#looking into those eyes he loves so dearly and weaving lies is just. The one thing he'd struggle to ever do

[ddarker-dreams]

hello can I have more Scara content. I’d like to gnaw on his arm and shake him like a dog does to a plushy.

Love your writing

yan scara has this strange aversion when it comes to outright deceiving you.

it eats at him in a way he just can't shake. if you're in a relationship before you know of his occupation, he tells you the areas he's being sent to, that he'll be fighting as that's what his work entails. it isn't an unusual occurrence in teyvat. adept fighters get commissioned to do all sorts of things. while he isn't lying, he is leaving out the slightly significant detail that he'll be venturing into the abyss to fight creatures beyond human comprehension.

scaramouche is practical enough to acknowledge this makes for a shaky foundation. he's basking in the warmth of your genuine love, yet you're bound to put the pieces together eventually. the thought alone hurts more than the experiments he endures for the sake of accruing more power.

he has the resources to fake a reputable enough business front, which would put your doubts at ease. he's played around with the idea to the degree he has the logistics ironed out. and yet... when you open your front door, stars twinkling in your eyes at the sight of him, his tongue freezes. he remembers his loathsome past. he knows what it's like to place your faith in someone, only for them to betray that trust.

that's why when the day comes when his knocking goes unanswered, despite him knowing you're home, he steels himself. this next chapter will undoubtedly be a tragedy. he waits for you to come outside — you have to eventually.

and when you ask, in a tone that twists his inner being into knots,

"are you... are you really a harbinger?"

he will answer yes, he is, without hesitation.

he won't play dumb or try convincing you that you've got the wrong idea. for all you'll go through to ensure he doesn't shatter beyond repair, this is his single 'mercy'.

[justfandomwritings]

By The Norns (Part One - Soulmate!Loki)

Pairing: Loki x Reader, Soulmates AU

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Nobody was harmed in any way in the making of this story... but there was some arson.

Summary: She wasn’t a goddess. She wasn’t even an elf or a dwarf. She was a mortal, a Midgardian, a human. To Odin, she was a curse. To Loki, she was a second chance.

Notes: Don’t worry. Despite what the chapter and the description may make you think anyone whose read my stories before will know I am not a fan of soulmate aus that take away the character’s choice. This chapter is set up. Stick with me on this. I promise. Posted in honor of @muna1412​ being very excited at the prospect of another soulmate au.

This is not related to Loyalty in any way... I just have an unhealthy obsession with Soulmate aus. 

Fate was a funny, fickle thing. Loki knew that much. After all, he’d met her. 

Them, to be more precise. The Norns.

Urdr, Skuld, and Verdandi were their names: Past, Present, and Future, as they should be known.

It was they who watered the tree, and they who grew its leaves. The task fell to the Norns to write, shape, create, and control the fate of every being under the branches of Yggdrasil. 

A poor, dwarven craftsman working on the surface of Nidavellir, a beautiful, golden elf living on a hill in Alfheim, a meager, puny human scurrying around the surface of Midgard. It was they who made the dwarf rich, who killed the elf in his sleep, who let the human sow the land. They did not exchange the gold; they did not wield the dagger; they did not draw the plow. But it was by their hand, by their grace and mercy, that the worlds turned, that life waxed and waned, that the Realms drew breath. 

Every birth was through their will. Every death was by their hand, and everything in between was because they decided it would be so.

All fell under the gaze of the Norns. The kitchen cook, Andhrimnir, who served the Aesir’s table at night, owed everything to the Norns. They allowed his birth into Asgard. They raised him above the station of a lowly tavern boy. They gifted him the family he cradled so dearly to his chest.

Odin, King of the Nine Realms, Protector of Asgard, owed everything to the Norns. He was born by their choice. He survived a thousand battles because they said he would do so. He married Frigga because they put her on his path. His sons… 

Well, one of his sons.

Loki knew the exact moment Odin stopped looking at him as a son, the exact moment Odin chose Thor over him, the exact moment Odin turned his back on him, the exact moment his father marked him disappointment.

It was, like all things, the doing of the Fates. The Norns.

Fates were theirs to command from the highest branches of Yggdrasil down to its very roots. From king to beggar, slave to master, aristocrat to pauper, farmer to merchant, sailor to soldier. From Loki to her. She was their doing.

Love was an inevitable part of life. Not even the Norns, with all of the power of the gods and then some, could stop that. Humans, Aesir, Elves, Vanir, the sentient beings of the Nine Realms felt an overwhelming urge towards emotion, and one of the strongest, one of the most inevitable, was love.

They couldn’t stop it, but they could direct it.

It fell under the purview of Fate to decide who one loved. People, god and mortal alike, fell in and out of love all the time. 

Sometimes, though, every now and then, the Norns would reach down and touch two beings. The Norns would take two souls in two bodies and braid them together, weave them together, mold them together, as if they were one.

Those who knew magic well, those like Loki, could see them, watch them, doing this. 

They could see Urdr floating, invisible amongst them, deciding the pair. They could see Skuld, plucking up their souls. They could see Verdandi tying them together.

Loki watched them when they took his soul.

“Mother, Mother,” Loki tugged on his other’s silk skirts and pointed up into the rafters of the Grand Hall. “What’s that?”

Frigga followed her son’s gaze and gasped. Magic was not her proficiency, though what little she had she wielded well. She had enough to see the Norns, floating ghostlike in the air over her younger son. She had enough to see his soul in their hands, and another at their side. 

In the old days, before that fateful night, it was considered an honor to be chosen by the Norns. It was a guarantee of a great, powerful destiny in the future. It was a promise of passion, understanding, and respect on the horizon. It was the mark of one who would know true love. 

The Midgardians called them soulmates. The Aesir called them the destined. 

“The Norns have touched Loki,” Frigga whispered to Odin at her side. “They are gifting him a match.”

“With who?” Odin asked because he could not see them for himself.

Frigga squinted in the direction of the apparitions tying together Loki’s future. “I cannot tell. She appears to be…” Frigga’s eyes whipped around to Odin, “Midgardian.”

Odin turned up his nose and sniffed.

Midgard. The word, the world, that had sentenced Loki to a lifetime of second best. 

His ‘destined’, his ‘soulmate’, his curse.

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It was centuries before the soul tied to Loki’s found the body it would spend its own life in.

(Y/n), her parents named her. 

They weren’t sure why they named her that. When asked, they said they saw the name once in a book. Or was it on the tv? Or in a dream? 

Neither could really remember. All they knew was that, as she grew, the name suited her perfectly. Almost as if fate itself had chosen it for her.

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

For centuries, millennia even, her soul had been lingering on the edges of reality, existing but not quite feeling. She floated through time and space, following the ties that bound her to existence, waiting.

By the time her soul entered her body on Earth, she had existed longer  than any other Midgardian ever had or would in all of history. She had lingered for years just out of reach of one of the most powerful beings on Asgard, her soulmate. Lifetimes had passed her by in the blink of an eye, and though she didn’t remember any of them, they remembered her.

Her soul hovered above its mate, basking in the magic that dissipated into the air around him like smoke. She breathed it in, soaked it in, drew it in.

In many ways, even subconsciously, she showed her age, her mate.

Even as a baby, she never woke her mother up screaming, to the jealousy of her mom’s friends. She was the model toddler, even through her terrible twos. She almost never cried and rarely threw temper tantrums. They called her a prodigy when she started speaking in full sentences before time doctors even expected her to be learning her first words, and they called her a genius when she learned to read full children’s books while other kids were still struggling through their first alphabet flashcards. Even though she ran around playing in the mud or splashing in puddles, somehow her clothes were always pristine. She taught herself faster than the teachers could and skipped two grades in elementary school alone. She was suspiciously charismatic for such a little girl and made, literally, hundreds of dollars off her lemonade stand. She listened to a family speaking another language in the store once and ran up to them to answer a question they had; when her parents asked her how she’d learned to understand or say that in another language, she had no idea what they were talking about and seemingly hadn’t even realized she’d done it. 

And yet there were other things, darker things. 

When she was born, the nurses didn’t question the little shock of static that jolted through them as they held her. No one commented how, in the right light, the baby’s eyes could look terrifyingly aware. She lied as easily as she breathed and almost never got caught. A girl made fun of her friend's hair once at school, and that night ended up being rushed to the hospital by her parents with all the signs of a heart attack in a five year old child. She liked having things her way, and even when her parents refused her, they always found themselves oddly compelled to do whatever it was anyways. She had an affinity for snakes that often found her letting them in the house. The pranks she pulled on her little brother sometimes got out of hand and often resulted in loud crashes and screams, though by the time any adult arrived nothing ever seemed broken. Her father used to joke that she must be some kind of shape shifter because he swore that, from day to day, her eye would change their color. Sometimes, when he looked in them, he swore they weren’t his daughters, but when he blinked and looked back they always returned to normal. 

Most of it was written off as the simple oddities of a child or exaggerations of first time parents. 

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Superheroes did not exist when (Y/n) was a child. 

It would be another decade before Tony Stark would stand on a stage and proclaim before the world, “I am Iron Man.” It would be even longer still before Peter Parker would put on a red and blue jumpsuit and call himself, ‘Spiderman’. Bruce Banner hadn’t even begun his research into the serum that would be his ultimate undoing. Dr. Stephen Strange was finishing up med school. Thor hadn’t made his presence known. Wanda had just been born. Hawkeye and Black Widow were still assassins working in the shadows. No one outside Wakanda had ever heard of the Black Panther. Vision hadn’t been built yet, and Captain America had been dead for decades. 

Even if they did exist, it wouldn’t have helped (Y/n). Most of them weren’t born super. Most of them became so by lab experiments or radioactive insects or training or technology. 

In the world (Y/n) grew up in, there were no superheroes. And if there were no superheroes... then what was she? 

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She was 12. 

It was her big day. 

Not her birthday, she didn’t particularly care about birthdays. Something about them just felt off to her. When she turned 11, she asked her mom if she could have two of those candles that were shaped like the actual numbers, and she’d put them pressed against each other on top of the cake. She ran around all day telling everyone she was 1,111. Some people laughed, but mostly to humor her.

That was why she hadn’t had a birthday party when she turned 12. She didn’t like people fake laughing. It felt like lying. She didn’t particularly mind lying herself, but she hated thinking that people were lying to her. Especially because she could always tell when they were. 

No, instead, she had this. The Science Fair.

She’d won first prize the night before. She knew she had because one of the judges had told her she’d won.

That morning, they would be handing out the awards, and she was so excited for everyone else to know the secret, to know that she was the best, even better than the older kids in her class.

The judges were walking up on stage, and any moment, once they got past the category winners they were going to call her name.

“In third place we have Jesse Martin with his project in the biology category!” 

A cheer went up that, judging by the pitch, absolutely must have been from Jesse’s mom. The other parents in the room clapped while Jesse ran towards the stage, turning red in the cheeks from his family’s overzealous encouragement. 

“Congratulations, son,” the Dean smiled as he bent down to shake the boy’s hand. The mike picked up a small bit of Jesse’s anxious thanks before he ran to join the line of winners.

“And in second place we have, (Y/n)! With her wonderful….” 

Second place. 

But Mr. Sellers, the science teacher had told her she won. 

Was he lying? Did he honestly think second place was winning? Was he just saying that to shut her up? Or was he being mean? Did he want to laugh at her when his real favorite won? 

The parents were cheering her, including her own. Her father was nudging her towards the stage, but she didn’t at all appreciate the gesture.

No. They told her she was going to win. 

Her face screwed up in pain, and she balled her hands into fists.

At the back of the room something exploded. 

A scream went out. 

“Fire!” Someone shouted. “Fire!”

The poster boards up and down the hall were catching fire. It jumped easily from paper to paper. It didn’t help that there was no smoke, for some odd reason. That the sprinklers, that the fire alarm, didn’t turn on.

Someone grabbed (Y/n) by the waist. Her father no doubt. 

(Y/n) barely noticed. She was still upset staring at the trophy on the stage over his shoulder. 

Slowly, before her eyes, it began to melt.

She smiled. Good. If she couldn’t have it, no one could.

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

“She caused the fire.” He whispered, staring down at the floor in front of him with glassy eyes. 

“Wayne, that’s crazy; you know it is.” 

“I saw it with my own eyes, Elle. She clenched her first and suddenly Christina Danvers poster exploded. She gets second, and the first place project explodes the moment she throws a fit?”

“Our daughter doesn’t throw fits.”

“Not normally, but she did today. She was about to, and then everything caught fire.”

“Wayne, you can’t be serious about this right now.”

“She was smiling.” He whispered. “When everything burned down, she was smiling.”

(Y/n) listened silently from the hallway as her parents talked.

She loved to eavesdrop on her parents late night. They never knew she was there. It was another one of those odd coincidences of her life that (Y/n) was the only person in the house who never made the steps creak when she walked up and down the stairs. 

She was old enough to know what they were saying, what they were implying. It should’ve bothered her more than it did.

(Y/n) walked back upstairs, silent as the grave, and opened her closet.

She needed the duffle bag her father kept tucked away in the top of her closet, but she was nowhere near tall enough to reach it. As the door slid open, the bag teetered on the edge of the wire shelf and fell to the floor. 

“How convenient,” (Y/n) mumbled to herself. 

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

“Hey Kid,” The man shouted at her out the window of his semi-truck. “What’re you doin’ out here at night? It ain’t safe!” 

(Y/n) shrugged. “Not safe at home either.” 

The man gave her an understanding look. 

(Y/n) watched him carefully as he opened the door of his rig and offered her a hand. 

Her mother had always told her not to talk to strangers, but (Y/n) had found she could always tell what people wanted. Besides, she was pretty sure she was a greater danger to them than they were to her. 

“Where ya’ headed?” The man asked.

“West.”

“I can take ya’ as far as Texas.” He offered. 

(Y/n) hopped off the curb and grabbed the man’s offered hand, hauling herself up into the passenger seat. 

She didn’t know where she was going or why she was going there. But something inside of her told her she had somewhere to be.

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Next Time On.... Part Two

Thank you very much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed. I have just come back from a hiatus and a great deal of why I went on said hiatus was the stress of managing ‘added features’ for lack of a better expression. I like writing. I don’t like formatting or managing the blog side of things. 

As such, no taglists. Please don’t ask me to be on a taglist. Keeping track of it stresses me out too much. I don’t feel like doing it. I don’t appreciate being pressured into doing it. In the olden days of tumblr, people used to follow each other, and I promise you that feature still works. If you follow me you will see part two when it’s posted. 

[mistersshelby]

removing the dagger

hi yes it's me, yes i know i haven't updated my masterlist in ages, yes i am aware i have an unfinished wip that i promised to post months ago, i'm just a stupid fanfic writer begging her audience to love her!!!! anyway!!! i have two other things in the works that I'm hoping to finish, but in the mean time this is one shot i based on ivy and tolerate it from taylor swift's album evermore. i hope you like it, i missed y'all!!! send me asks pls i'm lonely

pairing: tommy x reader

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

“We’ll be entertaining guests this weekend.”

You looked up from your breakfast plate in shock, wondering if your husband was addressing you or someone else. You gave the room a quick scan. No, it was indeed just you. “Alright.” You said hesitantly, “Who will be attending?”

He hadn’t looked up at you from his newspaper at the other end of the table. He felt miles away rather than a meter or two. “Just some business partners and their wives.” He finally looks up. You’re so unused to his direct attention you have to stop yourself from flinching away from his gaze, “You should go into town. Buy yourself a new dress.” Just as quickly as his gaze had met yours, he drops it again.

You draw your attention back to your breakfast plate, spreading butter on a scone before biting into it. “Do you need anything while I’m out, dear?”

“No thank you, love.”

The endearments don’t mean anything, this you know. It’s a formality. You’re husband and wife, and you speak to each other that way, but the words are empty. The truth is, day in and day out you watch him, you know all his routines. You hand him items before he can reach for them. Buy the book you know he’d been wanting for ages, but never got around to go to the store for. Refill the liquor cabinet before he can get to the bottom of a vodka bottle. And still. And still, he doesn’t see you. Not really. You leave the breakfast table to get ready to go into town and you know he won’t notice you’ve left until the maid clears your plate.

***

Another evening filled with pleasantries, pretty gowns, fake smiles. Men complimenting you and informing your husband how lucky he is to have such a beautiful, young wife. Your husband simply thanks them and doesn’t even look your way.

It’s not until he walks into the room that you feel you’ve been startled from sleep. He looks the same as you remember. There may be a few more lines around his eyes and mouth, but otherwise the same. Except now he looks like a walking weapon. That’s what the war had turned him into. You had kept tabs on him once you found out he had made it home from France, alive. The things you heard, the things this man that you used to love so dearly had done, well you suppose it didn’t surprise you. Tommy had always been too clever for his own good, almost too resilient. It made sense that France would have chewed him up and spit him out, kept most of the love and kindness he possessed.

But then his eyes find yours through the crowd and when he locks on you the same love and desire that had always been there, burns there now. No, the war couldn’t burn out his love for you. Your abandonment and consequential marriage that he read about in the paper couldn’t burn it out either. He’d love you until his dying day. And then he’s in front of you and words fail you, “Thomas,” You finally manage, “You… look well.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “It’s good to see you.” And he ever so gently lifts your hand and presses his lips to your skin. A chill runs through you and it takes all your effort not to snatch your hand away. His knowing grin tells you he’s noted his effect on you.

“And who are you?” Your husband interjects, noticing the affront that was greeting you before himself.

“Thomas, this is my husband, Benjamin.”

Tommy looks your husband up and down for longer than is polite before reaching his hand out to meet your husband’s, “A pleasure.” He murmurs.

“How do you know my wife, mister…”

“Shelby.” Tommy fills in for him, and then glances at you, “Your wife and I were--”

“Childhood friends.” You interject before he can finish and force a smile.

Tommy stares at you for a prolonged second before turning back to your husband, “Yes. Childhood friends.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Benjamin exclaimed, “You grew up in Oxford then, yeah?”

The confusion is evident on Tommy’s face so you jump in quickly, “Yeah! Both grew up in Oxford, isn’t that right, Tommy?”

Tommy looks annoyed at having to lie, but nods anyway, “That’s right.” He speaks with Benjamin for a few moments about business and you find yourself staring at him, the freckles on his cheeks you used to kiss so tenderly. His hair that you used to run fingers through. His eyelashes that used to tickle your skin when he fell asleep. His voice that used to whisper adorations in your ear while other women looked on with jealousy.

“I hope you won’t mind if I steal your wife for a dance, sir, I’d love to catch up with her for a moment.”

Benjamin gave him a disarming smile, a smile you hadn’t seen since he had courted you and it made your heart ache. He lifted his glass to Tommy, “She’s all yours.”

You managed a small smile as Tommy took your hand and led you to the center of the room. You could feel tears burning the back of your eyes at the familiarity of his touch. No one had touched you like this, well, since Tommy left Small Heath.

“Oxford, eh?” Tommy started, “What else did you have to lie about to become such an esteemed lady?”

You frowned, “I did what I had to do. It appears you did the same.”

He shakes his head, “I never lied about where I came from out of shame to achieve the lifestyle I wanted.” His voice is bitter, and you won’t lie, it stings coming from the only person who had made you feel like you were worth something.

“I’m not ashamed of Small Heath.”

“Everything about who you’ve married, to what you’re wearing, to the house you live in, to the lies about me suggest otherwise.”

“I didn’t lie about you because I was ashamed, Benjamin gets… jealous. It was just easier not to explain.”

“Does Benjamin have reason to be jealous?”

You looked into those blue eyes you had adored so long ago and saw the same longing and lust sitting there. Your lips part and you pause, trying to find the right words to convey that you were sorry for how things ended. That you wished things could have been different. But he senses your hesitation and his eyes go cold, those familiar walls that you had worked for years to tear down are back up in full force. You suppose it’s what you deserve.

“Forget it. Stupid question.”

“Tommy--”

“No, don’t. You’re obviously very happy here.”

And you realized as he said it that he was so incredibly wrong about that, “I’m not.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your eyes begin to water before you can stop them, “I’ve never been more unhappy in my life.”

Concern floods Tommy features, “Is he hurting you?”

You almost laugh, “No, no he’s never raised a hand to me. He’s never even raised his voice to me. He just… rarely remembers that I exist is all.”

“Well he’s an idiot then.” The corner of your mouth turned up just a bit at his crassness. “Can’t imagine having you walk around this house day in and day out looking like that and not giving you the attention you deserve.”

You have to bite down hard on your lip to keep the tears lodged in your throat at bay, “Do you have a smoke?”

He frowns, “I can’t imagine Benjamin allows a lady like you to smoke.”

“Tommy, please, he won’t even know we’re gone.” Sure enough, when you look over he’s immersed in conversation, “Come outside with me.” You tug on his arm before he can respond, weaving through guests who didn’t give you a second glance.

Once outside, you gulp in the cold air and lean against the stone wall behind you. Tommy joins a few seconds later, “Are you alright?” He asks as he reaches into his pocket and takes out his cigarettes.

“Can you tell me about Birmingham? What’s it like now?”

While you smoked, he talked about his family and the business. How Polly was doing, and Finn who you could still remember being born. Arthur and his anger problems. John and his relentless jokes. And when your cigarette was nothing more than a useless stub, you noticed there were silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

Tommy glanced at you and then dropped his own cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his shoe, “Why are you here if it makes you so sad?”

The reason you had married Benjamin was because you had promised yourself you would never have to go hungry again. You would never have to worry about someone breaking in and slitting your throat for a loaf of bread. You wouldn’t have to stare at dresses in shops anymore knowing you would never have enough money for it. You never wanted any children you bore to feel that pain either. So you had done what you thought was needed to obtain this lifestyle and now that you were here, it didn’t feel the way you expected it to.

You can’t answer him and instead you look up at the sky and snow starts to fall on your face. “It’s snowing.” You announce to Tommy. He says nothing and you get the feeling he’s annoyed with you. “We had our first kiss in the snow. Do you remember?”

He scoffs and pushes himself off the wall, “I’m not playing your games tonight, I shouldn’t have come here.”

“And why did you come here?” You call after him as he walks away, “Why the fuck did you come, eh? To rub it in my face that I made the wrong decision?”

He turns back to you and he has that cocky smirk on his face, “Listen to that Birmingham accent. Does your husband know his lady’s got such a dirty mouth?”

You don’t know why this is the remark that does it, but you take a sharp intake of breath and your lungs shudder with sobs as the tears pour down your cheeks. The smirk falls from Tommy’s face and he reaches for you, but you pull away. “Love, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“Darling?” Your husband stands in the doorway and both you and Tommy freeze, “What are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death out there in the cold.”

You close your eyes for a moment, schooling your features before you respond, “I’ll be just a minute dear, Mr. Shelby was just leaving. I was seeing him off.” Every trace of the tears was gone from your voice. Tommy would be impressed if it didn’t mean that you had clearly needed to practice seeming happy and upbeat when you were breaking inside.

It’s so easy how quickly he loses interest, Benjamin, and turns back to go inside without another glance. “Why did you come here?” You ask Tommy again.

He sighs, “I had hoped that seeing you happy would give me the closure I needed. Unfortunately, seeing you choose misery over me has only made me feel worse.” He says bitterly. Your face crumples and he steps away from you, “Goodnight, my love.”

When he’s gone you wish to scream and cry and you hate him for coming here and shattering the glass walls you had built around yourself to tell you that you were fine. You were fine with your finery and your loneliness and the gin you drink when Benjamin isn’t home. How he ignores the smell of it on your breath. His deliberate silence when you know he can feel your cries shake the bed at night. You thought you had packed Tommy Shelby neatly away in the far corner of your mind where you wouldn’t find him again. Wouldn’t remember what it was like to feel loved. To feel alive. But you remember. And now he’s gone again. Just like when he left for France. Just like when you wrote that final letter to him that you were to be married.

And so you walk back into that house of stone. You murmur to Benjamin that you’re tired and you’ll be retiring early. And he just nods, barely hearing you, like he always does. And you settle into bed and stare at the wall as the house goes quiet. And finally the bed shifts with his weight and his breathing settles and he doesn’t reach for you. He never does.

Goodnight, my love.

***

The mud of the road squelches beneath your shoes and you're conscious of the way everyone in Small Heath stares at you, walking around like this, but you’d had no choice. No trace of your old wardrobe before you married Benjamin existed. He hadn’t allowed it. You didn’t want any reminders, anyway. Besides which, you had told Benjamin you were out for lunch with a friend and had dressed appropriately. When you swing open the door to the Garrison, you don’t see any Shelbys, but everyone stares at you nonetheless. You imagine word will travel fast to Tommy that you’re here.

Sure enough, as you finished your first drink, you heard the doors swing open and a hush fell over the occupants of the bar. You didn’t look up when he sat next to you. “What are you doing in my bar?” He said, his voice was demanding and cold.

“Having a drink.” You said as the bartender slid you another.

Tommy took it from your hand and dumped it on the floor, “Don’t give her another one.” He said to the bartender. “I asked you what the hell you’re doing here, don’t try my patience.”

“I was drinking that.” You said through clenched teeth.

“You’re drunk, you’ve obviously been drinking all day, surely Benjamin darling noticed that before he let you leave the house, eh?”

You turned to him, eyes bloodshot and unfocused, “I came here… Because you never told me… If you remembered our first kiss.”

He stares at you for a few moments, “You came all the way to Small Heath to ask me if I remember our first kiss?”

You blink, “Why are you just repeating what I just told you?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Yes, I remember it. Now will you go home?”

“I am home.”

“This isn’t your home anymore, you made sure of that.”

“How is what I did any fucking different from what you did? I married him to fuckin’ survive. That’s it. And you would’ve done the same in my place.” While you were talking you kept trying to get the bartender’s attention, but he was purposely ignoring you now, “Will you please tell your bartender to get me a drink?”

He leans in close to your ear and you still, “You could have married me. I could have given you everything if you had just waited.”

You turn your head to look at him and your lips are just inches from his, “I didn’t think you would come back, Tommy. So many men were dying every day, I didn’t think you would come back and I was running out of time to find someone else to marry. I’m sorry.” You don’t know if it’s the alcohol that makes you brave, but you lean into him just a little bit and he doesn’t move away. So you close the distance between you.

The kiss is quick, and you pull away to gage his reaction. But his eyes only dart from yours back down to your mouth before his fingers graze your chin and gently pull you to him again. You can’t believe how alive it makes you feel to be kissed, really kissed, by someone who wants you.

“You’re drunk.” Tommy says finally, pulling away.

“So what?”

“So you wouldn’t be cheating on your husband if you weren’t drunk.”

You snort, “I would do just about anything to feel the way you made me feel again.”

He shakes his head at you, “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N. So, what? You’re just going to have an affair with me and I’m supposed to be satisfied with that?”

“What do you suppose we do instead?”

“Leave him and marry me.”

He’s so sincere, and for a moment you allow yourself to think that you could. “You know I can’t do that.” You say quietly.

He nods and lowers his head, “Then I’m not sure how I can help you, Mrs. Davies.”

His use of your married name feels like a blow, “I know you feel the same as I do when we kiss, isn’t it worth it just for that?”

“I don’t do well with sharing.” He practically snarled in your face.

“I’m his in name alone. You own me, body, soul, and spirit, Tommy. You always have.”

Suddenly, he straightens as if he’s just now realized where he is. “Come with me.” He says quickly, sharply. You practically run after him and when you get outside, you see his horse. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

“Where are you taking me?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you ever just listen to me for once?” And without asking permission, lifted you up by your waist enough to get you on the saddle. When he comes up after you, you hesitate before wrapping your arms around his waist to keep yourself steady. It reminds you so vividly of just a few years earlier, you allow yourself to sink into the memories. It doesn’t take you long to realize he’s taking you to your old haunt. An abandoned house in the middle of the woods, overgrown with ivy.

“Why are we here?” As he helps you down from the horse, your faces nearly collide as your feet touch the ground. He seems to want to kiss you, but holds back.

“I waited here for you for days when I got back.” He says, walking away from you and towards the house. “When you stopped sending me letters, I had a feeling you had changed your mind, but I still hoped.”

You blink, “You never got my letter?”

He turns back to you, now leaning against a half demolished wall, “Did you send me a letter to tell me you were marrying that wanker? I honestly thought it was kinder that you hadn’t.”

You swallowed, “Yes, I sent you a letter.”

“And what did it say?”

You sigh, suddenly you’re frustrated with him, “That was years ago, Tommy, can’t we move on?”

He laughs, but it’s cold, “For you it was years ago, I’ve been living in this hell you left me in ever since. I didn’t get to move on to palaces and dinner parties and expensive champagne. I came back here and started another war, all in the hopes that one day I could provide for you and you would come home. And all the while you’ve been sleeping in another man’s bed.”

You look down at your feet. You understand the anger and the resentment he holds. After all, you knew when you sent that letter if he survived the war he would never forgive you. But here he was, some sort of dark, fallen angel, standing in front of you. Spreading over you again like ivy, the same way he had when you were younger. “I know I can’t take back the pain I’ve caused,” He was already scoffing and turning away from you, “But I’m here now. And so are you. And all I know is that being with you again makes me feel something and I haven’t felt anything since I sent out that letter.”

“So just like that, you think everything’s fixed?” He storms up to you, trapping you against the wall behind you. “You think you can just pop back in, say you’re sorry, and everything’s all better?”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed with his display of anger, “Of course not, Tommy, I’m not stupid.” You reach your hand out and delicately trail your fingers down his chest, “I just think… That it’d be a shame to deny each other what we both want.”

Without warning his hand clamps around your wrist and slams it against the wall behind you. It doesn’t hurt, really, but he did catch you off guard so you wince anyway.

He leaned forward until his lips brushed your ear, “Who said you could touch me without explicit permission?”

A chill went down your spine at the sound of his voice and you find yourself smirking, “Don’t need permission to touch what belongs to me.” You still know exactly what to say to piss him off.

He shoves you against the wall again, “You think this is fuckin’ funny, eh?” He leans down to look you eye to eye, “Am I laughing?” He pushes himself off the wall and turns away from you, “Always a fuckin’ joke to you.”

“Tommy, I thought… I’m sorry, I thought we were teasing--”

He rounds on you, “I don’t fuckin’ joke when it comes to you, do you understand? None of this is funny to me. It may be all a big joke to you with your fancy house and your upper class husband, but I lost the one thing in my life that had value and I don’t think it’s fuckin’ funny for you to shit all over the marriage that you thought was good enough to abandon me for in the first place!”

It’s all so absurd you nearly snort, “Do you think this is fun for me? Do you think I like living with the knowledge that I gave up the love of my life for someone who is rarely home, and when he is home doesn’t even spare me a second glance? My husband hasn’t kissed me in six months.”

“And so now you think you can have both?”

Tears shine in your eyes as you gaze up at him, “Can’t I?”

You can see the internal battle going on behind his eyes, caught between wanting you and not being able to truly have you. You knew he would give in to you, though, and maybe you felt a little guilty about that but you couldn’t afford to let your mind go there. You just needed someone to touch you, someone to really, truly desire you.

And Tommy gave in. He pushed you against the wall again, his mouth finding your mouth in a lust-filled frenzy. You moan in equal parts surprise and delight as his hands roam your body, pulling you up until your legs wrap around his waist, back firmly pressed to the wall.

You might pay for this sinful offense against your marriage one day, but today you will simply relish the way Tommy tastes.

***

“You’re quiet this morning.” Benjamin notes a week later during breakfast. “Actually, now that I think about it, I can’t remember the last time I heard you say a word. Is everything alright, darling?”

You look up from your plate where you had been pushing your egg around aimlessly and force a smile, “Everything is perfect, darling, why shouldn’t it be?”

He watches you closely for a moment, miles away on the opposite end of the dining table. You don’t believe he’s watched you like this since courting you. Then, in a flash, the moment is broken and he returns to his paper, “We should have dinner, just you and I. I have that business trip coming up and I’d like to spend some time with you before I go.”

You try not to narrow your eyes too deliberately at him. A proper lady never thinks too hard about her husband’s motives, she just acts delighted to be considered. But this was unlike him and you would find out why. “That would be lovely, dear.”

***

Your arm rests delicately on Benjamin’s as he takes you inside the restaurant he had made reservations in. He was going on and on about the lobster and how you should get one too and what drink to pair it with and it was all so fucking boring your eyelids grew heavy with sleep. You hadn’t seen Tommy since that day at the abandoned house.

Afterwards, he had taken you on the horse until you were a mile away from the house and insisted on being dropped there.

“I can take you further, he won’t see me.”

“It’s alright, Tommy. I like the walk.”

He had hopped off his horse with you and cradled your face in his hands, kissing you goodbye, “I’m still upset with you.” He said and kissed you again, harder. He bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to make you yelp, “This doesn’t change anything.”

But it changed everything, hadn’t it? For you, at least. You understood Tommy’s anger and resistance though. Maybe this would be the only taste of him he’d ever allow you again while you rotted away in that mansion of stone. “I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage, your foreheads still pressed together, before lightly pushing yourself off him and walking down the road without looking back.

Eventually, you heard his horse walk away and you did your best not to cry.

“Darling?” Benjamin’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. The two of you now sit at a small table in the corner. You’re buttering a roll absently, you couldn’t remember picking up the bread. “Darling, are you alright? I’ve been asking you to pass the butter.”

“Yes,” You said, reaching across the table with the butter dish in hand, “I’m sorry, my mind ran away from me.”

“And what were you thinking about?” He asks, taking the butter from you.

You blink, shocked that he would ask you such a thing, “Sorry?”

“What’s got your mind so occupied that I can’t seem to keep your attention?” He smiles when he says it and you realize he’s… teasing you.

“Oh, it’s nothing darling, I was just thinking about a dress I wanted to buy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t listening to you.”

He sighs greatly and for a moment you’re scared. Somehow he knows. He must know, otherwise-- “I realize that I haven’t been the best husband as of late. I don’t know what you spend your days doing, what you like, what you don’t like. I don’t kiss you in the morning or the evening when I come home from work--”

You’re shaking your head, “Benjamin--”

“You’ve been the perfect wife. Taking care of the house and entertaining guests, going out to the shop when I need something even if I haven’t asked. And I’ve ignored you. Aren’t you angry with me?”

Your eyes water and you sit back in your chair, looking down at your lap. Taking a breath you look back up at him, “You’re my husband.” You shrug, “I do what I must even if I don’t get anything in return.”

He hesitantly covers your hand with his own, “I’ll be better. I promise.” He sits back, “That friend that you went to lunch with the other day, what was her name?”

The fear returns all over again as you lightly dab at your eyes, “Martha, she’s a friend from Oxford.” The lie comes easily, too easily.

“Is she married?” Before you can answer, his eyes light up, “Oh! She must be that gentleman’s wife, the one who was at the party last week. Shelby, I believe his name was.”

Slowly, you nod, “Yes, that’s right. Martha’s husband is Thomas.”

“You should invite them for dinner, after my trip!”

Oh, fuck. “Oh, Benjamin, that’s so sweet of you dear, but you don’t have to--”

“I do.” He covers his hand with yours again, “I want to learn more about you. Your friends. What better way to do that than get to know the people you grew up with?”

You force a smile, “That sounds lovely.”

He smiles back, “It’s settled then! You iron out the details while I’m away and then just let me know which evening, alright, dear?”

“Of course.” You say, still forcing that smile. How the fuck were you going to get out of this one?

***

“Are you out of your mind?” You had summoned Tommy yet again by drinking at the Garrison and he had stormed in here ready to toss you over his shoulder and kick you out himself. But you had managed to get him to share a drink with you and you told him your new predicament.

“Well, yes, but that’s hardly the point.” He looks so annoyed with you, you almost laugh, “Please, Tommy. I’ll never bother you again.”

He snorts, “Yeah, that’ll be the day.” He knocks back the rest of his whiskey and then pushes the glass to the bartender, signaling for another, “This is really what you want?”

You bite your lip, “He seems sincere. Like he really wants to try.”

“But do you love him? Do you love him the way you love me?”

No. There would never be a love for you like Tommy. You look down at your hands. Either way you answer, Tommy will be hurt. But at least this way he could go on thinking that you’re happy. That you don’t need him. Maybe this way he’d fall in love with somebody else. The thought sent daggers through your heart, but you knew you had no one to blame for that but yourself. He should be happy, he deserved that. “Yes.” You lied.

His eyes shuttered and he looked away from you, “Alright. I’ll help you, then.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you.”

“Now get the hell out of my bar.”

You manage a small smile and nod, sneaking out without another word.

***

The door buzzed and you nearly smiled, “That’ll be the guests, darling.” You moved behind Benjamin, squeezing his shoulder as you passed, “I’ll get it.”

When you opened the door and saw Tommy standing there with a tall, beautiful woman, you couldn’t deny the hurt that rushed through you. You had asked him to bring someone, you reminded yourself, you had told him he needed to bring a fake wife.

You step aside to let them through, “It’s good to see you, Tommy. Martha. Come in.”

“Your home is so lovely,” The woman said. You weren’t sure if you just felt like she was staring daggers at you or if she was. How much did this woman know of you and Tommy? Just from the way she looked at Tommy, you could tell she had feelings for him. He had probably fucked her at some point. You ignore the painful tightening of your stomach at the thought. Tommy, for his part, seemed bored by her.

“Thank you.” You gestured for the maid to take their coats and you couldn’t help the way your breath caught as Tommy took his off. Then his hat. And his gloves. Those hands and those rings and-- You looked from his left hand to hers. They were wearing wedding rings. You supposed it shouldn’t have surprised you, they were supposed to be married. But the sight painfully stole all the breath from your lungs. You wondered if this was how Tommy felt when he saw you. You turned away from it and guided them into the drawing room, immediately going to get a drink while Benjamin bored them with talk of business.

You didn’t expect for it to hurt so much, seeing him with someone else. Even if they were just fucking, you felt like you couldn’t breathe as you stumbled into the kitchen. The kitchen staff ignored you as you braced your hands on a table, looking down at it and trying to catch your breath. They were used to you having breakdowns here. The staff liked you because you treated them like people when Benjamin wasn’t around. When he was on his trips, you’d invite them all to eat with you in the dining room and they were some of the most fun dinners you’d had since marrying Benjamin. So they let you cry in here and didn’t speak a word of it.

When the kitchen doors open abruptly, you stand immediately, expecting Benjamin, but it’s Tommy who stands there instead. “What are you doing back here?” You asked with annoyance.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, and you hate the concern that floods his face.

“You shouldn’t be back here, Benjamin might come looking for me--”

“I told him I would go look for you, he seems quite charmed by Lizzie, he won’t come looking.”

“So her name’s Lizzie then? She’s lovely.”

He’s quiet a moment, “So you’re sulking in here because I brought another woman here, something you asked me to do.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“We should go back out there,” You begin to walk around him, but his hand clasps on your upper arm and pulls you back.

“Does it hurt? Knowing I’m fucking someone else?” He whispers in your ear.

Tears sting your eyes and you realize he’s done this on purpose. He wanted to hurt you. You look up into those ice blue eyes to show him yours that are shining with tears, “Are you happy now?” You wrenched your arm from his grasp and left the kitchen, putting on a smiling face as you left.

Tommy watches you closely for most of the evening and you think that normally Benjamin might notice his predatory gaze, but Tommy was right. He’s enamored by Lizzie. They share touches and longing glances, even when you place your arm on top of Benjamin’s to signal that he’s yours. He just pats your hand and draws his arm out from under yours all without looking away from Lizzie. So when Tommy excuses himself for a smoke, you follow him out, not even bothering to excuse yourself.

“Ol’ Benjamin is really giving it his best shot with you, eh?” Tommy says immediately when you walk outside. You don’t say anything, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your anger. “Can’t say I blame him,” He continues, “Lizzie’s a great fuck.”

You close your eyes, “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing, love?” He makes the endearment sound condescending and you hate him for that.

“You’re trying to get me angry so I’ll admit that I lied to you about loving Benjamin.”

“I saw the way you looked at the wedding rings when I took off my gloves,” He inhales on the cigarette in his hand, “I don’t need you to say it.”

“Then what, you’re just rubbing it in because you’re a sadistic fuck?”

“So you are angry, then.”

“Yes!” You threw up your hands in exasperation, “Yes, I’m fucking angry that I thought maybe Benjamin did love me only to see him touch and look at that woman in there more than he’s touched me in over a year! And I’m fucking angry that you are also fucking her! I’m jealous, I’m fucking burning with how jealous I am that she gets to touch you and I don’t! Is that what you want to hear, you fucking prick?!”

God help you, he has a cool smile on his lips, “Yes, sweetheart. That’s what I wanted to hear. Would you like to go make your husband terribly jealous?” He reaches a hand out to you.

You’re frowning at him and you shake your head, “I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do, I’m helping you get what you want.”

“But why?”

He lowers his hand, “Do you want the truth or the lie?”

You swallow, “Truth.”

He brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek, “Are you sure? It’ll break your heart.” He says softly.

You smile sadly and bring his hand to your chest, right above your heart. Your eyes glitter with unshed tears as you look at him, “Already broken.”

You almost miss his sharp intake of breath at your admission. You suppose he’s happy, happy that you were in so much pain after shattering his heart. “So?” You say.

“The truth is that,” He swallows, “The only thing that hurts me more than you not being mine is seeing you so fuckin’ sad. So let me help you.” You look up at him with those big sad eyes that practically scream at him how much you love him. He can’t stand to look another second, “Come on.” He offers you his hand again.

You place your small hand in his and he brings you back inside, not even dropping your hand as you pass your husband and Lizzie who are looking even cozier than when you left. He brings you to the drawing room in view of the dining room and finally drops your hand to go to the gramophone.

You feel Benjamin’s eyes on your back, but you don’t turn, focusing on Tommy.

A smile breaks out on his face, “I knew you’d have it.”

He holds up a record that the two of you used to listen to so often, you had had to replace the record a couple years back. A small smile forms on your lips, “Tommy, are you sure?”

When the two of you were together, you had taken a dance class together, mostly as a joke, but then you surprised yourselves when you had so much fun with it. Soon, you were choreographing dances together and Tommy was spinning you around that abandoned house. It seemed lifetimes ago and you couldn’t believe that the man who went to France and came back ready to kill any man standing in his way would still know or want to dance with you like when you were barely adults. But he’s beaming at you now, hand extended and the song is starting.

Biting your lip to hide your smile, you curtsy to him before taking his hand and he did a slight bow in response. And then he’s whisking you around the room. You can tell he hasn’t done this in a while and neither had you, but as the song picks up you lock eyes with him. You hadn’t seen him this happy since before the war. The sight sends such a thrill through you, you laugh, and suddenly you’re both in sync.

The weight of both Benjamin’s and Lizzie’s stares nearly break you, “It’s just me and you,” Tommy whispers, noticing how the light had dimmed from you just a little, “Focus on me.” And you do, losing yourself in the music and Tommy’s touch. Tommy dips you, your head falling back and upside down, you can see Benjamin and Lizzie, their eyes on you just like you thought. Tommy pulls you back up and you nearly crash into his chest as the song ends. He clutches your hand to him and your foreheads nearly touch as you both breathe hard.

There’s footsteps behind you and you turn to look to Benjamin, a smile still on your face, and his hand collides with your cheek. There’s only silence for a few seconds and it takes you all of those seconds to realize that Benjamin has hit you and before you’ve reached that conclusion, Tommy’s fist is already connecting with Benjamin’s jaw.

“Stop, stop.” You reach for Tommy to pull him off your husband, “Tommy, that’s enough!”

He had only punched Benjamin twice before you were able to pull him off and then he’s looking at you, “Are you alright?” There’s such concern in his eyes, he even brings his hands up to your face, eyes darting back and forth to assess the damage.

But your husband is still here so you push him away, “I’m fine, you should go.”

He’s looking at you like you’re crazy, “I won’t leave you with him.” He says quietly enough that you’re sure you’re the only one who heard him.

“Yes you will.” You look at him with cold, calculated calm. Your husband is still lying on the floor with stupid Lizzie coddling him, “You both should go.” You repeat.

Tommy is still staring at you and Lizzie has risen from where she was crouching next to your husband, placing a hand on Tommy’s arm, “Thomas, let’s go.”

You hate the familiarity of the touch, you’re able to tell she’s done it several times before. “Listen to your wife.” You say bitterly and that ice in his eyes is back. He simply backs away from you, Lizzie pulling him out the door.

“You humiliate me.” Benjamin says, now sitting upright and dabbing at blood at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. It gives you sick satisfaction that Tommy had made him bleed.

“You humiliate yourself.” You say coldly.

“You danced with him like… Like you were some whore.”

You flinch at the insult, “I told you I knew him from Oxford, we took ballroom together. We were simply reminiscing.”

“You think me an imbecile,” He chuckles, “I saw the way you looked at each other. You’ve never once looked at me like that.”

Now you laugh and the sound makes him flinch, “Benjamin, when we met I looked at you like the sun and the moon set on your command, do not insinuate otherwise.” Your voice shakes with anger, “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to touch and talk to me the way you talked to Tommy's wife all goddamn night. That’s why I danced with him. I wanted to make you jealous, I didn’t think you’d hit me.”

He’s shaking his head, “That doesn’t change the fact that you once bedded that man and then brought him into my house.”

You stare at him blankly, “If I recall correctly, you were the one who invited him here. And I daresay, Benjamin, with the way you were with his wife I have no doubt what you do on those business trips. I will not be made the villain when all I’ve done is begged for your love from day one.” He looks away from you at that and you relish how you’ve made him submit to you after being submissive for so long, “I’m going to bed, you’re welcome to wallow here in your weakness if you’d like.”

***

Tommy drives in silence with Lizzie next to him, quietly fuming. He has half a mind to turn around and drag you from that house himself, but he knew you’d never forgive him for that. “Was a bit daft to dance with her like that in front of her husband, don’t you think, Tom?”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the only indication of his agitation, “Was a bit daft to flirt with her husband in front of her for three straight hours, don’t you think, Lizzie?”

“He advanced on me--”

“No,” Tommy’s shaking his head, “No, don’t give me that bullshit. You knew what she meant to me and you went in there to purposely hurt her. Well congratu-fucking-lations Lizzie, you won.”

“As if you didn’t enjoy seeing her hurting after she left you.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know.” He said dangerously.

“Fine, Tommy,” She says, slumping in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest, “Let her destroy you again, went so well for you the first time.”

He doesn’t respond as he knows there is some truth to what Lizzie is saying. He would let you destroy him again, he would give you his last breath if that was what you wanted.

***

When you wake the next morning, Benjamin is gone. The maid told you he left in the early hours of the morning and handed you a note.

I know what he is and I know what you are. Don’t be here when I return.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Who had told him? How had he figured it out?

The answer was obvious. It had to have been fucking Thomas, trying to force your hand after you refused to leave with him. You crumpled the note and ran back upstairs to get dressed. You figured you had a few days until Benjamin came home, maybe you could still sort it out. The first order of business was going to yell at Tommy.

***

When he sees you walking down the streets of Small Heath looking murderous, he wonders what he’s done. Maybe this is a response to the previous night, but you hadn’t seemed homicidal when he left you.

“What the fuck did you tell him?” You greeted him by shoving him against the nearest building. He raised his arms in bored surrender, not wanting to cause a scene, but you didn’t seem to care about that, “Did you turn around and come back and tell him everything? Do you think I’ll run off with you now that I have nowhere to go?” Tears run down your cheeks now and he frowns in concern, “Well I won’t. I’m fucking done with you, Thomas Shelby. I don’t care if I have to beg on the streets--”

“What are you talking about?” He interjects finally. You look him over, eyes darting over his face and you can see there’s genuine confusion there. He didn’t do this.

Rubbing at your eyes, you sit on the nearest surface, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay, “He knows who you are. Which means he knows who I am. He’s kicking me out.”

He gently puts a hand on your elbow, “Come inside. Please.”

For once, you let yourself be guided. He brings you inside the building that says Shelby Company Limited on the outside and then suddenly the rest of the Shelby family is staring at you.

“Tommy,” Polly says softly, staring at you with a hand on her heart, “You told us she was dead.”

You blink and then turn to Tommy who won’t look at any of you, “She was.”

Tommy Shelby had told his whole family that you were dead rather than go through the humiliation of explaining that you had left your old life behind in favor of another. Left him behind. You supposed, in a way, you had died.

Polly’s gaze drifts to your hand where you’re fiddling with your wedding ring. “Oh, Tommy. Tell me you haven’t killed someone’s husband.”

“Not yet,” The words send a jolt through you, “Stay here.” He orders, squeezing your shoulder.

“Tommy, wait,” He turns back to you, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to kill him before he ruins you and then you’ll have your pick of any lord you’d like. Maybe one of them will actually love you this time. Isn’t that what you want?”

It feels like a dig though you’re not sure he meant it to be one, “No.”

Sensing the energy in the room, the rest of Tommy’s family dispersed, leaving the two of you alone.

“What d’ya mean ‘no’?” There’s a bit of anger in his voice, “You don’t want to be with me, you don’t want to be a lady anymore, are you gonna live on the streets?”

“For your information, Thomas, if I wanted I could make a living for myself,” He scoffs. “But you’re wrong.”

“About what?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes glittering with tears, “I do want to be with you.” After finally uttering the words, you brace yourself for rejection.

He stares at you and then rubs a hand over his face. He begins shaking his head, “You don’t mean that.”

You walk to him and reach your hands up to frame his face. You expect him to move away from your touch, but he doesn’t. When you gently stroke his face with your thumbs he closes his eyes and you truly understand how you had broken this man in front of you, “I do,” You say again, “And I’m sorry for ever making you think you didn’t deserve me.”

Finally, he does push your hands away and walks to the window on the far side of the room, his back to you, “I still want to kill him.” He says softly.

You frown, “Tommy--”

“If you weren’t in that room last night I would have kept punching and kicking and gouging his eyes out with my bare hands for daring to put a hand on you.” His voice is dangerously low, “Is that still the kind of man that you want?” He finishes bitterly.

He would kill a man for you. The thought sends a thrill through you. “I’ve spent the last few years of my life with a man who didn’t even attempt to learn my favorite type of jam, Tommy, do you understand?”

“It’s strawberry.”

You raise your eyebrows, “What?”

He finally turns to you, “Your favorite jam, it’s strawberry. I used to wait in line for hours in the summer when strawberries were in season to get some for you.” He smiles a bit to himself at the memory, “It was always worth it for the smile and kiss on the cheek you gave me.”

Tears finally cascade down your cheeks as you recall the memory, “I’d forgotten about that.” You say softly, “Tommy, it’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”

“You told me minutes ago that you wouldn’t run off with me, that you were done--”

“I know,” You say, “That’s when I thought you had betrayed me, that you wanted to force me to be with you--”

“I would never force you to be with me.” He says fiercely, “I would never force this life, this fuckin’ hell, on anyone.”

You shake your head, “I know what you’ve become since you came home. Knowing all of that, knowing what you’re truly capable of, I still choose you. I know you’re my only chance of real happiness.”

He stares at you for another few moments, “So you’ll marry me, then? The whole bit?”

You smile, “I imagined this whole bit to be much more romantic, but yes, I’ll marry you, Thomas.”

“You can’t change your mind once Benjamin comes back, it’s me or you figure out your own way.”

“I’m not choosing you because of the money. I’ve had the money, all it did was make me miserable.”

He steps to you and runs a thumb over your lips, “You’re really mine then, eh?”

“You know,” Familiar mischief lights up your eyes, “Benjamin won’t be back for a few days… What do you say we drink his expensive wine straight from the bottle and fuck on every surface we can.”

Tommy finally cracks a smile, “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

You laugh and go up on your toes to kiss him. He immediately dips his head to you, breathing you in deep as he kisses you. His tongue slides along your lip until you open to him, awarding him with a soft moan. His tongue strokes against yours and you feel hot need for him pooling between your thighs when he pulls away.

He relishes the pout on your face at his absence, “Save it for Benjamin’s bed, princess.” He smirks and tugs you out of the building, lifting you onto your horse. And as he rides, your arms wrapped around his waist, you only wish you had had the wisdom to choose Tommy Shelby first.

[mommymooze]

Angelic Vision

Claude x Reader

Angelic Vision

“You look like an angel. Have you come to take me to heaven?“ Claude lies on the ground, the back of his hand across his brow.

“No, but when I pull that arrow out of you it’s going to hurt like hell.” You say as you put your knee on his chest and with both hands pull the arrow back out of Claude’s shoulder.

“Yeeowch!” Claude hollers.

You then pour healing magic into his shoulder, feeling the muscles weaving themselves back together. You stand up reaching out your hand for his other hand to help Claude up from the ground.

“Go easy on it. If you reinjure it, go find Marianne because I’m not going to fix it again.” You tell him before running off to the next injured party.

Hilda walks up to stand by the House Leader of the Golden Deer. “Why do the super smart ones always have to be so pissy?”

“Beats me, if they would loosen up or relax a little, they would have a lot more fun.” Claude shrugs.

Mail is delivered and there is a shipment of three boxes for you. Pretty darn heavy boxes. You carry them one at a time from the front gate to your room. Unlocking and opening your door you suddenly find you are not alone. Claude gives a look of shock at the number of books in your room. One entire wall is nothing but books.

“You do know they have a library here.” Claude quips

“It is useless for my research.” You grumble. “The books are old and out of date. They also do not have any ancient texts that may have useful yet forgotten applications.”

Claude is looking at the subjects and titles. “Hey mind if I borrow a few?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ll think about it. “

You’ve been hanging out with Linhardt a lot lately. He’s supposed to be helping with a project you’re working on.

“When I saw them in the library, they were getting pretty cozy.” Hilda snarkily jests.

Claude decides there is a book that he must have right now from the library. He walks in to see you back to back with a very unconscious Linhardt. You’re trying to support him with your back so he doesn’t fall over completely while you are still reading your book. You look trapped?

“Having fun?” Claude grins.

“Yeah. When Lin’s on empty he just crashes. Since Caspar isn’t here, well, I don’t want him to fall and get hurt. I can’t move him.” You groan

Claude helps you get the sleeping cleric to a couch to catch his z’s.

“Thanks. Squishy magic users don’t quite have the strength for these things.”

“I’d be happy to help you out with anything.” Claude smiles. “Call me and I’ll be there!”

You spend the afternoon gathering plants and mushrooms in the nearby woods for your studies. You’ve been working on creating antitoxins and other cures for poisons. You have several bags tied to your waist with different plants in them. Just as you’re about to reach for a particularly ugly and poisonous mushroom you hear a voice calling out your name.

“Hey! Those are really poisonous. You better watch out!”

“Oh Claude, of course I know they are poisonous. How am I supposed to make a potion to neutralize them if I don’t collect them?” You roll your eyes at him.

“Since when have you been interested in poisons?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Since Leonie took that poison arrow last battle. We didn’t have anything to counteract it and she had to suffer for over a week until the poison made it through her system.”

“You’re right. He muses. “Maybe we can work together on them sometime?”

An envelope is sealed and addressed to you. It’s the regular update from your father. Sitting down in the dining hall you groan miserably as you read.

Hilda has to know what is troubling you. “Family feud?”

“Just kill me now.” You whine.

She pats you on the shoulder. “Can’t be that bad, can it?”

“My father. I love him dearly but he meddles so much. He agreed that I could come here to further my learning. But…” You hesitate.

She looks at you, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“He told me I have to find myself a husband, preferably a noble while here. I am extremely busy with class work, spell practice, spell development, antidote, and concoction creation. I hardly have time to sleep. Oh, and don’t forget Byleth’s special projects. The guys want someone fun and outgoing like you. You’re cute and entertaining and I’m a dowdy old bookworm.”

“Awww. I am pretty awesome, that’s true.” Hilda grins. “You just need a fake boyfriend while your father is here. I bet I can find someone to help you.”

“Not Sylvain. I will kill myself.” You frown.

“I gotcha fam. Give me the deets and I will set you up.”

“Thanks Hils I owe ya.” You curtsey to her.

“Sky watch for the next month to start, hmmmm…” She ponders.

Later that evening Hilda corners Claude. “One big fat amazing opportunity has just dropped into your lap, loverboy. You better not mess this up!”

“Do tell…” Claude winks.

Tomorrow is the day your father is to arrive. You find Hilda to see if she has anything set for you. Hilda says she’s got everything under control. You’re shaking in your boots, the only thing going through your mind is that your father is going to drag you out of here kicking and screaming because you don’t have a boyfriend.

The day arrives. Standing next to the gatekeeper you watch as the carriage rolls closer and closer to the front gate. Suddenly an arm slides around your back and a familiar voice speaks, “Shouldn’t we go down and greet your father, my deer?” You look up into the sparkling emerald green eyes of Claude. Blushing terribly, you can only nod as you walk down the steps to greet your father.

Your father rushes to you with both arms open to give you a hug and spin you half way around in a circle. “My baby. It’s been so long. In these few short months I daresay you’ve grown in to a fine woman. So beautiful.” Your fathers’ cheeks are rosy and eyes are filled with love for his only daughter. “And who is this young man?” He curiously asks.

“My apologies, father.” You are gasping for breath. “This is Claude von Riegan.

Grandson to-”

Your father finishes your statement. “The Duke of the Leister Alliance!”

“And her beau.” Claude announces proudly, first bowing to your father then taking your hand and intertwines your fingers before placing a gentle kiss onto your knuckles. Your face flushes redder than a summer tomato.

Claude continues to hold your hand as he escorts the both of you to your room. The future Duke and your father are already excitedly discussing Leister business, trade and the safety of trade routes.

“I will leave you to your visit. I’ll be back in time to take you both for a grand lunch in town just across the way.” Claude smiles as he bows to your father and kisses your hand again before he leaves, his cape swishing as he turns.

You open your door to find a small table with a pitcher of ice cold water and lemons as well as two glasses and a small stack of cakes. A beautiful bouquet of daisies and roses accompanies them. Two comfortable and decorative chairs are alongside of the table. You swear you recall those chairs were in Seteth’s office not too long ago.

“Please take a seat, father.” You pour him some of the deliciously refreshing chilled water. “Tell me about your trip.” Trying to keep him focused on what has been going on at home. Every time he tries to ask about your relationship with Claude, you ask about your brothers or your aunt, anything to steer the conversation away from you. An opportune knock on the door disrupts your fathers latest attempt to discuss your relationship with the grandson of Duke Riegan.

“My apologies, we do have a reservation for lunch in town.” Claude bows deeply to the both of you. As you leave your room, Claude swiftly takes your hand. You smile nervously at him. This man is a master of deception.

Claude manages the conversation with entertaining stories of Byleth and the Golden Deer. He makes certain to include some accounts of your healing accomplishments, swearing that none of the deer would be here without your amazing abilities. You spend the entire time blushing or begging Claude to stop praising you, but he keeps going, his smile wider and wider.

At the restaurant, the waitress brings you to the table and Claude attends your chair for you. The waitress comments that it is always lovely to see you two lovebirds in here again. Does Claude have the entire town in on this? Geeez. Claude orders lunch for the both of you, as if he has done this a hundred times.

Lunch is anxious yet enjoyable. You are on the edge of your seat at all times. Claude explains how you met through the Golden Deer. You’re both supportive and loyal to the class. You found common interests in seeking cures for poisons and are very supportive of each other in battle, that you fell for his charm and good looks and that he is incredibly impressed by your intelligence and knowledge. Nothing he says is a lie, except that you two aren’t really together.

The waitress asks about dessert. Your father declines, Claude tells her the usual and your eyes get big. He squeezes your hand that he has clasped in his on the table and gives you a wink.

A small cake with two forks is placed between you. Claude quickly takes a fork and holds a piece of cake in front of your lips. You glance at him and your father. Feeding you? That’s pretty intimate. Claude smiles wider as you open slowly while he feeds you a bit of cake. You look into his eyes and tell him it is wonderful.

He cuts off another bit and takes a bite. “Delicious.” Is that an indirect kiss?

Your father is grinning at you as the cake is finished. You slightly roll your eyes with embarrassment and that fact that you can’t believe Claude is doing this.

The men argue a minute over who will pay the tab, Claude graciously thanking your father for a delightful lunch as your father foots the bill. Your father commenting that this has been the best and most entertaining lunch he has had in a long time makes you blush harder.

The conversation is quieter as everyone his happily full walking back to the monastery. Claude happily swings your hands back and forth together as you walk. Your father asks what things you will be doing soon. Claude advises they have a mission at the end of the month, and also the two of you have a date this Saturday just before sunset.

As you head back to the grounds, your father’s carriage is ready to go. Saying your goodbyes, your father gives you a long hug and whispers “Don’t let this one go, he’s a great catch.” He steps back and gives you one long admiring look.

He shakes Claude’s hand warmly, asking him to watch out for his baby girl.

“I’ll do everything in my power to protect her, sir. You can count on that.” Claude gives him one of his classic winks.

Standing at the gate, holding hands, you both wave as your father’s carriage rolls out of sight.

Claude holds his hands out to you, “A kiss for your boyfriend?” he says as he closes his eyes and puckers his lips. You laugh as you lightly slap his shoulder.

“I cannot believe you pulled this off! I thought for sure I’d be riding back with him, but you actually had him eating out of your hand!”. You laugh as you walk away. “Maybe you should see about getting into acting or the opera. I don’t think Dorothea could have pulled off a performance like that.”

You get back to your room and thankfully Seteth’s chairs are missing. The pitcher of water is still there and the flowers. You didn’t notice before, but there was a card with them.

Every day is heaven with you, my angel ~Claude.

P.S. You keep the date on Saturday at sunset.

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

🌼 any of them

Whoops, wrote a fic

Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

An optimist would look at the world of divination with wonder. The universe is a but a magnificent hall of tapestries, beautiful pieces of art woven into anything you could imagine. Tapestries where you are a hero, tapestries where you are royalty, tapestries where your people live with riches, tapestries depicting your eternal victory over your enemies. The universe is endless and bountiful, for in the future, all futures are possible.

This is how Astor usually can depict the good fortune tellers from the worse.

If they’re an optimist, they’re most likely a faker.

The only true divinator that he had met that was even a bit of an optimist was his mother, and even then, he had always had the sinking feeling that she hid a deeper sorrow behind her simple shoes of colorful flames and shining moon and starlight. No, it was quite hard to stick to true, unfiltered optimism in this field, as while it was true that all futures and choices were possible, that freewill ran its course through all who walked the vast possibilities of the universe, the issue came in the fact that you could not travel it to and fro.

There are futures where you live, there are futures where you achieve your wildest dreams, timelines where your childhood is happier, and timelines where you find true love and satisfaction.

But you aren’t in those timelines. The future you have is this one, and it is set in stone.

Walk all the roads you want, say all the words, read all the stories, but when a seer analyzed exactly what world we live in, exactly what end is destined for this string of the universe, there will be no holding back. There is only the unfiltered, raw, typically pessimistic truth of the end. Savor it.

“In truth, Elane, I hate my job. Fear it, even,” Astor set his teacup down, looking out the balcony towards the inky, midnight view. “I fear one day I will find the prediction—the true, ultimate glimpse into the night, that seals in the fact that we’re doomed.”

The Queen only cocked her head with a smile. “Well, I’m flattered that there’s still a ‘we’ in this scenario. Good to know I’ll be joining you in the lockup when my mother find our contraband cucco nuggets—“

“I’m serious, Elane.”

She only laughed quietly, before leaning back in her chair, and gazing out into the pleasant evening. “I know...”

There was a quiet between them, not quite awkward or stiffening, but quiet in the way that you might hold your breath after someone embraces you warmly. Quiet in acceptance, quiet to make room for the sounds of something rare and fickle.

“I swear, I might retire early,” Astor finally said. “Quit while I’m ahead. Head off to Hateno or Mabe and bury my head in the sand.”

“You might want to try Gerudo then, if sand is what you’re searching for. I’m sure Urbosa would be thrilled.”

“Tsk. I am inclined to disagree.”

Elane chuckled again, and she let the quiet embrace her for a moment.

“Eternal doom aside, for a moment, I would posit that there’s hardly anything to fear. You’ve foreseen my daughter’s growth, analyzed the future livelihood of the kingdom, and predicted our victory over Ganon. I’d say it’s hard to bargain with that.”

“Maybe, but I could be wrong.” Astor circled his finger on the lip of his cup. “It happens, people make a prediction, but miss one star, or slip up one word...or perhaps one cow suddenly dies, or one ember quickly fades, and suddenly we’re actually in an entirely different timeline than predicted.”

“Didymos Astor? Wrong about something? Oh my, I never thought I’d see the day...” Elane smiled to herself again as she lifted her cup for another sip.

Astor clicked his tongue. “Well. You should hope I’m not wrong about anything. If someone of my skill makes an incorrect prediction, it would probably be disastrous for everyone.”

Elane winked as she set down her cup. “Well, good thing you’re a prodigy, then.”

“Good thing, indeed.”

Quiet keep their third company once again. Astor still had not sipped from his cup, but Elane was already heading for her fourth refill, no doubt begging for any energy after tucking her daughter to bed. A young toddler with enough energy to power a Guardian army, Elane has always found it quite odd that she used up a lot of her energy to annoy the Royal Seer. It was charming to see him get put off by a Mallory’s boundless curious aura, but mostly relieving in the sense that the Queen could get a moments rest and trust little Zelda would be alright.

Elane looked back inside through the half open door, and smiled at a bundled sleeping figure, surrounded by an army of stuffed animals. She then turned back and finally noticed Astor’s continued silence on the next refill.

She sighed. “Although I would be saddened to see you leave,” she began, “If a retirement would make you happy, Astor, I would loathe to do anything to stand in your way.”

He looked up at her, analyzing her body language and expression. She was genuine, of course, as she always was in these sorts of talks. Astor finally let himself exhale in peace, as he smiled and shook his head.

“Unfortunately I don’t think it would do me much good, anyways. Location won’t let me escape my own thoughts and visions.” He took a sip of his tea—a bit citrusy this evening, a hint of apple—and relaxed. “I’d imagine His Majesty would miss me dearly, and I simply wouldn’t want to leave him in distress.”

“Ha! Oh yes of course, Rhoam would be crying tears if you left us...” she replied, sarcastically. “Tears of deep, deep sorrow.”

Astor looked out into the night in silence again, not touching his cup.

“But I’ll tell you what Astor,” Elane began again. “If you ever receive that world dooming prediction, whatever may happen that may instigate your view of the deepest hells,” she raised her cup. “You come find me, and we’ll have a drink.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A drink? What sort of drink?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you like. Tea, wine, beer, water or juice if it’s your fancy. Whatever will keep your spirits high.”

Astor smirked, solemnly. “I don’t think you understand just how severe and dreadful certain predictions can be. When we say ‘all futures are possible,’ we do mean all possibilities.”

“And I understand, dear seer. I truly do.” She tilted her head as she kept her cup in the air. “But the way I see it, is that with divination or not, doom and hell come into people’s lives one way or the other. But it hasn’t really stopped the majority from loving their lives now, has it?” Her eyes twinkled like starlight. “Dearest Astor, if our destined doom is predicted one day, I command you to at least smile through our tea party.”

Quiet.

He finally sighed, the corners of his lips perking. His protests drowning in her expression.

“I suppose if you’re the one pouring, it’d be difficult to refuse.” He raised his cup and clinked it with hers.

She was dead eight days later.

With her death came the final factor. The final star.

“Your daughter is destined to fail us,” he said again. “The Calamity shall rise and consume us all, and she won’t stop it in time.”

Rhoam slammed his fists on the desk, but the seer did not flinch. “We’ll train her hard, we’ll start now, even! I’ll get those clerics from the temple to teach her the starting prayers!” he yelled.

“It won’t work.” Astor replied, simply. “Perhaps she might attain them down the line, but she most certainly won’t awaken her powers by Ganon’s rise. It’s over.”

“You told me we could do this!” Rhoam pointed a finger, accusingly. “You saw our prosperity, our victory!”

“That was what I initially saw, yes. But unfortunately we live in world where the Queen of Hyrule is dead, and thus the threads of our future weave accordingly.”

“You’re a liar!” Rhoam bellowed again. “You saw her death, saw our end and lied to us since the beginning, haven’t you?!!”

“Don’t you think that if I knew Elane would die, I would say something?! That I would give ample time for her to say goodbye to you and her daughter??” Astor finally raised his voice, met with equal silence. “I failed to correctly analyze our timeline the first time around, and for that I am sorry. But I can not control what pieces of the future fate allows me to see. It’s not an open novel for you to give me a bad book report grade on. It’s a museum of endless tapestries, of which I am task with analyzing one stroke at a time to identify which is woven to a singular man, and the fact that I have given you a complete enough answer now is a gift within itself, so don’t even try to accuse me forgery and lies.”

The two men clenched their jaws, staring angrily at each other.

Astor finally whispered. “Overtime I might gather more specifics, but overall—this is over.”

Rhoam balles his hand into a fist. “We’ll start a new schedule for Zelda first thing in the morning—“

“It won’t work, it’s futile—“

“We’ll make it work—“

“This is set in stone, this is the world you live in—“

“Well what if you’re wrong again?”

“I’m not.”

“But what if you are?”

“I’m. Not. I’ve read the signs again and again and again, in fact I’ve been reaching the same conclusions repeatedly for the last four weeks. It. Is set. In stone.” He tapped his finger on the wood with each syllable to emphasize. “Perhaps the futures of prosperity are accurate for the Rhoams and Mallorys that live in a different time, but unfortunately for us, we live in one where Elane is dead. This is our reality and you’re doing no good denying as such.”

Silence.

Rhoam made his way towards the door. “You’re a liar.” The seer scoffed. “You’re a liar and you don’t know what you’re saying! Borderline treason if I’m being honest! You’re pathetic, and a rotten fake—“

“If it pleases His Majesty to confirm the integrity of his humble subject,” Astor cut in, sarcastically, “It might be good to know that also I’ve predicted you won’t imprison me, or exile me, or execute me, given you’re still ever reliant on my uncontested skills for more personal matters. That, and you wish to try and keep me around to hopefully prove me wrong, in which you can then tell yourself you’d be in the right to truly punish me.” He stared the regent dead in the eyes. “But don’t worry, you won’t.”

Rhoam slammed the door shut as he stomped off.

That night, Astor has another dream. Or perhaps it was a vision, he wasn’t sure, as the details were so surreal and horrific and captivating that it would have surely been a blessing to chalk it up entirely to vivid imagination.

There were screams and the sound of rocks crumbling. Bones were cracking and monsters were squealing and shrieking. And be felt his arms burn, and he felt his soul drain, and he looked down to see his skin peeling into dark flakes, his muscles, sludge. And in the distance, a young woman with golden hair laughed at him, but her eyes were hollow and gold. And she laughed and laughed as his body was slowly broken to pieces, bones torn asunder, skin burned to smoldering malice, senses vivid until the final moment when he woke.

But the good thing about nightmares, was that...that was it. There was no where else to go. There was nothing left to offer. No more pain to fear.

It made sense of course. Of course, of course. He never went to the funeral, he never offered his sympathies. There was no longer anything to mourn, as he allowed himself to view the world in its true, disgusting form. The people were doomed, and the dead, well...perhaps they might have deserved it. Yes, that was the only way this all made sense, of course. He even stopped trying to warn other folk after a few too many dozen harsh rejections to his character. No, now in complete isolation and resignation of his path, there was nothing else that could possibly drag him back to—

“How do I die?” Zelda Mallory Hyrule asked, one day.

At first, he was confused, and he turned in his chair. “What?”

She was seven at the time, and it was truly an odd and concerning thing to be coming from a seven year old girl’s mouth. Or perhaps it wasn’t, given the circumstances.

“How do I die?” she said again. She was laying down on his worn carpet, fiddling with the frilled edge.

Was she truly that bored? Already out of other questions? Hmph, he had always warned her to stay away, as a seer’s office wasn’t really meant for childish entertainment. Yet still she always came and asked to hide away from her father, and, well...anything to spite that man...

“Why do you ask?” he finally replied. Had someone said something to her? A threat? He clenched his jaw. I swear, if that fool tried to force her powers by—

“You’re always going on about how I’m wasting my time with praying and stuff...but father says I still gotta to stop the Calamity or else we could all die.” She didn’t look up from the bits of carpet string she was playing with (and contemplating on popping in her mouth), “So I figured if you tell me how I die we can settle the debate for good!”

Astor just sighed. “Well, of course you d—“

He stopped himself, but not for the reasons a more put together person, might. Not because of the generally frowned upon action of telling a child how she dies, no, that was not exactly beyond him. No, Astor cut off his sentence simply because it had crossed his mind that—

“...I’m not entirely sure...” he whispered.

He suddenly stood. Walking towards the other end of his office, carefully stepping over the child. “E-Excuse me a moment.”

Why had he never considered this? Of course, he had seen the signs clearly enough, the visions, the stars. A girl cries over a corpse, a light vanishes in the night. Malice plagued the sky and dooms the day. But did the Calamity actually kill her? Does she drown in rubble and malice like the others? Slain by a demon or monster perhaps? Or if not, then, would that mean...?

The princess soon forgot about the question by the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next.

Astor spent nearly eight sleepless nights into finding an answer.

But he never truly did.

These things happened more times than one may think, when it came to predictions. Vagueness was commonplace, but specificities and straightforward answers were about as rare as a green sunset. Of course, he knew she would die, goddess blood or not, she lived the life of a mortal. But how? When? While it certainly wasn’t impossible to predict a person’s death, but whatever the circumstances of Mallory’s was made the process was infuriatingly impossible.

It was possible she would die of malice or suffocation under rubble, even circumstances where she dies at the Ganon’s hand himself. But then there were clear visions of her living, walking through a grassy field, ruins in the distance covered in leaves and moss, her turning and calling to a friend to keep up with her pace.

But no, nonono. She would die during the Calamity’s rise, that was the majority of what the futures offered to her were. That was the probable outcome.

But the factors and visions and signs and alignments were so fine and minuscule in difference, that Astor truly couldn’t a true statement, a true prediction, a true answer to the question. What timeline did we live in?

It taunted him.

Maybe it was better if the question was put to rest, did it even matter?

“Mallory?” he asked. “That’s a stupid name.”

“What?! No it’s not!” Elane laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Please, YOU’RE not one to talk.”

“Well as a victim of stupid first names, I think I’m qualified to speak accurately on the subject.”

“Aha! But it’s not technically a first name.” Elane tapped his head. “It’s a middle name, her first name would be ‘Zelda,’ of course.”

“Yes, and that is also a s—“

The queen shoved his shoulder into the wall before he even finished the sentence. “Oh would you shut up...”

He laughed, unconventionally carefree. Her Majesty’s happiness these days truly was contagious. Or perhaps that was a side effect of pregnancy? Did all expecting mother’s give off this aura?

“I think it’s a wonderful name.” Elane said. “Reminds me of a cute little duck, like a mallard!” She tucked her arms and flapped her elbows to imitate as such. “Quack, quack!”

“This is further adding to my argument actually”

“Hmph! Ok then Mr. Overseer of all names” She tapped a finger to his chest. “If it’s such a stupid name, then when she starts getting bullied for it around the castle, I shall expect you to take care of her in full.”

He scoffed. “Oh, I’ll be sure to do so. She’ll definitely need it.”

Elane pecked his head with a kiss.

“Good! I grant you my blessing lovingly tease her, as well. And I expect the best from you, Astor!”

His face suddenly warmed for some reason, and he couldn’t form words.

“What?”

“.....W...”

He was suddenly whack in the head with a rolled up piece of paper. Astor sprang awake from his desk. “...W...What...?”

“Morning, Mr. Astor!!” Princess Zelda-Mallory beamed. “And happy birthday!!! Sorry I woke you up early, but I needed to give this to you before the winter solstice festival later and—“

She continued to ramble on and on, but Astor simply opened the rolled up paper she had handed to him. It was simply filled with dozens and dozens, arguably hundreds, of hand drawn stars. In the corner was written, “You always look at the same stars so here’s some new ones!” in crude purple crayon. At the time, he failed to notice the accompanying note on the back that read “One for each year of how old you are!” Thankfully he was too busy looking through the different stars, with varying degrees of sparkles and smiley faces.

He finally looked back at the princess, who was still rambling on and on about her day, and her father’s day, and her newest stuffy dress, and her latest adventures with her stuffed toys, and—

“Why are you always here, Zelda?” Astor finally said. She stopped talking, looking at him, quizzically. “I mean...” he grumbled, “You know I don’t really like you, right?

“Eh, I don’t care. I think you’re neat!!” She held out her arms as she zoomed around his circular office. “Your room is so cool! And you got fun books!”

“Necromancy isn’t necessarily what I would consider ‘fun’ reading material—“

“Plus your outfits are cool, and you’re super smart, like my mom.”

He blinked.

“Plus, you’re the only one that’s not mean to me about my dumb powers. But really that’s just a chair on the top!”

“Do you mean cherry on top?”

“No! I meant chair! Watch me!! I’m gonna do a backflip off of this—“

“NO.” Astor immediately stood up, and snatched the girl off of the wooden chair. “NO. No backflips.” He set her down on the rug and pointed to a side of the room which held a broken table, stool, and a few old chairs—the victims of the princess’ previous acrobatic attempts.

She crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m running out of furniture, is what I am.”

“But I’ll let this slide since it’s your birthday! Hmph.”

She started pulling at the loose threads of the carpet. “Don’t know why you had to stop my birthday backflip! Who cares if I get a little scratch?”

“I do—“

“YOU DO?!” Mallory was immediately up and clinging to his robes.

Astor sputtered, instinctively waving his arms to free himself from the child’s grip. But then he finally processed her question, and...

“I...” He looked at her starlight eyes. She had that stupid, naive grin that he always remembered from her mother. A stupid, pathetic, horrible, terrible, optimistic smile.

He finally scoffed. “I just can’t have you getting hurt on my watch, as otherwise, I’d probably be a dead man. That’s all.”

The princess lifted her hands in a “hooray!” fashion, and yelled the exclamation, accordingly. She then resumed her zipping and zooming around the room, much to Astor’s unexpected relief.

That night, he visited the question again.

Why? He didn’t really know.

The question wouldn’t offer him anything, it wouldn’t relieve him of anything—in fact it really did just the opposite. If he found that died miserably, it would be another scream in the nightmare, another nail in the comforting coffin of despair. But if he someone found that she lived, that there was a day after the Calamity, where even a child such as her could possibly prosper...

Having hope and seeing it fail anyway would probably be the most torturous of all.

Again, he had a dream, of a world tainted by blood and malice. But this time he was floating. He was floating and watching the end of it all.

Castle Town was nothing but ruins and ash, and no colors existed but red, black, and grey.

He couldn’t hear anything but a shrill hum in his ears, but he knew there was screaming. He looked to his hand, expecting to see malice or blackened skin, but instead found a strange floating device in his palm. It spin slowly, pink constellations drifting across its surface.

The hum in his ears turned into a groan, and then a whisper. It said something familiar, but he was sure he had never heard it before.

It is time.

The next night he had a dream of a girl standing in a green field, calling out to her friends somewhere behind her. She rested under the ruins of a collapsed pillar, and ate a homemade sandwich with a memorable smile.

Astor reached a conclusion.

In most futures, the girl dies horribly. He wrote in his journal. To be expected, I would assume the rise of the Calamity isn’t exactly easy to survive from.

But what I have discovered is a very specific set of circumstances that lead to a more favorable outcome, at least for her.

I have no way of knowing if it accurately depicts the comings of our time, or another. There are too many variables and specifics. Too long I have spent trying to discern our fate, but the probabilities and possibilities for doom are so interchangeable that it really go either way. The only truth I know is that she lives if—

He paused, tapping the dry quill to the desk again in thought. He dipped it once more.

I’ve decided that if I ever find myself in the scenario where I can solidify her a more favorable destiny, I will take it. I can only hope dare to alter my existing nightmare into something different, there’s really nothing left to lose, is there?

Astor leaned in his chair for a moment, savoring the silence of his office. He looked out the window and took in the night. The stars were gorgeous this evening.

Although if it fails I hope it kills me.

Call it arrogance, but I don’t think I can handle being wrong again.

The seer sighed, then suddenly flipped to the next blank page, angrily.

If I had never met her it would have been fine. If I had just minded my own damn business and continued to work in being resigned to our fate, at least then I could have—

There was a soft knock at his door.

He knew who it was.

Astor pinched the bridge of his nose as he opened it. “It’s past 2am, Princess, what could you possibly have to tell me?”

She looked down and shuffled her feet. “I had a nightmare...”

“Yes, people do have those sometimes.” He immediately closed the door.

Another knock.

After a moment, Astor opened it again. “Don’t you have guards outside your room, how did you sneak up here?”

“Secret tunnel!” She grinned, proudly, as she replied with a sort of sing-song tone.

“That’s nice.”

The door slammed shut again.

She knocked once more. There was the longest pause.

“FFFFFFine!” The world was out of his lips before he even fully swung open the door, and Mallory happily scrambled inside. “But no touching anything, I’m working.”

“It’s ok, I just wanna stay up all night and read your books!” She was already scrambling for the necromancy section, again.

Astor sighed, and went to slump back into his desk. The princess was already sprawled across the floor, distracting herself with another stack of wondrous, ill-recommended book. He didn’t really care.

I don’t really care. He wrote once again. I know there are futures where I dedicate myself to the Calamity, and she dies anyway. I know it doesn’t really matter, I know it’s hopeless to care, and that’s why I don’t.

He looked back at Zelda, he saw her slowly blink back her tiredness. He knew in a few hours or so, he’d have to drop her sleepy figure back off to those useless guards, and berate then for letting her wander off again, as it always was.

If I do this and it’s all for nothing, he began, I fear it will be worse than if I had just stood to the side and perished. It’s already doomed, and this pathetic, foolish optimism might cause me to turn this nightmare into something even worse.

He sighed, and the hours passed as he just sat with his thoughts.

Zelda was using and open book as a pillow.

Astor opened the door, and went to pick her up.

I’m not living through another nightmare. He thought, as he descended the stairs from the observatory. The girl’s breathing was steady as she wrapped an arm by his shoulder.

If it fails I hope it kills me before I see it. He repeated again.

I can’t handle being wrong again.

[stormobsessed]

Avatar: The Last Bondsmith

So, I had made THIS POST about a Zuko Windrunner and his Spren Iroh, and there were a lot of comments about other radiant orders for the other characters, and a strong argument for Zuko not actually being a windrunner because his arc was less about protecting people and more about facing hard truths. That may be Lightweaver, but Lightweaver is personal truths, and Zuko doesn’t have a lot of personal lies, but is entrenched in the lies of his nation. I feel like fixing that is very Truthwatcher. 

Then… this happened, I hope you enjoy. 

The Fire Nation was full of Lightweavers. It was a court of secrets, of hidden faces, of lies. Men and women and children claimed loyalty when they felt fear, claimed morality as they killed innocent, stayed silent when they wanted to speak, and were practiced at confessing to only their spen rather than risking the words aloud. As time wore and generations changed, it came to pass that nearly every radiant in the Nation was accompanied by a cryptid, one corrupted Sja-anat and blessed by Odium to accept voidlight. The Fire Lord claimed that was good, for the Lightweavers were clearly the strongest order of radiants, with powers and abilities that overshadowed all others. He proclaimed across their country that it was this that showed that they alone deserved to rule. 

The Cryptids loved this lie. 

Was it a lie though? After all, they killed Honor and every one of his windrunners when Odium sent a comet leaking voidlight through the sky. 

Odium loved the passion and anger of the Fire nation as they utilized it and stormlight to begin razing the rest of the world to the ground, the cryptids cared not for honorable or right, only true. Sometimes the truth was cruel and ugly. 

Firelord Ozai was not shamed by truths other men dared not speak. He fully confessed to himself that he was cruel, a monster, that his campaign was about personal growth rather than the love of his nation. He held those truths so clearly, that his power was great. Great enough that when he touched his son’s face in a duel and felt dry, flaking skin, he said ‘you are fire’ and it did not disobey. 

Not even when the child screamed. 

The son was failing, only sworn to the first ideal, if any. Ozai had never seen his son’s spren, in fact if any had it would have been his traitorous, Stoneward mother with her weak oaths of being there for others. She’d broken her oaths though. She was not here for her children. In assassinating Azulon and fleeing she’d saved her son, but killed her spen. 

The boy was weak. He was too hot headed, too honest. He wore his heart on his sleeve and said every word that he thought. Sometimes Ozai doubted that he had Truth to speak at all. He was completely unlike his sister, a prodigy who could weave illusion nearly as soon as she could walk. She soulcast before the age of five. She was the most skilled Lightweaver to be born in decades. 

She had to be. She couldn’t reveal that she could not say the last truth, could not make herself try to accept it, even if the ghostly lightweaving vision of her mother that visited every night said it without fail. She couldn’t accept it. After all, if she was a monster without even the love of her mother, then surely no one could blame her for the atrocities she commited, it was simply in her nature. It was why she could smile at the duel, why she could laugh as her brother was sent on an impossible quest, why she could focus on how much closer that made her to the throne. 

Odium liked that, the passion of her people, the passion of her family, her passion. 

Zuko had passion as well, but it was not a kind that Oduim enjoyed. 

So Zuko was banished, for an impassioned speech to save men Odium considered no better than discarded toys. An impassioned plea for a useless passion. 

Zuko was almost relieved, for it gave him the opportunity to hide that his spren was not a cryptid at all. His mistspren, Iroh, spoke in a light accent that almost always had a proverb or a chuckle, and the few times Zuko risked looking into shadesmar, he found a rotund, smiling old man. Upon materializing in the material world, one of the first things he did was hear someone offer a cup of tea to a man who was distraught, and had latched onto that. Zuko could barely say a word without the kindly spren suggesting a tea break. 

Zuko feared the day that he would be material enough to actually carry the tea leaves to a cup. 

But Zuko… couldn’t say the ideals. He didn’t know what they would mean. Not at first. It wasn’t until he left a stonewards home in the Earth Kingdom, after days of hearing nothing but hate and fear towards his people, that he felt the words at his lips. 

“I will seek the truth, even when it is painful to me.” 

“Well done, Prince Zuko.” Iroh had said. “Now, how about some tea.” 

“We’re in the middle of the dessert.” 

“So?” 

“There’s no tea anywhere within a hundred miles of here!” 

“Well, all you need for tea is leaves, yes? I will find pre-tea.” 

“No, it’s not any leaves! You can’t just-” 

But Zuko almost feared that oath, for what did it mean for his mission that would restore him to his home? He was more powerful now, but would that be enough to capture the Bondsmith that he had been chasing for months? 

The bondsmiths were rare, after all, only three spren could form a bondsmith pack, and two had been damaged so dearly that they were as dead as a Spren of their nature could be for nearly a century. There was only one spren whose identity had been unknown, the spren created by the slain honor, the Avatar. 

A century past, when all manner of radiants were formed in all manner of locations, Windrunners found themselves drawn to one another, taking shelter in mountain top homes across the world where they could immediately be sent out to help others. For warriors, they were a peaceful people who desired not to fight, but to protect. Though honor spren bonded men and women of every people back then, nearly every member of the Air Nomads was a windrunner, as the men and women lived and taught their ideals. 

Aang was young when he bonded his spren, not the youngest but still young. The Windrunners wondered why they never saw the boy’s spren after he swore the first ideal, but reasoned that while honor spren were not often shy, each had their own distinct personalities and a timid spren could only help the foolhardy boy. They questioned why he did not use the gravitational lashing, though relaxed when he was able to use the surge of adhesionc Different people excelled at different elements of surge binding after all.

However, Aang was seeing a world that was starting to crack under the pre-war tensions. He saw merchants refusing trades with other nations, sneers and insults and hate. When his two closest friends, Bumi and Kuzon, both confessed that their parents forbade them from playing together, he couldn’t take it. He hated to see the balanced world tearing itself apart and uttered the words with a yell “I will unite instead of divide!” 

He was the youngest bondsmith to ever bond a spren, but the Avatar, a spren element of honor who upheld balance and unity, was sure of its choice oice. However, ironically the bond did nothing but divide him from others his age. It drove a chasm between him and his playmates, as they recognized his unique and great power. When the elders spoke, and threatened to separate the boy of unity from the only family he’d ever known he’d panicked and fled, ending up in a storm and utilizing his powers to create a protective shell around himself and his pet, his ever-renewing stormlight keeping him alive as his body froze. 

As a hundred years passed the world changed. Spren were killed, oaths were broken, and radiants were captured and tortured, until in some places, such as the Southern Water Tribe, no radiants bonded at all. None except for one girl, Katara, the daughter of a chief who saw a decimated people barely able to survive and vowed not to forget them. Who saw their pleas for help being ignored and promised to listen to those without a voice. The edgedancer glided through the stiffest snow like it was clear ice and scaled glaciers like the handholds formed at her whim. She healed the sick and wounded as her brother, Sokka, a non-radiant protected and bore the tribe’s last, hidden shardblade. 

Their father had entrusted the shardblade to him before disappearing to fight in the war, knowing that the benefit to having the blade would be outweighed by the enemies that would seek it, and the allies that were willing to become enemies to obtain it. The blade was large, a straight line of sheer unworldly black. If one were to peak into shadesmar, they would find a peakspren with skin of dark stone following the blade. If they looked closely, they might see the spren tilt its head when the boy lovingly talked to his weapon. 

In this changed world there is also a willshaper. A young girl in a gilded cage who longs to be free and wishes that others have that same option. A girl whose parents immediately, upon seeing cloudy eyes, traveled to the Nightwatcher in search of their boon and curse. Perhaps they hadn’t been clear enough, for they asked that their daughter could see the world, but her eyes did not grow clear. However, as the child began to walk upon stone itself, discarding fancy shoes and plush carpets, she found that with each step she could feel and hear the ground beneath her feet. The stone would tell her where she was, what was near, and what those around her were doing. She found a vision far beyond mere sight of the eyes, a vision constantly being renewed by light leeched from the stones themselves, just enough to keep this one power constant. This was the boon of the Nighwatcher. What was the curse? None can say. Perhaps it was that the girls parents would never truly understand the gift of the boon. Perhaps it was that the girl would never feel happy in the left they wished to foist upon her. Perhaps it was something else entirely. It didn’t matter, for when the Bondsmith, the Edgedancer, and the Shardbearer came, she could no more stay with her parents than she could break her oaths. She was taking the chance to be free. 

There were others in this world as well. There was a warrior in a green dress and war makeup, who had bonded no spren but enjoyed watching the windspren dance around her fans. The Honor spren were said to all have died in the genocide but… she couldn’t help but hope as she protected her people, then left to protect others that needed her. 

There was a princess with white hair, with startling insights into the truth of the spirit world and who would one day use her stormlight to use regrowth on a spirit, condemning herself to death on wounds she didn’t have light enough to heal. 

There was an elderly inventor, an elsecaller who had used transportation to bring himself and his crippled son to a safe place where he could work on creating fabrials to stop the war. Though, when he was discovered by the Fire Nation his work did nothing but perpetuate it. 

There was a teen of messy hair, whose spen formed dual blades. He was a skybreaker, bound to the ideal that the Fire Nation was evil, that their very presence in the world was a wrong that needed to be corrected. He lashed himself into trees and created a home for children, teaching them his ways and bonds. 

There was a girl of the Fire Nation, who was so often mistaken for her own many siblings that she was determined never to forget anyone else. She danced on the world, walking wires like it would be impossible that she should fall, gliding when others walked. 

Her friend, a willshaper who had been trapped by chains of propriety and expectation, who spoke to the ground to form weapons of peerless balance, who would appear without warning, and whose enemies often went down before knowing they were in danger. 

Zuko sought the Avatar’s Bondsmith, facing foe after foe as he travelled the world. He could find no edgedancer or truthwatcher who could heal the scar that marked him traitor, that marked him an honorless traitor. His surges were weak with the second oath, and Iroh could not form a blade until the next was spoken, leaving him with simple steel. 

In fact, it wasn’t until he had achieved his purpose, the Avatar-Bondsmith supposedly dead through the bold of ribbon that Azula had soulcast into lightening, that he was able to profess the next ideal. Name restored, sitting at the right hand of his father, he realized that there was no truth in the Fire Nation. He realized that everything he had learned his whole life were beautiful lies. He knew the truth now, and Iron sat at his shoulder with a weakening voice, imploring him not to break his oath. 

It was only then that he knew what words were pushing at his mouth, as he whispered to himself, broken, “I will see the truth declared, in spite of those who would try to hide it.” 

When he stood, Iroh was a set of Dual Doas in his hand, and he marched to confront his father on the day that Odium’s Voidlight would be eclipsed. 

[paintedwithapalette]

SoKai Week Day 1 - Paopu Fruit 

Word Count: 4, 054

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

To Sora and Kairi, it was like being on an emotional high. 

Through time, their bond had hardened like concrete—impenetrable. It was beyond latent feelings at this point, it was a harmonious compound of encouragement, support, admiration, and most of all, trust. 

With their hands intertwined and legs dangling as they were bundled together close on the paopu fruit tree, these emotions ran rapid with just a single touch. The salty air and the seagulls squawking overhead was nothing short of the pleasantries the two had become familiar with. Though, it would’ve meant little if they didn’t have each other. 

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of this place,” Kairi said, closing her eyes and allowing the wind to gently caress her face. “I know in my heart that this isn’t where I come from, but to me, this is home.”

“It always has been,” Sora validated. 

“You think so?” 

“Of course! This place wouldn’t be the same without you, you know?” Sora sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “And hey, I’d be a total wreck without you. Do you know how many times I probably would’ve fell to darkness if it weren’t for you being by my side?” 

“True. You’re pretty much hopeless without me,” she teased. 

“Hey!” Fabricating a look of hurt, he pulled her in closer with one swift motion and sent Kairi into a fit of giggles all the while. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I think even you can figure that out, dork.” 

Another five minutes passed as they wrestled, mostly consisting of Sora trying to pull Kairi in close while she pretended to reject his advances, no matter how much she loved every second of it. As their laughter died down, they settled into a comfortable embrace; the warmth of Sora’s arms encompassed around her petite frame. They sat in a comfortable stillness, no words traded between them as neither broke eye contact until Kairi tucked some hair behind her ear with a soft giggle. 

“What’s that goofy look for?” she asked. 

“Sorry,” Sora apologized insincerely, putting on a grin. “Guess I just don’t want to forget that I’m the luckiest guy in the world.” 

Kairi’s blush intensified along with the ends of her lips. “You’re such a cornball.” 

Sora chuckled nervously as he scratched his cheek as he imagined how much Donald would tease him if he heard that one. “Yeah, well…” 

“It’s okay,” Kairi said. “I like how cheesy you are.” 

“Well, there’s plenty more where that came from!” Sora pulled her in with an even tighter embrace, once again making Kairi burst into laughter. 

When it died down, she rested her palm against his face and used her thumb to travel across the texture of his soft skin. “Looks like you really never did change,” she said.  

Sora smiled, tenderly taking hold of her hand. “Of course I didn’t.” 

Their smiles were radiant, weaved with affection as a sheen of desire shimmered over Kairi’s eyes when she noticed Sora looking at her lips. Their anticipation surged as their proximity decreased, their faces inching closer, closer, and closer... 

“Sora!” 

A yelp escaped them both as whatever tension there may have been dissipated and they held each other even tighter. Their nerves settled as Donald and Goofy entered their light of vision, the voice clearly belonging to the former of the two. 

“Donald? Goofy?” Sora asked. “What’s up?” 

“Riku and the King wanted us to tell you about the bonfire tonight,” Donald explained. “Since we’ll be celebrating the return of a half-pint like you, Sora.” 

Goofy took note of the fact that neither of the two had let go of the other since Donald spooked them. “Gawrsh, I shore hope we aren’t interruptin’ you all.” 

“Uh, no, of course not!” Sora gave a sheepish grin as he rubbed the back of his head. 

“Gee, then how come your face is red, Sora?” Goofy asked.

“Awwww, isn’t that sweet?” Donald teased, clasping his hands together and bringing them up to the side of his face. 

“Could you cut that out?” Sora clenched a fist as Donald burst into laughter. “No offense, but can you two buzz off? Kind of in the middle of something here.” 

“Guess we oughta stop meddlin’ then, a-hyuk,” Goofy said with a chuckle as he made his leave with his usual gangly walk. Donald didn’t stray too far behind. 

“And remember to behave, Sora. Mind your manners,” Donald joked. 

“Knock it off!” Sora shouted as his friends entered the seaside shack. “That’s it. He’s gonna regret this the next time I see him alone with Daisy.” 

Kairi found Sora’s frustration amusing as she placed her hand on his cheek, directing his focus back to her. “Well, don’t worry. We still have plenty of time to ourselves, right?” 

It wasn’t long before whatever Donald had said before became irrelevant as Sora fell into a goofy smile. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

At least, so he thought until a frisbee smacked the back of his head. “Ouch!” Sora cried as he massaged the tender spot and turned around to spot Lea catching the frisbee just in time. Sora should’ve expected as much since it wasn’t uncommon for Lea, Isa, and Ven to have their fairly regular frisbee games around this time. Still, wasn’t it odd that it somehow hit his head? 

“Yo! Sorry ‘bout that,” Lea called, waving. 

“Aww, no biggie,” Sora called back. He returned his focus to Kairi once again but it didn’t take more than a few minutes before the frisbee hit him in the back of the head again. This time, Lea received a frown. 

“Sorry, butterfingers!” Lea said, though this time Sora noticed Ven covering his mouth with both hands while Isa rolled his eyes. 

Sora slowly turned back around to face Kairi, giving him an understanding smile. “Think maybe we should find a different spot?” 

Sora shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s just an honest mistake.” Despite his words, his eyes narrowed as if he were waiting. Ten minutes passed and nothing occurred. The three seemed to continue about their own business. Sora let out a sigh of relief. 

“Now, where were we?” Sora said, his usual smile returning before it was derailed less than a second later when the frisbee came hurtling right into the back of his head. 

“Sorry again!” Lea apologized through the laughter he was failing horribly to stifle. “M-My fingers slipped!” 

Sora growled, having had more than enough as he pushed himself off the tree, helping Kairi down all the while, as he took her hand and marched towards the seaside shack. Kairi had no objections but was left wondering where their next destination lied. “Where are we going?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. 

“Away from those jerks,” Sora said vaguely. 

When Sora and Kairi exited the seaside shack, Lea and Ven were quick to catch up to them. 

“Aww, where you goin’, buddy?” Lea asked, draping an arm around his shoulder as he pinched Sora’s cheek. “We didn’t mean to interrupt you guys. Was I disrupting the mood? It’s just that you two are just so darn cute.” 

Sora grumbled under his breath but ignored Lea as he led (pulled, more accurately) Kairi inside the Secret Place, ignoring the howls of laughter from Lea and Ventus echoing in the short distance. 

When Sora and Kairi made it inside, the former scoped the place out in search of any unwanted souls in the area. Thankfully, it looked empty as Sora let out a relieved sigh and smiled. He loved all of his friends dearly, but even he wanted some space every now and then to be with the girl of his dreams. He looked back at Kairi, their hands still attached. 

“Think the coast is clear?” Kairi asked with a cheeky grin. 

“Yeah, I think so.” Sora rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry about that. Hope I can at least make it up to you.” 

Kairi shook her head softly as she wrapped her arms around the base of his neck, momentarily catching Sora by surprise before he carefully held her waist, bringing their foreheads together. “You already did.” 

“I did?” 

“Yes,” Kairi answered without hesitation. Her eyes traveled over to the drawings they made as kids handing each other a paopu fruit. “By just being you. I told you before all of this that I wanted you to never change and you haven’t. That’s more than enough for me.” 

“Kairi...” 

Before their lips could seal the deal, they heard a sharp squeal in the short distance. They immediately detached themselves from each other and scoped out the area. 

“Who’s there?” Sora asked, returning to his previous look of defense. 

Kairi narrowed her eyes, taking mindful steps as her eyes wandered over the cave until she heard hushed voices. 

“I told you not to freak out over this, you dip,” said a hushed male voice. 

“Shut up! They’re super cute! What do you want me to do?” asked an equally hushed female voice in return. 

Kairi was able to pinpoint the voices from behind the large rock with a less than flattering face drawn on it. Making sure not to alert whoever happened to be back there, she tiptoed over until she looked behind the rock to find nothing. She raised her eyebrow. 

Meanwhile, Sora turned around and saw two individuals making a poor attempt at being stealthy as they tried to crawl out of the Secret Place unseen. “Hey!” he shouted. 

The two culprits, a.k.a Tidus and Selphie, looked up like deer caught in the headlights. The former of the two bumped into the rear of the latter, sending them both to the ground. 

“Tidus? Selph?” Kairi voiced as she emerged from the other side of the rock. 

Selphie scrambled back up to her feet, knocking Tidus back down in the process as she approached her best girl friend. “I-It’s not what it looks like!” 

Tidus rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head. “Except it’s totally what it looks like.” The comment earned him a scowl from Selphie. 

“Were you two spying on us?” Kairi asked. 

Selphie bit her lip and averted her eyes. “W-Well, that’s uh...”

“It was her idea,” Tidus accused with a sharp finger pointed at Selphie, though the brunette didn’t deny it as she fiddled with her fingers. 

“Selphie...” Kairi admonished. 

“I’m sorry! I just heard you two like to come here a lot Lea and, uh... I dunno, I was a teeny bit curious to see how far you guys were gonna go. And you’re just soooo cute!” 

Sora sighed as he shrugged defeatedly. 

“That’s... sweet, Selphie, but boundaries would be nice sometimes, you know?” Kairi chastised kindly. 

Selphie bowed her head in shame. “Yeah, I know...” 

Sora crossed his arms. He was beginning to think this island was too crowded for his liking. “Well, uh, we’ll leave you two to it then,” he said somewhat hastily. 

Kairi was caught off-guard when Sora moved past Selphie and took her hand in one swift motion as he hurried out of the Secret Place. 

“W-Wait!” Selphie said, reaching out for them. “I just need to know if you guys have gotten to third-ba—” 

Tidus covered Selphie’s mouth and pulled her back before she made the situation any more awkward than she already had. 

“Just don’t, Selph.” 

After having to feel the brunt of Lea’s teasing once again, Sora led Kairi to the wooden door leading to the cove. Sora and Kairi briefly examined the area before hopping across the broken bridge that led to the other side. 

“Watch your step,” Sora warned. 

Kairi puffed out her chest. “Hey, don’t you worry about me, I think by now I’ve learned a thing or twoowhoa!” she sputtered as she nearly tripped over herself when she landed on the other side before Sora caught her in the nick of time. He carefully brought her back up to her feet.

“You okay?” Sora asked with genuine concern. 

Kairi found the will to stop ogling and cast him a smile. “Yes.” 

They stood in a comfortable silence before they heard feet pattering against the sandy surface in the short distance. 

“Woof, woof! Woof, woof!” 

Before he even had a chance to react, Sora was tackled to the floor by Pluto and it only took a second longer for his face to be submerged in the dog’s drool. 

“Aww, Pluto,” Sora whined, though Kairi couldn’t bite back the laughter that escaped her even if she wanted to. Once Sora’s face was appropriately drenched, he moved over to Kairi and would’ve nearly pounced on her as well if Kairi didn’t catch him in time. She still gave him plenty of chin scratches and pets to assure him his appearance wasn’t entirely unwelcome. 

“It’s very nice to see you, too,” Kairi greeted. “How’ve you been, boy?” 

“Gosh,” said a familiar high-pitched voice. “Sorry about that, you two. You know how Pluto can get sometimes.” 

King Mickey approached them along with Riku. The latter chuckled as Kairi took a handkerchief out of one of the pockets of her pink shorts, dabbing Sora’s face once she was free from Pluto. 

“Sorry, were we interrupting something?” Riku asked, a sly grin on his face. 

Sora cleared his throat. “Uh, well...” 

“Yes, you are,” Kairi answered boldly, though her words betrayed the smile on her face. 

Riku raised his hands in defense. “Don’t mind us, we were just trying to get a little training in. But if you needed a little bit of privacy, then by all means...” 

Riku stepped out of the way, presenting the rest of the cove to them, empty and barren for their disposal. Kairi sent an appreciative smile while Sora bashfully scratched his cheek. 

“Thanks, Riku,” Sora said as he and Kairi moved past them. Riku playfully saluted while he and Mickey shared a chuckle. They were about to leave along with Pluto before they saw Lea charging in hot. 

“Hey, Sora! I got somethin’ for ya,” he cried. 

Riku calmly grabbed the back of Lea’s shirt before he could get any closer and yanked him back. “I don’t think so.” 

“No, but it’s really important! I swear,” Lea said.

“What is it?” Mickey asked. 

“I’m locked out of my house and I need his Keyblade to unlock it.” 

Riku and Mickey shared a look. “You do realize more than half of us have Keyblades, right? Matter of fact, don’t you have a Keyblade?” 

“And don’tcha live in Twilight Town?” Mickey added. 

“I… I just moved here?” Lea gave a sheepish grin. “Today, actually. Crazy coincidence, am I right?” 

Riku and Mickey shared a look of disbelief before nodding to affirm they were on the same page. Despite his protests, they grabbed Lea by his shoulders as they dragged him away from the scene. 

Sora and Kairi were left to themselves as their eyes wandered the cove, a wave of nostalgia flooding over them both as memories lurked in every nook and cranny of this area of the island. 

“Hey, remember when the raft used to be here?” Kairi asked as she wrapped her arms behind her back. “It’s almost like... this is where everything started.” 

“How could I forget?” Sora asked with a chuckle. “We worked so hard on that thing. It’s a shame we never got to give it a try.” 

“It’s a nice thought, wondering what would’ve happened had we been together the whole time setting sail on the sea. But honestly...” Kairi walked towards the shore, her arms tied behind her back as she looked to the sky wistfully. “If I could go back and change how everything went down, I don’t think I would.” 

“Really?” Sora tilted his head. 

Mm hm.” Kairi nodded, pursing her lips into a tight smile. “It may not have been ideal, but being able to go inside your heart, being able to see things through your eyes and feel the things that you felt... how much you cared about me and wanted nothing more than to make sure I was safe... maybe we’re this close because of that. And ever since then, no matter what, we always find our way back to each other again.” She turned around and faced him. “I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Not for one second.” 

Sora was left speechless for a moment until a certain warmth washed him over. “Kairi...” he said quietly, his eyes trained on the sand. “I guess sometimes I just wish I could’ve done better for you. You spent all that time having to watch from the sidelines, waiting for me to come home because I kept leaving you all alone. I guess sometimes I wish I could’ve done better for you.”

Kairi sighed, but she settled into a gentle smile as she carefully approached him in good spirits. “Sora, go into your back pocket for me please.” 

Sora raised an eyebrow. “Uh, sure.” 

He did as told and dug into his back pocket and retrieved the good luck charm she had given him all those years ago. Since then, she wanted him to keep it permanently as a reminder of the bond they shared. Sora had come to treasure it deeply. 

“Even if we’re apart, we’re not alone anymore,” Kairi said. “Remember that?” 

Sora looked over the charm and the face, his own face, she drew grinning back at him. His eyes shimmered as the memories came back. “Yeah,” he said. “We made a promise.” 

Kairi nodded. “We did. No matter what happens, no matter how far apart we are...” 

She took Sora’s hand and gently closed them around the good luck charm. 

“We’ll always find each other,” she said with a soft smile. “No matter what.”  

After a moment of silence, Sora nodded. “You’re right.” He gripped his lucky charm harder. “I don’t think I would trade anything in the world for that either.” 

“So, don’t worry about that stuff. In the end, I think it made me stronger. Not just me, but you too. And besides, I love you just the way you are, no matter how much of a hopeless goofball you are.” 

“Thanks, Kai—hey, wait a minute! You take that back.” 

Kairi giggled as she ran away. “But it’s the truth! You said it yourself.” 

Sora grinned. “Okay, you asked for it!” 

Sora chased Kairi all over the cove, leaving no stone unturned as they playfully teased each other all the while. Sora could have easily caught up to her before, but after all the training Kairi had received, she was a lot trickier to catch these days. Their misadventures ranged from running behind the coconut trees to splashing each other in the sea. 

At one point, Kairi was running away after she casted Waterga magic on Sora (which Sora thought was cheating but at least he had an Aeroga spell to dry himself fast). 

“Now, you’re really gonna get it!” Sora declared as he chased after her. 

“I’d like to see you try!” 

Sora looked ahead and put on a look of surprise. “Oh, hey Riku!” 

Kairi stopped in her tracks. “Riku?” Before she had a second longer to react, Sora grabbed her by the waist from behind. 

“Gotcha!” he said, a toothy smile as Kairi kicked her legs out. 

“No!” she said in-between her giggles. “Lemme go, you lazy bum!” 

“Nuh uh, I need my revenge.” Sora put on a malicious smile as he began tickling her sides. Kairi howled with uncontrollable laughter. 

“Sora…! I-I can’t!” Kairi sputtered. 

“Ha! Not so tough are ya now, huuuuhaaaaah!” Sora couldn’t finish his comment before he tripped over himself while backing up. He fell to his back, taking the brunt of the fall while he caught Kairi in the nick of time as she fell on top of his chest. They landed in the middle of shrubbery and gorgeous flowers that bloomed brilliantly near the ladder that led to the zipline. 

After a brief stint of silence, they ultimately laughed at the situation at hand. This felt right. This was how it should’ve been. The stars had aligned and the universe was finally working in their favor. So it seemed, at least. Kairi wanted to last forever. 

But she knew deep down all good things must come to an end. 

“Hey,” she said suddenly. “I have a surprise for you.” 

Before Sora could question her, she went into her back pocket and pulled out a paopu fruit. How she was able to carry that back there, she wasn’t sure but neither of them questioned it. 

“I know we’ve already shared one before, but... I kind of want to relive that moment again,” Kairi admitted.

Sora didn’t say anything. He only offered a smile. A smile that communicated everything it needed to. He told her that she was safe, secure, and free of judgment. He told her that she was the apple of his eyes, the girl of his dreams, and his destiny. He told her how happy he was the first time she asked him to share one with him and he wanted nothing more than to do it again. All with one smile. 

“You know I’ll come back to you, right?” he asked. “I won’t give up. I’ll never give up.” 

Kairi’s smile turned solemn. “Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

Sora took the paopu fruit from her possession and gently grazed his teeth on top of one of the spikes. Kairi took the initiative to nibble the other end, but before either could bite down, she cupped his cheek with her hand. Sora responded by using his index finger and thumb to carefully hold her chin. 

The way he looked into her eyes with such a focus and confidence, it was enough to make a tear stream down her face. No matter what the situation, he always assured her that he would come back. 

They both simultaneously bit down on the paopu fruit, solidifying their destiny to find each other once again, and in a turn of events, the fruit dissipated into sparkles that twinkled against the setting sun. They were still and locked firmly in the moment as they looked into each other’s eyes, her hand and his fingers still attached to each other’s faces, quietly admiring each other until Sora ended up being the first to break it. 

“Don’t ever forget,” he said. “Wherever you go...” 

Then Kairi woke up. 

Reality settled as the memories slowly drifted back as she studied her room, the morning sun peeking through the slits of her blinds and its warmth faded from the translucent curtains. Eventually, she remembered it had been a year and a few months since Sora disappeared. She and the others were still hard at work looking for a way to bring him back home. But for a moment, she was relieved of the pain of her own uncertainty of his whereabouts and her lack of ability to see his kind smile beyond distant memories. It reminded her of the time when she first returned to the islands without Sora or Riku, except it was even more painful because her memory was fully intact. 

He was there. He was so close. She could feel his touch. Everything felt so natural and real. Perhaps, in its own roundabout way, it was? 

Maybe, just maybe... Sora was trying to communicate with her. Perhaps he wanted to assure her that he was okay and that he would return to her, but they could only meet in a dream. As the dream was nearing its end, she did recall her memories slowly rematerializing in the back corners of her mind and she had to assume the same could’ve been said for Sora as well as their fun-filled day on Destiny Islands without a care in the world came to an end. They both remembered that Sora still had to come back and he made sure to promise that he would. 

Yes, it had to be him. Even the impossible couldn’t keep him away from her for long. No matter what the circumstances, Sora found a way. 

Tears welled up in her eyes and they gradually slid down her cheeks as she looked out the window at the bright, morning sky. 

“I’m always with you,” Kairi finished. 

Credit for both of these amazing art pieces goes to my super talented friend, @amyhayanora​!

[writerbyaccident]

Fate: Part Two (Villain! Yandere Izuku MidoriyaxReader)

Request: Cough omg like i love your writing and i was wondering...would you perhaps continue the one with villain deku who was like flirting with his s/o and left like a crimson rose in her home? :3 i would appreciate it dearly!

So requests for a sequel to this one have been piling up ever since I wrote it, and I finally got some inspiration for it!

Part One

           “We have to stop meeting like this,” Deku chuckled, smiling coyly at you. Staying silent at his attempt to rile you up, you refused to even look at him. No, you kept your eyes firmly on the villain’s lackeys, watching as they rounded up your fellow civilians and the remaining police officers. They were being directed into a corner, forced to squish together while Deku’s goons pointed their guns at all of them. You, on the other hand, had been brought right to the desk Deku had sat on top of, forced down in the chair while he watched you greedily.

           “C’mon,” Deku practically whined, “didn’t you miss me? I missed you.” Forcing yourself to turn your gaze towards him, you saw the predatory hunger shining in his green eyes as he leaned down towards you. Even though having such a hunger directed at you was not a pleasant experience, you might have stayed quiet, if Deku’s eyes hadn’t started sliding to the hostages. There would be no forgiving yourself if you helped direct the villain’s wrath towards innocent people, so you gave him what he wanted.

           “I didn’t think you’d had the chance to miss me, considering how you’ve been stalking me,” you snapped back, determining that if you had to speak to Deku, you would at least refuse to play into his delusions. Deku simply continued to smile at your harsh words though, his grin growing even wider and, to your utter shock, a light blush coloring his face. Those small changes, ones you had seen countless times with other people, should have made Deku appear at least slightly less frightening. They were so ordinary, after all, so human. But when you saw Deku’s smile stretch further and red rush to his cheeks, his unabashed excitement only set you more on edge.

           “What can I say? I just couldn’t stay away. As much as I enjoyed getting to know you in that way, it could only keep me happy for so long. I figured it was about time we had another date.”

           “Date?”

           “Mmhm,” Deku hummed, grasping your chin firmly in his hand. “And I have to say, you picked the perfect place for it. I had been meaning to drop by this police department for ages to see how their investigation into my organization was going, but you know how things tend to pile up. You gave me the perfect motivation though.”

           “What do you want?” you asked, trying your best to get out of Deku’s grip. He only gripped your chin tighter though, a wicked look flickering in his eyes.

           “I told you, I want to spend some time with you. Our first date went so well, I just had to have another.”

           “And I suppose,” you ground out, “that my opinion didn’t matter?”

           “Well, I remembered how shy you were when we first met, so I figured it’s be best to surprise you. I didn’t want you getting cold feet, after all,” Deku cooed in an exaggeratedly comforting manner. All of the sudden, he slipped off of the desk, apparently deciding that you would make a better seat. Straddling you, Deku finally removed his hand from your chin and instead weaved his fingers into your hair. He was gentle at first, just taking a moment to enjoy having you so vulnerable beneath him, but soon pulled on your hair, jerking you closer to him.

           “I guess it wasn’t enough, though, was it?” Deku suddenly growled in your ear. “Cause you still decided to go to the police. You have no idea how disappointed I was when I realized you were about to go to the cops.”

           “You were stalking me, what did you think I was going to do?” you hissed at him. It was true, ever since that day Deku robbed the bank that you worked at, he had been watching you. Every day for the past week, you had come home to a blood red rose on your bed. But yesterday, yesterday it hadn’t been simply a rose. Pictures of you going to work, running errands, meeting with your friends, they all had been laid on your bed. Those pictures were what helped you finally decide to go to the police, as before you thought that the roses alone wouldn’t be enough to convince them that they needed to get involved. But apparently you didn’t move quickly enough.

           “I thought that you would be smarter than that,” Deku spat angrily. Abruptly though, his scowl transformed into an understanding smile, his green eyes going from stormy to practically adoring. “Don’t worry though, sweetheart, I’ve already forgiven you. It’s not your fault, after all.”

           “It—it’s not?” you murmured, Deku’s constant mood swings making you all the more frightened.

           “No, of course not,” Deku reassured you patronizingly, stroking your cheek softly with his free hand. His eyes though, his eyes scanned the precinct, narrowing when they landed on the civilians and police officers. “It’s their fault. It’s all of society’s fault. They’ve lied to you your whole life, lying about what’s evil and what’s good. They lied to me too, but I realized the truth. And I can teach it to you.”

           You were speechless, struck silent by the details of his delusions. He had spoken with such genuine hurt, such raw conviction. Anything you might have said in response was stuck in your throat, leaving you to stare at Deku with wide eyes. It was then that he turned his gaze from the hostages and back to you, that adoring hunger back in his eyes. Before you could protest, Deku pressed his forehead against yours, taking a moment to breathe you in. Feeling your breaths dance across his lips was too much for him though, and so he met your mouth with his. His kiss was surprisingly soft for such a notorious villain, you thought distantly, his lips moving gently against yours. Deku quickly grew more passionate though, needing to taste you as much as he could. His lips burned against yours with a need you had never experienced before, so it was no wonder that you failed to notice the syringe he was bringing to your neck. Even when you felt the pinch in your neck and the growing haze in your head, Deku continued kissing you, his mouth smiling against yours when you finally fell unconscious.

[long-cosmos-overhead]

Elrond x Reader - My Heart Part 1

Prompt: Elrond x Reader. Elrond and Reader are already thing. But when time comes for Elrond to go for Valinor, she breaks up with him saying that she never really loved him, that it was just for fun. But of course she is lying. The only reason she did that is because she didn't wanted to hurt neither Elrond nor Celebrian. Because she knew that if he choose Celebrian he would feel guilty because he is braking Reader's heart, but if he choose Reader he would break Celrebrian's heart. So she choose something which she thought was best. But the thing she didn't count and she got to knew that after Elrond has passed for Valinor, was that she got pregnant with Elrond's child. She had given birth and it was son. She named him Elros in honor of Elrond's brother, she always told good things about Elrond to him. But eventually when time for his decision has come (to be man or elf.) Reader gave him advice to be from the race of elves so he could meet his father. Eventually Reader and Elros go for Valinor, where they meet with Elrond. Elrond assumes that her son was her boyfriend, and that she had broken up with him because of Elros. At first Elrond is cold to reader, and they get in to argument where she says to him that Elros is his son. He was taken aback by that so he didn't reacted at first, but Reader run away from him, because she didn't wanted him to get even angrier than he was. At that point she suffers really hard heart break, so she falls sick.

Light breeze drifted through the window creating a pleasant chill to the bedroom you resided in with your lover. The sheets that covered the bed soaked up the suns rays and it’s golden hues began to stretch onto the silver and gold that stood proudly around the room. It was a good day in terms of scenery in fact you would’ve deemed it a treat to look out the window over Rivendell but you were sick to your stomach in worry and conflict. Elrond would soon make his journey to Valinor and needed a wife. Elrond would have to choose between you or Celebrain.

You and Celebrain has been close since you were elleths you told each other secrets and occasionally got in a bit of trouble together. Years passed and you both remained almost inseparable. You loved Elrond so dearly but you couldn’t break your closest friends heart. Your mind was at war with itself one part of you tugging one way and the other tugging another. It couldn’t continue much longer.

The sun had since risen up to be level with the window lighting up the room almost fully when you felt Elrond stir next to you. The bedsheets rustled as he stirred. Usually you’d take advantage of his sleeping figure, his features relaxed and no longer harassed by the chores of the day but you feared one look at him would reduce you to tears. You pretended to be asleep closing your eyes and softening your breathing willing for the cogs in your mind to stop whirring for just a day.

“Good morning meleth nin.” His words sounded so sweet and loving it cut you deeper than any blade could ever touch and the gentle kiss pressed against your cheek made you whimper. You loved this man with each fibre of your being he was truely perfect but you knew as much as you feared letting him go, that he could not be yours at the expense of another. You almost didn’t notice his arms snake around your waist you were in too deep to surface.

“Y/n, Mellon, would you acompany me for a walk around the gardens?” Celebrain asked gently knocking your arm just enough to let it swing by your side. Celebrain has always held such beauty it astounded you, you were and still are sometimes jealous of how surreal she looks. Not to mention her wisdom and kindness. She was a true queen unlike you. The thoughts that flooded into your head at each step you took around the gardens made you truely believe Elrond deserved her. “There was a bird here today in the early hours, the poor thing got stuck in a thorn bush and scraped its wing it was a relief we got to it in time.” You didn’t process what Celebrain was saying you only stared into her eyes and the moment you did you knew you could not break her heart.

“Elrond I wish to speak to you.” Your heart was beating so rapidly you feared you may faint. Seeing the slight worry yet adoration in his eyes almost made you cry, you hadn’t even told him and already your heart was beginning to shatter. You looked up at him taking in his beauty for the last time. His hair lay across his shoulders perfectly and his eyes were orbs of pure warmth, their colour never ceasing to capture your thoughts stealing them all away to focus on each detail of his ethereal eyes. You must’ve been staring in sorrow for quite some time as Elrond gently put a soft hand upon your cheek worriedly studying your expression. You drew in a deep breath looking back you weren’t sure why maybe to relax yourself, maybe to release the tight knots in your body or maybe as a reminder to keep yourself grounded.

“I can’t,” You intended your voice to come out strong and harsh but all that came was a mere whisper.

“Y/n what’s wrong?” You tried so hard to block out his voice laced with worry towards you for he didn’t know he was breaking your heart more.

“I can’t go on with this, Elrond, with us.” You swallowed thickly you couldn’t look him in the eyes not after what you said you were sure if you did you’d take it all back crashing into his arms apologising over and over until your voice was broken beyond repair.

“What?” His voice asked so dejected and confused.

“Elrond I can’t stay with you in this relationship.” Impossibly repeating your lies hurt more than the first time.

“I can be a better lover, I can stop working so much I’ll spend more time with you Y/n please you know I’d give up my crown, my honour for you for I am at your mercy I beg you do not leave my side I shall wilt like a flower in the winter. Please meleth.” Heading the desperation flood through his voice almost made you give in. For a second you almost did but the poisonous thoughts flooding your mind stopped you. You would never be a queen and what kind of friend would you be if you married at their expense. You knew if you weren’t firm it would only be more painful if you didn’t end your false confession soon you would break.

“I never loved you Elrond, I only ever loved the riches, the power, the gifts that came through you. My affections towards you were false right from the start but now I am fulfilled in desire I no longer need you. It was all for pleasure not of endearment.” Elrond hoped and prayed you lied, that it was all just a joke and you would return to Rivendell, to your home, to his arms. Years went by and he swore that day all of Middle Earth heard his heart break right in two.

In the time you had left Elrond you became pregnant. Each day you wished and cried for your lost love, deep down you knew he wouldn’t find it in his heart to forgive you despite every word being nothing but a lie. The pregnancy was hard each day you were alone and tired plagued with fatigue, morning sickness and pains. Eventually you gave birth, after long hours, to the most beautiful boy in Middle Earth and the moment you held him in your arms you knew you would give anything for his happiness.

“Mama mama.” Elros giggled at your feet, the ends of his clothes turning a brownish earthy colour. The day was damp and morning dew coated the land. It was late autumn, leaves had turned to a crisp and weather was becoming harsher you made sure you and Elros were kitted out for the upcoming winter. You scooped Elros up into your embrace gently kissing his forehead your grip creasing his clothes ever so slightly. He handed you a little flower no bigger than the palm of his hand looking at you expectantly waiting for your reaction. “It’s beautiful Elros.” You smiled even on sad days like these your son could bring a smile to your face. Elros’ face curved into a smile letting out a warm giggle.

Elros was strange in looks taking a little from you and a little from Elrond to the point of looking like his own person. His eyes he stole from his father those captivating eyes that haunted your memory so stubbornly were now his beauty to claim. His hair was also Elronds, soft silky brown hair that never knotted or spoiled. While brushing his hair you were rather envious his hair was nothing short of perfect. His nose and smile was yours whenever you smiled so did Elros even if he didn’t know why you were smiling, it was beautiful his lips curved the exact way yours did. Elros was the envy of elves. You knew you were so lucky to have such a beautiful, well behaved son.

The sun was now setting igniting the sky in such unfathomable beauty Elros had since been bathed and fed thankfully he enjoyed being clean unlike a few other Ellons. “Do you want to hear a story Elros?” You sat your little one on your lap. He clapped and smiled settling down his tiredness finally catching up to him after a long day of running around.

“Which story do you want to hear?” You shifted in the chair allowing yourself and Elros to get comfortable.

“Ada.” He bounced lightly on your lap swaying the ends of your robes uplifting dust from the floor that sparkled like diamonds in the orange hues.

“Your Ada was a strong and smart elf. He rode into battle with soldiers to keep the women and little elves safe at home.” You paused talking of Elrond always managed to break your heart. The last look in his eyes of pain and anguish never left your mind his heart was broken and so is yours. “He was also kind giving food and love to other elves as well.” Elros was beginning to drift off, his eyelids slowly sinking over his eyes. “One day you’ll be as big and strong as Ada.” You whispered giving Elros one last kiss on the forehead. Your fingers weaved through his hair feeling the same texture as you did all those years ago.

It was a warm night one you remembered well, Elrond was cuddled into your side. A lengthy meeting about Rivendell had tired his mood, he came to you irritated and worn out wordlessly slotting himself by your side wanting nothing less than your comfort. You had never seen such vulnerability in Elrond before in truth you were unsure of how to lift his spirits until you remembered one trick your mother used to do. Silently, you removed his crown gently weaving your fingers through his hair. He loved it finding all the tension reside upon your touch. He fell asleep one arm across your stomach wishing you’d stay forever.

Seasons mixed into one another but time was generous, your beauty never resided or faltered you aged flawlessly seemingly you slipped through the gaps of time graciously forgotten. Elros was fully grown standing around a foot taller than you and wise beyond his years. His time for the decision had since come his voice unfaltering when he spoke to you of being an elf. You were thrilled and truely you would’ve been if he had chosen man over elf. Your time and his had come to sail to Valinor, to seek more knowledge and adventure in another land. The journey was calm and the sights were ethereal you never denied the beauty of Valinor but you were taken aback every inch left nothing more to be desired.

How beautiful the sky was colours of all sorts mixed in an explosion of stardust. The trees stood so proudly their green leaves swaying together in sync creating a pleasant rustling that appeased the ear. The grass greener than any you had ever seen, wildflowers sprouting out in clusters and mountains greater than giants sat in the evening sky.

“Y/n?” Your awe was replaced with a washing sense of anxiety. A chill ran through your bones and the colour quickly drained your face. A voice you wished and dreaded to hear sounded so familiar yet foreign you began to question your sanity. Your body turned around completely moving for itself against your will. Your eyes met the figure of the man you had missed so painfully since you left him. His hair parted neatly, thick strands resting upon his shoulders. His hands knitted together in anxiousness and a little anger and his eyes glazed over in disbelief. Everything about him made you want to turn against your better judgment and run into his arms crying apology after apology. You never knew the true extent of how much you missed Elrond until now.

@kasuomikori I can’t feel my fingers 💕💖💕💖💕💕

[kiruuuuu]

Doc/Lion oneshot in which they kiss and make up after a fight. And, uh, other things. (Rating E, utter filth + fluff, ~5.2k words) - written for the ever so wonderful @icezero09​ (and welcome back to tumblr!) 💖 Thank you so, so much for commissioning me again :) You’re a joy to write for! Find my commission info here ♥

.

It’s rare for Lion to hesitate in front of his own damn apartment, keys jangling forlornly in his half-raised hand and a dull, empty feeling in his stomach.

The first time he did so lies a while back and was entirely self-imposed: following one of the most memorable nights in his life (and with his past, this means a lot) as well as a terrifying confession, he announced a trip to the nearest bakery for croissants and fresh coffee, knowing full well he was allowing for an escape. Upon his return, he rested his forehead on the cool, off-white lacquer of his door, hoping to affect reality by repeating a mantra in his mind, over and over again. Please be there still. Please be there still. Please be there still.

When he was greeted by Doc, in his underwear, subtly complaining about his fridge being worryingly empty, he could’ve burst from the pure joy exploding in him.

Another time he wavered because of a question he was about to pose, a question which had occupied his thoughts for weeks by then. The prospect of not being refused was thrilling with how much he wanted to turn his regular visitor into a permanent resident, yet they’d only been together for a few months by then. It might’ve been too early, too much of a commitment to move in together, too much to ask to share their living space. Lion had gotten lucky with his flat, snagged one with large windows, evening sunlight, spacious enough for a dedicated office and both a bathtub and a shower, and picturing Doc becoming a part of it all filled him with giddy anticipation. Regardless, the possibility of being turned down remained and so he gathered his courage in front of the very door which would become their door after a dizzyingly short amount of time.

Right now, he’s also mentally preparing himself for a potentially difficult conversation, though there are entirely too many ways it could go. The backpack dangling off his shoulder is not getting any lighter and neither are the memories of red dust, large tents lined up one after another and helplessness etched into faces. He’d volunteered for the deployment despite knowing it’ll leave him without closure – diseases will always rage on somewhere and their efforts might make a difference in one town, one city, one region, one country, but ultimately it’s like trying to fill up a swimming pool using only a cup. What he needs now is a hug, a little bit of peace and no responsibilities other than buying groceries. He loves his job, it gives him purpose and direction in life, and yet he can’t deny it drains him sometimes until there’s no energy left.

Definitely no energy to continue arguing.

“I’m home!”, he announces into the quiet once he’s discarded his shoes and hung up his jacket, receiving no response. He was looking forward to coming home throughout the entire flight, picturing a warm welcome, an apology, something along those lines and is genuinely annoyed to encounter none of it. The kitchen is empty and so is their bedroom where he drops his backpack onto the mattress he’s missed dearly (among other things), but in the living room he finds Doc in his usual armchair, sipping coffee with a book in his lap and looking up once Lion appears in the doorway.

He’s gorgeous.

It shouldn’t come as a shock but does nonetheless, two weeks of absence facilitate taking a step back and looking at him in a new light; almost as if he’s seeing him for the first time again. He looks… warm, even inviting, his kind eyes making up for the disapproving curl of his mouth, body relaxed and showing off his sculpted arms in the short-sleeved polo he’s wearing. Even casually, he dresses like he’s been invited to an informal business outing; Lion has never seen him just in sweatpants and supposes this is one of the reasons why Doc always comes across as distinguished. And he’s never wanted anything more than to curl up in his lap, cling to him and never let go.

Doc runs his gaze up and down his body, causing a pleasant tingling and maybe, just maybe he’s in the mood for -

“You look like you need a shower.”

His calm words are ice cubes on Lion’s skin. He’s not wrong, a fourteen hour flight will do that to anyone, but it’s far from what Lion has been hoping to hear. “Yeah”, he snaps without meaning to sound this harsh, “I probably do.”

The argument from before he left continues in his head while he’s basking in the heat of the water drumming down on his skull: he was only doing his job, after all. That’s why he got hired – he’s a professional and refuses to let emotions interfere with his work, and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? He nearly drops the shampoo bottle in agitation and hits his elbow on the cool tiles as he proceeds to weave an impenetrable net of arguments in his mind, counters everything Doc could throw at him effortlessly and recalls the things they spat at each other two weeks ago.

Ultimately, it was his jurisdiction seeing as it was a containment issue, albeit a relatively minor one. He planned on taking the necessary steps while Doc undermined his authority along the way, much to his irritation – maybe he did misdiagnose the boy and paint a picture more grim than reality, yet the scheduled tests would’ve cleared it up without a doubt and brought both the child as well as his mother the deserved peace of mind instead of sending them home from quarantine early. In the grand scheme of things it didn’t matter whether she had urgent appointments to get to and the boy was frightened almost to the point of hysterics, not if their staying overnight would’ve ensured they’re good to go, so Doc was entirely out of line by declaring them safe and allowing them to leave.

Even though they were safe. Lion admits that. Everyone knew, but regulations are there for a reason and why allow for making mistakes when there’s safety procedures which benefit literally everyone and hell, he’s getting worked up again.

He curses under his breath and shuts the water off. It’s about the principle of it all. Doc can’t continue being as lenient as he is and it’s bad enough Six and the others are catering to his bleeding heart, Outbreak being only one of the many examples Lion can think of – if they’d lost some of their best ops going on that frankly idiotic suicide mission to save Macintosh, it would’ve been a disaster. The fact that it happened to work out is irrelevant.

Angrily, he shrugs on one of his nice shirts out of spite, buttoning it while glaring at himself in the mirror. He’s going to show Doc what he’s been missing out on these past weeks. Maybe he should casually drop a few names to make Doc really regret not talking to him while he was in Africa. Well. It’s not like he messaged or called Doc, but again. It’s about the principle of it all.

While dressing fully, he prepares an opening sure to grab Doc’s interest while simultaneously sounding dismissive, ends up stomping into the living room to deliver his short speech and is about three syllables in when he realises Doc isn’t even there anymore.

“… Olivier?”

He turns around to an amused-looking Frenchman in the kitchen, lifting a cup to indicate it’s for Lion and he dares to still look utterly irresistible. Lion pushes away the mental image of just tossing the mug into the sink in favour of tracing Doc’s jaw line with his tongue (but fuck, it’s tempting) and instead blurts out something he doesn’t even mean, something which needs far more context than, well, nothing: “I wish people stopped listening to you all the time.”

Doc’s face turns stony and Lion wants to kick himself. “Or we can fight instead of catching up”, he mutters and slams the coffee onto the counter, causing it to slosh over. “That’s fine too.”

Lion has joined his lover in the kitchen now, brows scrunched together. “I don’t want to fight”, he states lamely.

“No. You just want to rehash an argument for which we found no solution while insisting you’re right. Big difference.”

Alright. Maybe he wants to fight a little, if only to get a rise out of Doc who’s infuriatingly composed still. “I met some of your former colleagues from MSF”, he tactically switches topics to hopefully appease his boyfriend enough in the meantime so he gives in once Lion pushes the previous issue some time later. “Martina says hi.”

“I know. We talk regularly.” Ouch. The cutting quality of the remark is not lost on him: Doc is pissed that he didn’t even let him know whether he arrived safely. “She also tells me you got shot.”

This, at least, he can de-escalate. “I was shot at, but not hit.”

“Martina mentioned blood.”

“It was a graze shot on my side. It’s healed already.”

Doc seems thoroughly unimpressed – not undeservedly, Lion has been known to either downplay or exaggerate his own injuries wildly, though he hasn’t told anyone the real reason. Pretending he was worse off than it appeared ensured a trip to Doc’s office, and acting as if everything was fine surely impressed the Frenchman once he was there. A foolproof system. “If you say so.”

“I say it because it’s true. Were you worried about me?”

Brown eyes turn even darker at the teasing question. “Of course. Every day, Olivier. Just because you behaved like a temperamental child doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

Lion sputters in indignation. “I did not. If anything, you were worse, you broke the fucking vase!”

“Only because you implied the lives of my colleagues are worth less to me than those of civilians.”

“I only did that because you said I care more about rules than I do about humans in general.”

“You also slammed the door and actually stomped your foot. I’m not the immature one here!”

“And yet you sat here and pouted instead of checking up on me despite being worried just because you need to be right -”

“I am right. And now show me your stupid wound!”

“There is no wound, Gustave!”

“We both know you’re lying, come on.”

“Do you really trust me that little?”

“Have you given me enough reason to trust you?”

And that does it. That is it. Lion is seething at this point, all the pent up frustration and worry boiling over as a result of Doc’s consistent nagging, his denial of Lion being right concerning protocols, the silence during the previous weeks and his insistence on being always correct, it’s too much. He snaps.

With one swift motion, he rips his shirt open, presenting his naked torso to his lover, and growls: “Does this look like I’m fucking injured?!”

Doc stills.

And during the brief silence which follows the animalistic gesture, Doc’s eyes are glued to Lion’s chest, sun-tanned and skin smooth with only the faint hint of a scar on his ribs, a mark which will completely fade in months. Around them, torn-off buttons plink and bounce on the floor.

Lion knows what he looks like, knows his lugging around heavy equipment paired with fewer meals and small portions has made his muscles stand out, contoured him flatteringly and harmonises with his slightly bleached auburn hair. He probably smells like sunlight.

Maybe this ended up a little too dramatic.

“You need to fuck me right now”, Doc tells him, tone serious, “we can argue later.”

… or maybe this had just the right kind of flair.

Before he’s even processed the words, Doc’s hands are already pulling on his belt and fuck, getting with the program has never been this seamless. He angrily swats his lover’s hands away to complete the task himself, flinches involuntarily when soft lips latch onto one of his nipples and presses out a groan upon feeling teeth on the sensitive skin. It’s all a little too sudden so he’s only half hard when Doc yanks his trousers down, but watching him sink to his knees without hesitation and lick his way from the base to the tip does wonders to remedy this.

Lion threads his fingers into dark, wavy hair, still reeling from what on earth just happened, is still happening, yet he couldn’t be further from complaining once Doc wraps his glossy lips around the head and flattens his tongue against it. His mouth is hot and wet and Lion feels himself swelling inside the cavern, blood rapidly filling his stiffening shaft while Doc mercilessly sucks him into full hardness. He makes for a beautiful picture like this, more submissive than he usually lets himself be, especially in context, though when he glances up at Lion, there’s still something defiant in his dark gaze.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

His grip tightens and he begins guiding Doc’s movements, pulling him further onto his cock with each bob and causing first a strangled moan and then a warning hum which he disregards entirely. There’s some residual anger still and it bleeds into Lion’s motions, makes them a little rougher than normal. Doc’s tongue is slowly driving him insane with the way its tip seeks out all his most sensitive spots almost out of spite, how it massages the underside, swirls over his slit and curls around the glans, and the sweet pressure of his lover sucking on him only adds to the dizzying mix of stimulation. Not only does it feel mind-blowing, it feels like triumph.

Idly, he debates leaving it at that, interpret this phenomenal blowjob as a concession of defeat from Doc and never bring up their earlier argument again – it would certainly be worth it, Doc always looks so beautiful after he’s swallowed Lion’s come, dazed and proud and like his reading glasses would be askew if he put them on. Doc’s slight resistance might be just for show but Lion relishes it nonetheless, keeps dragging him in while testing out the limits, lets up a little when Doc pinches his thigh after a particularly deep swallow – and then he notices Doc palming himself through his trousers.

He seems to be enjoying this just as much as Lion is.

Inside Doc’s mouth, his cock gives a vicious throb at the sudden surge in desire and earns a helpless moan in return. Lion pictures it briefly, him fucking Doc’s throat while his lover pleasures himself, trapped between focusing on Lion’s dick and his own erection, and his hips involuntarily thrust forward at the mental image. Doc, not expecting it, withdraws while gasping, robs Lion of his delicious wet heat and glares. The hand between his legs, however, is not stopping.

Belatedly, Lion realises this isn’t a submission, if anything it’s an act of war – Doc is taking what he thinks is his, rendering Lion useless in the process. He’s furious but unable to keep his hands off Lion. And if that isn’t the hottest thing he could’ve hoped to encounter today.

“Get up”, he orders hoarsely, throat dry, and doesn’t waste any time undressing his lover as soon as he’s obliged. All his clothes are quickly discarded and tossed somewhere, and with every new bit of skin revealed, Lion’s impatience grows: he wants this man, and he wants him now, wants to show him without a shadow of a doubt how much he desires him… but also make him admit Lion was right.

Doc’s skin is warm under his palms and his tongue slick against Lion’s own. Their making out is almost desperate and not at all befitting a loving reunion after a prolonged absence, but neither of them mind while their lips glide over each other, hands roaming over bodies. Doc moans into his mouth when Lion grabs a handful of his ass, and refuses to break the kiss even as he’s lifted up and set down on the table. His legs wrap around Lion’s hips and he pulls him closer, ankles locked, the gesture possessive but encouraging, and both of them voice their pleasure when their erections rub against each other, Lion’s spit-slicked and Doc’s just as hard now.

“Missed me that much, Gustave?”, he teases in between ravenous kisses and almost loses his balance when Doc’s legs shove him a little in protest.

“Don’t be so smug and get the lube.”

“Why don’t you get it yourself if you want me so much?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

They glare at each other and it’s tough not to allow the challenging expression to melt into an amused smile over Doc’s visible frustration. He’s clinging to Lion still, resistance clearly written in his features – if it was for him, he’s not going to give up any time soon. The realisation of what he’s going to do next makes Lion’s dick jump in anticipation and he turns out to be right: if Lion has leverage over his lover due to how horny he is, he just needs to level the playing field. And so he lightly sinks his teeth into Lion’s shoulder, grabs his cock and drags the nails of his other hand over Lion’s ribs. The faint pain is transformed into roaring want immediately upon Doc lightly jerking him and holy shit, why have they never had angry sex before?

He curses quietly, whispers Doc’s name and earns a sharp nip to his jaw; if he wants to keep up, he needs to act. Blindly, he reaches behind him and fetches the bottle of olive oil from the counter while thrusting into the unforgiving grip. The feeling is divine, almost as good as Doc’s mouth and he hears himself groan in bliss after his lover has spat into his hand and eased the slide considerably, producing a whole other kind of friction. He’s got something better, though.

As soon as his oiled-up fingers curl around Doc’s thick shaft, the Frenchman pauses. Takes a deep breath. And expels it again with a sound akin to a whine when Lion begins stroking him leisurely, thoroughly enjoying the way his lover relaxes into him before being aware of doing so. And once he notices, it’s back to struggling.

They relentlessly exploit each other’s weakspots, Lion sucking a purple bruise onto Doc’s neck, right below his ear, and Doc massaging his balls, nearly causing his knees to give in, fingertips brush over nipples, lips latch onto sensitive patches of skin, and all the while they’re simultaneously pushing each other away and pressing closer. Breath mingling, they’re becoming one already, pawing and kissing and attempting to dominate. They’re both worse for wear by now and so Doc doesn’t even protest when Lion orders him to lie back and spread his legs. Fingers generously coated in olive oil, Lion runs them over his lover’s entrance teasingly before inserting just one.

And oh.

Doc’s cheeks darken when Lion adds a second finger without hesitation, finding his insides pliant and wet already – or rather still.

“Couldn’t even wait until I’m home”, Lion tuts and watches, full of wonder, as Doc swallows even a third digit easily.

“If you hadn’t given me the silent treatment, you might’ve gotten some photos”, the other Frenchman retaliates through his teeth, though his grimace slips a little when Lion strokes over his prostate. Being this familiar with his body pays off more often than not.

“And if you hadn’t given me the silent treatment, I’d have talked you through it.” Lion’s own dick is rearing to go, pulsing impatiently at the sight of Doc’s hole stretching around his fingers, and yet he resists the temptation to enter him and instead goes back to jerking him with his free hand. Doc looks like he’s going to start drooling any second now, his resistance forgotten in favour of grinding against Lion’s hands. “I would’ve told you that you’re doing so good, that you look beautiful, that you can take even more fingers than that. How much I want you. That you should imagine it’s me pushing inside you.”

He’s putty in Lion’s hands now, was shoved over the threshold by overwhelming need and has turned malleable, soft, desperate. Lion has won, and victory has never felt sweeter than right now: the person with whom he hopes to spend the rest of his life all laid out in front of him, blinking up at him dazedly and with so much love obvious in chocolate brown eyes that Lion’s heart threatens to burst for a moment.

“Please”, Doc says quietly. And Lion doesn’t make him say it twice.

Slicking up his own cock already forces a moan out of his throat, so he doesn’t expect to last long – not with how long he’s had to wait for this, not with how tight the ring of muscle was around his three fingers. It doesn’t matter, he’s sure they’ll be having a second round later. Carefully, he lines up the tip and pushes in with minimal resistance, both of them moaning when the head slips inside, and once he’s fully bottomed out, he takes a moment to revel in familiar feeling of Doc clenching down on him. Oh, how he missed this. How he missed the disbelief written all over Doc’s face when Lion rolls his hips and brushes over his sweet spot, how he missed the filthy sounds they’re producing together, how he missed the feeling of another body against his own.

Once he slams inside the first time, Doc is already incoherent and the half-syllables he manages only convince Lion to not let up, increase force and speed and intensity to make him forget his own name, to make him forget he ever belonged to anyone else. His lover’s crotch is an oily mess but it’s just perfect for him, allowing him to wank him hard and fast, rapidly building pleasure in time with his thrusts – Doc doesn’t suspect anything yet, thighs trembling already from how deep Lion invades him with every motion, from how calloused fingers run over sensitive flesh. He must think Lion impatient or close to the edge but couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s only just started.

When he ceases his ministrations just as Doc’s abs begin to flutter, giving away his impending orgasm, he expects his lover to react with indignation, possibly take matters into his own hands or at the very least glare at him, but when his eyes open, they’re so full of devotion and acceptance that Lion is momentarily floored. Instead of fighting him, Doc tightens his legs and drags him in, turns the hard thrusts rocking his body even more brutal and unforgiving despite panting already, despite squirming away from the overpowering pleasure. He doesn’t protest when Lion massages his dick once more, struggles to hold it with how fiercely it’s twitching, and even when he stops again due to Doc’s mewling nearly reaching peak volume, the man in front of him tolerates the torture.

Lion keeps up the merciless rhythm of his hips, fucks his way towards a well-deserved climax and marvels at the beauty laid out just for him, but it bothers him how… accommodating Doc has become even though he’s nothing if not stubborn. And yet he rewards Lion’s movements with loving gazes, contracts around his shaft to increase the sweet, sweet pressure, and lets endless, blissful noises drop from his lips. Lion can feel Doc’s toes flexing against his back, so he must be hitting just the right spot and he’s so caught up in his own lust, so focused on the erotic sensation of driving into the person he loves, of making both of them feel good, that it takes him embarrassingly long to understand.

He leaves Doc hanging on the edge again and explores his shapely chest with a slick hand, leaving glistening trails on darker skin, but it clicks when his palm travels all the way up, barely brushing against Doc’s throat. Because he tilts his head back, willingly exposing the vulnerable body part. And Lion gets it.

It doesn’t matter that they disagree on certain topics, their views are unlikely to change and so neither of them will budge, but what does matter is that they love each other regardless. That they accept each other the way they are, and even if they might be angry, their passion and commitment remains untouched. This is why Doc is handing himself over so willingly: his trust is unshaken.

And Lion interrupts his motions to lean down and kiss him, channel all the love and faith and desire he feels for this man into the gesture while burying both hands in Doc’s hair, cradling his face. The smile he feels against his mouth tells him that Doc understands, and when Lion starts grinding against him a few seconds later, both of them gasp.

“I missed you so much”, Lion mutters against parted lips and now everything is pouring out of him. “Fuck, I thought of you every free second. You feel so good, Gustave, you have no idea how good you feel. You’re amazing. I love you so much.”

Doc moves against him, eyes open as he clings to the taller man like his life depended on it. “I love you too, Olivier. And you’re so deep -”

“I even dreamt of you. I still can’t believe this is real, sometimes. You look so fucking hot right now, I want to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

This earns him the very first genuine, absolutely brilliant smile ever since he came back. Doc licks his mouth open and plays with his tongue until they’re both breathless and gasping before whispering: “Do it.”

So Lion does.

He pulls out, half drags Doc off the table and turns him around so his feet are (already unsteadily) on the floor, torso resting on the wooden surface with Lion behind him, and slams home in one fluid motion. From there, it’s a veritable mess, a maelstrom of sensation and want, a barrage of stimulation muddling Lion’s perception entirely. He’s vaguely aware of waves of divine pleasure rushing through his entire body with each thrust, notices Doc looking back at him pleadingly over his shoulder, incredulity lining his features and increasing with every strangled sound. It’s pure heaven, skin slapping sharply on skin, his cock rubbing over Doc’s prostate with every thrust, causing him to whimper and writhe and his legs to almost give in, and all the while he insistently drags Doc’s hips to meet him so he can reach as deeply inside as possible.

The fast tempo wrecks them both, sweat is starting to bead up on Doc’s back and Lion’s forehead, both of them completely lost in their own pleasure, in each other, in the feeling connecting them – and when Lion reaches around to jerk Doc in the same unrelenting rhythm as his motions, another hand closes over his own, squeezes it more tightly and demonstrates just how Doc likes it right now. Knowing how much he enjoys the deep and thorough penetration only serves to cloud Lion’s thoughts further and, in contrast, sharply brings his own desire into focus, steadily building up with every time he invades his lover so intimately until he can’t take it anymore.

When he comes, he folds in half and moans unselfconsciously into Doc’s hair, loud groans wrenched from him with every delicious wave of pleasure rolling through him. The relief is immeasurable, rushes through his veins like liquid electricity and has him shuddering violently in time with his small thrusts accompanying the contractions in his lower muscles. He’s barely aware of Doc’s hand speeding up in desperation but suddenly becomes keenly aware of his lover climaxing below him due to the hard clenching around him all of a sudden, the spasms milking him even further and his own moans mixing with Doc’s. They both shiver, prolong each other’s orgasm with minuscule movements and only come down slowly from their intense high, aftershocks making their muscles twitch and cocks throb.

Doc lets out a content sigh which Lion mirrors, but when he pushes against the larger body draped over him, Lion refuses to budge. He’s still coasting on the elating feeling of loving and being loved, of sharing intimacy, and if he doesn’t say it now, he never will.

Lips brushing over warm skin, he murmurs: “I’m sorry. I… rules help me do the right thing and I’m afraid of acting without them. I’ll try to think for myself more instead of blindly relying on general instructions which might not fit the situation exactly.”

His lover huffs a quiet laugh and catches one of his hands in his own, interlaces their fingers to show him he appreciates the apology. “I’m sorry too. I let my feelings interfere with my work which can be dangerous. I’ll try to take a step back and assess situations more objectively.”

It’s such a relief to hear these words that Lion nearly tears up at the realisation that he’s forgiven, that he made a concession only to be graced with one in return, that they’re equals after all, both human and thus flawed in their own way. They’re both wrong if the result is them not speaking to each other, and the insecurity of what their fight might mean for their relationship melts away, leaving behind nothing more than a fuzzy feeling.

This time, when Doc moves, Lion withdraws gingerly and stands up straight, pulling the other man into a tight embrace once he’s turned around. They kiss slowly and sweetly, both of them smiling into it since they can’t help it and when he playfully peppers the side of Doc’s neck in kisses, his lover reacts with a chuckle.

“That was awful”, Doc tells him matter-of-factly. “Let’s never do that again.”

And though Lion has to agree that the past two weeks rank among the worst of his life, he can’t help but clarify: “You don’t mean the angry sex though, right? You looked so incredibly hot, blowing me while furious.”

Doc snorts, visibly embarrassed, and shakes his head slightly. “If you liked that, I… guess we can have a repeat performance. Just without all the nonsense before it.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Lion takes the opportunity to eye up his boyfriend, take in his messy hair, the shimmery smears all over his body, the absolute mess between his legs – and it looks like he did drool on the table after all. “You look like you need a shower.”

The grin spreading on Doc’s face is almost mischievous and has Lion falling for him all over again, not that he’s letting it show just how smitten he really is. “And I do hope you’re going to accompany me, mon amour?”

How could he say no to that? “We have a lot of catching up to do”, he agrees and drops his gaze to see some of his semen running down Doc’s thigh.

Maybe he’ll end up having to shower three times today.

[be-better-writing]

Daily Writing Day 9 - 1/6/2020

What brings a tear to the eye? (It could be happy tears!)

This prompt is fitting for today as it is the 12th anniversary of my uncle being tragically from this world. I wrote a little fictional tale based on his memory that caused my little sister to break down and cry this morning. Between my little story and my sister being two states away crying over essentially my creative expression. Today has been rough. Today 12 years ago brings tears to my eyes, and so does this little story.

"The Tape-Man and The TapeMonster" An original story written by Brittany Lyn on December 29, 2019. Part two written on January 6, 2020. Dedicated to the man who taught me what tape was, how to pull it from the dispenser, and how to stick it to everyone and everything in sight. The man who created the TapeMonster. The Tape-Man. Uncle Jody Becknell. May he Rest In Peace while hunting and fishing every day in Heaven. You are so dearly loved and dearly missed each and every day, sir. Thank you for blessing my life, my heart, and my soul with your everlasting memory. One day, a little young lady was strolling along. Bobbing and weaving between the trees, skipping over roots, and jumping on stumps. Off in the distance, an alarm rang out calling for the hero that hides within. She ducked behind a tree within the blink of an eye, but what came back was quite the sight. No longer was visible her pink dress and boots, but her face covered in tape, her whole outfit, too. Out from the trees the TapeMonster leapt, and down the road it tumbled down to land on it's rear at the sound of that ferocious alarm. *~WEEEEEEEEEEWOOOOOOO~* that horrendous contraption screeched, but that wouldn't stop this little TapeMonster now. It burst through the door, spun the thieves up tight with a roll of simple Scotch tape. Just in time, the police arrive to find the crooks bound by simple Scotch tape, with a note slapped right on their face. "Never fear, the TapeMonster was here!" the note read. Puzzled and shook, the police are confused! The only thing here was the menaces bound by simple Scotch tape. "Where did this TapeMonster hide?" they questioned, but it had seemingly vanished, leaving only the tape bounds holding the robbers in place. But, just out the door, across the street, the tape covered monster was bounding away, off to the man who supplied her with tape rolls. Peeling the tape, piece by piece. The little girl laughed and laughed and laughed some more. She was back on the counter in Mr. Jody's pawn shop. He kept sticking her with tape while her imagination ran free. The TapeMonster rests having saved the day. The thieves were locked away in Imagination's Jail, and the police of Imagination Town went about their way, questioning the identity of this brave creature armed with Scotch tape. The little girl laughed and sat on the counter, and played more games of TapeMonster with Mr. Jody, her very best and dearest friend, who would stick her with tape, supplying the TapeMonster again. He stuck the tape on her again, and again, and again before the little girl's parents joined their fun. "Time to go, punkin'. Give Jody bye-bye sugars," her mother said softly, as the little one jumped into her very best and dearest friend's hug, and kissed him on the cheek, and saying "bye-bye." "Until next time, punkin'," Mr. Jody said with a squeeze. "I hope you bring the TapeMonster back to play next time." "I will, Mr. Jody!" the little girl exclaimed as she hugged her friend again. "The TapeMonster will always come to play!" she sang out with glee, as she stuck one small strip of Scotch tape to Mr. Jody's t-shirt. Jody walked his little friend around the counter to her mom and dad for their journey back home, and all 4 embraced in the strongest and warmest group hug. Farewells were said, and the little one strapped into her seat, as she clutched the surprise Mr. Jody gave to her; the little roll of Scotch tape that was just bigger than her hands. A token for the TapeMonster whenever she needs. "Never fear!" she shouted gleefully from the car. "The TapeMonster is here!" the two friends called out as they waved good-bye. "Until next time, punkin'," he said to himself, as his little friend and her parents drove off in the distance. "The Tape-Man will always have sugars, and hugs, and always an extra roll of tape for whenever a criminal causes chaos up in Imagination Town," he finished just as the tail lights faded off over a hill. He stepped inside the shop while peeling the tiny tape strip off his t-shirt. he taped it to a small piece of paper he scribbled on, and slid it in his wallet; a memory of a little friend with a wild imagination stored away for safe keeping. A little strip of Scotch tape on a small slip of paper that read, "Never fear, the TapeMonster is here!" A memory so pure that no one else could create but Mr. Jody, the one and only Tape-Man to see the real TapeMonster with his own two eyes... ~

Part 2~

The little three year old TapeMonster continued to grow and play and save the days for the next eight years, while getting the occasional grand visits from Mr. Jody, the almost elusive Tape-Man. Until one dark winter night, tragedy struck. Mr. Jody had left this beautiful life on Earth to spend eternity with God in Heaven. The now eleven year old TapeMonster was lost, clutching in her hand the gifted roll of magic Scotch tape with tears streaming down her face.

Days went by, and she placed a roll of her own magic Scotch tape under his carefully folded hands for burial with a note that read "Use in case of bad guys; a piece of the TapeMonster's bravery to keep you safe. Till we meet again, Tape-Man. Your spirit lives on."

Life went on with an overwhelming feeling of emptiness. The TapeMonster couldn't find any Scotch tape and Imagination Town was overtaken by the very many evil doers that she couldn't put away without the Tape-Man's supply.

Six years flew by before she realized, and she was more lost than the years before. Mr. Jody was in Heaven guiding his family through their lives, but it just wasn't the same.

Another six years go by in the blink of an eye. I'm 23 now, turning 24 in 6 months and 2 days. Today marks twelve years that Mr. Jody, who truly was more like an uncle than a friend, was taken tragically from this Earth, leaving our lives better for knowing him in his life, but also leaving the world a darker place without his love and charisma. If I drank, I'd have two mini bottles of Grey Goose and a roll of that simple Scotch tape sitting on the step beside me. One mini bottle to pour to the ground for tribute to Jody, and the other to enjoy myself before wrapping a small piece of Scotch tape around and hiding it and the roll in my hope chest to look back on and smile as time continues to pass us by.

Those twelve years really flew by, but when I stop and look back, it seems more like a lifetime had passed.

Jody, the TapeMonster is so very lost on her journey of life hunting for tape to stop the bad guys from taking over the world. God knows just how lucky I truly am, though. I am blessed to have known and loved you while you were here. I am blessed to have gained through you an adopted mom, an older brother, and a little sister that I have also made great memories with. God also knows it still hurts like hell to experience life without you here, too.

This story is a wild piece fiction based off of my memory of Jody. Memories from 20 years ago are fuzzy as all hell, but the feelings in my heart are just as they were upon experiencing them. I posted the first part the other day while hoping it wouldn't produce the same massive amounts of crocodile tears for Dana, Taylor, and Randy as it did for me. I haven't gotten any feedback from them yet, so I hope part two doesn't make them cry like I am while typing this. I just truly hope that the wild fictional adventure of the TapeMonster combined with the memory of Jody warms their heart knowing that we all still have memories of him to pick us up when we are down, and to carry in our hearts so his spirit lives on each day that lies ahead.

Rest In Peace to one of the greatest life influences to ever be a part of my world. We love and miss you so much. ~

My dates of writing this piece are written at the top with my little dedication, but the end is where it really tore my sister apart. I should have thought before posting it, or I should have read it to her myself. I'm not sure. Today has been a train wreck. Jody is watching us from the Gates of Heaven, though. I felt his presence today. Especially after I reminded my father of the anniversary. He actually brought home a moderate size bottle of Grey Goose without me asking. I haven't had a sip of that vodka, and I won't. Jody set something up for tomorrow for me, or at least that's the way it seems. I plan not to mess that up by being hungover.

Between this date, and the anniversary of my best friend committing suicide, I don't know which one kills me more.

[mysticmelove]

Hi! I have a weird request 😅: I ship Jumin and Jaehee, I think they are perfect for each other but I love Jumin more. Can you write about Jaehee casually telling MC when he told her about his tangled threads and MC starting to have doubts about their relationship? Is not like she doubts Jaehee and Jumin's love but she feels like she robbed them of their future and happiness and she feels terrible but at the same time doesn't want to let Jumin go, she loves him so much but (part 1)

Happiness comes first

(Jumin x MC) [slight angst]

.

“...I think we should go our own separate ways.”

Jumin had never wanted to hear those words. They were words of failure. His failure. They meant he hadn’t fulfilled his promise to the woman he loved to keep her happy.

“I just... I think there’s better people out there for both you and I... I want you to be happy.”

Surely there was no one other than MC who could make him happy, she was the joy in his life.

‘Happiness comes with love, that is a given, and the foundation of love is built on trust. If two cannot trust each other and share their deepest thoughts... is there even love?’ Those types of thoughts had become a storm of emotions within MC’s head. She’d always been sure of her and her fiancé’s relationship, until she found out things about him she’d never heard. They weren’t bad things, but when they are so personal and they come from another female it’s almost impossible to clear your mind.

“Jumin...”

It took a lot for him to shift his gaze from the floor to meet her eyes. Admittedly, he struggled to read them- being that he couldn’t even understand his own emotions- yet he could see she wasn’t happy with herself. It pained her to talk. “You don’t mean that.”

MC tugged nervously at the hem of her jumper, receding into her chair further, “I do.”

“Why...” He was losing all he wanted right before his eyes. He was losing himself. And those horrid, restrictive threads were weaving between each other already as he tried to speak. “We were getting married... You know how much I love you...”

“I know...” she mumbled.

“Then what am I doing wrong?” He grabbed her hand eagerly, his tone bordering dangerous: “Tell me where I’m at fault and I’ll fix it!”

MC spoke barely above a whisper, “You’re perfect, Jumin...” It was hard to stop herself from backing out of this. But what is done is done; Jaehee could make him happier than she could.

Initially, it didn’t bother her. So what if Jaehee knew a few things MC didn’t? They’d known each other for a long time and she was basically at Jumin’s beck and call; it would only be natural for them to talk casually every now and then. Jaehee was a friend to MC, there’d be no way she could question her motives. But it was the single mention of the ‘threads’ that started her doubts.

Jumin’s threads were a sensitive topic, one that took him some time to talk openly about, and only really mentioned when he felt sentimental. Rarely was her soon-to-be husband sentimental. Jumin mentioning something as private and vulnerable as that meant he trusted her, and he trusted her as much as he trusted his future wife.

From that moment, only more questions arose. MC couldn’t help but analyse every aspect of their relationship: professional or otherwise. They exchanged these silent looks and interacted with each other in a way that was just... natural. She couldn’t explain it in any other way. It looked as if it were meant to be, and she hated to be the person stopping it.

The air had grown stale, thick with dread and confusion. The two had parted; MC curled up on the sofa, knees close to her chest, and Jumin sat opposite, holding his forehead heavy in his hands. Both were reluctant to speak; MC was trying her hardest to follow through, and Jumin had so many questions but he feared any more words would drive her further away. “At least tell me what’s changed...”

“Nothing changed, Jumin,” she admitted, “I just came to realise things.” Jumin waited silently for her to continue, though it seemed she was hesitant to as her eyes found anything to look at other than him. “...It may not seem like it now, but when it dawns upon you one day you’ll know it was right for us to part ways...”

Jumin sighed, frustrated at where this was- or rather wasn’t- going: “You act as if something bad will happen.”

“Because it will,” she interjected. MC’s nails raked at the skin of her hands subconsciously as her voice broke the tension, “In time... In time you’ll realise you weren’t as happy as you truly can be... and it’ll drive you to do things I know you never really meant any harm by.”

Shock was visible on his now raised face, her words were foreign, accusing, and just wrong. “Do you really think I can’t be faithful to you...?”

“No. I know how incredibly faithful you are,” her voice cracked in the back of her throat, her feelings were getting the better of her. “But eventually you have to put yourself first... The last thing you want is for that to happen when it’s too late.”

It’s hard to explain when you’re not put in the situation, and MC never really knew her parents’ exact feelings, but being in the middle of everything was horrible. She never would have noticed had she not been told, but when her father’s infidelity came out she was crushed. It made her question what was true. All those years her parents had been together, and it was a lie? A lie they kept together for her sake. MC was the cause for her father’s unhappiness because he had to be there for her. Had she not been around her father would have left and enjoyed his life, and her mother wouldn’t have faced the consequences. Instead, both of her parents had to lead miserable lives- for her sake. Hours upon hours were spent thinking of this over and over again, until her tears had stopped and she was void of emotion. She didn’t want that for her children.

“You are the only thing in my life that matters,” Jumin tried desperately to meet her wandering gaze, extending a cautious hand.

Her body flinched a the thought of his touch; she longed for his comfort but it’d be less painful to let go. “...She’ll make you happy.”

The sight of his fiancée’s utterly pitiful smile scarred Jumin. There were no lies in her words. She was truthful and fearful of the future.

“You two act so cold hearted towards each other, but I know Jaehee loves you dearly...” A genuine smile left her this time- a solidifier for her words.

“And if I don’t feel the same?”

“Then you’ll realise you do in time... The same way you did with me.”

“MC...” Jumin was the one to hesitate now. He wanted to hold her just once more, but it seemed the deed was done.

“I’ll still love you, of course. But I’d much rather see you genuinely happy than keep you to myself.”

[alien-from-pluto-writer]

You think you can hide it - you can’t.

Apologies if the ending is terrible - my mental state collapsed. Anyway, enjoy @alexprompts !

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The Wind tells me things no man nor woman was meant to know. Of secrets and whispered lies, it hummed in my ear, filling my body with warmth at its recurring presence. The Wind was an old friend, and I loved it like one.

Spying in the courts of kingdoms filled my brain with drugs so powerful it took hours to come down from the high. The thrill was enchanting - eyes always watchful, taking everything in, and heart constantly pounding beneath my ribs.

Lurking in a darkened corner, I watched as two women weaved through the crowd towards each other. At least they weren’t complete idiots and made small conversations on the way, small diversions that hid their goals to everyone’s eyes but mine.

A true scandal, especially for this kingdom where those of the same gender may not share a bed nor tongues. The act of their ‘defying of ancient tradition and stepping into hell’ would surely cause a divide within the empire.

Shocking how something as simple as love could be twisted into the strongest weapon against an empire.

They slowly made their way to each other, slight blushes on their cheeks, shy smiles quickly hidden by bitten lips. If this were a dramatic moment, they would’ve leapt at each other, sweeping each other into their arms, twirling and spinning as they kissed and were re-united.

But it wasn’t, and the Wind told me they were aware of the ever watchful eyes around them – hard not to when men constantly peered at women they passed as if imagining what was hidden beneath their dresses.

It was an almost awkward thing to watch, the two lovers stood for a moment unsure what to do, before giving each other what I’m sure they thought was a quick, friendly hug. They parted after a few moments, one of the women’s hands lingering on the other’s waist before they realised what they were doing and pulled it away.

A man walked a distant away from me, weaving his way through people with a glass of champagne in his hand. His dark hair was slick back, wearing a black suit that made him appear more muscled than he actually was. His grey eyes watched me with a look that told anyone nearby exactly what he wanted to do to me.

Not safe, Wind whispered, concerned perhaps.

As he came closer, walking close enough I could smell his cologne, I put my foot out and merely watched as he stumbled. Sadly, he didn’t fall on his face, regaining his footing in time, turning to face me with angry eyes. I smiled widely and snorted when he stomped away like an incompetent child.

I turned back to the lovers.

“How is Jack?” one asked – Florence, the Wind whispered – brushing a strand of wavy blond hair out of her face, and discreetly smoothing down her elegant light blue dress. Her pale skin was still slightly flushed and her eyes took in the other with dedication.

“He’s doing great, he misses you dearly,” the other – Lena – said, grinning. Her black hair was pulled into an elegant bun, dark skin glowing under the chandelier lights. Her red dress fitted around her bodice before it flowed to the ground.

Lena’s face lit up with what could only be an idea, Florence watching carefully, a sweet smile appearing on her mouth. “We should have lunch again so that you can see him.”

“That would be lovely,” Florence said, chuckling slightly under her breath as if she expected it to be something more extreme. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to survive without seeing his handsome face.”

The Wind tells me that the man standing near them listening thinks they’re talking about a lover, of how Jack must be the love of her life that she would rather die than be without. He thinks he’s smart for putting it together.

That makes me want to laugh.

He’s right in the regards that Florence loves Jack dearly and her life would be miserable without him, but not about who this Jack is. If only he knew they were talking about a dog rather than a human.

Florence and Lena continue talking as they make their way to one of the archways leading to the castles halls, each grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. Their grins are infectious to each other, their eyes shining and full of unspoken promises and desires.

I look away when they slip out into the halls and go in search for an abandoned alcove. I hope that for once the Wind won’t tell me of what they’re doing.

We have more important things to worry about today, the Wind whispers, reminding me of why I’m here in the first place.

My eyes stop on a man walking in the entrance, deeply breathing in the excitement of the people gathered – an attempt to disguise how he had been running. His cheeks were red and his eyes were alight, the glass of liquor in his hand acting as an easy explanation.

It’s him, the Wind whispered. I bit my lip to hide my wild grin, my heart pounding in my chest – finally.

As he walked closer, unbeknownst to where I was, I let my eyes roam his clothes. The dark black of the fabric went with his dark brown shoulder length hair, everything embroidered with a fine gold thread only the richest could afford. His suit looked as if it were the work of a local tailor, Bathilda Gruns, elegant and charming. Only the wealthiest could afford her.

The one thing that revealed him as the true psychotic bastard beneath his mask, was a small speck of blood on the sleeve of his shirt. That, no doubt, was from the body the Wind told me had been shoved into an alcove earlier. Though what he did in-between that unfortunate turn of events and entering the ball, neither of us knew.

Strange.

The man walked in my direction, eyeing up men and women he passed like a predator stalking his prey, or perhaps his look could also be compared to a serial killer looking over his menu. There was no doubt in my mind that he was planning to kill another tonight, and it wouldn’t be long after that when he disappeared back into the swirling darkness of hiding and no one would be able to find him.

I don’t want that to happen, but they said I couldn’t interfere. What utter bullshit.

His eyes linger on a man drinking deeply from a glass of whisky with curly blond hair. The unknown man has a wide grin, his whole face practically glowing with happiness and the influence of alcohol.

The women in the alcove has blonde hair, the Wind whispers.

So he has a thing for blondes, creepy.

The Wind laughs in my ear, a soothing sensation that sends shivers down my spine.

The man continues walking, though he sends a few glances back to the blond haired man, steadily getting close to me.

I still haven’t gotten what I came here to do, and leaving without them would be idiotic and pointless. That’s not even taking into consideration the certainty of getting lectured for hours by them if I do. And their lectures make you want to simultaneously take the closest gun and shoot yourself from boredom and curl up in a ball.

I can’t leave without getting a closer look – a hand print if I’m lucky.

My heart pounded as I thought of what I was going to do – it was stupid and reckless, most likely going to end up with me shoved in an alcove with my throat slit like the other woman, but that made it all that much more fun.

You’re complete disregard for danger amuses me, the Wind whispers, and I can picture them smirking in my head. Bastard.

I step out from the edge of the room, a pitiful man startling as he just notices my presence. Gliding out among the people like a wraith, my dark blue dress swishing around my ankles, I make my way towards him.

The one thing they forgot to mention was his name. They had said it wasn’t important, an unnecessary detail that wouldn’t assist nor hinder her mission. Which, when thinking about how she had to practically befriend him and talk to him directly, made no sense.

Henry Acklson, the Wind whispers, also agitated at how little we are told.

When Henry pauses his scanning to talk to a red haired man, I walk closer, plucking a glass of whisky from a tray moving past me. I bring it to my lips, eyes looking casually around the room though I focus on what they’re saying. It’s nothing interesting – talk about new estates and gossip – though I remember it anyway for when they ask me.

I get closer to him, now only a few steps from being directly behind him, and bring the glass once again to my lips – a perfect way to hide the stupid and reckless thing I’m about to do. If they knew, I would definitely be dead.

Now directly behind him, I whisper with a deeper voice, so that only he can hear.

“I know what you did,” I see him tense from the corner of my eye as I pause to smile at a passing man. His teeth are yellow and moustache is disgusting – I choose not to look at him again.

“Henry, did you hear about Lucinda? Her mother claims she got sick again, my mother thinks she’s only doing it to get money out of Richard.” The red heads voice is shrill and sounds unnaturally like a mouse, and Henry nods along, humming his agreement.

“What a strange place to hide a body I must say,” I say again, knowing he won’t turn when he’s talking to the red head but will the moment he gets the opportunity.

Moving away from him quickly, I discard the whisky on a tray and grab a glass of champagne – a much more innocent drink that the women of this court consumed than the ever so manly whisky.

Quickly devoured by the crowd, I weave my way to the edge of the dance floor, nothing but a sweet woman swaying to herself as she watches couples dance.

He’s coming, the Wind whispers. This will be fun.

When a hand touches my arm, I jolt out of my reverie of watching the dances, turning to look. The hand is large, and veins run across the back and lead under the sleeve of his shirt, and just with one look, I know those hands have been wrapped around someone’s neck.

“Can I help you?” I ask, eyes wide in innocence and cheeks filling with a rosy blush at the contact – I throw in a quick glance at his large chest and sculpted face for good measure.

Nothing like acting innocent when you’re guilty. He’s probably familiar with that.

“I am sorry to disturb you, I was just wondering if you had said something to me earlier, I heard someone talking behind me.” His voice was smooth, a charming smile on his lips. If I wasn’t gay I’d find him attractive. Both the men and women around me send him sneaky glances from beneath their lashes or the corner of their eyes – do they really want to fuck a serial killer?

“Oh, no, I didn’t say anything, should I be flattered that you think so, sir?” I glance shyly at the ground, a small smile on my lips, eyes filled with an affection that made my insides recoil.

“I apologize, though now that I’ve started talking to you I want to continue when sadly I can’t, may I expect to see you later?” He asks, his hand on my arm starts to move up to my shoulder.

I hold back the shiver of disgust.

“Most certainly.” I blush at how desperate I sound, when all I am desperate of is to get away.

“What is your name?” he asks, sending an appreciative look at my body, “I would like a name to put to such a beautiful face”

I scream inside my head, but on the outside I blush, “Abigail, and what may your name be, sir?”

“What an exquisite name for such an exquisite woman,” he smirks as my blush deepens, “My name is Henry, and I apologise for having to cut this lovely conversation short, but there is something I must attend to.”

Probably the body, I hope it’s a pain to get the blood out of the groove of the tiles.

His hand trails down from my arm to my hand, lifting it to his mouth. He places a kiss, his lips smooth, and smiles, “Until we meet again.”

He lets go of my hand, and with a final nod and smirk, he disappears into the crowd.

I wanted so desperately to let the innocent act drop, to make the pathetic blush disappear, to wipe away the bugs that crawled on my skin from his touch – but people were watching and sending jealous looks out of the corner of their eye.

The wind whispered in my ear, telling me of Henry’s hurried footsteps towards the exit.

I shouldn’t follow him – I got what I had to – but I couldn’t stop my body moving.

I weave through people, smile and blush disappearing with each step, the mask tucked away in a far corner of my mind. Flashes of bright dresses and dark suits are like a sea whipping all around me, a dizzying tornado and whirlwind of music as it reaches its crescendo. The air is heavy under the weight of hundreds of lungs, the floor pulsing with the heart beats of lovers and loners.

The chandeliers cast shadows on the walls, cheeks of smiling women and eyes of men capturing its warm glow. Exquisite paintings of angels and demons on the ceilings grin down at me, snickering to themselves as I spot Henry.

The predator has returned to the surface, his shoulders tense and head high. He stalks through the crowd, focused on one thing – the blond haired man from before.

The blond turns the corner, sending a quick departing wave to his friends that turn the other way, unaware of the killer yapping at his heals that already is dreaming of his demise.

If I’m to do anything, it has to be now, even as stupid as it is.

I have his hand print, I’ve seen what he looks like and can identify him – my mission’s officially over. But he’s on the prowl, steadily growing close to the man he intends to kill.

I’m meant to leave, get in a carriage and ride to the hotel down the street where I can tell them everything. But that man is about to die if I don’t do anything.

Growling at my own stupidity, I turn down the corridor and in the direction of Henry and the blond haired man, hoping like hell I don’t get killed because of this.

[suzie-guru]

FIRE, FROST & FABLE: Glass, Hearts & Snow Prologue

As promised, here is the very start of the Fire, Frost & Fable story, Glass, Hearts & Snow. I’m incredibly touched that so many of you showed interest in this, and I hope it leaves you as as all good tales do: wanting more. 

I plan on spending a lot of time in these lands as the new year stretches on. Thankfully, storytellers are able to adventure quite easily once they put their heart into it and double down on determination, and I intend to do just that.

And now, let us begin... 

“Would you like to hear a story?”

The fire burned with only a meager flame, flickering in the gloom and holding back the shadows of the inn with the dimmest glow. Darkness threatened at any moment to swallow the room whole. The storm outside was just a few pattering raindrops on the thatched roof, but the promise of fierce thunder and howling gales lay thick in the air, an unspoken but dearly felt threat.

The figure by the small fireplace held out their hands, swathed in thick gloves to keep back the chill. Fingers, crooked and long like claws, cut black against the flames. “Well, would you?”

The other person shifted in his seat. “Is it a good one?”

Pale eyes glittered out from the shadows. “A good one. A bad one. A sad, lovely, terrifying, old as the sun-scorched, moon-frozen dirt one.” The eyes crinkled and dry, soft laugh cut through the damp air. “It’s a story. There’s good and bad in each one. But I can tell it to you. The choice is yours. The choice is always yours. But you have to make it. Maybe you’ll find the answers that you’ve never thought to need. Maybe you’ll get your heart ripped out by the words of it. Or maybe they’ll be a balm to you. That’s the danger of choice. You don’t know what will happen. But it’s yours to make.”

Silence at that speech. The man shifted once more and gazed warily at the figure, hunched beside the hearth like some kind of beast, dark clothes and pale eyes and hooked hands trying to warm themselves still, so close to the flames it was a wonder the flesh wasn’t blistering. The fingers wove and danced through air that shimmered with heat. They looked like they’re were trying to coax the flames to life, like they were weaving a spell.

“So, tell me true. Would you like to hear a story?”

Foolishness. The man coughed and spat, then nodded. “Might as well pass the time.”

Another dry laugh. “As good a reason as there ever was.” The hands withdrew, and the figure settled into their own seat, their sigh as soft as the hiss of raindrops on hot coals. “So a story I’ll tell you. And I’ll begin it with the words with which the best tales have always begun.”

The voice grew soft. “Once upon a time…”

The land outside should have been silent with snow, but the storm would not be denied, weaving through the gusts of icy air. The wind of the white twilight whistled sharp and cold amongst the turrets of the castle, howling down cavernous corridors. The spell of cold-snaps whispered across the stones, the hex of frost already nipping at the fragile rose blooms not yet covered by the heavy winter-white blanket.

Witchery weather. It provoked a restlessness, a yearning for that which did not exist but was dearly sought, adventures in lands beyond the border of what is known. It called to the magic stitched into ones skin, cooling iron and brewing blood, sinking into bones. Tensing in the heart before flashing out like lightning, it made one feel ancient and powerful and lonely, belonging to an exhilarating and echoing everlastingness.

It was intoxicating and dangerous to begin with. Witchery weather when darkness fell, when the world was between night and day, was something else altogether. 

Never mind witchery weather in the Winter…

The Queen looked out over the vast snowy stretch of the castle’s gardens, the warm light of the fire at her back. Her face was shrouded in the deepening gloom, the pale blue light of winter and shadows of the dusk playing across her profile. The pensiveness of her eyes was soft, but their strange luster remained undimmed. “She will come.”

“You sound certain,” her husband said, caution in his tones as he crossed from the comfort of the hearth to join her. The silver in his crow-black hair glowed like the copper-gold as his crown and skin, both burnished by the light of the flickering flames. He came to rest behind his wife, joining her to watch the world outside the window. Concern furrowed his brow, and the shivers that crossed his skin were not entirely due to the cold.

The Queen, meanwhile, was as unaffected by the bitter-bone chill as she had always been. “You know how I am about such things.”

“Babes and flowers…” The King muttered, attempting a dry tone, but the result was whispery, almost afraid. He frowned, and his dark eyes came back to the comforting familiarity of his lady. “Snow covers both now. She might not come until Spring. We needn’t worry –”

“She’ll be a Winter babe.” The Queen’s tone was gentle with admonishment. “The season calls to her. The snow calls to her. I feel it, all through me. Born in Winter, blossom in Spring. Life and Death –”

“Comes to all things,” her husband finished. He shifted unhappily. “You know I don’t care for those sayings. Just because something rhymes doesn’t give it any power.”

The Queen laughed and finally turned to her husband, her mouth curving fondly and the fire-flicker in her eyes warm with affection. “True, but there’s still power in words.”

The King wrapped arms around her, sinewy but gentle, and tucked his face into the softness of her hair, breathing her in and giving his confession to the tresses. “Birthing is hard, a battle that a man could never dream of facing. Never mind birthing in Winter. Is there any way in which we could –?”

The Queen shook her head, palming the strong edge of his jaw, dark with stubble. He hadn’t been shaving lately, too consumed with his worry for her. “Life and Death come to all things,” she reminded him gently. “We’ve discussed this. My kind are fragile with births to begin with, and if I’m to die so that she may live, it is how it ought to be.”

His crown gleamed as he bent his head once more. “How it ought to be is that she keeps her mother and I my wife. I would not lose you.” His voice was low, but a crack was there. “I cannot lose you.”

Her heart ached with both love and exasperation. “I’m not seeking to leave you. But I won’t use magic to stall the birth. There’s enough tied to this babe already.” She combed slender fingers through his hair, ice slipping through soot. “I will not deny what is written for her.”

He looked up at that, brown eyes nearly black with ferocity. “And if there’s tragedy written for her? Pain and sorrow and blood?”

She looked at him with a serenity that bordered on impassiveness. “Then that is what is written.”

He let go of her and crossed to the fire, his boots heavy on the flagstones and his fists clenched. “How can you speak so about our daughter?”

“Because I cannot tell her story,” she said quietly. Slender hands passed over the gentle swell of her stomach. “It is not hopeless, my love. There’s what is written, and what she will write.” She crossed to him and held out a hand, which he looked away from. Her cool front shivered slightly, and a faint pleading crept into her tone. “We can only raise her to know warmth and kindness and love, and hope that those will guide her choices.”

He gave her a sidelong look and then abruptly tugged her to him. “Sometimes you seem to have ice over you,” he muttered. “And then your heart burns through, and I feel like a proper ass.”

She smiled and brushed cool, soft lips over his fiery brow. “It is your right, and not entirely unfounded. My kind possesses hearts that beat differently than yours.” Her fingers knotted with his, and the gesture was clumsy and heartfelt. “But we do have them. And we do love with them.” Her voice softened. “We’re simply born to the cold.” Her eyes looked to the window once more. “As will she.”

The King’s gaze followed hers, before he gave a sigh, stepping back. “I should make sure all are indoors. I won’t have anyone freeze tonight if I can help it.”

She let him go. “I’ll have the maids bring blankets up from storage. People can keep to our halls tonight if the storm becomes fierce. The Cavern always keeps one warm.”

He nodded and turned to leave, then stopped. Looking into her eyes, he knelt before her with a slight grunt, stroking large and coarse hands over the bump of her belly, the small world inside her. “I love you,” he said, the hoarseness of his age mixing with the earnestness of a boy. “Both of you.” His eyes sought hers, and they were pleading. “Surely love has more power than words?”

Her smile was soft as her gaze, tender fingers stroking his cheek. “At times they are even matched.”

He took her words silently, and then sighed once more as he stood. To the untrained eye, the line of his broad shoulders was strong as ever as he left the room. But she had weathered too many Winters with him to not see the tension there, the wariness. I could have lied. I could have said anything else to stop him from worrying. The first child is terrifying enough, never mind one tied up with Faerie forebodings.

The Queen sighed, passing an uncharacteristically weary hand over her brow. She had never doubted this, never had tried to question what had been given to her. But her husband’s words had struck close to her heart. And frosty as it was, the flint of his questions had been tinder, cold restraint melting as worry started to smolder and burn in her breast. If I cannot be there for her, for them…

She closed her eyes, turning sightlessly to the gardens. This was the way in which madness lay, burning with anxiety until all that was left was a charred ruin. And fire and her folk had never been a good mix to begin with.

She opened her eyes, iridescent green flashing down to the snow covered lawns below, the normally dark lines of the paths now dancing with drifting eddies and flurries. The sight of the gardens had always soothed her, her husband’s gift to her when they had wed. The perfect marriage of the wildness of nature and the order of civilization, blooming bright and thriving for all to see. The meaning of the gesture had not been lost on her, and she had put her heart into her kiss of gratitude.

She should look upon her gardens. That would soothe her, calm the heart that her baby was slumbering under into a softer lullaby. Her eyes searched and gazed at the grounds as one would look upon their family, a tenderness to her gaze. Then she paused, blinking.

The rosebushes had been nearly covered, the blooms long since gone once the first frosts had smattered across the trunks of the trees in lacy-white designs. But now…

Deep in the drifts of snow, nestled in a black and thorny bush that was nearly burrowed by white, was a single rose, blossoming as though it were in the midst of Summer rather than the dead of Winter. It was a brilliant and brave red, each petal perfection, unparalleled in its beauty.

On its own it would have been lovely. Against the snow, it practically glowed, defying the darkness by flaming forth.  

A harsh call shattered the silence of the gardens, and the Queen started, pressing a hand to her throat. One of her white fingers caught at the necklace there, the pretty curls of metal pricking into frosty flesh. Yet she only had eyes for the dark bird that had fluttered down from its blackthorn tree to cross the snow, its great glossy black head bobbing. A raven. One of the castle’s, perhaps, her husband had always loved them. Ravens and crows, so very clever, so terribly cunning.

The bird seemed a shadow come to life, a dark blot against the purity of the Winter’s fall, quite content to saunter along before pausing by the rosebush. It cocked its head, wings twitching as it considered the impossible beauty of the bloom before it, and the Queen could have sworn that the red of the rose glowed against the inky sheen of the crow’s feathers.

The bird pecked at the flower, short and sharp, and the Queen gasped, already mourning the loss of such unscarred and unspoiled perfection. To maim so carelessly, even if it was in the beasts nature –

But though one petal bore a slash of a scar, the rose still bloomed as bravely as ever, its crimson lush and vibrant and unconquerable. The raven croaked another cry, conceding defeat, then spread its large black wings, shadowing the bush before taking off into the void of swirling snow and night.

The Queen watched it depart, and moved her hand away from her throat. At the movement, blood welled up in a perfect pearl upon the tip of her finger. It fell to the snow-covered ledge of the window, spattering soft in the whiteness and staining it scarlet.

“Hair dark as a raven’s wing, lips red as blood, and skin as pure as snow,” the Queen whispered out into a night that held roses and snow and crows, her voice soft under the howls of the witchery wind. “And let her heart be her own.”

For the first time all evening, the first time since she had known she was to be a mother, she shivered.

[kusunogatari]

                                                           [ @uchiha-madara ]                                                                   𝕩      𝕩      𝕩                                                                   𝕩      𝕩      𝕩                                                                   𝕩      𝕩      𝕩

It had been his fate, really, to fall in love with the sea.

It wasn’t enough that he was born and raised in the coastal city, home to their land’s busiest port. Or that his father, and his father’s father, had all sailed in the royal navy. Some claimed the Uchiha had saltwater in their veins rather than blood, so tied were they to the ocean. Since the founding of the country they sailed for, and the crowning of the Senju line, the Uchiha have been right beside them: their closest friends and allies. The military might to the divine right to rule.

Madara Uchiha was born a scant two months after the next crown prince, Hashirama...during the night of a battering winter squall. The sea had been boiling in the ports, thunder rumbling and lightning reaching across the pitch-black sky. His father Tajima liked to say that the sea knew its next king was born that night: the eldest of the five Uchiha sons. He who would conquer the waves and tame the winds.

For while the Senju were rulers of the land...it was the Uchiha who held dominion over the waters.

Madara grew fast, and every minute spared was spent learning his place. Be it playing on the beaches with his brothers, or accompanying his father on short sailing routes when only a boy, he was never far from the sea. He could climb rigging soon after he could walk. Talking was mastered only to learn to bark orders. Everywhere he turned, he was called, “lil cap’n”, as he felt was only right. He became the youngest ever to enroll in the naval academy...and the youngest to graduate with full honors. When he was scarcely sixteen, he was appointed to his first ship.

By twenty, he’d take his late father’s place as admiral of the entire royal navy. Over six hundred ships, and over forty thousand men were at the command of a genius - and admittedly ruthless - mind. For five brilliant and bloody years, Madara led the charge to expand not only the Senju-ruled kingdom’s trade routes, but its territories, colonies, and influence over the continent and beyond. Wars were waged and won. In his half decade at the helm, he claimed more victories and spoils than his father in the entirety of his career.

And his accomplishments did not go unnoticed.

...but nor did his methods.

There was no denying that the heir of the Uchiha was an unmatched tactician: not only armed, supplied, and populated beyond his enemies, but managing to plan and outwit as to minimize his own losses.

But the losses of the other sides were, as time went on, found to be too steep. Too cruel. Hashirama spoke to him on many an occasion, begging he rein in his bloodlust.

“What’s the purpose in conquering a people if there are no people left?!”

“We’ve people of our own. Send them out, make new colonies! You tasked me with expanding our borders, and I have done so. Better than any man before me!”

“You salt these new lands with hatred and disdain for our flag! If you continue to take beyond what is necessary, you’ll only incite uprisings.”

“Uprisings I will have little trouble crushing.”

“We cannot rule by fear and force alone, Madara.”

“That’s your lot, Hashirama. Not mine. Mine is to fight, and to win. By whatever means necessary.”

“That is my point - you go above and beyond what is necessary! From critical to cruel! If you cannot make these judgments more fairly, then I must -”

“Must what?” He turned to his childhood friend - the boy and man he’d grown alongside, planning their futures to be won together. Dark eyes seemed to burn with challenge. “You think you can remove me…? I have earned my place, with blood and with sweat. I’ll not be upended so easily, Hashirama. Those men are my men.”

“No, Madara…” Hashirama’s gaze was somber with realization...but also steely with resolve. “...they are mine.”

If there was one fault within him...it was Madara’s temper. When it burned, it blazed, and rational thought would fall to cinders in its wake. So, Hashirama thought he could take all he’d built?  Been born and bred for? No...this navy, this armada, was his and his alone.

...or so he thought.

That night, he gathered his highest ranking officers. Spun a tale of spurn and betrayal. Invited them to rise up against the Senju who dared try to yoke them.

But for many...his rousing speech fell on deaf ears.

Most - even Uchiha among them - turned their backs on him in favor of their king.

They say it was then he finally snapped.

Embittered, he’d taken what few remained - enough for a crew - and boarded his helmship: a beautiful frigate of lacquered granadillo wood. A stunning red in color with dark hickory accents, it was peerless. Strong but swift, loaded with thirty cannons, a heavy battering ram, and midnight sails, it had been a symbol of death and bloodshed at the fore of his armada since his ascension to admiral.

And now...it would be so on its own.

In the dead of night, with a favorable wind Madara claimed was divine, they left the ports behind, knowing full well their treachery would earn them a new name.

Pirates.

It was with a heavy heart Hashirama watched the ship abandon the harbor from his castle windows. “...I’ll give you this night,” he murmured to no one. “But come daylight, Madara...all you’ve left behind will be reclaimed. Your ties are cut. Cling to your ocean...for the lands you’ve forsaken will no longer house you.

“Step again on my shores...and you’ll be brought to make amends for your crimes. Your barbarity...and your betrayal.”

And so, Madara migrated from the most renowned commander of the royal navy...to the most feared and ruthless pirate on the seas. The trade routes he’d fought to clean of those now his kin were retaken: plundered at every opportunity. Should a ship bear his country’s banner, he’d pursue it to the horizon until it was looted and sunk. Some might call such actions petty...but for Madara, they were simple repayment for all Hashirama had robbed him of. If the ships of the Senju port were no longer his to command...they were his to take.

He’d make Hashirama regret his decision...and there would be no recompense. No amends. The Senju king had made his bed, and now he could lie in it.

One did not cross Madara Uchiha without begetting a grudge that could - and would - outlast empires.

And that was exactly what he planned to do.

...but the fates have other ideas.

Standing at the wheel, feeling a warm breeze at his back, Madara looks out over the decks. His crew - nearly two hundred and fifty men - are all in sound shape. They’ve only just left a pirate-held port, fresh from a two week reprieve from the sea. Their supplies are restocked, their spirits high, and their goals on the horizon.

He’s gotten word of a large convoy of Hashirama’s ships heading through...but taking what they believe will be a less noticeable route.

Hashirama, however, underestimates Madara’s mastery of the area. There’s not a cove or a beach he doesn’t know. If they think they can outsmart him...they’re very much mistaken.

And now, it will cost his old friend dearly.

...there’s only one thing standing in his way.

As they approach the series of islands the Senju ships are rumored to try hiding amongst, dark clouds gather at the fore. His plan - to lie low in an inlet before streaking in from behind - might get a bit...wet.

“Cap’n,” his first mate murmurs, stepping up with a bowed head of respect. “Perhaps t’ain’t my place t’say, but...I’ve no love for those clouds. They bring a rattlin’ in me bones that warns a’trouble.”

“This ship’s handled its fair number of squalls,” is Madara’s rumbling rebuke, hold steady on the wheel. “I’d gladly stand a bit of rain and wind for whatever lies in the hulls of those ships.”

“A-and I agree, cap’n! T’ain’t no better vessel than yers,” his companion admits, bobbing in apologetic bows. “But the achin’ in me joints tells me this storm’s a leap above t’rest. Perhaps we can...chart a course t’intercept the Senju convoy further down the line…? Out a’ the path o’the storm?”

Dark eyes give a cool glance, earning a flinch. “These islands serve as good cover, and the tide is favorable. Those fat ships won’t have our maneuverability, loaded with their cargo. We’ll dance circles around them until they run themselves aground. Then, they’ll be ripe for the taking. We’ll barely have to lift a finger.”

“...aye, cap’n.”

Looking back to his route, a haughty grin curls the former admiral’s lips. Oh, he’s going to enjoy this...and what’s a plundering without a bit of boiling in the ocean? Surely she’ll be glad to be fed all the fools he’ll throw overboard. Then she’ll calm.

She always does.

On they sail, weaving their way between the group of islands until finding the cove Madara’s had in mind. Dropping anchor, they face out toward the route their informant described. Here they’ll bide their time.

Not long after they tuck away, the wind begins to pick up, fat drops of rain shattering atop the decks and soaking the sails.

Ever patient when he needs to be...Madara waits.

It’s just dusk when a ship’s prow passes their hiding place. By now, the wind’s are whipping, swirling and knocking the rain any direction it feels.

“Steady,” Madara commands to those awaiting to lift the anchor. “Steady…”

A dozen ships pass by, utterly unaware. Half are the galleons carrying the cargo, two small gunships, and four brigs.

Child’s play.

Only once he’s sure they’re all past does Madara signal for the anchor to be raised. The tide’s lowering, leaving the narrow strips of sea between the isles shallow. One wrong move, and those swollen ships will be run ashore until it raises again.

Plenty of time to board and loot them. And with so little space to maneuver, their protection won’t have a chance to turn around to defend.

“NOW!”

With the anchor aweigh, the winds swiftly carry them from the cove, sails taut as they quickly build momentum. Below on the gun deck, canons await to be fired. Streaking out past the rear gunboat, they cut in front, dropping lit barrels of powder. As soon as the hull connects, the barrels explode, wreaking havoc and letting seawater through a gaping hole in the hull.

Alarms then sound as the convoy becomes aware, but there’s little to be done. Trapped between the isles, there’s nowhere to go but forward.

Gaining on one of the brigs, Madara commands they fire, cannonballs tearing through the broadside. The return fire is delayed, the enemy ship unprepared for combat. As his own crew reloads, Madara makes to cut to the other brig. A few of its cannons, loaded quickly, fire prematurely, skirting before the bow. Disorder in the chaos only works to his advantage. Cutting cleanly between the ships, another round is shot, this time from both sides, nailing both rear defense vessels.

The former begins to lag, heavily damaged. The latter, however, is hit with a shot to their powder room. A huge portion of the ship blows out, and water quickly begins to claim the ship. That’s two of the brigs down, and the rest are out in front. That leaves the large cargo ships exposed between Madara and any hope of defense. While they might have a few canons, most will have been spared to allow more weight in their holds.

A feral grin overtakes Madara’s face. This...this is what he lives for!

Out beyond, one brig attempts to turn between two islands, clearly trying to circle back around to come up behind them. But they misjudge the tide, running atop a sandbar and beaching as the high winds carry them far along the shelf.

They won’t be going anywhere for a good while.

In the same breath, two of the cargo vessels simply give in, beaching themselves against a left hand isle. The other four keep going, but it’s clear that with their limited canons, and only one remaining brig to defend them beyond the tiny gunboat at the helm, there’s little chance of outwitting or outgunning a ship like Madara’s.

“Hold on, lads!”

Streaking up to the galleons, Madara orders high fire. Masts crumple as cannonballs shatter the wood, leaving the huge ships stagnant in the water without a way to propel. Three of them he cripples before moving to the last brig. The final cargo vessel attempts to get ahead, and he leaves it for now.

Fire exchanges between them, Madara’s larger cannon volleys making quick work of his enemy. The gunboat, realizing it’s outmatched, simply beaches to the right.

But the last cargo ship is determined.

Leaving the rest of its armada behind, it attempts to make it out into open sea.

“Oh no you don’t -!” the Uchiha growls.

“Cap’n! Should we not return and loot what we’ve got? It’s a clear cut now!” the first mate calls over the squalls.

“I’ll be damned before I let one of Hashirama’s ships get away from me!” is the shouted reply. There’s a red glint of fervid revenge in Madara’s eyes. It’s all or nothing...anything less, and he might as well have attained no victory at all.

His pride won’t stand for it.

Forward they plunge through the growing waves, the storm nearly fully upon them. The wheel fights his grip every moment, the tides tearing at the rudder. Rain so thick he can hardly see the ship before him is mopped from his face, drenched into his hair and clothes until he feels he’s gained his weight over.

“Cap’n! The storm, it’s too much!”

“To Hell with the storm!” He’ll not come this far and give up. He’d rather die…!

They make it out of the cluster of islands, and then the weather truly hits them full force. Waves several stories tall, no longer inhibited by the land masses, toss them about like a leaf. Again and again they crest over the deck, sweeping anything not hammered down about and overboard.

He can hear the cries of his men, but they go unacknowledged. The hunt is on, he’s in too deep - there’s nothing beyond death stopping him now -!

Buffeted by a wave, the ship suddenly janks to one side. Thrown from the wheel, Madara lands with a heavy thump against the railing. Both gravity and water pin him down, the whole ship tilting as it’s swept up another wave. He can’t quite regain his feet…!

Reaching the apex, the crest crashes down atop the decks. Pinned to the railing, his body screams in protest at the weight of the water, unable to breathe, and then -

The wood gives out, and he plummets off the side, smashing into the sea with a clap. The weight of his garments drags him all the further, limbs fighting to break the surface. As he does, he sees the ship streaking forward, still propelled by its sails through the gusts.

In a matter of moments, it’s left him far behind.

Around him, debris from the deck either floats or sinks, and he manages to cling to a bobbing barrel. By now, they’re miles from the islands, and he hardly has a hope to swim back...especially not with the storm dogging him.

For the first time in his life...Madara fears the sea.

The waves batter and bruise him, throwing him about before parting him from his float. Struggling to find something, anything to hold on to, he finds a slat of wood. It dips under his weight, but once maneuvered, manages to hold him. Fingers make a white-knuckle grip along its edges, and Madara tucks his face against it from the pounding rain.

Eventually, the exertion is too much...and everything goes black.

When next he wakes, Madara feels a groggy confusion, but...why?

...then it hits him. He’s no longer swaying and sweeping atop water. He’s still.

Cracking open his eyes, he stares up into...leaves? What…?

Beneath him is something soft. Movement earns a rustle, and he sits up with great effort and a grunt. He’s in...some kind of strange hut. Perhaps ten paces across, circular, and with a sandy floor, it’s simply open along one side, giving a view out toward a beach.

Where...where is he?

It’s then he notices he’s been...redressed? His own garments hang nearby, drying, and he’s instead in simple trousers and a shirt, both dry. Likely the only reason he hasn’t caught his death. Feet bare, he swings them over the edge of his cot and looks around. A myriad of chests litter the hut, all overstuffed with seemingly random belongings.

His legs wobble as he stands, but he fights through it, stepping to the doorless doorway. Out beyond is a large fire pit, rigged for cooking. The whole thing sits back in a small inlet of trees and large rocks, protected from the wind. Surely the only way such a structure survived the storm.

The storm…!

All over again, Madara’s knees go weak. His ship...did the crew survive? Did they regain control? Or was all lost? And where the devil is he? Can he even begin to return?

...is there anything for him to return to…?

Without a ship, he’s a captain no more. Sure, he has his stash of gold and trinkets, but no way to retrieve them. And he can’t know if any of his crew - the only people he trusts - have survived.

A hand drags down his face, taking a deep breath. No...he can’t panic. He’s alive. Start there.

And someone clearly rescued him. He hardly hauled himself out of the depths and into a bed. Even if he washed up on shore, he has no memory of making his way here.

Someone else is here...but where?

The beach is too muddled to look for tracks, and he’s unfamiliar with the place - he hardly wants to get lost. Stepping out a few paces, he gives the view a once-over before he just so happens to find what he’s looking for.

Someone’s walking back down the beach toward him. A woman in a flowing skirt and strange, twisted top that encircles her chest, midriff bare. Against her hip is a wide basket. Like him, she wears no shoes.

But most shocking is the wild white waves of her hair - like a tangle of seafoam along her scalp, carried askew by the breeze.

Noticing him, there’s a pause in her strides before closing the cap. “...you’re awake,” is her soft offering, barely above a whisper.

“...aye,” he replies. “Are you...did I…?”

“Come, sit. I will explain.”

In her woven basket is a plethora of fruits, several fish, and greens. As Madara sits atop a stone near the firepit, she goes about sorting and preparing it.

“I found you in the waters just offshore,” she begins, skewering the fish with practiced ease. “Dragged you here...you’re quite heavy.”

The comment earns an amused snort, but no reply.

“You were soaked through, so I stripped you. You’d have gotten ill otherwise...I’m surprised you didn’t. A bit of a fever was all - you slept three days.”

Three days…? No wonder he feels so...off.

“And now...here you are.” Flint sparks dry vegetation, gradually fed wood. Finally glancing up to him, she shows mirror-like silvers, framed by white brows and lashes. He’s never seen anyone with such an appearance.

“Was...was there anyone else?”

“No...only you. You were in the storm…?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate - Madara’s not in the mood to tell such a story.

“...I see.”

“Where are we?”

“A small isle with no name...it is among the cluster here in the south sea. No one comes here...there’s nothing to be gained.”

“You live here…?”

“...when I must.”

Dark brows furrow. What does that mean…?

“Hungry?”

“...starved,” he admits. Already the smells of the fruits she’s cutting are making his stomach do eager circles. “...may I have your name?”

“Ryū,” she replies without hesitation. He’ll take that as a truth, then. “You?”

“...Madara. Madara Uchiha.”

Despite his notoriety, there’s no recognition at his offer. She just keeps going, handing him a crude bowl with the fruit. Then back to peeling and whittling she goes with a strange-looking knife, hands quick and clean.

As starving as he is, Madara makes himself take his time. “...do you have a...boat, or a ship?”

“No.”

The blunt reply earns a blink. “Does...someone come ‘round?”

“No.”

“...then how do you ever leave? You said you only live here when you must. How do you…?”

“I swim.”

“You swim…?”

Checking the fish, Ryū turns them before looking to him again, studying his face. “...you want to leave?”

“Of course. I’ve a life to return to. I have to see if my ship…” He fades out, not wanting to address the possibility of it being lost.

“...you rest first. Then I’ll take you.”

“You just said you have no ship.”

“I don’t need a ship. I told you...I swim.”

“That’s not -” He’s silenced as she holds out a skewer, snatching it and looking to her suspiciously. “...what are you…?”

At his question, she stops mid-bite, considering him before giving him a smile.

Her teeth are...are…!

“You never know what you’ll find lurking in the ocean,” she replies airily before finally taking her bite of fish.

Staring, Madara completely forgets his own. No...that can’t be...but…?

“...mermaid…?” he dares to whisper.

“Mm,” she hums in affirmative reply. “Hence only being here when I have to be. You’d be surprised how many humans end up lost in these waters. So...I haul them out. Bring them here. Then let them go.” Another bite. “I stay until they’re strong again. Then I head back out into the waters.”

“How...how has no one -?”

“Found me? Told of me? Anyone who’s been washed up is already believed to be mad from the sea. No one believes a washed-up man’s tales about a mermaid saving his life.”

“...why do you do it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

A pause, considering his food. A few bites pass before he asks, “Are there others?”

“Yes. But I stay alone. Most of my kind are not...fond of your kind. But I find you curious. None have tried to hurt me yet.” A pause. “...though I don’t fully trust you.”

“Probably wise,” Madara replies dryly. Lost in his thoughts, he finishes his food in silence.

“Here.”

Looking up, he sees her offer a waterskin. It’s then he realized how long it’s been since he’s had fresh water. “...so, how long before I can leave?”

“A few days. You were quite weak - you’ll have to build up some strength, first. Then I’ll take you to the next island. There’s a town there - you can find your way from the port.”

“Ah...that might not be wise.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know who holds this port?”

The mermaid blinks. “...no. Why?”

“Well...I’m rather notorious among humans. I might not be welcomed.”

Something lights her eyes for a moment - understanding, perhaps? “Then...where do you wish to go?”

“Do you know the port of Isla Verde? I’d be safe there.”

She thinks. “...that...is a great many miles from here. It would take many, many days to get there.”

“But...you could take me?”

“Mm...maybe. But what would you give me in return?”

“I have gold. Lots of it. Just need a way back to it.”

A hand waves. “I care not for gold. All I need, I have in the sea. Besides, I collect many things from it you humans lose. Where do you think I got your garments?”

“Then what could you want, if you have all you need?”

A thoughtful hum. “...I shall choose when we arrive. For now, I must think.”

“All right, fair enough.”

“And you must rest. Regain your strength. Here we’ll stay a few days more. Now...I must go hunt.”

“We just ate.”

“And hunting takes time. Stay, rest, eat. I’ll be back.”

Watching her go, Madara sees her step into the tide. Up to her waist she walks, stopping at an outcropping of stone. She pulls aside her garment, tying the fabric in place before sinking.

She disappears.

But then, with a leap, she breaches the surface, hopping out before diving into deeper waters. Rather than like a fish, from her hips extends a tail more like a dolphin’s: white, like her locks.

He just stares, still wondering if he’s actually dead, and this is all just some strange purgatory dream.

After a time, he grows restless, walking along the beach in one direction. The island is, indeed, rather small - it takes him all of an hour to come back around. Sand encircles the entire perimeter, a large rocky outcropping jutting from the center. Palms and other fruit-bearing trees pepper the isle, grasses and ferns growing more densely the further in you wander. A spring bubbles from a clearing, running clear and smooth. Taking a break to drink, Madara reclines under a palm tree, staring up through the leaves.

It’s like a tiny little paradise.

Were he a simpler man, he might entertain the idea of just...staying. There’s water, shelter, food...and the island itself is rather gorgeous.

Though it also hosts rather...strange company.

He’s not sure what to make of his savior. She seems pleasant enough. But to think that such a creature is truly real. Not just some fable of the sea.

It makes him wonder what else is possibly lurking in the dark depths of the waters he loves so ardently.

But, either way, he can’t stay. Not with the stirring that still pulls at his soul. That which longs for conquest and adventure, excitement and experiences! If he knows anything about himself, it’s that he’ll quickly grow bored of this place. Beautiful it may be, but...stagnant. Unchanging.

Too...peaceful. Peace is to be idle.

And to be idle is to go mad.

Returning to the inlet of the hut, he realizes that his companion has returned. Still transformed, she lies on her belly atop the rock, propped atop her elbows and staring out into the horizon. Idly the fin of her tail flicks up water over the smooth skin, sun reflecting off the pale white flesh.

Stepping up into the water to his ankles, Madara makes to call to her, but...stops as he hears something.

...singing…?

In a haunting minor key, without words, the mermaid croons into the breeze. Parts are reminiscent of shanties he knows, but...sadder. More mournful than cheery as meant to keep up the spirits of the crew.

It sounds...incredibly lonely.

“I stay alone. Most of my kind are not...fond of your kind. But I find you curious.”

Is that the whole truth? Or is there something she’s not told him?

Wading out a bit deeper, the sea lapping at the hems of his trousers, he waits for a lull in the song. “Serenading the gulls?”

Over her shoulder she glances to him. Her tie-on skirt is still hanging along the rocks, her strange top drying around her chest. Beside her, a net of crustaceans and fish is tied in the tide. “I like to sing. A pleasant way to pass the time.”

“Why don’t you just go home?”

“...home?”

“Back to...wherever you came from?”

Something shifts in her expression. “...I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I am...not welcome.”

That earns a frown. “Whyever not?”

“I’m a danger.”

Madara can’t help a scoff. “You? Dangerous?”

“...my color is a threat. Wherever I go, I’m easily spotted. If I stay with the others...I bring them attention. Put them in danger. So...no, I can’t go back where I came from.” Her gaze returns to the sea. “...I was cast out. For the good of the others.”

He’s...not sure what to say to that. It makes sense. Something so brightly-colored - so different than the tones of the ocean - would stand out. “...is that why you approach humans? Because you’re alone?”

For a moment, she doesn’t answer. “...you always leave, in the end.”

“You could come with me.”

Again she turns to him, expression sharp, as though both troubled - and yet intrigued - by his offer. “...why?”

“If you’re tired of people leaving, find people you can stay with. True, this isle is amazing. A little utopia among the waves. But few are so content to remain in one place too long. Keep a man someplace he cannot leave of his own will, and no matter how you cater it to him...it will be a prison all the same.”

Something in her expression falls. “I...did not see it that way. I have the freedom of the sea...I never thought…”

“So, come with me.”

“I cannot stay with humans. The sea always calls to me. I cannot stay away forever.”

“You don’t have to. I sail! I’m rarely far from the water. We stop and explore isles, conquer other ships, visit harbors...”

“But you don’t know if your ship still sails. If your crew still lives.”

“I told you, I’ve gold. I just need to get to it. Another ship can be bought. Another crew can be found.”

“...why do you insist I go with you?”

“You saved my life. Perhaps I could change yours.” His arms open in a gesture of offering. “...maybe that could be my payment to you.”

The mermaid considers him, expression unreadable. “...I will...consider it.”

“That’s all I can ask. Besides...you may be right. I need more time to rest. Then...we can hit the open waters. Make up our minds.”

Her lips lift just a hair. “...you travel far? On your...ship?”

“Wherever I please. There’s much of the ocean to explore, and I’ve seen a great many places already. I answer to no man but myself. We could go anywhere you wanted.”

A wistful look colors her eyes. “...perhaps that would be...pleasant.”

“There’s nothing like it.”

A more genuine smile curls her mouth before looking to the horizon. “...we’ll see what we feel in a few days. You may yet change your mind.”

“And so may you.”

The conversation trails to silence, so Madara retreats up the beach and back to the hut. In truth, he’s still exhausted. His limbs feel heavy, and his mind slow. Nearly drowning, as it so happens, leaves one a bit tuckered. So, for now, he heaves himself back upon the cot, plans and what-ifs soon melding into dreams.

                                                          .oOo.

     AHHH IT’S FINALLY HERE! I’ve been prepping for this event for weeks xD Really hoping it does well!      Anywho, I’ve written a pirate!verse MadaRyū before...but that was with a human!Ryū. Madara’s pretty much the same in both stories, as is the verse background, but I decided to make Ryū a mermaid for this one, cuz...why not? Especially since I technically wrote it in May...Mermay, right? lol      For anyone unfamiliar, I’ve written this ship (mostly in canon and modern verses) with Phoenix for a good long while now! I love their dynamic no matter what universe we write them in. And given I had that random fic of this verse before, I thought they’d fit best in it again!      Phoenix, if you see this (which golly I hope you do lol), thank you for writing all your beans with me, and letting bonds grow between our muses. It’s always a pleasure writing with you, and I hope to again soon, no matter what verse we end up in! <3      Anyway, I don’t want to carry on for too long - happy OC x Canon ship week, everybody!

[cleverbroadwayurl]

From Lions to Lambs (Jared Kleinman x Reader)

Word Count: 4727

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long!! I really wanted to do it justice and I love the concept of it!! I will get started on the Connor fic next, so my apologies to those of you who really want to see Part 16, it’s just some of you beat others to the punch! Remember that Sneak Peeks are always able to be requested and I am happy to answer questions about any of my Works in Progress!

Trigger Warnings: Some asshole, family fights, mentions of alcohol, language, a party, being left alone at said party, IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Taglist: @finnofamerica (thought I’d tag you since you requested it!!)

This was a predicament.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy parties, it’s just that…well…they were easier to handle with your brothers at your side and helping you navigate through the crazy teenagers would were pretty much just getting drunk on their front lawn as some sort of source of fun. You swirled the drink that your brothers had placed in your hand, eyeing how the dark liquid didn’t change in the purple, orange, and color changing lights. Deciding that it was best not to take a sip, you walked outside, past the crowd of people that were attempting to dance and onto the back porch. A sinking feeling went into your stomach, your fingers clamped harder on the cup—you hoped that the porch wouldn’t suddenly cave in from all of the jumping teenagers around you.

As soon as it had appeared, the fear was gone and replaced with moments that had happened less than an hour ago, your brother thrusting a cup into your hand. Not exactly a smile was painted on his face, a harsh “drink this” escaping him as you took the cup and he rolled his eyes before walking away, trying to find anyone else to hang out at this party. It wasn’t like you’d meant to chew him out, you just got…protective…if that was even the right word for it.

That’s right you’d gotten something, if protective wasn’t the right word, over some boy that you almost barely knew, a boy who walked around with an asshole swagger that seemed to piss everybody off, a boy who spoke his mind, a boy who was exceptional at bragging that he didn’t study and managed to almost always get a perfect score on exams. You’d defended Jared Kleinman.

It hadn’t been an easy task, your brothers were pretty harsh on him. They practically pounced on him as soon as your front door had closed after school earlier that day. It was a blessing and yet a curse that it was a Friday. A blessing because then maybe your brothers would forget about the dumb shit and lies they spread about Jared, a curse because you’d promised you’d go to a party with them, saying that they’re friend really wanted to throw a rager and needed people there. You could practically feel the weight of you backpack leaving your shoulders, even though it was hours later and you were watching the way the pine trees swayed in the distance as the bass continued to almost distract you from the almost-flashback.

“Why is Kleinman your friend? That guy practically exudes cockiness and irritability.” One of your brothers said, walking into the kitchen to grab a snack.

“Yeah that dude is not okay,” the other one commented, sitting down onto the couch and scrolling through some social media to figure out the theme of the party that you were currently at.

“Who is this?” your dad had entered the scene, a typical lightheartedness to his demeanor. He stepped further into the room, setting his coat onto the coatrack and his shoes by the front door.

“Jared Kleinman. He’s in (Y/N)’s grade. Apparently, they’re friends.”

Oh boy. You knew the connotations behind ‘friends’. That meant your brothers knew, they knew that maybe what you called friendship would turn into something more—maybe it already had, you weren’t entirely sure. Jared was hard to read, he always had been especially in public. They’d caught you two in the library, studying for some chemistry exam (well, you were studying. Jared needed to keep his reputation up). And since your brother had annunciated ’friends’, you could feel your dad process that you and Jared weren’t just friends.

“I don’t see it. I mean, how, (Y/N)? He called Evan Hansen an acorn when he fell out of a tree. Like what did Hansen ever do to him?” Your other brother had pulled you out of your thoughts—you desperately wished you could go back to them.

“And the constant quips at other people’s insecurities, really? I just—”

You had rolled your eyes and started up the stairs, ready to just completely lose yourself in music that you actually liked and decided on, rather than whatever trap shit this was. A plan had been made: you’d text Jared, ask him what he was doing tonight and maybe even go to the party together. Or better yet, he’d be at the party—

“You’re friends with this boy, (Y/N)?”

Caught. Your dad was right on the money here. You turned on your heel, choosing that the music could wait a little bit longer. A beat was placed, perfectly capturing the tension of the moment before you practically absolutely obliterated your brothers. No thoughts went through your mind as you inhaled and immediately started spewing things that were somewhat true. You couldn’t deny them in the moment, you couldn’t deny them now as the pines swayed.

“Yeah Dad, I am. He just has problems with expressing his feelings sometimes, okay?”

“Sometimes? (Y/N), it’s—”

“I couldn’t give a flying fuck as to when it is. Do you think it’s easy pretending to be secure with yourself when everyone else is constantly calling you an asshole and completely forcing you to have a reputation that you didn’t even want? Imagine for just a fucking moment how Jared feels, how he feels going through each day with a pressure that you three could never understand. And you two—” you gestured towards your brothers— “are so selfish that you can’t even for a second actually think or even care about someone else.”  

Dust settled as you finished your speech. You hadn’t noticed your hands balled into fists and your face feeling hot until just that moment. Your entire body was tense, from your forehead to your toes, everything clenched and completely supplying the room with energy. With everything coursing through you, nothing could prepare you for the next sentence uttered into the room.

“I don’t like you hanging out with this boy. You’ve changed, and I think that little speech has made that clear. I’m going upstairs, and I don’t want to hear anything else about this Jared boy for the rest of the night.”

“Dad—”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t trust someone that your brothers don’t like, I haven’t met, and makes you act out in that way. And you two,” your dad turned to your brothers, “as much I believe you about this Jared guy, should know better than to make snap judgements about someone. Maybe you two shouldn’t go to that party.”

“But Dad—”

“I said what I said, and it’s final.”

He exited the scene and left the room at a cross roads, you still standing at the edge of the stairs. When he left, the tension didn’t settle. Your brothers sat and stared at you, disapproving looks coiled onto both of their faces. You knew that you were in it now.

“That, and you shouldn’t have exploded like that. Don’t come fucking running to us when Jared breaks you.”

“Why can’t you just hang out with Zoe Murphy or Alana?” your other brother had asked, not looking up from his phone.

Your eyes flicked away from the purple drowned Murphy girl, who had managed to actually escape her own house tonight. The back porch luckily was fully supplied with fresh air, lots of opportunity to be at east and sharp minded with a flick of the wind. You dumped the murky liquid from the random blue cup into the grass that was easily a good 15 feet below, happy that you hadn’t blindly taken a sip inside of the party that steadily radiated heat. It was too warm in there for alcohol; you’d easily feel pukey with a single half a cup. At least, that’s what your brothers had told you at parties before. A sigh escaped you as your eyes fixated on the black in the distance, emotional exhaustion rushing through your veins. You had thought a party with your brothers, would help. It would’ve been some kind of bonding, some kind of weird way of bringing you three closer. Apparently, you were wrong.

The comments you’d said, the things you’d implied, everything really, was something you knew you couldn’t take back. Not for a good 24 hours at least. And now, you were alone, paying for that dearly. Upon handing you the stupid drink, they’d made eye contact and split up—away from you. It was like the two of them had a secret code, something you could never understand.

You turned back towards the house, deciding that going in and maybe pouring your own drink might make you feel better. Yeah, maybe that would be okay. You could let lose a little bit, maybe forget for just a few hours what had happened before. Maybe you could even attempt to see if Jared was at the party, talk to him, and then modestly go home, just to show your brothers that his cockiness was a front. Might as well try to enjoy yourself, right?

While shuffling back into the stuffy and sweaty room wasn’t the best plan, it was the only plan that you had. You started back through the glass sliding door, weaving past people—everyone from the band kids to football players dancing together, laughing together, and probably at some point tonight hooking up together. A six pack piqued your interest, and you started in that direction, muttering out an “excuse me” as you went along. It didn’t take very long to get there, just a lot of awkward shapes in an attempt to avoid touching the people around you. The beer was just in reach, hand almost grabbing a bottle of cheap shit that someone had gotten with a fake or their brother’s permission.

The master plan to get alcohol faded as soon as some guy grabbed your arm. “Never seen you here before.”

“Right. I have to get going,” you said, attempting to free yourself of his grasp. The plan had now changed—get out and get out fast.

“Relax. I’m one of your brother’s friends.”

Your eyes met with the stranger’s. He was right, of course. This was a guy that your brothers swore was a genuinely good human being. He had a front, a front that you saw through, but somehow your intensely dense brothers could never find any loophole through to see him for his true self. A sixth sense tingled inside of you, telling you to get out while you still could, but his grasp was too much. You regretted coming back inside; you were already emotionally tired and this guy was only just pushing your limits.

“Please let go,” you asserted.

“It’s just me, yeah? I’m a nice guy.”

You shuttered, attempts at getting away only failing. A darkness swirled around you, the party faded. It was only the two of you, the rest of was cloudy as you formulated plan after plan that you knew just wouldn’t work. Why did you ever go off at your brothers today and then agree to go to this fucking party? What was the point of that? You should’ve just stayed home like a good sibling, maybe. Maybe it was wrong to think you could find Jared here. And then, all at once, everything came screaming back at the sound of an all too familiar voice.

“Uhh, not really my place, but I think if someone says to let go, maybe you should do that.”

A flush of relaxation rushed through you; Jared Kleinman.

The guy let go, his eyes rolling and then immediately locking onto the two of you. “Are you two like…friends?”

A glance was shared between you and Jared before the annoying frat boy spoke out again. “I am so telling your brothers,” he smirked, knowing that your brothers would believe this random guy more than you, especially in terms of the “insanely annoying Jared Kleinman”. You knew that this sight described by this guy wouldn’t be a pretty one. He’d probably play up the idea that Jared was being an asshole, claiming that he was just trying to get you home safe, but Jared got in the way. You began to panic, but Jared seemed to be fully prepared for emergencies such as this.

“You wanna leave?” he asked, ignoring the true asshole with his hand still around your arm.

“What?”

“It’s a yes or no question. Do you want to get out of here?” Jared persisted.

“Yes,” you nodded as you said the word.

“Then let’s go. Grab my hand. Wouldn’t want you getting lost in this drunken dumpster fire that apparently people call a party and fun.”

It didn’t take long for Jared to weave the two of you in and out of every little nook and cranny that people were coming in and out of. Chaos wasn’t even the beginning of how to describe what in the world was going on at this house party your brothers had invited you to over a week ago. You weren’t even sure why you’d said yes back then. Maybe it was pressure. Maybe it was because they said that they’d stay by your side and if you had a hangover, they’d help you through it. This was not the situation you imagined yourself in.

But the minute you walked outside, things instantly got better. The night air was almost as enriching as it was before, the darkness calming you almost instantly. It was only now that you realized how sweaty you were and how cold it was outside. The nerves you’d had before had caused you to stop feeling the bitter bites of the cold. But now, you could tell that it was less than 40 outside.

Jared kept walking towards his car, and you realized something before pulling away almost violently. “Jared, you’re drunk.”

“That’s a lie,” he whipped around and rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t offer to drive you anywhere if I was. I might be an asshole, but I’m not someone who’s about to put you in danger.”

It wasn’t a compliment by any means, even to himself, but you still made the decision to follow him to the car. You climbed into the passenger seat and he turned the key. It was an old and kind of crappy Volkswagen, but it felt like a get away car—a car that promoted safety and comfort even in the dark and cold that not only clouded the weather, but your mind as well. The engine roared to life and Jared put it into drive before speeding off.

The air wasn’t on as he drove, but you didn’t really want it on. Jared moved a vent away from him, almost like he was annoyed at the extra air fluttering around him. “For the record, I was about to drink something, but you looked uncomfortable so instead I stepped in and help. I’ll accept a thank you at any time.” There was a hint of annoyance to his voice, but you knew he meant every word. He wasn’t annoyed by you, but rather your brother’s friend who had decided to try and hook up with you. It was also a way to distance himself. From what, you had no idea, but you could recognize the tactic well at this point.

Jared never really showed emotion besides annoyance and bitterness. You knew that, but you also knew that it was only because of the pressure. Or at least, the pressure he had to have. With Alana being top of the class, you couldn’t imagine the amount of stress that came with his parents put on him to at least try and be in at least the second percentile. He aimed for a 4.0 and yet he didn’t know how to show healthy emotions. There was a side to Jared that you knew he had, and it seemed like you were the only one who really cared about it.

“Thank you for helping me and driving me home.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re welcome.” A sigh escaped him as he drove up to your house; he’d almost memorized it after giving you a ride home from school one day that your brothers had decided to ditch halfway through the day.

You hesitated, your hand gripping the door’s handle. Did even want to go home tonight? Your options weren’t looking too good. It was either stay at home after a party, riding out the extraverted high, attempting to sleep at some point, completely alone. And in the morning, you’d have to deal with your brothers directly; your dad reiterating that you can’t hang out with Jared anymore. You knew that you’d have to apologize for your explosion and, frankly, having feelings for Jared at some point. There was a waiting period to your apology to them, and that wait period wasn’t even close to being over at this point. The feelings you had towards Jared weren’t bad or putting you into some kind of danger. Actually, if anything, they were what saved you tonight.

You had to admit that you saw yourself a little in Jared. He was an interesting boy that had caught your interest; he was nice and yet he had this front that almost made him appear like some kind of monster to everyone else. You knew the truth; no one at your house did. Maybe you should ask to be dropped off somewhere else—

“You getting out or what?” Jared asked, a bitter grimace breaking out.

“Maybe I don’t want to stay here tonight.”

“Fight with your dad, or are you just mad at your brothers?”

“Both,” you muttered as Jared put his car into drive once again. “They told me you weren’t a good influence.” You watched as your house whizzed passed you, the car going faster and faster. Jared was definitely speeding at this point, a new way of showing his emotions in some form of toxic masculinity that he told himself was okay. His jaw was set, eyes focused on the slightly illuminated road, hands stiffy remaining in the same spots as the car sped. Through his glasses, you could see his eyes glazed over. His knuckles were getting white as he continued to drive, almost exuding annoyance and frustration as he drove. You spoke up again, maybe he thought you were hinting that you didn’t want to hang out with him anymore. “But I couldn’t take it. I want to know you, Jared.”

He slowed down, jaw becoming unclenched as he turned on his directional and pulled over to the curb. The car halted softly and he put it in park before looking at your, a serious glossiness in his eyes that shined through his half dirty glasses. “You what?”

“I want to get to know you. I feel like we have more in common than we both let on.”

Jared nodded before his hand rubbed over his face, glasses moving only slightly as he did so. He collapsed into this seat, just processing for a second. “I have one other place we can go, alright?”

You nodded before he put the car back into drive and began to journey to his house. The car ride was quiet, both of you finally enjoying the lack of noise as both of you seemed into ease into the setting. Dust didn’t settle, the rattle of the car keeping you two comfortable. It wasn’t awkward; it was exactly like it always was with Jared: basic little hum to each other’s company, almost like studying alone with a single candle flicking into the distance. Night time rides were calming. With Jared, it was almost like having your own little slice of a spa, but far cheaper and more accessible by you and only you.

He pulled up to his house and unbuckled his seat belt. “I hope this is okay. Because if not, you’re out of luck.”

You gave a chuckle and didn’t miss the small smile that formed on the boy’s face. He pushed his glasses up and got out of the car, you following suit just a few milliseconds behind him. Jared locked the car as you walked up to his front door. Catching up with you, he rotated his key ring, located his house key, and pushed it into the lock.

“We need to be quiet, okay? My parents don’t know I went out and my little brother is probably asleep.”

You nodded and he unlocked the front door. It creaked open, both of you pulling off your shoes before walking in. Socks make less noise than shoes; always.

Jared’s house was always clean, it was almost like no one lived there. He threw his jacket on the back of the couch before guiding you through the dark, letting you lead as you stepped up the stairs. Each stair didn’t creak, silence completely wrapping the house up with a bow. The two of you were thankful that it was easy to keep quiet moving through the house.

Jared opened his bedroom door, and the room laid messily tidy. There were only a few clothes on the ground, obvious that he’d been trifling through his closet to figure out what to wear before the party. He picked up the things askew and threw them into his hamper. “I’ll take the floor,” he noted, looking back up at you. He turned on his solar system lamp from middle school, which illuminated his whiteboard filled with different codes that had been lazily plotted somewhere in some HTML page. Soda cans littered his desk, a textbook still open with notes in the margins sitting among them. Only now did you realize just how messy Jared was. It was like a mix of his mom and dad. Somethings were incredibly tidy, but things lie his desk were an absolute mess. You had to laugh at him a little bit. Of course Jared was half a neat freak, half not.

“You don’t need to take the floor, I’m the guest,” you said at last.

“Which means I treat you with respect. Bathroom is down the hall.” He didn’t make eye contact again finding extra blankets to lay on the floor. You left for the bathroom, your debate about who was staying on the floor not even close to being done.

Jared exhaled when you left. He kept setting up the floor, leaving for a second to grab a sleeping bag from the linen closet that was next to his little brother’s room. He tiptoed back into his room, laying out the sleeping bag to use as some kind of makeshift mattress.

You came back into the yellow-ish lit room, eyeing the blue sleeping bag. “Jared, come on, stop playing around. You can sleep on the bed. I’m exhausted anyways, sleeping on the floor is fine with me.”

“Not happening,” he said, almost refusing to look at you.

“Then let’s end this right now and both sleep on the bed.”

“What? You’re kidding, right?” he asked, finally looking at you with a look that you’d never seen on him before: he was completely and utterly shocked. Maybe a little embarrassment also flowed through his cheeks, although you couldn’t tell in the dull light. He went back to work, grabbing a pillow from the bed and throwing it onto the floor.

“What’s the problem, Jared? Scared I’m too icky?”

Jared froze at your comment. “No, I’m just surprised you’re so forward.” He met your eyes once again.

You smiled at him and he returned it. A celebration erupted from you. He allowed you to climb in yourself before he joined you. He stayed close to the edge of the bed, obviously uncomfortable with the decision you had come up with.

“Jared, you can come closer,” you giggled; you inference from before had been right. Jared definitely wasn’t the most fluent in emotions.

He scooched closer, finally facing you as he did so. “You wanna talk about this fight that happened?”

His eyes landed on you, concern flashing through them. You could tell he was trying to hide it—trying to hide something else too, but you couldn’t seem to put your finger on it. You took his hand and wrapped it around you before moving still closer to him. “No, actually. I just want to stay here and relax for a while.”

“Sounds good,” Jared said, now only staring up at the ceiling as you cuddled further into him. Red danced across his cheeks and he felt your eyes close against his skin.

“Good night, Jared.” In an instant, you were asleep. Jared smiled and his heart started being faster and faster. He now stared at his whiteboard of coding; the stuff that he could practically recite and predict how to fix different HTML pages. Maybe later he’d try hacking.

But this? You falling asleep in his arms, adorably pure faced as you hugged him tighter? You, his crush finally half admitting you liked him too? You, stupid adorable you, who had been on his mind for 2 years, you: so perfect and smart, at a party and eventually asking you if you two could sleep together and alone in his room? You, the one person he’d risk dropping a percentile for, or even two, laughing sweetly and joking around with him in his dad’s old beat up Volkswagen? Yeah, no science, technology, engineering, or math could’ve predicted that.

He kissed your forehead, deciding to just leave the light on for the night before lazily murmuring into your skin, “Good night (Y/N).”