#me saddled with the guilt of letting down someone who i could never make proud if i tried

[okarasusama]

nothing hits like the hypersensitivity toward being disapproved of when you've been raised by a hypercritical parent

[flameohotwife]

kataang 19 for the ask fluff T_T

19. "You know, I think my parents would be proud if I brought you home."

This *also* turned super long, and a little sad in parts though I still think (hope) it's adequately fluffy. I am apparently incapable of ficlets at this point. I'm sorry! Read here or on ao3. Rated G. 3k words.

Katara was freezing. She had only been gone from the Southern Water Tribe for a year and already she had forgotten how cold it was there. They had decided to take a quick trip to Katara’s home to officially tell her father they were together after finalizing the Harmony Restoration Movement in Ba Sing Se, and were quickly approaching the South Pole on Appa. She wrapped her parka more tightly around her, shivering.

“Aang, don’t worry,” Katara comforted from the saddle. Even from this distance she could see his nervous fidgeting. He gave Appa instructions and climbed back to join her and Sokka and Suki. Toph had just recently found her first metalbending student, and was not about to leave Yu Dao to go to “a block of ice I can’t see or bend on.” So the two couples journeyed southward, with a lot of talk of “oogies” from Sokka, a lot of snippy comments about the thinness of tent walls from Katara, and a lot of unsure glances from Aang and Suki.

“Yeah, Aang,” Sokka chimed in as the airbender settled in next to his girlfriend. His girlfriend! It still felt strange to call her that. It seemed too informal for all that she meant to him, but anything more would sound ridiculous coming out of a thirteen-year-old’s mouth. “Don’t worry about the tribe. They already love you, remember? The kids are just going to want a bunch of rides down Appa’s tail again.”

“Oh! They haven’t gotten to see him fly, yet!” Katara added excitedly.

“Plus, you’re the Avatar,” Suki said, rolling her eyes. “You stopped the hundred-year war! If that doesn’t endear you to everyone, I don’t know what will.” Suki rubbed her arms over the green parka Katara had made her, looking down uncomfortably.

“You helped, too, Suki,” Katara reasoned, leaning over to place a hand on her friend’s arm. “And Dad already knows you’re together and definitely approves. You helped break him out of prison!”

Suki smiled back at her in thanks while Sokka wrapped an arm around his girlfriend proudly. “The truth is,” he started, “Katara and I couldn’t have picked better people to pair off with, and the Southern Water Tribe has been starved for happiness for a long time, now. Neither of you have anything to worry about. They’ll be proud to know you. I bet there’ll even be a feast!” He rubbed his belly with his free hand.

“But, I let all those warriors get captured… on the Day of Black Sun,” Aang said. He had kept his guilt over that day to himself for so long, but Katara knew. She knew it had hung heavy on his heart since the moment she found him crying on Appa, and she knew that he needed to clear that pain away.

“Aang, look at me,” she said, taking his face in her hands. “The Fire Nation knew we were coming that day, but you couldn’t have known that. None of us did. We trust you as the Avatar and we trust you as Aang—that hasn’t changed. Warriors are led into danger all the time. That’s what they train for. Nobody blames you.”

Aang took a deep, clarifying breath. He tried to remember what Guru Pathik had told him about accepting the bad things that have happened and forgiving himself. He had to keep the pools of his chakras flowing, and while this guilt hadn’t accumulated to the point of blocking his water chakra, he knew it could if he didn’t keep it in check. He released his breath, feeling much warmer and more confident than he had a moment ago, and smiled at Katara.

“Thank you, Katara.” The way he looked at her caused her breath to catch; she still wasn’t used to the pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. Her heart swelled with it, and she went in for a hug.

She expected Sokka to call out “Oogies!” but he just sat back with his girlfriend and rolled his eyes. Her brother was much more used to these displays of affection than she gave him credit for, anyway. She had hugged and touched and even kissed Aang on the cheek so many times throughout their journey to end the war, and he hadn’t batted an eye. Kissing seemed to be what brought the cries of protest out, but even those seemed half-hearted the more he was forced to witness it.

Katara felt that telltale swoop in her stomach as Appa started his descent, and separated from Aang, grinning widely. They were here! She could hardly contain her excitement, and Aang fed off of it. He would do anything to make her happy. He jumped back to Appa’s head to steer him towards the center of the village.

The children who had been outside playing all gathered together when they saw the large shape of Appa in the sky. Some of them even recognized him—shouts of “It’s the sky bison! It’s Aang! It’s the Avatar!” could be heard as the group approached. The ensuing ruckus drew adults out of their huts as well. Katara noticed there were more snow huts than tents, now, probably thanks to Pakku and the benders he’d brought from the North when he sought out her grandmother, who was just joining the throng of people. She saw her father’s face among the crowd, as well, and her heart soared.

She and Sokka were leaning over the edge of the saddle, waving to everyone and sporting wide, toothy grins when they finally landed. As soon as Appa’s feet touched the snow they both jumped down, rushing to greet their family. Aang and Suki hung back a moment, unsure of their place, until Hakoda pulled back from his children to open his arms to them, smiling.

“It’s so good to see you Aang, Suki,” he said, embracing them all in a group hug. His voice was warm and strong and he hoped it was welcoming, too. Whatever his feelings about his kids growing up and moving on, he wanted their partners to feel safe and loved and cared for here.

When they all pulled back—some a little teary eyed from the reunion—they saw Kanna and Pakku making their way over. Gran Gran was smiling in a way Katara wasn’t sure she had ever seen before. She looked so happy. So at peace. She had lived her entire life in the war and had been the one to tell Katara (and Sokka, when he would listen) the stories about the Avatar when they were younger. Katara supposed this all must be like a dream come true for her as well. She hugged each member of the group in turn.

“It’s good to see you again, young airbender,” she said to Aang, before turning to Suki and the others. “And it’s wonderful to meet you, Suki. Pakku tells me you’re quite the warrior, from what he could tell while you all were camped outside Ba Sing Se. I’m so proud of all of you for stopping this war.”

They seemed to remember the rest of the village was watching them, and Hakoda cleared his throat. The kids stopped playing on Appa’s tail to listen to their Chief.

“Everyone! Sokka and Katara are home and they’ve brought guests!” he started. His voice boomed powerfully across the ice. “I’d like you to meet Suki of the Kyoshi Warriors, and of course you all have met Avatar Aang and his bison already.” There was some applause and squeals from the children, and Aang blushed and waved. “I think this calls for a celebration. Let’s feast in the new council lodge tonight!”

“I told you,” Sokka whispered to Aang. Aang chuckled in return as the crowd cheered once more before returning to their business. Hakoda invited them all into his hut and they sat down in front of the fire with some tea, along with Gran Gran and Pakku.

“So, Dad, there’s actually a reason we came down here,” Katara opened once they were all settled on cushions around the low, circular table. She was sitting between Aang and Suki, and her father was directly across from her, flanked by Sokka and Gran Gran. Pakku sipped his tea observantly between Aang and Kanna. “Aang and I…” She grabbed his hand under the table. No matter how confident she was in their relationship, she’d never had to announce a new relationship to her family before. She felt sure she’d never have to, again. “We’re together, now.”

Hakoda smiled. Kanna beamed. Pakku looked like he had accidentally swallowed the bitter leaves of his tea, but Katara ignored him; he always looked that way.

Hakoda was the first to speak. “I figured this would happen eventually,” he said, laughing when both Aang and Katara looked somewhat shocked. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And the way Katara was so protective of you, Aang, when you were in a coma...and her heartbreak when you left? I knew there was more than just friendship going on, even if Katara was too hard-headed to admit it.”

“Hey!” Katara protested.

“He’s not wrong,” Sokka spoke up. “You were the one who kept putting it off. Even after Aang kissed you at the Invasion…”

“You knew about that?!” Aang asked, flabbergasted.

“Toph told me,” he shrugged. “The subs were made of metal… she could feel it.” Sokka shuddered.

Both Aang and Katara were as red as tomato-carrots at this point, but Kanna actually laughed.

“Do you remember what I told you when you left the South Pole?” she asked, speaking to her grandchildren.

“Yeah, yeah, something about it being our destiny to help Aang, I think,” Sokka answered.

“You said…” Katara gasped, eyes wide. “You said our ‘destinies are intertwined with his.’” She looked at Aang, smiling. “I thought it was just about ending the war, but…”

“I also called him your boyfriend, that day, if you’ll remember,” Sokka pointed out. “You denied it then, but face it, Katara. You were already smitten from the day we met Aang.”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I was.” The blush was even higher on her cheeks, now. Aang looked as though someone had just granted him his biggest wishes: a mixture of surprise and glee covered his face as he looked at her. He squeezed her hand under the table, not completely sure she was still real; that this wasn’t a dream. Katara had really liked him for as long as he’d liked her?

“It was the same for me and Suki,” Sokka continued on. “The moment she beat me...again... in that dojo on Kyoshi Island, I knew.”

“Awww, Sokka,” Suki cooed.

“I mean, any girl who can take down a Water Tribe warrior is girlfriend material, am I right?”

Everyone at the table exchanged glances before simultaneously rolling their eyes and laughing. It was so good to be around family again, Katara thought. But what was even better was that she still felt at home and comfortable—maybe even moreso—with Aang there by her side. She could see him at future family gatherings, see him as an adult, proudly holding their child at the Solstice Festival in the South, comfortably talking with everyone from the children to the elders. It filled her with warmth, and she pressed her shoulder into his as the conversation went on well into the afternoon.

That evening, after the feast, there was dancing. It was different from the dancing they had done before, in the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom. Katara and Sokka, along with the rest of the tribe spent much of the evening laughing and teaching Aang and Suki to dance in the Water Tribe way, readjusting their form, feeling the heavy beat of the drums; the qilaut.

At one point Aang and Katara stumbled outside for some air, clutching their stomachs which were beginning to ache from so much merriment. They sat back in a snowbank, arms around each other, watching the stars twinkling in silent chorus above them, taking comfort in each other’s presence.

“You know,” Aang said after a time, “I think my parents would be proud if I brought you home. Would’ve been proud, I guess. Gyatso, too. We could have celebrated and eaten fruit pies and sang and danced at the temples...” Katara looked up at him, expecting to see the grief and sadness etched in his face that was so often there when he spoke of his people, but he looked...wistful. Like he was perhaps picturing such a reunion, and her heart ached for all that he had lost. She had never even heard him mention his parents before. “Being here, around your family and your tribe… it’s been so wonderful, Katara.”

She wrapped her arms tighter around his waist, pulling him ever closer. She kept her sapphire eyes focused on the light flickering out from the lodge behind him, feeling like perhaps this next thought was too much, but she wanted to open it up to him. To be there for him in the same way he’s been there for her for so long. “We could visit the Air Temples,” she suggested, quietly. “I know the other Air Nomads are gone… and it might be… sadder. A lot less celebratory. But… I’d like to visit your home again now that the war’s over. I’d like to learn your dances. Learn about your people.”

They turned to each other then, both their eyes sparkling in the starlight. “I’d like that,” Aang whispered as a tear escaped him with a choked sob.

“Hey, Sweetie,” Katara comforted, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. She realized that in the few months since the end of the war—probably actually since she’d broken him out of the iceberg—he hadn’t had the chance to really be. To reflect. To grieve. “It’s okay to be sad, you know? To miss them. You’re not alone though. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Aang clung to her then, letting his feelings flow. They listened to the sound of the drums inside, and she rocked him, whispering how strong he was, how amazing it was that he’d found a way to end the war that was still true to himself; to his people. How proud they would be. How proud she was.

Eventually, he lifted his head from her shoulder to kiss her slowly, tentatively. He was still mostly letting her take the lead in their physical relationship, but he couldn’t think of any other way to thank her then. No words seemed sufficient. His hesitance melted away the moment she moved her lips against his, though. His hands gripped her waist as best he could in their sitting position before moving to thread into her hair. He could feel his heart starting to beat just a little too fast. He felt lightheaded, but in a good way. He pulled back for a breath, and they both giggled. Kissing was still new, but something they both clearly enjoyed finally being able to do together.

“You called me ‘Sweetie,’” he said, realizing. She’d never called him anything other than Aang before. His heart fluttered.

“Is that okay? Sorry, I didn’t even realize…” Katara was pulling at her hair and looking anywhere but at Aang until he stopped her with another kiss, though it was much quicker this time.

“I loved it, Sweetie,” he teased back, but somehow it felt like the most natural thing in the world to call her.

“My mom used to call me that,” she admitted, shyly. “I don’t know why it just came out when I was talking to you…”

“Did I ever tell you what the guru told me about love?” Aang asked. Katara shook her head, confused. “He told me that ‘love is a form of energy,’ and that the airbenders’ love for me hasn’t left this world, but was reborn in new love.” He looked pointedly at her. “Our love.”

Katara took in a sharp breath. She felt at once shocked, humbled, and overflowing with pure, confident love. Sokka certainly wouldn’t believe it, but it made so much sense to her. The instant connection she had felt… the fierce need to protect him… her intense love for him that was as big as an entire nation. She couldn’t help but smile widely.

“Maybe...” Aang started. “Maybe your mom’s love for you was reborn, too.” It seemed like such an outrageous thing to say, but at the same time, like the most obvious thing in the world. The look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. She believed it, too. “I love you, Katara.”

“I love you too, Aang. So much.” She leaned in to kiss him again, feeling like nothing could quite top this feeling. They’d said ‘I love you’ so many times in so many ways; in small gestures, in touches, in roundabout ways, even before they’d been together. But this… this seemed much bigger.

Finally, they stood to return to the celebration. Surely people had noticed their absence by now, though they were thankfully still young enough to avoid any terribly embarrassing rumors. As they walked back to the hall, hand in hand, they shared a look before opening the door.

“Ready, Sweetie?” Aang asked, eyes shining with pure joy.

“Ready, Sweetie,” Katara responded confidently. She squeezed his hand before pulling him inside with her, already moving to the beat of the drums again. Their hearts were so full. Their lost loved ones were never truly gone from this world, and they would cherish that fact for the rest of their lives together. Even in their grief they were connected, and by their love they were healed. It was beautiful.

[combat-wombatus]

afterglow // part ii: the fighting

Pairing: Sawamura Daichi x gn!reader

Warnings: fighting (just any generic fight scene really), blood, minor snark??

WC: 2.1k (this is a lot longer than the previous chapter hehe)

(A/N): hehehe part 2 is finally up :p (also check out the series masterlist with the updated synopsis!! quite proud of it >.<) also please ignore the bad titles,, i had an "f" alliteration theme going on and i literally killed all my brain cells trying to come up with SIX verbs that were at least somewhat relevant to the plot for the chapter titles, i'm so sorry asldkjhlfadksh

series masterlist || haikyuu masterlist || bnha masterlist || navi

read part i here!

Finally…

You stared ahead at the encampment of soldiers, bustling about merrily as if they found joy in living a life of slaughter. As if they had no blood on their hands—or worse, as if they did not care if they did.

“Houyi.” You stroked his neck. “Ready?”

He gave a snort of agreement, tossing his black mane in the air.

I was born for this, he seemed to say.

“Alright.” Digging your heels in, you leaned forward, bow in hand, arrow notched and at the ready.

“Hiya!”

You charged furiously down the hill, kicking up a storm of clay-red dust behind you. As the first soldier looked up in surprise, you aimed your arrow at the wooden post in the middle of the camp and let it fly. You were nothing if not fair, and though you despised these people with your entire being, it would never be said that you fought dirty. Surprise attacks were for the weak, and you were anything but.

Besides, you kind of wanted to see how fast you could take the camp, even with the soldiers alert and ready to fight.

Holding your bow sideways, you let loose three arrows at once, all of them hitting their marks. Three men went down with barely a whimper—an arrow to one’s kneecap will do that.

The soldiers were a mess. You weren’t even sure if they were real soldiers or simply a very large band of mercenaries—surely a real military camp would be much more organized than this. They should’ve sounded the alarm as soon as they saw you charging down the hill, not when three of their men were already down.

You took out three more men with another round of clean shots to the kneecap.

This is too easy.

They were green; young, inexperienced, and jittery—no match for a seasoned hunter.

And you were one of the very best.

You set loose arrow after arrow, hitting your target every single time. Within moments, the area in front of you was empty, save for the men curled up on the ground, groaning.

Houyi slowed down to a trot, and you casually dropped from the saddle, stepping over the fallen soldiers. A white command tent was front and center in the little military camp, no more than five hundred meters away. Slinging your bow over your shoulder crossways—it wasn’t ideal for close-range combat—you unsheathed two scimitars, preparing yourself for a scuffle.

It wasn’t your favorite type of battle—close-range battles were messy and bloody—but you hadn’t had a chance to spar with someone in a long time.

You were also craving revenge for what they had done to the broken village you passed.

Barely concealing a feral grin, you stalked towards the commander’s tent. Suddenly, the tent entrance ruffled, and a man stepped out in full armor, save for his helmet. His hair was a stiff charcoal black—it was shorn short, which was surprising for a man of his presumed station. Most men in this dynasty preferred to wear their hair long, but there was something curious about this one. Tanned olive skin revealed a life spent in the sun, and a grim, determined expression glared at you with unbridled fury.

You bared your teeth and tightened your grip on your scimitars. This was going to be fun.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He clasped his hand over a broadsword sheathed at his side, pulling it out with the signature clang of steel sliding against steel. “Who are you?”

“Vengeance,” you replied airily. The man frowned, looking confused.

One…

You smiled, the wicked grin gracing your lips matching the wicked curve of your scimitar.

Two…

Your hood flew back, revealing you in all of your glory. You didn’t mind. You were confident that none of these people—scum—would live to tell others what you looked like, anyways.

Three…

You charged.

No battle cry surged from your lips—silent hunting habits were hard to break—but as he met the first slash of your blades with the side of his broadsword, you grunted at his strength.

Not many people could withstand one of your attacks, much less both at the same time.

This was going to be fun.

Quickly sliding one of your scimitars from underneath the deadlock, you twirled it around in your hand and aimed a slice straight at his torso. He stepped to the side, twisting his own broadsword so that it knocked your other blade to the side. Instead of continuing to retreat, he slanted his body at a forward tilt, catching your right wrist with his hand while pushing your other hand aside with his sword.

You hissed in pain as he twisted your wrist, forcing you to drop your blade. Feinting with your left hand, you sliced a deep gash on his right thigh, right in between two metal plates of armor. His grip on your wrist loosened, and you were able to put some distance between the two of you.

You charged forwards again, aiming your remaining scimitar low, towards his knees. He dropped into a defensive crouch, broadsword held out low in front of him. You smiled.

Just as he was preparing to meet your blade in a clash of steel, you jumped. Leaping upwards, you stepped on his wrist—he dropped his sword with a clang—and hooked your left leg around his waist, using it to pivot on his back. Wrapping your right arm around his broad shoulder, you brought your blade up until the tip of it kissed his neck.

He gulped, the movement drawing forth a slight trickle of crimson blood.

“Why? Why did you do it?”

He eyed the blade warily. You loosened it slightly so he could talk.

“Do what?” he asked, though his attention was caught on the fine workmanship of the scimitar.

“Kill all those people.” Your little scuffle had attracted quite the crowd—understandable, since it seemed like this man was somewhat of an important figure in this camp. Still, none of his comrades—or underlings—dared interfere, seeing as you were the one with the upper hand here; you could slit his throat before one of them even took three steps forwards.

“We haven’t killed anyone…yet,” he answered, confusion laced in his tone. “I’m overseeing trainees. They aren’t ready to fight.”

Ah. That explained the incompetence of the soldiers.

“But the village…?” You frowned, brows scrunching up in confusion. There was no mistaking what you had seen.

His expression darkened. “We came too late.”

Oh.

Cautiously, you lowered your blade from his neck. Yes—it made sense. He was obviously dressed in imperial commanding gear. Why would imperial soldiers slaughter their own village?

Well, now you felt a little silly—and guilty—for attacking their encampment without having done your proper research.

The other men gingerly stepped forwards.

“General Sawamura! You’re losing a lot of blood!” A young soldier with hair the color of a bright carrot pointed out worriedly. “You should probably go to the tent…Dr. Azumane can treat you there.”

The general nodded in agreement, wincing slightly as you hopped off of his back. He walked towards the medical tent, obviously trying his best not to limp.

As he left, it became clear that the other soldiers were unsure of what they should do with you.

A man with hair the color of pewter and a cute mole under his left eye (you assumed that he was the second-in-command) led you to the general’s tent, where you awaited his arrival. Minutes later, he hobbled inside the tent, limping, but proud.

“I thought you had to get your leg treated,” you remarked, noticing the lack of bandages on his thigh, blood still dripping in rivulets down his leg and marking pools on the dusty ground. “So impatient to see me already?”

“Had to make sure you weren’t going to run away,” he answered, a defiant light sparking in his charcoal eyes. “After all, you did take down nearly twenty of my men.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up, a ghost of a smile teasing your lips. “Oh?”

Before he could respond, the entrance to the tent fluttered again, and a large man—even taller than the general—scurried in, his chestnut hair gathered at the nape of his neck. He seemed unduly nervous for someone with such a large physique.

“Ah, doctor,” the general greeted him. “Thank you for coming.”

So this was Dr. Azumane, you realized. From his bulk, you would’ve assumed that he was one of the finest soldiers here. Apparently not.

“You should’ve waited,” the doctor said, staring reproachfully at the general’s leg.

“It appears that we have a flight risk on our hands,” General Sawamura countered. “I couldn’t very well just let them go.”

You bristled. “I wouldn’t have run! And besides, your soldiers could have swarmed me in seconds if I tried!”

“Thank you for the assurance,” he quipped drily. “I will take that into consideration the next time someone barges into our camp”—he winced as the doctor tightened his bandages—“and shoots arrows into my sentries’ knees.”

Okay. Fair point.

“Well, I followed you guys from the town, so forgive me if I mistook you for the raiders that slaughtered an entire village,” you countered, though you did feel a slight twinge of guilt.

His expression darkened, a muscle in his jaw ticking at what was probably an unpleasant memory. The doctor looked up worriedly, tying off the last knot in the bandage and leaving the tent, presumably on his way to treat the other unfortunate soldiers who had stood in the face of your wrath.

“We had nothing to do with that village. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?”

There was a storm brewing in his eyes, and you wondered if you had pried too far into events you did not yet understand.

“My father was guarding the mountain pass. They were taken unaware by the Huns,” he said, after a long silence.

Your breath constricted in your throat.

“Oh.” It came out like a whisper, the only air you could force past your lips.

“Don’t be,” he said curtly. “You weren’t there either. You couldn’t have helped.”

Settling back on the cushions, he sighed before changing the subject.

“So what are you, exactly? An outlaw? Fugitive?” He leaned closer, squinting. “A mercenary?”

Well, you supposed he could put it that way.

“Nomad,” you answered simply, not knowing exactly what you were yourself.

“Not a Hun, anyways,” the general regarded you critically. “I saw the scimitars. Huns don’t use those, and even if they did, they looked far too well-crafted. Not meant for brute force, anyways.”

You had spent many moons trading pelts and herbs to earn enough jade to purchase the twin weapons from the finest blacksmith you knew. They were custom-ordered, the grips fitted to the exact measurements of your palms—your most treasured possessions.

“Your horse is in the stable, by the way.” The general shifted his weight on the cushions in the tent. “He’s a fine horse, that one.”

You nodded in agreement. A man who didn’t appreciate horses was not worth talking to at all.

“Can I get my sword back?” you asked with as much politeness as you could muster.

He stared at you, then raised an eyebrow. “You want your sword back? In my camp? After you attacked my men? When we still don’t know where your loyalties lie?”

You gave a huff of irritation. “Well, I told you it was a mistake, wasn’t it? And my swords are rather important to me.”

“And my life is rather important to me,” he retorted.

“General, should I take their other one as well?” the gray-haired man interrupted, stepping forwards. You had almost forgotten that he was in the room—he had been silent ever since he’d brought you here. Narrowing your eyes, you laid a hand threateningly on the hilt of your scimitar. The general eyed you appraisingly, then held up a hand.

“I don’t think they’d take too kindly to that. Best leave it be for now. But you will not”—he directed a pointed glance at your hand, still clasped over the grip of your remaining scimitar—“under any circumstances, use that against my men. Or me,” he added, apparently not trusting you to not find loopholes.

“Can I still have my other one back?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“But you let me keep this one!”

“Yes, because you would’ve slit both of our throats if any of us tried to take it from you, and you know it.”

“…fine.”

And so it was on a fine sunny afternoon that you found yourself being corralled into a soldier’s tent, held on a temporary tent arrest.

Oops?

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[harrylee94]

The Tournament - Chapter 2

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: “You doubt my skills, ser?”

“I doubt your attention,” came the reply. “Boys like you don’t deserve the privilege of serving men like me, you should be stepped on, like the dirt you are.”

Notes: I can't believe I wrote this in one day... This never happens, I swear.

Chapter 1

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"Shall I take care of your horse, ser?" - Cobb

“Stable boy! Come tend my horse!”

Cobb paused in his sweeping, hands curling tighter around the handle of his broom as the voice barged through the stalls and disturbed some of the other inhabitants. He knew that voice. He knew it far better than he’d ever wanted to. It belonged to a so-called knight, one who was of a similar age to himself; Ser Jaonar. Ser Jaonar the Bold, if you believed him, but Cobb didn’t trust a single word out of his mouth.

The knight had been born into money, given the best education it could buy, the best horse, the best armour, and the best stick up his ass. The saying ‘save the rod, spoil the child’ came to mind when you spoke of this man-child. Cobb didn’t believe in corporal punishment, but boy did he wish to whack some sense into that thick, aristocratic blonde head of his. And maybe some manners too while he was at it.

“Stable boy! Don’t make me fetch you!”

‘Boy’. He hadn’t been a boy since he was twelve years old, and even less so when his hair started turning grey decades before its time. However, sometimes he wished he was still a boy, just so he could do more than just grit and bear the humiliation of having to serve this upper class idiot. Well, he could now if he so chose, but then that would mean having to leave and never seeing--

He set the broom aside and headed out of the stall.

“Ah, there you are!” The shining tin can was stood at the door, a familiar smirk on his face as he looked down his nose at him, which was admittedly a little impressive considering he was half a foot shorter than Cobb. “Slacking off again, were you? I’ll have to tell the head groom.”

Cobb bit his tongue. Jaonar threatened this every time, and every time his senior would have to come to him and tell him to try not to antagonise the Lords, like it was his fault this prick decided he was a perfect target to practise being a dick to.

He looked past him to where his squire -- was that a new kid? That had to be the third one in as many months -- was holding the reins to Jaonar’s thoroughbred, head deeply bowed in reverence, respect, or more likely fear. The horse himself, a beautiful chestnut gelding by the name of Parjai, was still saddled, the straps not loosened in any way to give him any comfort, and the bit between his teeth. It only made him detest the primped up lordling more.

“Shall I take care of your horse, ser?” he asked before he could chew through his own cheek.

The knight huffed through his nose with a sneer. “I don’t know if I should trust my steed to a layabout. Who knows what you’ll do to him in your neglect?”

Cobb made a point not to shy away from his gaze; looking away would only confirm the guilt Jaorar wanted to find, and he was not going to let himself be beaten. Bowing was a sign of respect, and this man deserved none. “You doubt my skills, ser?”

“I doubt your attention,” came the reply. “Boys like you don’t deserve the privilege of serving men like me, you should be stepped on, like the dirt you are.” He sighed, as though he was disappointed in the very air he breathed. “Unfortunately, it seems that this is the best this castle can offer though.”

Cobb drew his shoulders back. To insult him was one thing, but to insult their host, the Witch King themself, was something he could not abide. It had been her who had given him his role in the castle after he'd run to the castle for safety, and it was to her that his loyalty lay. This was an unfamiliar target for the knight to take, and it made him feel off-balanced.

“Don’t.”

“No, of course, you’re right,” the knight said, stepping further into the stables at a sedate, leisurely pace. “How could it be her fault when she’s on her deathbed?”

The squire grew tense beside him, ducking her head further as she pressed closer to Parjai’s side.

“If you dare insult our Prince-”

“What will you do, boy? What could you do against me??” Ser Jaonar came to a stop within arm’s reach of him, and Cobb had to clench his fists to his sides to keep himself from punching him in his smug mouth. “What kind of future King doesn’t see to the needs of his people? The ones of import I mean, of course. He’s been neglecting us just as much as his mother has.”

There was a look in his eyes that Cobb didn’t like, one that promised despicable things, and he glared at him.

“Would you like me to pack your things then, ser?” he asked, uncaring of his insubordinate tone or the smirk on his lips. “Perhaps you will find better accommodation to your expectations elsewhere.”

The knight did nothing for a moment, his smile frozen and his eyes cold, and then the sting of a gauntleted hand sliced across his cheek. He stumbled a few steps, tongue tasting blood from a split lip, but he turned back to the knight with his head held high.

Ser Jaonar was sneering at him, his eyes full of disdain and hate. It made Cobb feel a little proud of himself for managing to bring out his true face.

“Know your place boy ,” he spat. “Be glad I don’t step on you now. It would be better than you deserved.” With that he turned around, no doubt trying for an air of superiority, but that was beautifully ruined when he stepped straight into a small pile of shit he’d failed to notice. “Perhaps the crowned Prince would make better choices without all this shit! Girl! We’re leaving.”

The squire bowed even lower than she had been already and scrambled to follow him, leaving Parjai at the door.

Cobb chuckled after them as he headed towards the abandoned horse. He hadn’t had a victory like that in months, and it tasted sweet, even if his jaw stung from the blow. It was worth it.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he said softly, brushing his fingers over Parjai’s nose and receiving a lick and firm nuzzle in greeting. “You feel okay? That monster didn’t hurt you again, did he?” He wandered around his flank and loosened the strap for the saddle. Parjai moved from side to side and whickered, a sign of relief if ever he’d seen one, and he could see the marks from where the strap had been pressed too hard against him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”

Taking the reins, he led the poor thing towards his stall, stopping outside and tying him to the post so he could clean his hooves without ruining the fresh bed of hay. He removed the saddle, and replaced the bridle with a rope, simply to keep Parjai in place while he carefully scraped the muck from his hooves. Brushing out his coat was soothing for both of them, but seeing the marks still left from the bridle and saddle still had his blood boiling.

It was as he was leaving the stall, heading for the corner where all the brooms and forks were kept after washing the blood from his lip in a bucket of water, that his eyes drifted to the window.

Din Djarin, Prince of Mandalore, looked back at him as he stood atop the parapet, his cloak and hair buffeted by the wind behind him. It made him look like a great hero, someone the bards would write songs of, who children would beg their parents to tell them tales of around the fire, but Cobb could see the weariness in his face, the droop of his shoulders, and he knew that if this were a tale, it would be a tragedy.

In days gone by, the Prince had spoken to him. Not as a superior, like so many of his station would have and did, but as an equal; a peer. In those days he would smile at Cobb's stories and listen to his thoughts, his attention never wavering as he treated this lowly stable hand as well as he would one of the Lords of his kingdom. It made him feel wanted and appreciated, like he was needed, and it had made him strive to be the best he could be.

There were no smiles today though, and if the rumours were true, then smiles were not what he needed. Cobb had lost his own parents young, but he knew the hurt well. He would support his Prince in any way he could, even if it was only from a distance.

He bowed his head to the man he would call king, and watched in awe as the Prince nodded at him in return before turning away.

He stood there, watching as the Prince descended, but soon shook himself from it and continued with his plan. He moved the various handles of shovels and such aside and pulled out the well worn pole from within. It had once been the sturdy handle to one of the shovels, but then the blade had snapped one winter and Cobb repurposed the handle once the shovel had been replaced. The weight of it rivalled that of the sword he had purchased with his savings, a sword that no one knew about, hidden away in the small room he called his own. He couldn't bring such a weapon to the stable, but no one looked twice at the broken handle of a shovel.

He practised with it every day, for hours at a time sometimes, whenever he had the chance. He watched the Knights practice in their yard when he could, and he would try to copy them later. He knew he was doing things wrong, or not right at the very least, but he'd been practicing for years, and the muscles that had once burned in pain were now used to the efforts.

He swung the makeshift weapon in the air a few times, making sure he still knew the weight and balance of it, before pulling out a stack of hay bales. Using the post so close to Parjai after he'd spent the day with Ser Jaonar would scare the poor thing, but the hay would muffle it enough that it would be disguised. That thought alone made his anger flare, and he swung faster and harder, the only sounds he made being ones of exertion so as not to draw attention.

Parjai deserved so much better than that disrespectful, stuck up asshole.

He stopped after an hour, returning to the horses and taking care of their needs. Crest, the Prince's riding horse, tended to enjoy his company and followed him around the stall, even though it meant she got in his way. He spent a lot of time in the silver mare's company, having to take her out for exercise more than the others in his care

He'd been there when she'd been born, just over two years ago, and had watched her bond with her rider from the fences, but as more duties were piled upon the Prince's shoulders the less time he had to train his steed. Cobb had taken care of Crest whenever the Prince could not, but he knew that Din would forever be her master.

Once he had taken care of each of the horses and their stalls cleaned, he returned to his practise swinging the shovel handle in more precise and careful swings rather than just to cool his rage this time, though he did use the embers that were left still smouldering within him to give him strength.

It was only as the sun began to set that he ceased, his body covered in sweat and his chest heaving for breath. His anger was spent, beaten into the depths of the dried hay, and he set the handle aside with a tired huff. Parjai's whinny drew his attention, and he smirked when he saw the horse leaning his head out of his stall.

"You hungry?" he asked and nodded to himself as he heaved the topmost bale into the grate for the gelding to feed from. "Yeah, me too."

Dipping his head into the water trough, he took a few moments to cool down, shaking his head to get rid of the excess water and reached for the next bale of hay.

Just as he touched it, the first bell rang. And then a second joined. And a third.

His blood ran cold.

The Witch King was dead. Mand'alor the Beloved had breathed her last, her mantel to be taken up by her son, and the kingdom would mourn her. Tears were already coming to his eyes for the loss, and for the hurt it must have caused the Prince. It would be a heavy burden to bear, but he could do it. Him and…

The Protector. A new Protector needed to be chosen, and knights from across Mandalore would be vying for the role, including Ser Jaonar. A man like that had the skill, but he lacked in every other area. A man like that could win the position and no one could do anything about it.

Cobb couldn't let that happen.

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

Mando'a Translations:

Parjai - Victory

Link to Chapter 3

[ceruleanchillin]

Somersault (Kirishima x Reader)

Kirishima Eijiro x F!Reader

Part of my MHA AU established previously.

Synopsis: Glimpses into you and Kiri’s relationship.

Warnings: Implied drug use, Implied smut

A/N:  I don’t really do songfics, but I will tell you Somersault by Zero 7 inspired this chapter. Recommend listening to it, cuz it gives Kiri feels.

 Does anyone else think of Kiri when they talk to jock villagers on Animal Crossing?

|  Give Love To Me |

“I thought we talked about this hmm?” Kirishima gently dabbed at your nose, eyes trained to spot any more blood.

You focused on the taste of poison that congregated at the back of your throat, the pipes that hadn’t stopped protesting since Kirishima had forced them to draw water, and the cracked window letting in chilly night air around the towel stuffed in it. Anything other than your boyfriend’s disappointed sighs and poorly hidden worry.

“Sorry Eiji….I..” you weren’t used to apologizing, or being ashamed, but Kirishima could bring emotions out of you, you didn’t know existed.

“You just made a mistake.” he kissed your forehead, and cradled you to his chest. “That’s why you get tomorrow. So you can try again.”

You sunk lower into the luke-warm water, eyes roaming up to the water stained ceiling. At the time, doing a line had sounded like the only good idea you’d ever heard, and you’d indulged, going against the promise you’d made to your boyfriend. It got you through two sets and made the packed, dingy lounge so much prettier. So much glitter. So much laughter, and it was easier to give real smiles. Why had that seemed like enough in value to disappoint Kiri?

“Hey,” he gently tapped your collarbone. “You ok? You with me?”

“Yeah.” You said hoarsely. “I won’t do it again Eiji...I won’t.” You grasped the arm slung around your torso, dragging your thumbs across the skin as fast as the water and your come down would allow.

“I know you won’t. Not my best girl.” He kissed the back of your head for a long moment, and brought you closer to his chest, caging you in his arms.

And you wondered where he got that bottomless trust from. Why was he so good, and where had he learned to be? He lived in the same streets you did, how did you catch the eye of a saint? Your eyes burned with unshed tears. How could you ever hope to be the woman he deserved?

Kirishima shushed you, rocking you gently. “You wanna tell me who gave it to you?”

Somewhere in the fog of your thoughts, you knew no matter how gently Kiri was asking, it wasn’t simply out of curiosity. “Noooo Eiji.” you slurred. “Don’t worry about it.”

He laughed. “Ok, ok.”

He hid his burning questions behind one of his lopsided grins when you turned to look back at him, trying to see if he meant it. He pressed a purposely sloppy kiss to your forehead until you giggled and squirmed to turn back around. Only then did he let his grin drop.

| The Sticks and Stones |

You were achy, you were chilly, and your stomach kept threatening to make you vomit if you didn’t keep focused on not doing so. You were ready to consider it penance for breaking your promise to your boyfriend, but he’d said “no way!” and saddled you with your favorite warm drink. All-in-all, it wasn’t the best day to be a mover, even if that was the only price for four weeks free crashing.

“So you’re just going to sit there?” Robbie, a friend of Kirishima’s and fellow freelance bouncer, stood in front of you.

You gave him a look that said you thought he was worth less than the effort it took to do so, before pushing your shades up, and severing eye contact.

“Look Primadonna, you’re crashing with us. The least you could do is pitch in.”

You crossed your legs and continued to nurse your latte. Robbie didn’t know it, but the bigger fit he threw, the less likely you’d be to help. And you weren’t planning on it in the first place.

Robbie growled in frustration, and kicked the trunk you were sitting on.

“Hey,” Kirishima grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away, wearing his signature grin, though it was strained. “Lot of stuff still in the truck, let’s finish up.”

“That’s just what I was telling HRH over here.” Robbie jammed his thumb in your direction.

“Don’t worry about her.” Kirishima gave him another grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m doing the bulk of the work anyways. I’m working for both of us.”

Robbie threw his hands up in frustration and walked over to the moving truck. His girlfriend had been glaring at you, wanting you to wilt under her stare. You lowered your shades, made eye contact, and maintained it while you lit a cigarette.

“Hey, come on.” Kirishima kneeled in front of you. “We gotta be here for a while. Try to get along.”

You exhaled a white cloud into the cold air, aiming it at Robbie’s girlfriend who was in the process of whining about how “trash” you were.

“I like it when it’s just us Kiri.”

“I know.” he sighed, palms rubbing your chilled kneecaps attempting to bring them warmth. “But this is where we’re at for a while. Remember I told you Bakugo, Midoriya, and I are working on a place-”

“They hate me,” you cut him off, pushing your shades back up. “Especially their girlfriends.”

“They don’t hate you baby,” Kirishima nuzzled your cheek, using that tone he did when he thought you might be hurt. “They just don’t really know you that well.”

Kirishima gave you a grin, this one real, in an attempt to reassure you. He was beautiful, always using his energy to make sure you were secure. It made you feel selfish and ungrateful, and something ugly roared to life within you. It made you want to say something, someone’s name, you knew would hurt him.

“If you would’ve sold what I had left over we’d be better off, but you’re so fucking opposed and moral when it suits you. Pfft.” you took a long drag. “Take care of me my ass. I should’ve gone to Dabi or Hawks.”

Kirishima looked like a kicked puppy, and your entire being clenched in response. That ugly thing inside had gone dormant and left you in the grip of guilt and self-resentment.

You stubbed out your cigarette, and carelessly placed your latte aside. “Oh Kiri,” you gripped his cheeks. “I can be such a bitch...I didn’t mean any of it, I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, and that twisted your insides more. Your desperation made you babble almost uncontrollably.

With shaky hands you shoved your shades onto your head, and pressed your lips to his. “I’m sorry. You’re doing great Kiri, you’re doing great for me. I need you to believe me..don’t listen to me when I’m..”

“I know that’s not really you (Y/N),” he kissed both of your knees, making you go quiet. “Not the real you. She’s still a work in progress, but she’s beautiful.”

You bit your lip hard to fight spouting another word stream. More apologies danced with words of self-criticism on your tongue, begging to be spoken. You wanted him to call you out. You wanted him to find something ugly in himself and take revenge. He would never though. That wasn’t your Kiri, and that revelation only made your hands ache to pull your shades back over your eyes.

“She’s a coffee addict, she takes her showers cold, and she always eats off my plate, even when hers is right there.”

A small smile surfaced at his words, but you could still feel anxiety and regret twisting your insides.

As always, Kiri was in tune with you, and took your hands. “But I love her, and I don’t let anyone call her a bitch. Not even herself.”

| The Unknown and Home |

Kirishima liked bouncing well enough. He’d always been able to take a punch, he was great in a fight, and he liked defending people. It didn’t pay the best in the world, and he saw ugly parts of the city he wished he hadn’t, but he liked it.

Then he met you, and he loved it. The nights where the two of you worked the same club or lounge were his favorite. He often got chewed out by his bosses for being distracted, but that was ok. Kirishima thought you had to be blind or deaf not to be when you took the stage.

Soft songs where you skillfully played your voice up to crack at certain parts, fast songs where Kirishima would have to continuously adjust himself because of your hip movements. He loved it all when it came to your singing.

His enthralled expression slowly changed to one of rage. You were skillfully dodging the hands of an admirer in the crowd, while continuing your song, and the roll of your hips. He wasn’t the only one to appreciate your musical talent and the person it came from. Some were more enthusiastic in their appreciation than others, and that’s when Kirishima took on a vastly different character.

You wore a shimmery gold slip dress like it was made for you, and not stolen from a store across town. Yes, he would admit, under the changing lights you looked ethereal. The problem was, like a porchlight, you were attracting pests, and he couldn’t have that.

The greasy hand that had been reaching for you hung at an awkward angle only seconds later. Kirishima only faintly heard the crunch and your distressed “Eiji!” as he assumed a fighting stance. He’d known creepy patrons to be able to fight through almost anything.

Somehow, the creep had friends, and they were loyal. He was in too deep by that point, and treated them all like they were their friend.

---

Two bouncers, three barflys, a bartender, and an angry interrupted singer swinging the mic stand made quite the mess. The kind of mess that gets the singer and her boyfriend fired without pay and banned from the establishment.

You huffed your exasperation as you accepted half of his adrenaline-drained weight on the walk home. You could feel how proud of himself Kirishima was, and it made you feel like starting another fight.

“That was so manly the way you decked that guy with the bottom of the mic stand babe.” he murmured.

You could hear Kiri falling in love with you all over again, and as endearing as you found it, you were missing a shoe and a job now.

“I swear only you could eat that many hits and stay up to deal them back. You must be made of rock or some shit.” you huffed again, and tightened your hold around his waist.

“Not quite.” he chuckled and it was then you noticed him grasping his side. What you thought had possibly been bruised ribs could be worse.

“Oh shit,” you stopped abruptly, catching more of his weight at the sudden stop, and almost falling. “Did you get stabbed?!”

“Nooo.” he waved you off, and sighed painfully at the action. “Just scratched, deeply.”

You hobbled in uneven height around him, mind racing to think of a street doctor that owed you a favor in case he was lying. Fortunately he wasn’t.

“I’ll be ok. I heal pretty great, remember?” he grinned a proud, boyish grin, and you felt like you might be falling in love with him all over again too. But you were still pissed.

“You better. I might feel like beating your ass too.” You let him lean into you again as you began your awkward walk back to a borrowed home.

“I’d let you.” he chirped, laying his head on your own.

---

Patching Kiri up always seemed so useless by the time you got around to it. He stopped feeling pain faster than anyone you’d ever seen, high or sober. By morning his bruises would be a memory he’d barely remember. The only thing to keep an eye on was the cut, which you would, even if it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone but Kiri. He brought out something nurturing in you that was so powerful and foreign, it frightened you, but you were powerless against it.

Kirishima had fought you the whole time, wanting to focus on your minor nicks and scrapes, but you won out like always. You wanted to be homebase to him for a change, whether he felt he deserved that or not.

He was too tired to efficiently put up a fight, and by the time you were done, he’d crashed heavily right there in the corner of the couch.

“I wanted to cuss at you some more.” you murmured mirthfully, brushing drooping red strands from his forehead.

Checking him once more, and realizing you’d done about as well as you could, you fell onto the other side of the couch. Kiri would find his way to you eventually after you both found sleep. For the moment you were going to try to find a comfortable spot on the lumpy nightmare couch, and mourn your lost income.

You spent the better part of thirty minutes trying to assure yourself the opposite of what you knew to be the truth. You were temporarily burned on the nightclub circuit for that evening’s antics. Several hushed phone calls were made, each ending when your pride forced it. You wouldn’t beg when that had never gotten you anywhere before.

Your higher mind cursed you now that you’d be relying primarily on Kiri’s other job for income. It didn’t matter how many times Kirishima said you could rely on him, you hadn’t raised yourself that way, and you couldn’t afford to slack.

No one would call Bakugou divine, except maybe his airhead girlfriend, but he turned out to be the answer to your prayers that evening. He arrived with a pound to the door that you swore sounded like an explosion, his signature knock, and you quickly tried to mitigate any chance of him waking Kirishima.

You slid across yellowed linoleum on socked feet, and cracked the door.

“Come back tomorrow, he’s sleeping and you’re not waking him up.”

You caught his brow twitching in irritation at being told what to do. “Where do you think I’m gonna store this shit?”

He shook a worn duffle bag full of what you knew to be stolen goods.

“I don’t car-”

“Stop being a bitch and get out of the way.” he shoved the door, and you had no hope of stopping him from coming in, but you still grasped his bicep defiantly.

“Don’t.Wake.Him.” you dug your nails into hard muscle and narrowed your eyes.

“He’s gotta move quickly on some of this. Kirishima may have told you the sun rises out of your ass, but it doesn’t, and the rest of us have to survive too.” he stalked over to your sleeping boyfriend, fully prepared to punch him awake.

“Wait don’t!” you barely contained your voice to a loud whisper. “He’s tired, leave him alone.”

He growled low in his throat. “I already told yo-”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?” he snorted, but his face was blank. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re liable to get us all burned or worse, go to that shitty patchwork quilt fuck you used to run with.”

“I’ve been on the streets long enough jackass, and I’ve seen Kiri do it a million times. I know what’s worth what and who wants it.” you bristled at him throwing your past connections back in your face. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t deal with him anymore.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, not interested, and you regretted even answering that. He studied you for a moment, and the flexing of his hand let you know he was mulling it over.

You decided not to wait, grabbing the bag and beginning to drag it into the kitchen. As expected, Bakugo rushed you for his ill-gotten goods.

You jutted your chin up at him. “I can do it. Just let him rest, it’s been a long night.”

He glared at you, judging you in a way that no longer made you want to punch him, before speaking. “Fine, but we’re staying to make sure you don’t fuck it up.”

“We’re?” your face crumpled in confusion, then realized he meant his girlfriend and grimaced. ‘For Kiri.’ you thought.

“Whatever.”

---

On any other day Bakugou would loudly and proudly admit he couldn’t stand you. You were convinced he and the gang hated you, that they thought you were cold and you were mostly correct. They loved Kirisihima and he’d made it clear you two were a package deal. He could remember the one and only time Kirishima got violent with him, and it was because he’d called you several nasty names in one fell swoop when he’d been drinking. He remembered laying in his car that night wondering what the fuck about you had his best friend so gone.

That night he thought he’d finally gotten a glimpse. Beaten up, and clearly tired yourself, you were forcing yourself to carefully build an inventory out of the stolen goods he and Midoriya had acquired the previous three nights. You told him what happened at the lounge, and he knew you probably wanted to crash right next to Kirishima, but you wouldn’t. You wanted to take care of him. Watching you squinting your tired eyes in the dim light of that shitty closet kitchen, he decided his friend may not be such a dumbass after all.

| Somersault In Sand With Me |

“Eiji…no, I’m still sore.” you murmured sleepily, curling into a ball under the thin quilt.

Kirishima poked your side again, muffling a laugh. “That’s not what I want babe. Well..yeah I always want that-”

“I know.” you gently kicked back at him, hiding a tiny grin in your pillow.

“I want you to come somewhere with me, it’s important.”

He sounded so uncharacteristically serious, that you allowed yourself to be fully pulled from sleep. You sat up, reaching for your phone charging on top of your bag by the couch.

Exactly 3 a.m.

“Eijiro I swear to god…”

“It’s important, fence’s honor. Now get your cute ass out of bed.” he tackled you in a warm embrace, spread kisses across your cheeks, and released you to get up from the couch bed.

You dropped your phone back into your bag with a groan. It was amazing how out of character this man could make you.

Kirishima helped you get dressed, smirking every time he noticed your slight limp. For every smirk you bit him, and he kissed you. It went against every independent bone in your body, but Kiri dressing you felt like heaven. His soft kisses on your thighs when he helped you slide into your leggings, the soft coos and admissions of love as he slipped you into one of his sweatshirts, and the gentle cradling of your feet as he slipped your feet into your shoes. You couldn’t even be grumpy, not when your personal sunbeam was looking at you like he received his life from you.

Kirishima led you out of the apartment, and before you knew it, he’d scooped you onto his back, threatening to drop you if you didn’t hold on. He took off at full speed with your surprised blend of laughter and shouts behind him.

You barely had any time to work out where he might be taking you that wasn’t planned at that hour before he arrived at the destination. An elementary school playground.

He stooped, allowing you to slide off his back, which you did with confusion. “What’s here Eiji?”

“Everything!” he chirped like it was so simple to see.

You blinked up at him trying to gauge whether he had the signs of having something in his system.

“Come on, we would’ve killed for this as kids. We get the whole place to ourselves, what do you wanna do first?”

“Crack your head open and examine the insides.” you scowled. “I was sleeping, and you want to do what exactly?”

“You’re so adorable when you’re cranky, you’re adorable anytime bu-”

“Kiri…” you narrowed your eyes, contemplating following through on your threat.

Kirishima’s face went blank, but his expression soon returned as a wide grin. “Oh I get it babe, that’s your pride talking. If you’re too afraid of looking uncool….”

“Pfft!” you shot him an incredulous look. “Nice try. Here’s where I try to prove you wrong, thus falling into the trap right?”

“No, my woman’s much too smart for that.” his grin curled into a smirk. “Here’s where I snatch your precious beret and make you chase me for it.”

Before you could register what he said, he followed through and yanked the hat from your head. He took off across the grass laughing almost manically with genuine joy. He was so adorable, it almost made you forget how long you saved for that beret. Almost.

You launched after him, shouting vulgar threats the whole way.

“Come on babe, we do kinkier stuff than that all time, really make me feel it!” he laughed, taking the steps to the pirate ship playhouse two at a time.

“Well, remember it fondly, because that’s over now hammerhead!” you leapt at him only to have him dodge you.

“Then what do I have to live for?” his face contorted into a mock pout. “I should just walk the plank now.”

Eiji doged another lunge from you and jumped from the toy plank that barely hung above the ground. You landed after him shortly and continued to chase him while he waxed poetic about his life being over if he could ‘never take you again’. Between laughter at his silly proclamations and failed lunge attempts, your lungs were on fire. That didn’t stop you from giving the chase your all. Around the merry-go-round, an almost win in the sandbox, an attempted cut off under the jungle gym. You eventually thought of a way to end it by fighting dirty.

Eijiro was headed for the animal-shaped spring riders, and right as he got close you shouted. “Time out Eiji my shirt tore off!”

“Wha-” he looked back at the right time to hit a pink seal and flip over it, landing on his back.

You jogged over, smirking at your win, no matter how ill-gotten.

“Not manly babe,” he groaned, sitting up to rub his back. “Not at all.”

“I caught you!” you laughed, straddling his waist to prevent any escape attempts.

“You did.” he said softly, gazing at you with a look that took your breath away.

It said everything he couldn’t say. Not because he was afraid to, never Eijiro, but because he couldn't always find the words to. That he couldn’t believe he found you, and would die if he lost you. That he was so yours, he felt like he always had been, even before he knew life. That you were his world and you were more than enough for him. You were everything to him.

“Always catch me...yeah?” he placed the beret on your head gently, before he placed a hand to your cheek.

“Always.” you got out around the lump in your throat. Instinct made you hold back your tears, Eijiro’s love made them fall.

-----

End Note:

If you want to let me know what you think should happen in the Midoriya chapter, my inbox is open (with anon on). The established AU is (here).

Dabi is next.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I had to let the little tabby go this morning.  I woke up to the third day of shitting on the rug in a row.  They had tried unsuccessfully to roll the carpet up like a burrito ignoring the litter completely.  I had brought it in earlier in the week and gave it a full wash.  Yesterday I went so far as to get doggie pads from the pet store and laid them out near the litter.  It had been locked in my back studio for most of the time until I cracked the front door open this morning.  I gave it a choice as it hesitated on the porch and it slowly lunged then jumped over the divider.  It stared down at me for a minute then went off.  Not two minutes later when I went back out to check, another black cat was staring up from the stairs confused.  I wondered if they were lonely too.  There are no shortage of strays in our neighborhood.  I say this almost metaphorically sometimes.  One fateful November on the coldest night of the year I brought the Calico in from the cold.  These days more often than not I wake up to her cuddling me like teddy bear.  She was fairly vocal about the arrangement but not overly aggressive to our visitor.  She adjusted to the litters almost automatically with a few months of peeing where she shouldn’t.  This cat was a different story.  I had felt guilty.  I’m the only one who seems to care about the wildlife it seems.  When it becomes my responsibility, the landlord finds new things to single me out on.  But for the most part, I can’t really save the entire neighborhood by myself.  Especially when people just ignore me and talk behind my back about the Fundamental Attribution Error they perceive me to be.  I’ve been learning to make my own decisions however heartbreaking they may be.  And in this case, I felt if I kept them indoors any longer it would not be a happy situation for any of us.  It hurt.  I cried a little.  But ultimately, every hard decision is easy to make when nobody cares what you do.  And lately it’s really felt like for the most part nobody really gives a fuck about me.  This is not to say I believe it through and through.  I obviously continue to write these because there are people out there who read into them for my insight.  Mostly because I feel they care about me and how I think.  But I can assure you that I am very much alone in my life here in this city.  It is such a catastrophic failure of isolation that I’ve wondered if it’s for the best.  How do you let go of the things that hurt you?  How do you make decisions for yourself that tear you apart inside daily?  How do you live with the guilt?  Personally I’ve lived in the silence of the choices I make for so long that I am at peace with my trajectory.  It doesn’t mean that it’s not a brutal process of letting go and growing at the same time.  

It’s important to note sometimes that people ask too much of you without anything in return.  And this can go on and on until you are saddled with responsibilities.  Society in America is the worst for that these days.  You can never be good enough for most people.  The real trick is that people aren’t really aware of what’s good enough.  And so their perception of who you are and what you do is always skewed.  Celebrity is a hallucination based off of this.  I personally think I’m never good enough for anyone.  I’m not good enough at anything to not be compared to someone else.  And yet the entire last week my net worth crept up without me doing much of anything other than readjusting my finances.  I compare myself constantly because nobody ever treats me like a human being.  Nothing I do is good enough.  The job market is the worst for this kind of mental torture.  You feel picked over and ignored.  You read into the narratives in the news about how the next recession will be the worst.  There will be no jobs.  It will be a musical chairs situation and you will have sat out too long.  Your skills are useless.  Your pay won’t compare to what you were making.  You’ll have to make sacrifices in your life while the rich dance on the ashes of your bottom line removed from their fiscal budget.  And the more I compare myself to the American narrative the more I realize how pigheaded and pompous it is.  It never meets you eye to eye.  It isn’t that proud.  It never wants to face your pain and admit that it has contributed to it by playing into the very same game that hurts you.  It wants a savoir and a martyr at the same time.  A fall guy and a shill.  An inside outside man.  And when you look yourself in the mirror and try to be that all you can see is more pain reflected back at you.  I never wanted to be in this mess.  I only wanted to be a good person.  I show love every day and it is not returned.  And sometimes you have to reevaluate how much of it you want to squander on people who use it like a prop.  Everybody wants a superhero until they realize they’re the villain.  Everybody thinks they’re better than you until you prove them otherwise.  They waltz around in the street like it’s a parade or fashion show.  Expect you to read into every single nuance without understanding the context and the history of what you’ve honestly been through.  And after awhile the writing becomes clear on the walls.  The shit on the carpet is consistent and without fault.  It’s in their nature.  The human animal isn’t so hard to understand and neither is love  Love is waking up to your cat inexplicably attached to your chest until you cannot breath.  Envy and jealousy have nothing to do with it.  Love sometimes after all these years is an understanding of just how fucked up it is.  Like a caged bird, you open the gate and wonder if they’ll leave.  I open the back door and it’s just me and my cat staring out waiting for things to change.  And the more they do, things around here have pretty much stayed the same.  And the angels on my shoulder however you’d like to visualize them never leave my side.  So I have all the information I need to make the hard adult choices for myself and live with them.

Everything does pretty much suck lately.  I’m about to face another winter alone.  Aside from my cat and my long distance friendships which are more fulfilling than I could ever explain.  I feel targeted and attacked almost every day.  I do think about leaving entirely.  I also think about how logistically that can happen with one cat as opposed to two.  It hurts the most to admit that things aren’t really working out for me.  And it becomes a game of figuring out what actually does.  Because if you wallow in the misery of it all you can miss some opportunities.  My bank missed a rally on a stock I got in on early.  Now they’re projecting it forward to 2025.  All I ever hear from any business talking head is this idea of pivots.  How we’re supposed to continually get knocked off our bikes and get back up again.  The pivot is the musical chairs game corporate America loves to play.  Thin the ranks and the benefits and offer more duties to the next person for less pay.  When you’ve been kicked out of every elite club and shunned into nothing more than a ghost where do you actually go?  What do you have to do to be valued as a human being?  I can save every cat in the neighborhood and donate my proceeds to charity and I will still be invisible.  And if I don’t snap out of it I will fade like Casper the friendly ghost.  It’s not a joke anymore.  This is my reality.  I am phased out of everything and whispered about like some legendary scarecrow.  Nobody ever talks to me.  Nobody ever calls me by my name.  I never hear the words “Hi Tim” other than in personal assistance from Artificial Intelligence.  Animals speak to me clearer than most humans.  And what I heard from the little tabby I tried to help was pretty clear.  They didn’t belong here.  And in some ways neither do I.  And yet where do I go?  I feel like I’m trapped in a constant episode of the Prisoner.  This happy little village wants to pretend they’re better.  That I need to acknowledge them and their fucked up ways before I’m accepted again.  And then there’s the undercurrent beneath all of that.  The idea that people understand that I try to lead by example.  That I’ve already communicated what I’m about.  That nobody wants to believe my narrative on things because it would be a horrible reality.  To realize that I am better than this.  And in some ways, admitting this to myself I’ve realized why I’ve waited so long.  I wanted to know for sure.  And I wanted to make decisions that were true to myself that people could be proud of.  And the one thing I have never given up on is the future.  I don’t have room for any more cats.  Nor do I have room for any more people.  No new friends.  Angels only.  Yes I do sometimes feed the strays.  I’m a polite and genuine person by nature.  But don’t take my kindness for a weakness.  And when I close the door on this chapter of my life.  Don’t come knocking when the story is over.  <3 Tim

[lizzieparker]

you can count on me; like one, two, three.

tagging: @mattschue @lizzieporter

location: A bar. 

time frame: May 1st. Late afternoon. 

about: Matt and Lizzie talk about some things, million years ago. 

warnings: Some explicit talk, nothing major. 

Matt didn’t know how to go about with what Lizzie asked him earlier on the day because it was a part of his life that he hadn’t forgotten about but it also felt like it belonged to another man. They finished their shift and went down the block that they sometimes hung out at after work. He ordered a pint and picked up whatever she wanted and they found a table off in a corner. “Soooo.” He started and chuckled. “Why are you asking about my ho days, Lizs?”

Lizzie didn't even try to fight going out with Matt after her shift, mostly because she still got happy that any of her friends wanted to spend time with her, even when Matt and her had become family years ago. Stil, she appreciated that he still wanted her around after all this time. Once they arrived to the place they always hang out, she ordered a beer for her own and some french fries so they could share. "You are making such a big deal ouf of this, I swear" She rolled eyes for good measure, as she put her hair in a high ponytail. "I just asked cause it interests me how you, you know, stopped with the hoe life"

“Hey now. It’s not everyday I get you asking this kind of question. And it reminds me of when I asked myself something along the lines because I had reached a place where I knew I needed to change.” He plucked a hot fry from basket and bit into it. “It wasn’t something that stopped like that.” He tried to snap the fingers on his left hand but it wasn’t the same and failed. “I slipped here and there. But I tried to actually date. That was the difference from before when I was getting drunk and fucking around.” He popped the rest of the fry into his mouth and brought his beer over. “I wasn’t happy, Lizs. There were many years I was so damn miserable that drinking and a warm body made me feel better. For a while. Then it was back to this existence. One I had very little purpose in. If it wasn’t for the work we do and the chief giving me a second chance...I don’t know where I’d be.” He sighed. “That question. It’s not one I can just say I fell in love and that was it. Because it’s not. It was a lot of mental shit, too.”

It didn't take more than a couple of minutes to know this was not going to be an easy conversation and, as always that Matt spoke about his Matt 1.0, she gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded along with his words. She felt incredibly lucky that he shared all of this with her, every time. "I think we are all very lucky to have this job, and each other. And I'm very proud of you, of everything you are now. I think it takes a lot of balls" Lizzie reached for a fry, trying her best to buss herself so she did not start getting emotional already. "I don't... I don't know if it feels like that for me" She shrugged lightly, biting her fry. "I just like sex, you know? It's nice and I have fun. And right now Max and I both are in a position where we both trying to ease into something more and it's fine. More than fine, actually" A little smile played on her lips, private and more for herself than anything. "But we are working towards something more and I want to be ready. I don't want to screw it up"

“What’s not to like about sex? It’s fun and you can do all sorts of things. Get kinky or do it quick in the bathroom. It’s a high. A thrill. And it releases all these endorphins. So you feel fucking incredible when you have a good fuck. Hell, even having a fuck buddy has its perks but it’s not the same. Because you know it’s not going to move into a place where you can have a future with that person.” Matt listened to her and smiled because he saw himself as a brother to Lizs and to hear she wanted to try with someone is a big step. “Can I ask why you feel you can with Max but didn’t with Mason?”

At the beginning of Matt's comment, Lizzie made a face, more out of habit than anything else but it didn't mean it didn't got her thinking. It was so easy to imagine a future with Max and they had even talk about it. It was nice to start thinking about them as a unit, because Lizzie didn't had that in a long time, not since Kelsey. She was in the middle of taking a sip of her beer when his questions almost made the glass fall of her hand, making her do some weird moves to catch. "Jesus, Matt! Warn a girl before you bring up the emotional baggage, god!" She took a long sip, letting it on the table. "I... God, I... I don't know? There is a lot of things, I guess. There is no guilt with Max, no pressure to change my life in a second" It was impossible to not feel her heart clench in her chest uncomfortably, a needed reminder that things were not completely over. "I wanted Mason so much that I never realized I had everything I ever wanted, all the easy and the fun and the been supported exactly how you are thing right in front of me" She shook her head, biting the inside of her lip. "It's two very different feelings"

“I’m sorry! But I know you and Mason had this thing and then didn’t have a thing and then had a thing again. So I figured it was worth asking. Don’t get me wrong. I like how happy you looked talking about Max and if this is something you feel you can have something good with. Then explore it with him. Because you know when you’ve found your person. There are good people who come and go in your life but when you meet the one who just gets you. Who gets you when you’re happy and things are going good and who gets you when you feel like shit, and they don’t want to run away. That’s something fucking special.”

"It's off again. Sort of" And now she kinda wanted to cry again. This was just how Artie said, Matt had a way to get everything out of you without trying. "He knows about Mason, you know? About the whole thing. He knows everything that has happened and how much it still hurts everyday. And he just... Holds me until it goes away. I'm sure that if he had the opportunity Mason would have done the same, or maybe not, but right now, whenever I feel sad or upset, the only person I want to hold me is Max."

Matt took a sip from his beer and noticed the way she spoke and how she spoke that the whole Mason thing was a trigger for her. He set his glass down and went around the table and sat next to her. Matt shoulder bumped her and hoped it would help bring her back around from that place he took her to. “Hey.” He said as he peered over at her. “It looks like you found that person you can talk to about what’s going on. That’s major, Lizs.”

Lizzie's eyes widened a bit but didn't offer any resistance to Matt sitting beside her. In fact, she rested her body against his side, enjoying the feeling of him supporting her in more ways than one. "I know. It feels major" She closed her eyes for a second, trying to organize her thoughts. "He also high fives me when I get to sit on a big dick, so there is that" She chuckled weakly, burrowing herself a little more against Matt. "That's why it feels important to not screw it up. Again"

Matt could try to keep this conversation serious and he did wrap his arm around her in a half hug before moving his hand over to playfully mess with her hair. “You do the high five while one the saddle or afterwards?” He laughed at this. “So why come and ask me about how I knew to move past my ho days? You think you’re ready to close the gates to people other than Mighty Max?”

Lizzie giggled as her moved her hair, moving his hand down with a grunt. "Afterwards. There is something really hot about a man who can appreciate a good big dick" She felt herself relax, going back to drinking her beer. "Not right now, he got stuff to get over it as well as I do. And right now it's fun, you know? We are both on the same page and we talk a lot about things, like adults, what is really weird but anyway. I know I'm gonna want that at some point soon and you said it was a process so, I thought I should start doing research"

"Are you saying that about me or about Max appreciating his own cock? Because it sounds like you want me to go over and ask him to show it off to me so I can high five him myself." Matt laughed at this. "It's not research, Lizs. You just...fall into it. B and I knew each other awhile before I asked him out. Not personally but we'd talk and joke. He became the first and last person I want to talk it and I share everything with him. And I mean everything. Bets and I didn't have that and most of the time she tuned me out. B listens. Even to my stupid and crazy. Which, by the way, you're sleeping in a cot at the foot of our bed after the three of us get hitched. Blaine's convinced you need an actual bed so I figure that's a good compromise." He joked. "When do I get to officially meet this guy?" Matt reached over for his beer and brought it over.

"I was saying it like Max appreciates dicks in general but honestly, do you think I would even think in going exclusive with nothing but an outstanding dick? Don't you know me better than that? Please Matt, let's be serious here" Blaine and Matt's love story always made her swoon, no matter how many times she heard, because they both talked about it with some love it filled the entire room. It was amazing. "Wait, why?! I let you use my bodywash!" She playfully punched his arm, but not enough to make him drop his drink. "You want to?" Her cheeks went slightly red, something she tried to hide with her glass, but she couldn't help but grin. "You will see him sometime soon around the station. He and Drew want to come play with the new puppy"

Matt had to give it to Lizzie because she was honest about what it is she wants and makes it clear; clear enough for the table next to them to hear. All he could do was laugh at this, shaking his head at her. “Because the main bed belongs to B and me. Or you can sleep in the guest room with Buster. But then you miss out on the sexy show B and I put on almost every night.” There was no way anyone was actually seeing that but he liked to tease. “Well yeah. This guy with the big dick that has you thinking about being exclusive. I want to meet him. Maybe talk to him. And is Drew his kid?”

[shyeehaw]

Cheating Boys - HCs - RDR2

Request:  How they cheat by accident, how it was cheating, how they behave after if they try to win their trust back, how their S/O behaves.

Arthur

There was a bad feeling on your stomach, it wasn’t rationally justified, it just was there.

You are not proud, but by tidying up the tent you shared with Arthur, you came across a letter, tucked away.

Although ‘come across’ may not be the right expression, when you were actively looking for it.

Your shaky fingers unfolded the thin paper, releasing an overly sweet smell that got your stomach turning.

By unfolding the delicate letter, Arthur was greeted by a perfume. Her perfume.

The flowery handwriting hit him like a punch to his stomach. Words, phrases he never thought he would see again greeted him like old friends.

When Arthur saddled up his horse, it didn’t cross his mind to tell you about it.

He did not wanted to worry you in vain, with Mary being a familiar name to you.

Riding towards Valentine, Arthur tried convincing himself that it was not a big deal, she probably just needed help.

Seeing her once again made all the memories he believed to be lost to boil him from inside.

Time had not touched her at all, her face still was the same. Which only made his sadness to grow.

Arthur was staring at a familiar stranger.

The lips he once cherished so had the most awful news. “I’m a widow now, Arthur.”

And by pronouncing that feared word, Mary cried to his chest.

Arthur had no way out, he tried to comfort her with pats on the back, but Mary wanted more.

She was alone and needed to feel whole again, Arthur was whole and that very kiss they shared threatened that.

It was so easy being with her again, and yet so complicated.

When the morning broke, memories of the night before mocked him. Weak, cruel... a bad man.

Leaving his regret behind, Arthur dressed and left without a goodbye.

That was a mistake. Every fiber of his being felt guilty, Y/N didn’t deserve that.

He knew you would have to hear it, and from him. But he couldn’t imagine confessing such a thing.

Thinking about losing you was too unbearable. And your greeting smile had only made that feeling worse.

Arthur began to spend less time with you. His journal was filled with words, but on his mind, he couldn’t find the right ones.

That sneaky behavior warned you that something was wrong.

“Arthur, why are you acting like this? Is something wrong?”

He had guilt all over his face and hurt too. Whatever happened it changed him.

“Y/N... I don’t know how to tell you, I’m so sorry about this-“

“Arthur, son! I need you here.”, yelled Dutch from across the camp.

“Wait! What were you going to say to me?”, you asked.

But he was not ready to lose you, not yet.

In that same afternoon, you decided that it was enough, you were going to find your own answers.

Kieran

“O’driscoll! Get over here!”, Dutch called from afar.

You two shared worried looks. Whatever it was, Dutch sounded wasted.

“Go on, you have nothing to worry about it. Even less after today.”, you assured him.

“Tonight we are drinking, boy! And you are coming with us!”, Dutch had an unusual smile on his face.

First was Arthur, now John. If Kieran kept saving people like this, maybe they would drop that awful nickname.

When Kieran told you about the invitation, you cheered! They were finally seeing him for who he was.

And what a funny thing life is, you remember even kissing him goodbye that night.

“For good luck!”, you said, “it’s going to be fine.”

He had butterflies on his stomach, but Kieran managed to chat with Charles and even Arthur without being called O’Driscoll.

He already had a couple of drinks, and would usually stop, if it wasn’t for Bill that kept them coming.

The more he drank, the funnier they thought he was getting.

Of course, they weren’t sober either. Arthur had already stumbled on his own feet two times and Lenny was nowhere to be found.

“Would you like some company, big guy?”, said the girl with the cleavage to Charles.

Kieran barely noticed him and Javier talking to them girls, he was too busy coyly laughing at Arthur’s impression of Dutch.

“What about you, sweetie? Would you care to keep a girl some company?”, she came out of nowhere, placing her hand on Kieran’s shoulder.

He gulped, trying to explain he already had someone back home.

“Go on! Hell! We will even pay it for you after what you’ve done today.”, said Marston laughing, “I’m probably treating myself too!”

Arthur stared at John across the table, taking a look at Kieran after.

“I’m, uh... I shouldn’t...”, he tried to say.

“Come on, son! It’s not every day that a working girl chooses you and gets paid by us!”, said Dutch, finding the situation oh so funny.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want.”, Arthur said.

But it was too late, he saw Bill scoffing as if he expected Kieran to back down.

John, it seems, was just waiting for an excuse to go along.

Kieran wasn’t one to do this, but the alcohol and the ever so tiring underestimation got him to agree.

To their cheers, Kieran went upstairs, just now realizing how drunk he was.

The girl tasted like cigarettes, and that made Kieran so uncomfortable for whatever reason.

From that day on, that smell would haunt him. Like the smoke of the things he had done. The way he hurt you.

He remembers feeling shy at first, few people had seen his body like that.

Without a romantic attraction was almost impossible for him to concentrate on the sensations.

Riding back to camp was like the old time version of a walk of shame. And guilt.

Kieran may or may not have cried when he confessed what happened the night before.

What hurt you the most was that you let him in, you trusted him with all you had.

And he was no different than others, breaking your heart like that.

In a way, he was worse. He did that just to prove others wrong, just to protect his ego, you thought at first.

And yet, you could see how deeply regretful he was.

For days on end, he tried to make you see how sorry he was, how he hated himself for making you cry.

You could see that, but it didn’t change what happened.

Sean

He talked nonstop how Karen was in the past, and that it was a one time thing.

Too frequent, one may say.

But it’s always a bit tricky to see face to face the ex of the one you love.

She was a daily reminder of the things you did not have. Things that Karen would proudly display with her white blouse.

Not just that, she had a good sense of humor and could outdrink anyone of you.

But you had Sean, and to you, that was enough.

He was a really good boyfriend, always making you laugh and taking care of you.

But somethings are probably just not meant to be.

It only took one night for it all to come to an end. Looking back, it’s like you can pinpoint the exact moment you knew what was about to happen.

“Ya should just yell at me, Y/N. Really.”, he said out of the blue.

His eyes looked tired and red. Like if he had not slept enough. Or did he...cry?

“What did you do now?”, you teased. Having no idea what was about to happen.

“I spent the night with Karen.”, he said in one breath, his face becoming so serious, “It just happened, I went to talk to her, y’know ? To say that I wanted to be with you. She said that she did not care, but she did.”

Your heart stopped at that very moment.

“We fought, we kissed, Y/N.”, he confessed, “So yell at me, slap me if yer happy with that. But I... can’t keep doing this.”

“This what?”, you asked, fighting the urge to cry.

“I’ll always feel bad for doing this to ya, Y/N. But I can’t deny, it was not meaninglessness. If it was, I would be asking for yer forgiveness.

“I... see”, you managed to say.

You turned your back at what could have been. If you stayed longer, if you fought harder.

But you didn’t had anything left on you. Being betrayed like this, not only on a physical level but on an emotional one...It was too much.

You would be a shadow on their relationship.

Until Karen started seeing all the things she did not possess.

.

She would be living with his ex.

[therearwindow]

29

> Hey Reader. Saddle up. This is long winded as fuck. There are little notes at the bottom for the numbers in the text. Anyway. The voices used to write this change. A lot of it will sound childish. I wrote parts in that voice because it was necessary for that part of my life. Also I suck at organizing my thoughts. Please keep my past English teachers in your hearts. They did the best they could with me.<

So I am living in a state where if there is not contest, you might as well wait it out for 18 months living separately. I moved here from my home state thinking things could be better with a new start, and I didn't want a life without my step kids. Of course things went awry, and now we're separated, and I don't see my step kids everyday.

With him I didn't have to pay for anything. I wanted to. He makes significantly more money than I ever did, and that fucked with me. I couldn't be financially helpful. I had a job, and it meant nothing in comparison. He made me feel that. Tried to get me to be a stay-at-home-mom because it was financially more useful than me working. I grew up working for everything I wanted. Work and hard work was what I knew. A household with two working parents was what I knew and what I wanted. He won eventually.

I was 23 and he was 31. He was going through a divorce with two kids from his previous marriage. I was young, carefree, loved kids, stupid and hopeful. I still high on trying to make less mistakes and better myself by going to school by finding that mythical job that I love and not struggle. Though I kept forgetting that I have depression, bipolar, and anxiety. That I will more than likely have to take pills everyday of my life to function "normally," in addition to therapy. At the point I met him I was doing neither medication nor therapy. I was stuck in well-meaning loop of "I'm trying." It of course want good enough. So I never progressed.

We dated for two years before I decided I wanted him to ask me to marry him. Stupid. Those two years were filled with him putting me down about my mental health, my silver of aspirations, my social life. My social life already lacked from being pretty introverted. Any friends I had at the time I'd known for years and had grown apart from with sprinkles of hangouts here and there. Then I made new friends. Friends from work who wanted to do things with me and understood me a little better. My growing friendships with stunted with being guilt tripped. His kids the bait.I took it. I had fallen for them. I had decided I wanted to be in their lives. I loved them. I was also told that I wouldn't be having children of my own with him. Though because of loving them, and because I loved him, thought he was the best thing to happen to me, I tried to make myself forget about having something I wanted the most out of life. I loved my stepkids even more. I also tried to compromise with my social life until nothing was enough, and I hardly ever saw my friends outside of work. I was so fucking vulnerable. I am so god damn thankful for those friends I met at work still being around for nearly 6 years.

Two years of red flags. Two years of trying to compromise, then fight, then my silence, and submission. Not ultimate submission, no, I still had some pride left. I put up the occasional fight and occasional acts of disobedience. I had to. Then there was happiness. Because I submitted. Duh. He got what he wanted. So I was happy¹. Twenty-five had come around, and my poorly wired brain told me it was time to get married. He loved me. So why not? Summer 2015 he popped the question during Movie In The Park. I knew it was coming because we talked about it and he let me pick out my ring. I was overjoyed. He paid the money for the ring, but I still was surprised he actually did it. After years of feeling unworthy of love, like I didn’t deserve happiness, like I was only good for pushing people away, someone wanted to marry me. Sounds rad, but it wasn’t. Against the better collective judgment of myself and other who knew my relationship, I said yes.

Now activated was stressful wedding planning. He ended up footing the bill for the entire thing because my dad couldn’t (or wouldn’t, still unclear) help pay for anything. Part of that was because for some reason my almost spouse wanted to get married the same year. November to be exact. He, to this day says he was joking about the timing, but I will never believe him. The reason? Taxes. We wouldn’t be able to file jointly married if we waited. He had it in my head that my low income was needed that tax year to lessen the amount of taxes he would owe. I didn’t get the venue I wanted because of moving the wedding up. So I decided that I wanted to do a courthouse wedding. He had already gotten married once before, and if I wasn’t getting the wedding I really wanted, then I would settle for much less. He said at some point during an argument that if I didn’t agree to a big wedding like he wanted, then we shouldn’t get married. I could no longer have family I wanted to attend be there, but I really wanted to get married. I was blind. So we got married November 2015. I wasted a good wedding theme and the time of everyone who attended. We never even got our wedding photos back. There was an ice storm. My dad paid for my dress giving me a check on my wedding day, but he (at my request not thinking he would actually do it) deducted money owed him from the balance. Looking back I feel that it was just a shitty wedding day for a multitude of reasons.

It’s November 2019, and this month would be our 4th anniversary. It’s weird that we’re not celebrating it. We kind of forced it last year. Even got a puppy. Poor Tonks. Though I’m also in another relationship for over a year now. So there’s that. He’ll argue that it’s that relationship that ended us because he put up with so much for me. We were shitty before boyfriend came into play. I also had a miscarriage during year two of our marriage, and that nearly broke us. I should have left because there were some shitty things said directed at me during that time. Like really shitty. Though back to polyamory, not wanting to let go of something good that was happening to me won over, and eventually helped me leave. Not the person. It should be known that part of our “redefining ourselves” idea coming with moving to a new state included polyamory.

So. While getting ready to make the move, my spouse had to move ahead of me and the kids. We talked about being in an open relationship. He only wanted a shared girlfriend. I said fuck that and scrubbed that idea opting for polyamory. Why? Because I am polyamorous. After years of being told that I was a dirty cheater, failing at being monogamous, beating myself up for failing, and deep suppression, I had come to terms with being poly. So, okay, he went with it. I explicitly pointed out that once we went this way, I would not go back to monogamy. I couldn’t. It was kind of like coming out for the third time in my life. First with coming out as bisexual during my teen years, the second coming out as pansexual in my 20s.² I sold him on the idea that for me, it would just be sex. I have always been able to separate sex from emotions. I never needed to feel anything about someone before fucking them. After a short while I stopped feeling guilty about not feeling guilty. So whatever. I like sex. I did however make it a point to tell people I was not in it for the feels. I’m not a complete monster. Though that turned into never sleeping with the same partner more than once so as no to catch “feels.” When I did catch feelings I tried to hide it because the sex was good, and a few times admitted my feelings ending up in short-lived relationships. I fucked up, I know. The long and the short was spouse declared that he needed to find someone first before I could do anything physical with anyone. His reasoning was uneven playing field between our genders.³ Blah, blah, blah. That was March 2018. The next month I met my boyfriend online.

You would have thought I went against the rules my spouse and I had previously developed. He was on my case. I was happy talking to my boyfriend. Found out he lived really close to where I was moving (big fucking plus and homeboy was cute af sorry not sorry). Spouse at this point had not found anyone to sleep with. So after being difficult and me telling him that it was pretty unfair that I had to wait, he allowed me to go on a date and let me have sex. Two separate people, and not my boyfriend. May rolled around and me and would be boyfriend have been talking for a month. Spouse had found someone. I was sick to my god damn stomach. Like who else wanted to date this idiot besides me. He was my idiot. As a gesture towards learning to be open and honest with our feelings I expressed my discomfort. Which eventually got dismissed with “you’ll be okay.” Because he was now doing something, everything was okay. My feelings definitely didn’t matter. Though he acted like they did.⁴

May also meant that it was time for the kids and I to move. The school year was over, and it was time for them to spend time with their mom. So spouse and I were kid free for three weeks. it also meant I would finally get to meet the guy I’ve been talking to for a month. I won’t lie. I was fucking elated. I had planned to go at least a day ahead of spouse to get some alone time. Time to meet the guy, see if I still liked him in person, and ya know, do the do. That did not fucking happen. I’ll admit I let my excite get the better of me, a lot. To the point where I lied about where I was going and how. This was in response to spouse being himself and not allowing me to take time out to see my future boyfriend (spouse and I both ended up at the new house not too far apart from each other). I got upset and was dishonest. Not proud of that. It was not good. To me I felt like spouse got his alone time with the new woman, twice I might add. Why couldn’t I be granted the same? Spouse almost didn’t let me use the air bnb he was staying at which had two rooms. I declared that he could not use the same bed him and I slept in to have sex with her.⁵ So he used the other room. Which I also used. Now. We had also a rule stating no overnights. Yeah, post-coital naps do not fall under that. It was already late at night. I was tired. The plan was nap and go home. Duh not stay the night. We also had a few other rules: 1. communicate 2. do not contact the other partner while they are with another Person unless it can’t wait. My spouse showed up at the air bnb because I didn’t communicate, and he thought I was taking too long. Tried to pin breaking the overnight rule on me too. Nah. Eventually I got to go on a proper date with future boyfriend, and it was amazing.

Over a year and a half later I am separated from my spouse and have been with my boyfriend. I moved out in April 2019. I was doing okay for living on my own for the first time in six (6) years. I had a job after a year of basically being guilted into being a stay-at-home-mom⁶. Which I enjoyed the growing closer to my kids part of it, but the constant being at home with only precious baby of a dog, and being expected to spend large portions of my day keeping up a house, not leaving the house to work, put in a deep depression. No matter how hard I tried to try hard, I couldn’t make myself do shit. Small accomplishments were huge to me, and meant little to spouse. So having a job and my own space was fucking magical. I mean spouse totally had to cosign on my apartment, and was (is) giving me $500 a month (ending this coming December) as hush money because I’m probably not going to qualify for alimony. For the record, should I qualify, I wouldn’t be asking for more than what would help me be independent of him. Dude makes six figures a year. He has enough to spare. I wouldn’t be out to get all his money. I don’t want to interrupt the lively hood of my step kids. Anyway. Like I said, it’s November 2019. I lost my job last month. I have a car I need to make payments on, utility bills, it was necessary for me to adopt my dog out, and I feel low again.

Needless to say that the last month has been kind of shitty. Oh. My dad also has a stage four brain cancer. Trust me that plays into the not currently employed thing. I’m still look and applying, but what if my dad dies and I’ve had the new job for less than a month? I’ll obviously be taking the amount of bereavement time allowed. It’s my fucking dad. So I take bereavement and then come back and lose my job? I’ve applied for unemployment as a temporary means of income⁷. Though it’s taking about a month to see if I can receive it. The idea had been to stay on unemployment throughout the holiday season while still looking for a job, and not passing up a good opportunity. Cross the jobless bridge again if I need to in the event my father dies. I have no fucking clue what to do except move forward. What else though? I don’t know what I should be doing while I’m moving. I’m still seeing my therapist, and now new psychiatrist. Both of them working out well. So that’s good. Part of why spouse and I haven’t really pushed for other reasons for immediate divorce is because I really need the health insurance. I got to the doctors a lot for various health issues. If I didn’t have health insurance, all the progress I’ve made towards my mental health will be undone in a much shorter time than it took to get it to a better place. I can’t let that happen. I turn 30 this coming March. I’m fighting to begin the next decade of my life on a good note.

*BONUS ROUND* My still being legally married is causing other problems. My boyfriend’s parents have no idea that I’m still legally married. I do not have good feelings about beginning how to start that conversation. It’s been over a year. Boyfriend’s sister knows. We (he) told her (while I was in the same room) to see what she thought. She thinks it will be fine. It probably wouldn’t be if I had biological children. Which I don’t. Blessing in disguise I’ve been told.

If you’ve made it this far I really wish I had something to give you for reading through my short review of my life. Trust me. This is the short version. All in all it was an abusive relationship, and despite my current predicaments, I am in a better place since leaving. I really left a fuck ton out. You’re welcome. I’m not new to the internet. I know some of you will want to comment things that I don’t agree with. If they aren’t insightful, to point out a typo, and only cruel, then I don’t give two fucks. I understand that I may be the ”villain” in his story, and after writing what I did I can only imagine what he would say. I am a happy little camper with my boyfriend. He deserves a god damn medal or some shit for sticking with me after things got hairy. He is awesome.

¹ Years later Paramore's "Fake Happy" would cause me to break down into tears. That was when I realized I was situationally happy. It was fake.

² I am 100% not claiming polyamory as a sexual identity. Honestly I could be better educated. I am comparing the feelings. Those being free, shoulders a little lighter, and most of all happier. I will also not entertain discussions of bisexuality versus pansexuality.

³ Q.Q some more you sexist prick

⁴ A little over a year later I came to the realization that I always HAD to ask for permission. He did, but he never HAD to. He had the power in the relationship. I had to mind my Ps and Qs so to speak. If I said no, we had to discuss. If he said no, that was it. So I never wanted to discuss anything with him.

⁵ The “no same bed” thing I lobbied for carried over into our new house. I’m just not cool with that. There was OUR space and THE space. Eventually spouse barred me from ever using the house, and boyfriend was not allowed inside of it period.

⁶ He won.

⁷ Needing assistance seriously hurts my pride. I'm stuck between getting off of it as soon as possible, and falling further into debt.

[takingcourage]

The Start of Forever - Part 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Pairing: Drake x MC

Word Count: 2,387

Series Summary: The wedding has passed and the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria are free to begin their lives together away from the constraints of court. While honeymooning in Texas, they’re confronted with questions from their past that raise implications about their future. (Slight AU)

Chapter Summary: Drake and Jena spend some time alone after a difficult conversation with his mother. 

Author’s Note: Whew! Apologies for the unexpected hiatus on this story. Now that I have some free time again, I should be able to finish posting this story. I appreciate your patience through the long delay!

Tagging: @andy-loves-corgis, @carabeth, @speedyoperarascalparty

All things considered, Karen Walker had been rather more understanding than she’d expected. As Jena loaded her cereal bowl into the dishwasher, she thought back over the painstaking conversation that had ended less than an hour before.

Drake had not underestimated the effect that their news would have on his mother. On learning that her son had been given a duchy, color had drained slowly from the older woman’s face until a dull white shell was all that remained. In spite of her polite responses, the visceral reactions had been painful for all three of them.

Shortly after their previous discussion had finished, Karen had pulled Drake aside for a private word. After what she'd seen over the past eighteen hours, Jena could only hope that the woman was doing him no further damage.

She tried to convince herself that she’d done nothing but hurry along the inevitable, but guilt assailed her all the same. This certainly wasn’t the way she’d envisioned this day going. At this point, so much of their morning had been consumed by unpleasant conversation that she wondered if Drake would want to leave early for their night back in Dallas. She glanced a the stovetop clock, trying not to get her hopes up.

The quiet intonations from down the hall were at least somewhat reassuring. There had been no yelling -- of that was certain. If she was venturing to guess, she didn’t think she’d heard anything that sounded like crying either. Both seemed like signs in favor of productive conversation between mother and son.

Jena found a rag draped across the head of the faucet, dampened it, and set about clearing crumbs from the table. As she finished the final swipe across the width, she sensed a presence coming toward her.

“You don’t have to do that, Wittman.” The soft-spoken words startled out of her thoughts, despite her intuition.

“I know. But I needed something to do.” She cupped her hand underneath the cloth and shook the contents into a nearby trash can. “You doing okay?” Having rinsed the rag, she returned it to its former spot and rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans.

“Fine.” His brown eyes were trained on her, and she raised a quizzical brow as he opened and shut his mouth. Eventually, the words ventured forth. “Would you be interested in going riding? I was hoping to get the chance to show you around the ranch…”

“I’d like that a lot, actually,” she assured, still taking in his appearance.

Drake looked tired. It was evident in the exaggerated slackness of the skin around his eyes. A pang of guilt plagued her as she contrasted this with their time at the cabin. He’d been so peaceful there. After all of the stress she’d seen on that face in the past months, it sickened her to think that she’d been the cause of more.

“Good. We may as well get over to the stables. Have you ever actually saddled a horse, Wittman?” He raised his brow in challenge.

“No, but I think I’m about to learn how.” 

“Just as long as you don’t go scaring the horses. I don’t want to have to reenact that rescue from the derby.”

Jena scoffed at the slight, shaking her head in disbelief as she followed him out the front door. “You know that’s not how it happened, Walker.”

“Of course not,” he acquiesced, treating her to a half smile. She rolled her eyes and fell into step at his side, slipping her fingers into his. 

Jena had only ridden horses a few times during childhood, but she’d adjusted to the practice fairly quickly after coming to Cordonia. When she wasn’t taking day-long treks for foxhunting, she found that she actually enjoyed it very much -- especially when she was fortunate enough to have her husband’s company.

Riding around his family’s property spawned memories of exploring Valtoria with him on horseback, and she felt a pang of longing for their home. There was so much waiting for them when they returned. As much as she had enjoyed the honeymoon, some part of her was giddy at the thought of starting real life together.

Today, however, she was focused on Drake’s wellbeing. Other than the extremely thorough instructions as he’d guided her through the process of saddling the horses, he’d been fairly quiet since coming to find her in the kitchen. Jena's mind overflowed with words that could fill the silence, but nothing felt right. She breathed a grateful sigh when he chose to speak instead.

“I was pretty upset with you this morning, Wittman. I was sitting there drinking coffee and thinking that you were being unreasonable -- that you’d judged my mom too harshly. I’m not so sure anymore.”

The uncertainty in his voice halted her instinctive response. Jena breathed out slowly through her nose, biding her time in case there was more he wanted to say.

“I’ve never felt so angry with her before. She can doubt me all she wants, but doubting you -- I never thought she’d go that far. That’s a line she shouldn’t have crossed. I feel like I don’t even know her anymore...”

“For the record, I didn’t want to be right,” Jena admitted softly, grateful that they kept their horses at a relaxed pace so that she could meet his gaze. Her heart clenched at the distance in his deep brown eyes. “I just know what it’s like to defend someone who doesn’t deserve it. Finding out they’re not who you thought they were...it’s a hard pill to swallow.” She fiddled with the leather reins between her fingers, hoping that she was treading lightly enough to cause no offense.

“Your dad?” he asked simply.

Nodding, she met his eyes. The distant look gave way to a tenderness that mirrored her own worry for him, and she was struck by just how broken both of their families had been. “I wasted a lot of years making excuses for him, Drake. When I finally forgave him, it wasn’t because he’d done anything to deserve it. I just needed closure.” Drake stretched out a hand and she took it gratefully before continuing. “I don’t want you to have to go through all of that with your mom. I hope you’re able to figure things out and find a way to start over, but please don’t beat yourself up about it if you’re not.”

Her husband sighed, taking his time to respond as he turned his gaze to the horizon. “I sort of have to. I mean, dad’s not around any more. She doesn’t exactly have anyone else.”

Jena shook her head in an attempt to clear the conflicting emotions. She’d realized long ago that his protective instinct would have a propensity for getting them in trouble. She just hadn’t expected the trouble to take this form. “You always want to defend the people you care about, Drake. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you -- one of the things I love most about you too. But sometimes you have to think about protecting yourself. Sometimes that may even mean letting others protect you.”

“I don’t like to have people worrying about me.”

“We’ve been over this before…”

“I know. And sometimes having you around to worry about me is a good thing. I wouldn’t have come clean with my mom if it hadn’t been for you.”

“I hope it was the right decision.” She’d spent the past several hours second guessing her encouragement from the night before. “Did things...go okay?”

“Heh.”

She waited several moments, but he elaborated no further. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she ventured finally.

“Just that I think it’s going to take some time for her to adjust to the idea that I’m a noble and that I’m staying in Cordonia for good. But I think some part of her is proud too. Maybe someday she’ll come around to the idea that I’m not just wasting my life over there.”

“Does she really think that?” The words felt strangled as Jena worked them out of her throat. So many of her early interactions with Drake became clearer as she considered Karen’s likely influence.

He clicked his tongue to encourage the horse, but her question remained unanswered. Several paces later, he came to a sudden stop. Jena pulled the reins gently and dismounted to stand beside him in the tall grass.

“We’ll let the horses graze for a bit.”

She stroked the mare’s bony cheek and dropped the reins, putting her hands in her pockets instead. Squinting against the mid-morning sun, she followed Drake to a line of fencing nearby. Green stretched before them on every side, the light wind stirring long blades of grass into mesmerizing waves. She wondered vaguely if this was the sight that had enticed Karen to come back from Cordonia. Out here, in the warmth of late spring, it wasn’t hard to imagine the appeal that this land must have held.

Drake leaned against the nearest post, a wrinkle forming between his brows. With ease, Jena mounted the fence beside him, steadying herself with a certain hand.

Did I cross a line? Why hasn’t he answered my question? Jena hated the thought that her carelessness might have caused such distress. A week ago, she wouldn’t have been so bothered by the thought. Now, as this man’s wife, she felt some measure of responsibility to read his mind. The notion was ridiculous, but present nonetheless. Just as she was clearing her throat, he spoke.

“I’m not sure what my mother thinks anymore. She didn’t take it very well when I moved back to Cordonia. Wanted me to forge my own path instead of running back to the palace.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

“Going back?” At her nod, he continued. “I had a lot of questions at the time, but in a way, mom’s right. I’d been following Liam around for so long that it was easier to just settle back into that when I came back from the States. It took me a while to find where I belonged in all of it.  But no, I don’t regret it. Cordonia is home.”

“You’ve found your way now. And with or without the courtly graces, you’re still Drake Walker,” she beamed encouragingly. “I just wish your mom had taken the chance to get to who that man is.” A fresh sting of remorse accompanied the words, and she looped her fingers around the hand that rested beside her on the fence.

Drake interlocked his fingers with her own and lifted his face tentatively. “I think I’d like for her to get the chance to.”

Her pulse quickened at the meaning that underpinned his words. Biting her tongue, she shifted her weight toward him and took in his pensive expression.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” He hiked a hand through his hair. “But I’m not sure I’d ever forgive myself if I cut the relationship off completely. I’d always wonder if things could have been different. I’m not saying that I want to come out here for Christmases or anything, but--” preoccupied, he ceased speaking as she squeezed his hand. 

“I’ll support whatever you choose, Drake. I can’t say I have a very good first impression of her, but I respect how much she means to you. If I had any hope of my dad changing for the better, I’d probably make the same choice.” Her tone grew wistful at the impossible notion. “But I think we’re going to have to find a compromise. I don’t want you bending over backward to make her a part of our lives if she won’t even meet you halfway. You can’t do that to yourself, Drake.”

“Agreed.”

“So she’s going to have to understand that there are boundaries she can’t cross. It’s going to take some time for us to establish trust again.”

“Sounds fair to me,” he considered, stroking her knuckles with his thumb as he looked to her face. “She’s been through a lot, Jena. I don’t want to put her through more than she deserves.”

“I know,” she responded quickly to the flash of pain in his eyes. “But if she puts you through more than you deserve, she’ll have me to contend with.” Although her tone was light, they both knew that the threat was genuine.

He hoisted himself onto the fence beside her, dropping his hands to his sides. “I never thought I’d be so happy to get back to Valtoria, but I’m really looking forward to it.”

She offered a wry smile. “I am too. I know we’re going to try to work things out here, but I can’t wait to get back to Dallas and then home.”

“It’s the last night of our trip, Wittman. How do you want to spend it?”

“Seeing as it’s the last night of our honeymoon,” she emphasized, “I was thinking room service, hot tub, and…some drinks.”

“Now that’s a plan I can get behind.”

“I’m not going overboard though. We’ve got a day full of traveling tomorrow.”

“We’ll sleep it off on the plane.”

“Maybe you will," she joked, hopping down from the fence. “I’ll be awake for it all.”

“Even if I keep you up all night?”

Jena threw him a look over her shoulder. "That didn’t exactly work for the trip out here." He extended a hand toward her and she settled into the space between his legs, running her palms against toned thighs that were stretched taut from his heels pressing into the lower rail.

"I’ll take that as a challenge.” The glint in his eyes sent tendrils of heat through her core.

“Just keeping you on your toes, Walker.” 

Drake shook his head at her accompanying wink. 

“Ready when you are,” she announced, rising to the tips of her toes. Drake cradled her cheek in his hand and leaned into the kiss. His lips were soft and warm, heated by the morning sun. She snaked her arms around his waist and melted into him with pleasure. When she finally pulled away, it took several moments for her head to clear.

The kiss told her all she needed to know. They would make it through this.  Together. 

[avannak]

Hey AvannaK! I'm genuinely curious what you would've liked to see in a canon-consistent bridge series between HTTYD/GOTNF and HTTYD2? Do you have specific "should haves" and "would have been nice if..."? Sorry if you've answered this before. 😕 I'm not around as much. Take care!

Heya!!!

This is a really fun ask and it led me on a journey through a lot (a lot) of old posts. Some I’ve quoted, some I’ve linked to, but hopefully I’m managed to peace together a readable summation of things/events I like to imagine happened in between HTTYD/GotNF –> HTTYD2. Thank you!

Hiccup’s awakened to a whole new world; in the span of a month or so his entire life has been flipped and he’s got no choice but to hit the ground and run with it because, as of now, he’s at the forefront of Peace. The village is not only paying him positive attention (for being him) but also looking to him for direction. He’s lost a leg. He seems to have gained everything else.

In the following months, years even, his father does a lot of directing within the village, as Hiccup learns to lay out a plan. It’s not long after Hiccup awakens that Stoick sits his son down and says “Tell me everything”. Stoick wants to know Hiccup’s history with Toothless, his desires, his personal thoughts on where Berk is and move on from here and, to Hiccup, its a moment he’s been waiting for his entire life. His father has always loved him, but its felt like years since he’s openly valued his opinion. Stoick wants to be a team with Hiccup, because Hiccup is Berk’s first and only step into this new territory, but Stoick has the pull.

Stoick is openly impressed with his son after hearing the full tale; he says as much. About how brave Hiccup was, to make himself vulnerable like that, purposefully, and to come out victorious. The sort of bravery few vikings show anymore. The sort of bravery his mother had.

Hiccup and Stoick’s relationship had started to take a dive as Hiccup grew out of childhood and into a disappointing vision for a viking. It’s being restored, heftily, as they walk an entirely new path together (though, not at all without disagreement; both will continue to claim the other “doesn’t listen” until the very day they part ways).

Right from the get-go, Hiccup struggles with his leg or lack there of. There’s heavy frustration with limb loss and the adjustments Hiccup has to make around it leads to flares of temper – moments where he snaps at his father in misplaced anger, or Toothless, before he’s struck by reality and apologizes. Sometimes he pushes himself too far, insistent on maintaining independence, and Astrid, or Toothless, need to help him back, and he’s left sweaty, and angry, and embarrassed. Hiccup would have periods where he felt so helpless and it killed him because losing his independence for a time makes him feel like he’s Hiccup the Useless all over again. Phantom pains and feverish nightmares plague him often at first; times when he grows testy and stressed as this burning sensation runs up his leg like its still on fire, and Gobber has to sit him down and help him work through it. These episodes manage to crop up again and again in the following years no matter how comfortable he’s become on his feet.

In fact, late winter of that year, not long before Hiccup’s 16th birthday, when he’s just begun to feel physically normal, a common sickness is taken to an extreme for him. He can’t shake it, he loses weight, his leg pains him constantly. It has his father besides himself and Toothless acting out and Astrid furious with the gods.

And then there’s the growth spurts. He’s just sixteen when he gets a new leg fitted by Gobber. And then sixteen and a half when he adjusts that same wooden leg. Twice more before his seventeenth birthday he makes even more adjustments and it’s when he’s 17 and four months, after a fortnight of an aching back and pinched calf that Hiccup fashions himself a full new prosthetic of his own design. He happily braces it to his stump, sighs in contentment, and stands to look directly over his girlfriend’s head… who had merely come to accompany him to the Mead Hall and not be ridiculed for height disparities.

Gobber’s relationship almost immediately starts to transition from Uncle-figure/Blacksmith-master to confidant and therapy guide. Every other viking on Berk seems to have lost a limb, but Hiccup feels safest around Gobber to be open and vulnerable and actively seek help. Gobber teaches him the tricks to fastening a prosthetic, the mental and physical exercises to better deal with limbloss, holding his hand through the hardest of times and listening to his rants patiently. Limbloss is a way of viking life, but that doesn’t make it any easier watching a familial child go through it. At the same time Hiccup’s being pulled out of the forge more and more, and Gobber, like a distant, proud father, will both needle him about it and be supportive all the same. Gobber takes on another apprentices from time to time — capable young’ns, a few old hands with good experience — but he’ll miss the back and forth banter, and the exasperating ingenuity, of his honorary nephew.

Toothless takes it upon himself to get Hiccup into shape on his leg. He pushes the boy to exercise, to be physically stronger, just as Hiccup pushes him to tolerate silly human manners (like to not nest on Stoick’s bed or help himself to any fish netting in sight). Hiccup and Toothless have, by far, the best human-dragon relationship yet to be seen on Berk, often and unwittingly acting as ambassadors to their respective species with the goal of making cohabitation as seamless as possible. They also are still learning about each other, and the differences in their behaviors as humans and dragons; where they’ll compromise and where they simply won’t. The subject of Toothless’s tail come up between them. Hiccup has it confirmed that Toothless knows… he knows it was him. Just as Toothless understands, as well as any dragon could, that Hiccup’s learned and accepted that he too took his foot. It’s not instant forgiveness. Not when Toothless still bears the scars of the bola canon, and not when Hiccup is still freshly relearning how to walk, dealing with a new upheaval of emotion and pain, but both find the results well, well worth their suffering, and finding each other even more so. They forgive each other. They communicate through touch and two different, one-way, verbal speech habits until they’re able to make “we got even” jokes about it five years later to some rando, feral dragon lady.

Hiccup’s relationship with his peers is another thing that takes an immediate 180. Much like the village in its entirety, Hiccup finds himself saddled with their positive attention and respect. It carries a past of longing, heartache, and anger. Hiccup can’t find it in him to hold onto his resentment; not when they’re so willing to learn, so sets aside his unease and pushes them. He pushes them to fly, and to bond, and to listen to their dragons. He’s barely aware of a protective element building between the teens and himself; a rapport born from fighting a battle unlike any other. He doesn’t stop to question if its out of guilt for their recent past, or if they’re that singularly minded. Whenever he stops to think about it he starts to get overwhelmed by the reality that this is all happening, he’s “one of them” (or they’re one of him?), so he tries not to. …Even though they sit with Hiccup in the Mead Hall, and hang out with him beyond dragon training, and pull him into battle spars when just months earlier they would have shoved him down a knoll first. The twins show up at the forge from time to time, seemingly just to mess with him. Fishlegs will spend hours with him pouring over text discussing dragons, gushing about possible revisions to the Book of Dragons. For once, Snotlout gets to laugh along with Hiccup’s biting, witty retorts as they’re finally directed towards others: stubborn, withered old vikings set in their ways and still battling dragon integration.

Ruffnut quickly figures that her attention to Hiccup is hitting a stone wall, and her interest that came so fast and hard is easy to shrug off almost as quickly (though losing to Astrid, even in a one-sided, unacknowledged battle, still smarts). Instead she keeps up with the uncomfortable attention a while longer simply for her own amusement. Snotlout too learns to let go of Astrid. She so easily rolled into this new life (not that he’s fighting it), and, perhaps, she was never the ideal woman for him in particular. Still admittedly hot, though.

And then there’s nights in the Mead Hall. They grow older, stay out later, test the limits of Mead and foreign ales. Engage in drinking games they’ve only seen older warriors participate in. There’s a streaking incident. Brawls. Hiccup finds himself pushing to ban drinking and flying (because if vikings want to be idiots, then fine, but don’t endanger the dragons). Stoick enforces it (someone needs to look out for his idiot vikings). A more sober variation comes of it over time: Dragon Racing.

Debates within the tribe about spreading peace break out almost immediately. For the first year of peace, well into late summer, the tribe was nearly unanimous about focusing on integrating dragons: learning to fly, acclimating to the benefits (and drawbacks) of sharing space with dragons, and loose plans on altering the village to fit their new needs. As they grew comfortable Hiccup, and a few others, started to push towards communicating with their distant neighbors about bringing on this way of life. Frienemy tribes (the Meatheads, the Bogs, etc) were opening communications once more, and all Hiccup sees is an opportunity. Hiccup’s on a high over many platforms; he wants to expand peace, knowledge, and understanding between dragons and humans. People are listening to him and he’s good, really good, at what’s passing for impressive these days. He’s ready for more. But this is one area where the older generations has more experience, more assurance. It is almost unanimously agreed to keep the pro-dragon lifestyle secret, and it’s not to punish Hiccup, or dragons around the world that still battle humans, but to protect their own, very new way of life. Especially as it develops, and they’re left vulnerable, off-footed, all the while very much aware of how tribes once were long before violent dragons had forced humans to keep a united front.

It’s confirmed in HTTYD2 that Berk keeps their dragon lifestyle a secret from other tribes. Berk manages to shirk hosting an annual Thing year after year, claiming repairs for being the most devastated by the dragon war, that they’ve had to travel for timber and food given the ruin dragons laid upon them before the war mysteriously ended. Instead they travel, by boat, to meet old allies, testing the waters of old friendships, waiting for a time when an opening will come forth to bring dragons into their lives as well…

Hiccup must go to these Things, and does so without his dragon, often wary at familiar faces, nervously making up stories about his leg, wishing he had Toothless with him. Snotlout goes as well, meeting up with old playmates, but shocking them with a more protective attitude towards Hiccup. Astrid starts to accompany him when he’s seventeen; both having decided their relationship is concrete enough to make known outside Hooligan territory.

Following the events of HTTYD, Astrid (and the others’) focus is on learning to fly dragons ahead of the curve so that they can continue to master and teach. Beyond number one priority, and beyond keeping up with traditional physical tasks (as she’s still Very Viking, thank you very much), and a bit beyond helping out her village adapt to dragons, is Astrid’s interest in Hiccup. Yes, a lot of it has to do with him being the best and first dragon rider. He’s actually impressive. He’s impressed her. He has a future as a chief, and not just any chief, but the chief. The one that changed everything. And, it turns out, he’s pretty funny (and frustrating) and incredibly ingenious (but impractical at times) and he genuinely cares about her (but he’s probably being as impressed and disillusioned by her as she is him). She’s learning a lot about Berk’s heir, and she intends to continue to do so.

Astrid starts out by planting a kiss on Hiccup’s cheek from time to time. Sometimes in front of others as she tries to subtly secure a claim she’d thrown down in a moment of rapture. Sometimes in private, where she actually feels embarrassed, and vulnerable, because its more intimate than some public decision.

They get into arguments. Their priorities don’t always align. Astrid challenges Hiccup on his dragon knowledge (but it’s not just knowledge like Fishlegs has, where it can be categorized from books, but a silent empathy that can’t be taught. It takes her years to truly figure that out). Hiccup gets irritated when Astrid chooses Vikings over Dragons (as he often views it, but it’s not so black and white). There’s miscommunication. And Guilt.

Astrid goes through her own self reflection, and acknowledges that the man Hiccup’s becoming is worth her respect, just as she reaffirms that the boy Hiccup was, or who she knew him as, was not. She can forgive herself. Same as Hiccup gets to really know Astrid, beyond the shallow crush he had on her (which had been all but driven from him in the throes of discovering a life’s purpose).

They’re juggling a relationship (that didn’t have the most wholesome start) in the background of readjusting their worlds and taking on tasks and roles most adults wouldn’t be asked to. But they’re giving it a try, and it’s harsh at times, and sweet at others, and they “take breaks”, sometimes unhappily, and they meet other people (not court, or ‘date’, but there are other heirs who look at Hiccup as potential alliance material, and other Vikings, many other vikings, who are impressed by Astrid).

But through it all, as they learn about each other as people (and not crushes, or heir figures) they discover that they are a team. They were a team the moment they were forced to work together, and they remain a team throughout the rest of their lives.

Hiccup’s at the cusp of 16 and Astrid well already when Hiccup initiates a kiss with her. Kissing becomes more casual, but still soft, and sweet, from there on out. He fumblingly asks her on a “date” of sorts shortly after (having to insist that, no, this doesn’t involve the rest of the gang. Just her. She has an ‘oh!’ moment).

Hiccup’s 16 and a half, it’s the anniversary of the Death’s demise, when he allows Astrid to see his stump for the first time. She’d helped him through leg pain in the past–supporting his limps, staying by his bedside through fever–but this time he willingly removes his prosthetic and bares a scarred and ugly part of himself to someone who’s opinion matters. Astrid reacts to the breathtaking moment of trust and exposure with tender hands and speechless assurances, and Hiccup relaxes in her presence. I imagine it wasn’t sexual or humorous, but a terrifyingly intimate and vulnerable experience that launched them into a deeper level of their relationship. He allows her to touch the hard tissue, and to ask questions he hadn’t felt comfortable answering before. 

A couple months later Astrid learns of the scars on his back, the ones she’s never considered before, from when he fell backwards into the explosion.

Not long after that Hiccup’s allowed to see her hair down, and to touch it. They grow more interested in each other as budding adults, and make more time for each other. Kissing intensifies. Groping and exploring follows. Sometimes they take things a little too far and it ends in giggles or, on occasion, an older viking yelling at them.

Astrid takes to grooming Hiccup. She braids his hair. Comments on his scruff. Gets involved with his wardrobe.

The flight suit is in development and Astrid finds it ridiculous; both a point of hilarity and something that scares her (though she’d never admit it outright) and Hiccup learns to hide it in one of the few white lies they’ve picked up in regards to one another.

They’re 18 the first time they exchange “I love yous” and the intimacy of their relationship continues to rise from there.

At just shy of twenty, and after much needling from his father and not-so subtle hints from Astrid’s family, Hiccup proposes.

The entire village is on a high in the following weeks. Heartened, Stoicks makes a weighty decision.

[autumnpawtribe]

Complications Part 1

Vol'raka was sitting with Tarja, Zakin and Aret, the Zandalari beauty reading to their daughter.  It was a story about a little boy that wanted to be a shadow hunter, and his adventures to find someone to teach him.  Zakin was listening aptly, the four year old enamored by his uncle and "cousin".  The pale skinned, slightly more than fuzzy boy was laying on his belly, arms propped up on the floor and holding his head up to listen.  Tarja was laying on a blanket next to him, getting time on her stomach and learning to hold her head up and gain her strength.  Vol was proud of his daughter and how fast she was growing.  She already had an attitude and fire in her belly that came with it.  He smiled as he went back to balancing his books, them working on his breeding stock, planning a new generation of riding raptors that he sold for a mint.

The renovations to the house, even with haggling, cost a bit.  Vol didn't eat into his profits however.  He did cash in a few 'loans', but nothing terrible.  People owed him money, so he sought it back.  Nature of business.   He'd gone from bounty Hunter to business man in a year, using that shrewd hunting ability and knowledge of raptor genetics to make a killing.  He didn't just let his farm hands take the reins and while he spent a bit of time away, it was only usually for the day and he was always home for supper.

Xiao and Naddja were to cook that night, simple Pandaren fare.  He'd cook breakfast before he trained with his mates, knowing he needed to keep this skills sharp as a blade for what he would need to do in the coming days.

Naddja had come back from Halfhill earlier than expected, groceries filling her goat cart.  She was happier with her life, even if she had a guard every time she left the grounds.  She was under Vol's care and protection.  He took that seriously and that meant someone was with her on her weekly trip for supplies.  A friend of Vol's from his bounty hunting days was keeping an eye on Mala'ket and Jansevet, both looking for the missing siblings.  Vol would take care of that pesky problem later.  For now, she was content as the rest, her stress level gone down with the peace, and her belly growing with the child they had to make sure Mala'ket never knew of.  It was another daughter.  Naddja planned on keeping this child and not telling the sire, ever.  Vol didn't agree with that, but he didn't agree with the whole situation either.

Zakin heard the goat cart and stood up, running out he door where farm hands were unloading feed, groceries, cloth and other supplies from Halfhill.  He ran to his mother's arms, talking her ear off about the story his uncle had told him, the Zandalari woman smiling as she picked him up.  "You had a good day.  Is your Uncle Vol'raka around?."

"He is in his office.  He balances the books today." Aret came out with Tarja on his shoulder, the little girl babbling and wiggling her toes.   She had added this to her repertoire in the last few days and it had been her newest favorite activity.  "I hope carrots were on the list?"

"Plenty of carrots.  When it is your turn for dinner, Mon'dazi?". She smiled at her brother and put down Zakin who saw a new Pandaren friend of his and went to play.  "He in a good mood?  I want to speak with him, about things."

Aret turned to look into the house.  "Seems so.  The talk we talked about?". She nodded.  Aret sighed, looking to his sister.  "There is chocolate in the kitchen in a green jar.  Take a few pieces as a peace offering.  It contains...  Something he likes."

"What...". Naddja looked confused. She'd seen the jar but was told to stay out of it.

"It's laced with his shaman's herbs.  He knows it and it might make him amicable?"

"You know I can hear you two, right?". Vol walked down the stairs and smiled.  "We'll talk, but no chocolate, sweetheart."  He stood behind Aret, kissed his neck, made the Prelate shiver before he kissed their daughter.  "We'll go for a ride, Naddja.  Come."

"Dinner is soon...". Aret was confused, but quieted.  He pressed his head forward and kissed Vol's chin in submission.

Vol kissed Janaret’s lips softly, clicking tusks as he tugged on the Prelate's braid.  This was their way, submission in softness, gentleness.  Aret wouldn't go against him, but he was allowed a mind of his own.  Vol used a knuckle to raise the Zandalari's chin, whispering his love against his lips.  "Not upset, sweetheart, and we'll be home for dinner.  We have a few hours and a fence that might need mending.". He kissed Aret again.  "Ask Xiao for egg rolls and fried rice too?  We'll be back soon. Naddja, I know you prefer the raptor form, but I'll loan you a raptor.".

She nodded, following the big Darkspear out to the stable.  Vol saddled Uba, his elderly white raptor while Naddja was given a raptor he called Disi.  They said nothing for a while as they rode out along the fence, Naddja looking at the fields.  "Have you had this all since... Before.."

"No, I hunted people for my gold.  Most of this is thanks to Xiao, half is his.  Aret will have a stake, as will Tarja."

Naddja nodded, looking over at the tallest of the trolls that She had seen, anywhere really.  He looked like Mala'ket, who was not quite as tall as her brother, but the thick green mane, the blue skin, all but the eyes.  Their daughter, well the child she birthed, had gotten those eyes, the shape different, more round and big, bright and curious than her sire's almond, but that same unusually bright amber shining in both eyes.  The little girl had inherited the grass green, and sun gold, but Naddja had seen the blue that also graced what little hair Tarja had.  It was one of the few things she had given her, her mother's hair having the same strands of sapphire in her greying hair.  She thought she had picked well when she sought out Vol'raka.  She didn't know his preference for men when he was drugged, asleep and on his back.  He was hard, she was a druid and the deed was done.  She blushed with guilt at the memory.  She felt terrible after the fact, still did.

He had not forgiven her, but yet he was kind enough to protect her from the troll who was hurting her.  He was good enough to take in a child he did not want, yet loved anyway.  She saw that in his eyes when he danced around the kitchen with her.  When He spent time with Xiao and Aret and Tarja as a little family, walking through the mango trees, or cooking, or when they put her to bed at night.  She knew he hurt him, yet he still did good thing for her and her son.  Her mind shamed her, even if she was made to do what she did.

"How old were you with Zakin.  You are younger than Janaret.  The boy is around four years."  Vol broke the silence as they moved along the fence, a cracked post in the far distance, Pandaren and human workers moving the yaks from that pasture to another as they slowly approached.

"Fifteen."

"This Mala'ket is not his father, obviously.  Did you do the same to his f..."

"I LOVED his father!"  Naddja snapped at him before shrinking back.  He made no move to warn her, but listened, raising an eyebrow.  "... past tense.  I don't know where he is.  He was Frostmane, visiting Dazar’alor.  Most are exiled, but he came with a group of Gurubashi.  He.."  She stopped, looking forward over her mount's nose.  "You don't care."

"I might.  I am listening.  I could have told you to go fuck yourself.  I came out here to listen.  No Xiao, no Aret.  If we are going to live under the same roof, we'd better talk at some point.  So.. you loved him, frostie ass was in Zandalar, which I would bet he was a slave.  So you don't know where he is because of that."

"I knew where he was.  When.. I had Zakin, he was there.  We were planning to run, with the help of a sympathetic relative of mine.  My father returned from his work with General Jakrazet before we were able to leave.  He had been gone nearly a year.  Sirak was sent away, violently, and I was quickly married off to Mala'ket and my son sent away.  Mala'ket sent his last wife off to Vol'dun for infertility.  She was not the infertile one."

"And you don't just fuck off out of his life... why?"  Vol stopped in the path, pulling Uba up and looking Naddja dead in the eye.  Disi was a taller raptor, making the smaller woman at his eye level.  Amber eyes stared at the blue that one of his lovers shared.  "You had the balls to drug me, in front of another druid no less, and do what you did, but you didn't just leave him."  Vol's tone was accusatory, still hurt over the deception.  "Fuck, you could have just slept with Jura.  He's taken far more than one woman to his bed.  Instead of pulling the shit you have, Naddja."  The hunter growled, but took a deep breath to calm himself.  "And now you are going to let another one go without knowing he has fathered a child, same as you would have to me.  If it were not for the fact that you had a tiny bit of fucking compassion and loa-damned sense, my daughter would have been DEAD as soon as he figured out that 'huh, that's a Darkspear-born, NOT Zandalari.  Apparently I look like this fuck, but Darkspear look a bit fuckin' different than a Zandalari, Naddja Raptari.  And I have more fucking compassion than is fuckin' good for me to take you in.  Fortunately for you, I will not let the one who gave birth to my child..."

"Our.."

There was a deep growl of warning then before he shoved a long finger into her face.  "MY Daughter.  Xiao's, Aret's daughter.  NOT yours.  you gave birth to her, that is it.  Last Warning.  Never refer to her as ANYTHING more than your niece again.  I am not a cruel asshole, but I will not tolerate it again.  Understood?  I want to keep this conversation a bit civil, but it will cease to be if you speak it again.  Get it out of your head now.  I want to hear it.  Your lips to my words, on the threat of the wrath of both our Loa.  Say it."

Naddja backed up, shrinking back and this time, he didn't give two shits.  She lowered her head, whispering.  "Not..."

"So you can be heard."  Aret and Xiao would know that tone and the power behind it.  "Loud and Fucking clear."

"Tarja is not my daughter.  She is yours."

"Good.  Now.  You are going to explain to me WHY you haven't left this soft cocked asshole that I am apparently going to have to deal with and you will tell me EVERY weakness, and all of his business.  If you don't, I can't keep you, your son, or my daughter and future children safe from these two fuckwits.  I have a very real worry that they could come lookin' and actually be able to find this place.  So out with it.  Start with the whys."

"Why..."

Naddja sighed, looking down and not making eye contact with the Darkspear.  Blue eyes stared into the ground, unwilling to look up at all at the hunter.  Her skin turned to a pale lavender, not rivaling her brother's coloring.  The hunter smelled the guilt and sorrow.  She was not going to ante up what Vol wanted and needed to know.  He knew better than to chase a cowering animal.  This was not for food and he didn't need the sport of antagonizing someone who'd had enough pain lately.  He still had that stupid bit of compassion for others that were hurt, even if they hurt him.

Vol'raka sighed and shook his head, green braid swinging behind him and nudged Uba with his heals.  "Keep up!"  He was agitated and a good run, even if it was on an ancient beast, helped clear his mind.  The raptari got to see the Darkspear in one of his elements, on the back of the animals he had raised for the last ten years.  Clad in leather pants and a short sleeved cloth shirt, the raptor tender rode bareback with his knees holding on the ribcage of the once-golden, now pale white raptor as he raced down the side of the fence.  Vol was leaned over the raptor's neck, encouraging the old female to run as fast as she could.  He had his loves, responsibilities, cares in the world, but she could tell that this was one of his freedoms away from the world.

Naddja and Vol had not spoken much in the last few weeks, avoiding each other unless it was for the meal that the family had together.  She remembered that baby face she had 'helped' get drunk nearly a year ago, and he'd aged a bit.  Two mates that he loved beyond all things, the daughter he never planned for yet doted on and adored, and now taking in more to his life.  He watched him as he woke early to care for his flock and farm, spend the day doing what needed done.  She heard the soft cries of pleasure in the night as two, sometimes three came together in love.  He kept up what he needed to do, working hard in the days, loving and spending time with his family in the evenings.  Sometimes he was asleep far before others in the house, but he was busting his ass, and she acknowledged that.  She didn't need to speak to him to observe him, to sense the stresses in his life.  Yet she could tell, as much as he loved what he had, on the back of a raptor, he ran free for a little while.

Naddja kicked her own raptor forward, the animal bigger than her own raptor form and slower, but the raptari able to ride almost as well.  It took a few minutes to catch up, but they were within a few yards of each other when they came to the place where the fence was broken.  Vol said nothing to her as he got down with the one she recognized as his right hand, Jung, and discussed what happened.  They spoke in Orcish, thick accents not getting in the way as troll and pandaren inspected the fence where they believed a young yak ran headlong into the post.  It was not a large break, but they made plans on the repair before setting to work in silence.  She hopped down from Disi's back and shifted, her own raptor form letting her blend in with the flock on the other side of the lane.  She'd done this before with the flock, finding that they trusted her, animals did usually trust druids, and they welcomed both her, Disi and Uba quietly and with no fuss.  She spent the hour that it took for them to repair the break just wandering in with the flock of females, playing with hatchlings and chasing critters around the enclosure.

"Naddja."

The raptari looked up to see nine feet of Darkspear walking through his flock to where she was tearing up a large brown tanuki, half of its fur gone as she shared it with hatchlings.  "I'm sorry I snapped.  I'm sorry that I demanded."  The Darkspear was not tucking his tail between his legs, but he was calming down to where he was not as irritable.  "Let's finish that ride?  I don't think you can talk in that form, so when you are ready."

Vol wandered back to the fence, scratching a few of the females he kept under the chin as they approached, the big male that guarded them headbutting the raptor tender gently.  The dark green and black colored male had a scar across his belly, obviously nearly gutted.  Aret had told her the story of a raptor that the hunter had saved from death, the animal now a loyal and protective hunting partner.  She reached out to the big male, who looked at her as she communicated with the hunting animal, the raptor only saying quietly that he'd been saved from death, he had no reason to fight the troll anymore.

The big beast of a raptor wandered over to where Vol stood, headbutting the troll in the shoulder and rubbing his jowl on the hunter's head.  It looked almost like a cat rubbing on his owner, making the raptor tender laugh as he gave a good scratch on the animal's chest.  One hand giving the raptor a scratch and the other patting his shoulder, the animal whistled happily and Naddja could see the connection between Master and pet.  It made her smile when troll and raptor ran around, the beast chasing the hunter and then turning around and running from the hunter.  The members of Vol's flock that were paying attention began playing the game as well. the troll eventually chasing a few hatchings and picking them up and then encouraging them to chase him.  None of the animals got aggressive, nor did the troll get sliced or bit as he played with some very dangerous animals.

About 20 minutes after he started his game with the green and black male, Vol gave final treats and pats, wandering to Uba, taking her by the bridle.  He sat tall on the back of his mount, smiling at Naddja, who shifted and silently hopped back up on her saddled raptor.  "There is a waterfall, few miles.  Good slow ride, then back and we should be home for dinner?"

She nodded, following the hunter and letting the two raptors plod along down the path.  It was quiet for a while, Vol keeping his gaze forward, and Naddja silent.  She finally broke the silence and whispered, loud enough that troll ears could hear, almost sighing painfully as she spoke.

"Aret is the oldest, Then me, and our younger sister Nielka.  Our Mother, Pahre, tried to protect us.  Our father is not a nice mon, very traditional.  Daughters, women are property in his eyes.  Janaret would be the golden child, but Father treated him just as badly.  Arie was brainwashed.  I.. I think Father assumes something is different about him.  I don't think he really knows he likes other males.  He had him pretty well indoctrinated.  Almost at least.  Mother worked hard when father was away with General Jizz-stain and exiling anyone who was determined to not be fit to stay in Zul'dazar.  He'd send Janaret to the same if he knew.  Arie is a good guard, a well schooled Prelate for Rezan..  even if Rezan is dead now.  It wouldn't matter because then father would marry him off to some girl for politcal gain.   That is what happened to me.  They didn't even wait until I was of age.  I was married to Mala'ket at sixteen, as soon as they could get rid of Zakin, they did, and Aket wanted his own children.  I know father knows that Aket can't father children, but Aket is an acolyte in Zanchul and has clout.  When they sent me out to find.. well.. you...  I was covered in bruises for telling them no.  They gave me the potion, said find someone close and ... well."  She sighed, leaning forward, Disi grunting at the balance change, but ignoring it.

"They have a girl for Arie to marry too, named Javinda.  She's stupid.  The shit your people shovel in the stables has more of an intellect than this girl.  Her family serves the Zanchuli council and she's pretty.  That's her qualification for being Aret's wife-to-be.  And I don't think he knows yet.  And they are looking for a mate for Nienie.  She's barely twelve.  There is no love in my marriage to Mala'ket.  This child will never know her father because it's Aket's cousin.   I cannot take the chance.  Don't judge me for it.  Aket would have STARVED Tarja to death.  Not made it quick.. painless.  He would have put her in a box and let her cry herself to DEATH because she was even an inkling of Darkspear, or Amani.  I smell just as well as you do.  You have Zandalarii blood, but you are Darkspear and that makes her lesser to him.  He could not have that.  I did the same to his cousin, because they look nearly alike, but I fear Venko would let it slip.  Mala'ket lives, and Venko never meets his child."

She covered her face, trying to hide tears that he could smell, but he had the good grace to not say anything.  "Aket thinks I birthed her and smashed her head with a rock.  I.. I couldn't do it.  She is not my daughter..  Yet I love her, I would have loved her and protected her because at one point.. she was."

Vol stopped, grabbing Disi by the bridle and stopping the raptor, bringing her and her rider closer.  "You did protect her.  She can no longer be your daughter, but she can be your niece.  You protected her from death.  You brought her to safety.  I don't like the reasons, nor the means Naddja, but you acted as a mother and protected a baby.  She is safe, with three fathers who will kill for her.  She is in no danger from anything with us.  It hurts me to know what has been done has been done again, and I mean to stop this whole shit show.  Aret will not be marrying anyone but me and Xiao in the next few months.  Your sister should not be marrying anyone at her age.  You all three should be happy."

The hunter pondered, letting Disi go and the raptor dancing a bit as Vol patted Naddja's knee.  "Where is your mother in all of this?"

[moiraineswife]

“I should have listened to everyone who told me this was a bad idea.” for ELANDRAS!!!!!!

I should have listened to everyone who told me this was a bad idea. Andras thinks frantically.

 Trees flash past on either side of him, the speed of his movements reducing them to blurs of green and brown with the occasional tiny burst of colour. The human lands are so barren and lifeless compared to the vast expanses of lush, vibrant beauty he’s used to in Spring. Dangerous. This land is dangerous for his kind. 

He can feel death snapping at his heels as he bounds farther and farther from the wall, forcing himself to run or else he knows he’ll stop, knows he won’t be able to do his duty. He should embrace the cold whisper of death’s foul breath upon his back. This is why he’s here, after all, to seek death at the hands of a hateful human, to free his lands, his people, his love. 

Lucien. He should have listened to Lucien. In truth the only one who had outright told him that this was a terrible idea, that he should stay. The other sentries had only looked away, refusing to meet his eyes when he had volunteered. Rather him than them, they had thought. Amarantha has destroyed the Spring Court. Even though it’s still relatively intact...They’re broken, beaten, acting only on the instinct to save their own skins. That was why he had come. That was why he’d had no choice. 

Lucien had argued with him, had snarled at him, paced up and down in the study, made argument after argument about why he should stay, why he shouldn’t leave. The court needed him. Tamlin needed him. He led the sentries and they needed him. He was a symbol for the people and they needed him, trusted him, felt stronger knowing he was protecting them. Andras had listened to all of it, waiting, selfishly, to hear him say those words, ‘I need you.’ 

If he had said them like that, straight to his face in that room then maybe...Maybe he would have listened. Maybe he would have stayed. 

He knows now that he’d been an idiot. Lucien had said that. He had said that he needed him, said that he loved him over and over and over. Andras had just refused to listen to him. And now he’s here, in these hateful lands again, risking his life, offering himself as bait. A lamb sent to the slaughter in a wolf’s clothing. 

Panting hard, Andras stops for a moment, takes stock of his bearings. The forest is quiet, still, seemingly utterly devoid of any life. Perhaps the wild creatures are simply wise enough to recognise a faerie when they see one. Or perhaps...Perhaps another lean winter has seen this forest picked clean by desperate human hunters, perhaps- 

A sudden high pitched scream splits the air around them. Andras doesn’t know what makes him act, shock, instinct, or a nature that’s been honed by centuries of training to respond to such cries, to the sound of someone in peril. He plunges through the trees towards the sound, the air now full of frantic pleas for help. 

He halts just before he reaches the clearing, hunkering down behind the line of trees, just out of sight. The girl is young, unmistakably human, reeking of fear as she backs herself into a tree, her eyes wide and petrified. The basket on the ground at her feet has sent a few feeble roots and herbs scattering across the forest floor but she seems not to have noticed. Her great brown eyes are wide and terrified as she takes in the three lean, rabid wolves stalking slowly towards her. 

He should leave her to her fate. This gentle thing is never going to be able to kill him, is never going to be able to kill anything. But he can’t. He can’t just turn and walk away and let the girl be savaged. Even if she’s so thin and starved she might die in a few weeks anyway. It’d probably be kinder if he just allowed her a quick death here and now but...He can’t ignore the terrified whimper that breaks from her. 

With an echoing snarl that seems to tremble around the forest Andras launches himself at the wolves, teeth bared, hackles raised. He slaughters one in a heartbeat, leaves the other for dead and sends the other limping away in fright, a deep slash across the muzzle, all in seconds. 

Breathing heavily, his breath forming a small cloud of mist in the air before him, he swings his head around to look up at the girl. She’s sunk to the floor, her eyes wide, her skin deathly pale she stares at him, whimpering, trying to back away from him, still looking terrified. He realises she must think he’s going to kill her, that he chased the wolves off to have her for himself but...

But then her expression changes, her mouth parts slightly. She looks even more terrified than before but...There’s a sense of awe in her now as well as she stares up at him. Then she whispers a breathless, “Thank you.” Andras blinks at her, shocked, and suddenly wishes that he could speak to this girl somehow, communicate to her what her gratitude means. He’s been risking his life for years now and no-one ever thought to just say...Thank you. 

He takes a step closer to her, without quite knowing why he does so, hoping she’ll kill him or praying that she won’t he doesn’t know which is worse. She raises a trembling hand, reaching out to touch him but he jerks away, diving back into the trees, leaving her alone in the clearing, trembling, stunned, staring after him. 

Her beautiful doe’s eyes haunt him as he ends his shift and returns to Spring. 

Lucien is half furious, half deeply relieved when he staggers back through the manor doors, utterly exhausted, but all in one piece. Tamlin demands to know the reason for the human scent that clings to him and, duty-bound, Andras tells him everything that had happened to him. 

A week later and he’s heading back to the mortal lands, Tamlin at his side. This time he rides his horse, sitting straight backed and proud, a high fae at his master’s side. He had never expected this to happen. The girl hadn’t touched him, had had such a gentle, guileless look about her that he suspected she might have felt guilt about pulling the plants from the ground in case she might have hurt them. She doesn’t deserve this, shouldn’t be dragged into these games but....They had agreed. 

Andras had come in contact with a human and death had found them in that clearing with the wolves. It might be enough, if they could lie convincingly enough to Amranatha. Tamlin and Lucien had agreed that they should at the very least try. They were getting desperate. There was less than a year until the breaking of the curse when they would all be damned anyway. They had to try something, for the sake of her people too, even if she doesn’t know it. 

Still, it’s with a heavy heart that Andras retraces his steps for his High Lord, leading him back to the place where they had found the girl. From there they make their way to the outskirts of a small town, to a small, ramshackle hovel that contains the girl, her two sisters, and their father. The sisters plead and roar and rage but Tamlin is adamant and drags the girl from the cottage, whispering that she’ll go. She strayed too far into the forest, she nearly got herself killed, she owes a blood debt to the faeries, she must go. 

Her name is Elain, Andras overhears from outside the cottage where he waits, guarding the horses, while Tamlin does his part at terrorising the girl and her family in his beast form. When she steps out of the house, trembling violently from head to foot, asking her elder sister, Nesta, to please continue caring for her garden while she’s away, Andras stares down at her from his horse. 

She looks exactly the same as he had remembered. Painfully thin, in spite of her hollowed out cheeks and slightly sunken eyes...She’s still pretty. Delicate and graceful her steps are small and controlled as she moves away from the cabin. Her sisters appear in the door, the younger restraining the elder as she thrashes like a caged wildcat, trying to get to her sister. 

Andras’ eyes however flick quickly back to Elain. She’s staring straight at him, seemingly oblivious to the struggle behind her, Tamlin stalking towards her. To his utter shock she bobs a quick curtsy to him and he stares at her in utter bemusement until she looks up at him and says softly, “Thank you for rescuing me that day.” 

Andras gapes at her in astonishment. Precious few fae he’s known for centuries can recognise him in that form, and yet this human girl- “How?” he demands, startled. 

Elain opens her mouth to reply but cuts herself off with a little yelp of surprise as Tamlin lifts her up as though she’s a doll and sets her on the horse in front of Andras. Settling herself with as much dignity as she can muster with her threadbare dress riding up her thighs she turns back to him and says simply, “Your eyes.” 

Andras doesn’t get a chance to respond as Tamlin urges the horses into motion, carrying them away from the cottage and the hoarse screams of Elain’s sisters. She doesn’t look at him as they ride and Tamlin’s magic causes her to sleep before they reach the wall crossing. Andras says nothing about the use of magic, just keeps a tight grip on the girl to stop her falling from the saddle. 

They arrive at the manor at last. Tamlin wakes Elain on the border of the manor grounds and she’s staring around with huge, wide eyes as elaborate gardens and the great, sprawling mansion. He strides into the manor, no doubt to fetch Lucien, leaving Andras to tend to Elain and the horses. 

It seems, however, that the girl who, Andras is increasingly suspecting is stronger than anyone might guess, isn’t done shocking him. He slides from the mare’s back first then reaches up, bracing his hands firmly at Elain’s waist then lifting her carefully down from the saddle, setting her gently on her feet. She begins thanking him again but a loud crash from the opposite side of the stable, where Lucien has just entered. 

His lover is staring at Elain, his eyes wide, his entire body slack with shock. Concerned, Andras takes a step towards him, away from Elain, who looks rather alarmed by this strange behaviour, shifting a little closer to him on instinct. 

Lucien takes no notice of either of them, keeping his eyes firmly locked on Elain’s as he whispers three hoarse words that shatter Andras’ entire world. 

“You’re my mate.” 

[mysdrymmumbles]

hello how about a "Get me" :)c

Hey! Thank you so much for the prompt

Pairing: Josephine Montilyet x F!Lavellan

Word Count: 1677

Kaitrith Disapproves 

Waiting Game

For what felt like the millionth time that day, Josephine’spen scratched too harshly against her paper, punching a hole through thedelicate parchment.

Kaitrith had left four days ago, on horseback, to return tothe place of the Breach, and each second that she was gone was trying onJosephine’s nerves.

The first day, she’d been able to push aside her worries,confident that Kaitrith would be en route the whole day and that, so long asthe Breach did not continue to grow, they would all be safe. They would beready, should reports of new rifts come in as well, and she found herself morethan once intercepting scouts destined for Leliana or Cullen to ask about anyword of disaster.

The second day had been harder to pretend things would bealright.

Kaitrith and her group—a group far, far too small inJosephine’s mind—had headed off with some of their fastest horses, and Cullenhad mentioned that they would probably be able to make it to the ruins of thetemple in two and a half days, if they just stopped to let the horses rest whenabsolutely needed.

That didn’t seem safe. How could someone be expected tofight an ancient monster after such a hard ride in miserable temperatures? Withalmost no sleep? With pain in her arm that was clearly agonizing, even ifKaitrith had tried to assure her that it was nothing.

There were so many factors that were wrong, and Josephinetried to have faith that all would end well, yet she couldn’t help but think ofevery way that something might go wrong. She couldn’t help but consider that—nowthat they’d had time to properly map out the mountains—it might not even takethem that long to get to the temple.

The third day, she’d almost gone mad. The Breach continuedto linger in the sky, an eyesore to all who dared look up. Every time itcrackled, Josephine found herself holding her own left hand, grimacing at thethought that the pain might cause Kaitrith to fall from her saddle.

Surely that couldn’t happen.

It wouldn’t.

Kaitrith was strong, and she’d had the foresight to bringSolas with her, even before Josephine had suggested it.

Things would be alright.

Josephine just had to have faith.

In what though? The question had plagued her that miserablethird day. Kaitrith was firm in her belief that she was not chosen by the Maker’sBride, and Josephine respected that belief, even regretted having cultivatedthe rumor herself, before they’d become so close.

They’d talked a little about the Creators, but the legendsall said that they were locked away, with only the trickster god left to roamthe world. That Kaitrith said she’d met Mythal meant that perhaps there wasmore to the story—perhaps the Elven Gods were not sealed away at all—but Josephinedidn’t know if they would appreciate a human praying to them for help.

And she hadn’t ever really asked about prayers when talkingwith Kaitrith.

And so instead she prayed to whatever was out there and whateverwould hear her plea: Let Kaitrith be safeand return to me unscathed.

She was proud of how much she could do without lifting ablade, but as she sat there on the fourth day, she wished that she’d learned moreabout fighting. Then she could have gone with Kaitrith to protect her, insteadof sitting around waiting and writing letters that might not even matter. Theworld might end tomorrow and she’d have spent her last days scratching outnotes instead of being with the one she loved.

No.

Like so many times that day already, Josephine closed hereyes and forced herself to think of something else, anything else.

She would do her job, and Kaitrith would do hers.

Any day now, the Breach would close, and then it would justbe a matter of counting backwards until Kaitrith was back and safe and sound.

She just needed to keep her mind preoccupied.

She just needed to be patient and…

Shoving her papers away, she crossed her arms on her desk,and rested her head against them. How could she be patient? How could she staycalm and not worry when everything that matter to her hung so precariously inthe balance? It was different from last time.

Last time had been terrifying, too, but somehow it hadn’tbeen nearly as nerve wracking. She’d had faith in their cause and their people,and Kaitrith.

Now, as much faith as she wanted to have, she was tooafraid, fearful that every new letter brought to her would be of Kaitrith’sdemise.

“Dear, sweet Josie.”

Leliana’s voice startled the ambassador, and she lifted herhead to see Leliana leaning against the side of her desk. Josephine wasembarrassed to have been caught worrying so, but Leliana simply waved a hand,motioning down the hall. “I was just on my way to lunch and thought you mightwish for company. We have not gossiped in a while, and I’ve heard some rather…interestingthings about one of the more prominent comtes in Orlais. The stories are mostamusing.”

Taking in a slow breath, Josephine glanced down at herpapers, feeling a trill of guilt go through her. She was behind.

She was never behind. Not like this.

“The papers will be here in the morning, Josie.”

“Will they?” She hadn’t meant to voice her doubts, andinstantly slumped back in her chair. “I wish this whole debacle was over anddone with.”

“Don’t we all?” Leliana replied, a kind-hearted smilesettling on her features. “Come, though. The world may end, but it will not bebecause you took the time rest.”

Cunning as she always was, Leliana was good at providing adistraction from the tumultuous events going on so near. She, Vivienne, andJosephine sat in a room with a window that didn’t face the Breach, speaking ofrumors and fashion, with both women pretending not to notice when Josephinewould grow quiet and glance in the direction of the rift, or when she wouldfidget, unable to keep her mind from wandering.

However, without them, she surely would have gone mad, andshe was most grateful for their company.

Time still felt as though it was ticking onward painfullyslow, and yet, when they heard the loud crack and ran to the nearest windowthat would show them what awaited them now, the sun was just setting.

Jospehine cursed that they had sat away from the Breach asthey wound their way through the halls, rushing with others who had heard thenoise, a quiet, tense panic hanging in the air, interrupted only by quick andheavy footfalls.

When she stumbled out onto the ramparts, she could see allthe guards and soldiers on the battlements standing, gazes fixed on the Breach.More people were coming up the stairs and out of the castle to join them, andeven as she felt her stomach tightening into knots, a cheer began to rise fromthose who could see.

As she finally came to a point where the castle and thetowers didn’t block her view, she came to a stop so quickly that Leliana almostran into her.

The Breach was gone.

In its place was a shimmering, shifting light, a gentle,colorful aurora in the place of that hateful green spiral.

Kaitrith had done it.

She’d closed the Breach once and for all.

Josephine was so giddy that she clapped her hands and huggedthe nearest person—Vivienne. Though the mage seemed surprised a moment, shesimply smiled and gave Josephine a reassuring squeeze back.

“If you’d like, darling, I can send word to a few contactsin Val Royeaux and ask about getting some of their best wine sent here.” Viviennepaused, a glint in her eyes. “After all, we will want to welcome our returningheroes warmly, will we not?”

“Oh!” At her friend’s point, Josephine clasped her handstogether in front of her, eyes widening. “Of course we must. There should becakes and music and…”

With so much planning to go into such an importantcelebration in such little time, the next five days went by in almost a blink.

Every now and then she would pause and wonder how Kaitrithwas faring, but they’d received word that her beloved inquisitor was alive andwell, and that had just fueled her desire to make everything perfect. Even thefact that they were taking longer to come home barely bothered her.

They had to be tired, surely.

Josephine was up in Kaitrith’s room, setting up a fewdecorations that she felt her lover would appreciate far more than the grandshow in the main hall when there was a sharp knock on the door. Leliana leanedagainst the frame, a smile on her face. “They’re back.”

Josephine practically flew past her, hurrying down thestairs as fast as she could, calling out directions that they would need tohave finished in the last minutes before the party could commence properly.

However, when she reached the top of the stairs leading intothe main hall, she came to an abrupt halt.

Kaitrith and her companions were walking through the throngsof people, worn and weary, but heads held high. When their eyes met, Josephinefelt butterflies fluttering in her chest at the way Kaitrith seemed to throw herusual temperament to the wind and just outright smiled.

That in itself caused a quiet murmur to ripple through thecrowd, though she forgot it quickly as Kaitrith’s energy returned to her andshe bound up the steps between them, wrapping her arms around Josephine as soonas she was near enough.

Cheers erupted from the crowds below. There was so much leftto do, statements to make, guests to attend to, last minute details to set intoplace, but none of that mattered. Not in this moment.

Finally, Kaitrith was home.

[sunandhisdragon]

Earning the kiss and Xander’s approval had Alexei breathing much more easily. He had learned how to please Xander and had spared Konstantin’s life, and it was all that he could ask for.

He had never before gotten that sort of reaction from the Khal, and Alexei couldn’t help but be proud of himself for managing to do so.

After realizing that Konstantin was still there, Xander grew annoyed and pulled Alexei off the bed in a hurry. Alexei caught his pants as they were thrown to him and tugged them on before shooting Konstantin an apologetic glance.

Konstantin wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Alexei didn’t have a second chance to try before Xander was leading him out of the tent. He hadn’t bothered to take the time to untie Konstantin, and Alexei wondered if the man would be fine without them. But that didn’t need to be his concern at the moment.

The Khal’s grip was like iron as he dragged Alexei back towards their tent. It was situated farther away from camp, which offered them more privacy, but made the walk much longer. In this instance, the silence was uncomfortable, and Alexei could say nothing.

Despite meaning well, Alexei felt guilty for betraying Xander. He had seen the look of horror and rage in the man’s eyes when he first saw them, and Alexei couldn’t tell if those feelings had left him yet. If he had to venture a guess, he would say they hadn’t, if his tight grip had anything to say about it.

He was filled with guilt, but also a boiling anger that wouldn’t leave him. Xander had been cruel with Alexei before, had been cruel with Konstantin now, even though it had all been in his own best interest. He would have killed a man, killed his former lover, if Alexei hadn’t pleased him. He had almost even cut his hair for something so stupid. Alexei couldn’t allow his frustration to pass on the subject.

Alexei was so focused on his frustration, that he didn’t realize what was happening until he was yanked forward and shoved into a tree. The rough bark scratched at his bare skin, and Alexei gasped as Xander pushed him into the bark further.

Somehow, the Khal was already hard again, and Alexei feared for the worst. The man was incredibly possessive and wanted to make sure that Alexei knew that. He had already been fucked three times this night, and Xander wanted to make it a fourth time to remind Alexei just who he belonged to.

Alexei was exhausted already and had put the last of his strength into pleasing Xander. The soreness was already starting to set in his hips in thighs, but it seemed that none of it mattered as Xander yanked down his pants.

Alexei struggled to turn his head to see if anyone else was around. He had never fucked someone or been fucked in public, where anyone could walk by, and he grew nervous.

The concern left his mind the second that Xander buried himself Alexei in one rough motion, making Alexei groan again. Before giving him the chance to adjust again, Xander was moving, fucking Alexei hard and fast, barely giving him a moment to breath as he was pressed up against the tree.

Alexei’s breath was shallow, rough as he was pushed against the tree and practically rubbed against it. His skin felt raw against the rough bark, and Alexei was sure he was marred with scratches that would burn in the morning.

Thankfully, Xander didn’t last long. He came in Alexei shortly after, but Alexei never came. He had barely gotten hard again.

Unfortunately, Xander wouldn’t pull out of him. Alexei was exhausted, could feel it in his bones, and yet Xander asked so much of him.

Alexei found the strength to keep his voice even as he repeated. “I’m yours. Only yours, my Khal.”

As soon as Xander was satisfied, they finally moved to the tent again. Alexei cleaned himself off and was pulled into bed with Xander once more.

“It won’t happen again, my Khal.” Alexei wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

For the first time since they had met, Xander turned away from Alexei in bed. Alexei couldn’t say that he was upset. He needed some space from Xander, needed to get some rest so that he would be able to ride the following morning.

Unfortunately, his sleep had been uneasy and restless, and Alexei had barely been able to wake up. Despite getting a few hours of sleep, he was still exhausted. He was sure that there were dark circles under his eyes and that he looked like he had been fucked four times.

The pain in his legs was unbearable. No matter if he sat or stood, Alexei couldn’t escape the soreness. He forced himself to stretch, to try and work the tension out of his muscles, but he gave up after a few minutes when it had become too much for him.

He hadn’t spoke to Xander that morning at all. Alexei had waited until Xander had left to get ready to ride, and he wondered if he would even be able to manage today.

Alexei found Velikan waiting for him alongside Elias and his horse. It had been too long since he had had a proper conversation with his friend, and Alexei found himself smiling at the sight despite his sour mood.

With a little help from Elias, Alexei managed to mount Velikan without too much trouble. He settled onto the horse and looked at Elias’ saddle jealously. He was far too uncomfortable to be able to handle riding for hours on end.

“I’d offer to switch, but I can’t ride bareback.”

Alexei huffed, but a smile played on his lips as he stayed by Elias. “Well, you ought to learn so you can put me out of my misery.”

Elias hadn’t missed the limp in Alexei’s step, or the small scratches and marks that appeared out of his shirt. “Rough night?”

“That’s the understatement of the century.” Alexei muttered under his breath. “I pissed Xander off, and he made sure I knew he was angry with me.”

Elias frowned, not out of disdain for Alexei doing something to piss Xander off, but for the fact that Xander had decided to make his anger known in some physical way. “What did you do?”

“I fucked his former lover. Well, let him fuck me for practice. For my practice.”

Elias whistled lowly, “Well, shit, Alexei. You cheated on your husband, of course he was pissed.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t need to be such a dick about it.” Alexei rolled his eyes and began to play with Velikan’s mane. “I guess I should have asked, but what if he had said no? He would have been disappointed with me otherwise.”

They rode in silence for another while longer. Both of the men were at fault, and they needed to understand everything from the other’s side in order to mend this. Elias was about to explain this when Olev arrived and started riding on the opposite side of Alexei.

Olev looked at his eldest son angrily and reached out, grabbing his arm when Alexei refused to look at him. “Alexei? Why did I hear that the Khal is upset with you? What did I say about keeping him happy?”

Alexei had avoided Olev for a myriad of reasons. The main being that he had sold off his son for an army, but the list of reasons continued for many, many years.

He didn’t want to deal with Olev now, not when he was in such a foul mood. The riders around them, noticed Olev’s tone and noticed that he had grabbed their Khaleesi. A few of the riders stopped, one of them moved and pulled a knife out of his belt before looking to Alexei.

Alexei paid them no attention and focused on his father. His voice was calm and collected as he looked his father dead in the eyes, his cold gaze unwavering as he spoke lowly. “Take your filthy hand off of me. I am Khaleesi of the Great Horde of Khal Xander and it would be nothing to have you killed. In fact, I ought to, to save my husband the time when he tires of your complaining.”

Olev released him without another word and disappeared into the line of riders once more. Elias hadn’t spoken a word through the entire situation, but he didn’t have to. Power suited Alexei well. He just needed to figure out just how much he actually had.

By the time they had reached a stopping point, Alexei was overheated. The sun was too bright and he had spent most of his time squinting until his vision began to blur. He had been sweating, leaving his hair sticking to his neck and his forehead uncomfortably. He hated having his hair long. It was constantly in the way and always stuck to his skin the moment he began to sweat.

It was inconvenient and Alexei couldn’t understand why it was so important to the Dothraki. Alexei’s hair was still short enough in comparison that cutting it a little more shouldn’t have made a difference. He was cutting it of his own will, of his own culture.

With that thought in mind, Alexei made a decision to cut it. When Elias wasn’t paying attention, Alexei swiped a knife off his belt and tucked it into his own before trying to find his tent for some privacy. It usually took Xander some time to make his way back to his tent, so Alexei should have had plenty of time to take care of business before he showed up.

Alexei slipped into the tent, hopefully unnoticed and grabbed a small mirror. He pulled his hair back into a small pony tail, grabbed the bunch, and pressed the knife to his hair. He was doing this for himself, as a way to reclaim his body.

He took another small breath and readied himself to finally free himself of this extra weight, damn the consequences.

[arnicaxross]

Her bed in Fairie is everything a magical fantasy bed should be if imagined by a little girl. Hugely round, soft enough to sink into, and the curtains that envelope her bed in a rose red caccoon hang from the ceiling and wrap around the platform to look like a tightly closed flower bud from the outside. It's the most perfect bed she's ever laid in and she's constantly being pulled out of it. "FairieRaide," It's the low booming voice of a dwarf and she can already hear the clanking of his armor as she sits up and peers blearily through the transparent red silks. "Up. 'M up. What is it Jargyl?" Something has happened in the six hours since she came home, got her kid up and dressed for the day and sent him off down the road to the school before passing out face down in the pillows. "The enemy army has killed two more of your kins children, my Huntswoman." Her stomach twists tightly into something cold and painful as she pushes the curtains aside to snatch her phone from the polished stump shaped table next to the bed. No one, human or fae can explain why tech works just as clearly in Fairie as it does on Earth but they're exploring it, slowly. Her twitter feed is on fire. Two hashtags for two middle school boys who according to the police were attempting to rob a store and according to a handful of witnesses were kicking the door of a 7-11 where the white teenaged cashier took their money and then refused them service. "Jesus fucking Christ. We can't even get robbed without them killing us now." She doesn't try to choke back the tears and rage in her voice, the fae of all types find emotions noble. "Your kin already begin to assemble and prepare to ride behind the Hunt and the Sithen has begin birthing more of the old city from her depths." "Thank you Jargyl. Have everyone sent into the feasting hall to wait for me. Ask the Brownies to make food available and the Kobalds to check and see if more of the armory has appeared. There's going to be more potential riders than I have horse and armor." "Aye, Huntswoman. Your kin are proudly ready for war." Dwarves are, were, the predominant war race of the fae. If Jargyl sounds this proud, the small city must be in a state of boiling readiness. "Fuck. I'll be there in a few moments." It doesn't take long to shower and the armor of the FairieRaid wraps itself lovingly around her limbs as soon as she touches it, but it still feel like it's been a dangerously long wait as she stomps across the marble and moonstone flagstones poking ever so slightly out of the lush lichens on the ground and into the feasting hall. The Sithen City holds almost a thousand people in it, rescued from hundreds of protests, jail cells, and raids and it looks like easily a hundred of those adults are waiting on her under the interlaced leaf canopy of the feasting hall. The roof that was a dying tangle of English Ivy and unscented roses when she first fell into the realm is a lush tangle of kudzu and honeysuckle now, morning glories twisting in and out in a dozen shades of blues wherever they want to. It smells like home and bolsters her bravery as she steps out of the back paths and onto the crumbled Queen's dias, hands held up. "I know. I've seen it. Who's been monitoring the protest threads, hands up?" It used to be easier to pick her huntsmen. At first there was always more armor than human riders, then volunteers started filling saddles and over the last year she's had to resort to using lotteries and even letting the armor itself do the picking to streamline the process. A hundred hands in a dozen shades of brown shoot into the air. "You, how many protests are planned so far?" "Thirteen." The girl she pointed to stands up, Iphone in hand and twists tied back out of her face. Tamika lets herself feel the twist of guilt that back in the mortal realm the girl would have been on some high school campus instead of gathering as part of a council of battle, and lets it warm into just another small blaze of anger to add to her determination. The girl may have been in school in the mortal realm, but she still would have been gathered in a group, following the tending tags for protests. The only difference really is that even preparing to ride out, she's safer here than there. "Big ones in New York, Baltimore, Chicago, DC, Austin, and L.A, the main protest in Richmond, and a scattering of smaller ones around the country. The White House has already announced they'll be deploying the National Guard in Richmond, New York, and DC." "Alright, then those are our first targets because those are the people in the most danger. Is there anyone here that's new? Who's never been with us before a protest?" Almost a dozen hands thrust upwards. "Okay. All of you come sit with me while we eat. Everyone else, start eating. It's going to be a long day and a longer night." The Queen's table is long gone, shattered and the pieces dragged away decades before she was ever born, but pieces of the legs still just up from the dias like weather worn broken bones dwarfing the much smaller wooden table that still easily seats more than a dozen. The scarred timbers are loaded with fruit that is common, exotic, and inhuman in glistening crystal bowls, platters spill their airy rolls, dense honied cornbreads, and lightly sugared shortcakes, and in between the bowls and platters are jugs of wine, juice, and the clearest most delicious water any of them have ever tasted. There's no standing on ceremony, not when food is concerned. She's already loading her plate with mangoes and lychees, shortcakes and spoonfuls of berries by the time people start taking seats around her, a group that could be siblings or cousins bow their head, hands clasped and murmur a quick grace as others reach with quiet respectfulness around them to load their own plates. "What is this?" One of the maybe siblings, maybe cousins is holding a Rambutan with a look that waivers between amusement and faint horror. "It's good, is what it is." She snatches one herself and peels it quickly, showing him the glistening white interior before biting it away from the pit. "Did I bring all of you here with the hunt?" "Not us, Ma'am." Oh ghatdamnit, they're calling her ma'am. Either she's too fucking old or they're too fucking young. "We heard about the bottle trees." "It's a good trick, right? We're trying to get word moving to put them up in ways where by the time it starts to leak outside the community that they're gateways, there're too many to get them all down in a coordinated movement." "Are you using Pintrest and shit? Just take some really good pictures and start pinning them to boards. People will do anything they see on Pintrest." "And if you've got a thousand white girls doing it too, it'll take them longer to catch on that you're moving through them." She smiles at them. She knew it was a good idea. "We're running a social media campaign, getting people to do blogs about them as yard decoration, tutorial vids on YouTube, pin boards. See your community leaders when we're done here. We always need more accounts." She piles a heaping spoon of berries into the small well in the shortcake. "After we're done eating, everyone heads out to the stables. All the armor we've got will be there. Everyone lines up and walks the line, touching the armor. You'll know when it picks you. That tends to take a couple hours. After that, a horse, probably a horse, will come out and pick a rider. We'll spend a couple hours riding the area so everyone can get used to being on a saddle and when the dwarves join us, it'll be time to go." "So if you don't get chosen?" The woman at the end of the table leans forward as she speaks and every single one of the knots coiled atop her head is a different vibrant hue. Tamika wishes her hair looked that cute. "Then you can go home or you can stay and volunteer with the ground team. We need people here monitoring the tags, the trends, the livestreams...we can't ride and watch our timelines at the same time. Someone has to send the info through to the carriage teams." The last two times the mounts had paraded out of the stables, teams of enormous black horses had emerged pulling behind them the kind of carriage you only see in period movies involving hoop skirts. And both times they filled both coaches to the limit more than once before the night ended. She just expects them to be a part of the mounting up now. "Our ground teams are vital. We fly blind without them. If you don't end up in armor today, I hope we can count on you to stay and man the lines. And you don't have to try the armor at all if you don't want to. At least twenty people here are just here to volunteer for the ground team." The ambient sound in the feasting hall is rising as people finish eating and begin to talk to each other. Tamika crams what she can into her mouth, gulps down as much water as she can, and rises. "Alright, come on yall! Don't let me see a single fucking adult here cutting lines and shoving, you hear me!" The stables are around the far side of the hill and her breath catches like always at the scale of it as she crests the top of the path that leads down to the beaten dirt of the massive parade ground that makes up the stable yard. The building, a long lodgehouse of white marble bricks and timbers like redwoods, is big enough to hold animals far larger than anything that's ever come out so far. She's been careful not to think the 'D-word' because things that she thinks too hard about in Farie tend to come and find her, but things grow wilder and wake up faster with every new believer she brings back and it's just a matter of time until one day there's a fucking dragon in the stables. 'Shit. I thought the word.' Which is fine. Wild ass Jamie with her purple glasses and her hair in puffs could totally ride a Dragon. It's fine. 'Fuck me I thought it twice. That's a lot of armor.' The thoughts tumble one on top of the other as she lets her eye scan across the long line of tooled leathers and tiny linked chainmails hanging against the stable walls. There's still room to spare, maybe two hundred suits could stretch the building end to end, but there's a lot less space than there used to be. She might have to send down into the city to get more ground crew. Jargyl stands by the gates looking particularly pleased with himself. "And as many for my own people besides. It will be a full hall under the mountain tonight. You are a damn fine FairieRaide." "Yeah, I better be. DC has locked down for 10 blocks around the fucking White House and protesters are fucking pissed that they're not being allowed near the Mall, New York is already threatening to bring out the sound canons if the crowd becomes 'Unruly', and Richmond is the scariest because they're not saying anything at all. They're waiting for us in more places then I think I can get to." "The Hunt has more powers than you've learned, friend. You have not yet begun to harass the enemy armies." She used to feel guilty when Jargyl called the assorted police forces enemy armies. They were just cops, sone good and some not, but just people. But years of faceless riot masks, bone shaking sound attacks, pepper spray and water canons have made all the distinctions dissappear. Her methods have been the same since the first Wilde Hunt of just her and the dogs; run those who will break and run, draw all manpower, recruit, and evacuate as needed, but the response continues to escalate. Their weapons cut everything but flesh, they always have, and the weaponized response just gets bigger every time. People have filed into the paradeyard and no one needs an explanation. People on their phones are peeling off towards benches and hay bales, assembling themselves into teams as everyone else begins walking the long line with one hand out to trail across the armor. "My people should be waiting for me. Ill return with the cauldron before we eat."The first figure has stepped out of line, leather wrapping and shaping around her limbs as everyone applauds and cheers. "We'll be ready for you."