wild, but the Dwarves are grateful for it. Their homeland, The Ironsong Hold, rests in those waters.

There is also the mysterious isle of La-Impta located in the polar and frigid Lapis Sea. It's said to be home to gorgons and necromancers, but none have ever confirmed it because they never made it there. The waters of the Lapis Sea are also known as The Drowned Forest, the place where Lord Satoyev's sea witches are most active, and they love eating. But there might be one such pirate who might know something about it...for the right price. (read, a bag of pears!)

And finally, the one place where none, and I mean NONE would dare travel to or set foot in: The Crown of The World. This place is the northernmost pole of Oepus, and while its waters are not violent nor infested with danger, there is something very wrong with them. People won't even joke about going there, and invoking its name is forbidden amongst crews and navies alike. In fact, if you were to look at a map of Oepus, it wouldn't be on there. I can't say why that is bc spoilers, but suffice it to say, many went to the trouble of attempting to wipe it from existence.