#never would i have thought i would see northern lights in my home state :’)

[clancyycat]

northern lights on edisto island, sc. october 2024

[daryltwdixon]

Hello, I thought I'd put a request through properly on my 'official' account 🤍

I have a request because I adore your writing and love how you write Daryl 😭

You can take it wherever you want one shot, drabble etc

I've been recovering from a brain injury and for the first time ever last week I got to see the Northern Lights/Aurora and for a moment I forgot everything and the emotion that I felt was just urgh, no words to describe it but it was AMAZING and this little idea popped into my head along the lines of :

Reader always being fascinated with the stars, sunsets, night skies and the moon etc. Always preferring to sleep under the moon or in the moonlight and because you never know when you will be able to see the Aurora until it's actually there, the reader noticed something different about the sky a pink glow which developed into full blown aurora/Northern Lights the longer reader and Daryl wait/watch.

It's just an idea 🤍 I understand if you don't want to write something like that.

daryl x reader drabble

note: The thing that really gets to me is how often writers overlook just how incredible the night sky would be without light pollution.

and also @fluffy-dixon ilysm thank u for the love x

You had fallen in love with the sky even more since the world went to shit. Without the city lights to mask its beauty, the night now stretched out in an endless canvas of stars, brighter than you ever remembered. The moon felt closer too, as if it could reach down and graze the earth with a cool, silvery hand. You’d always loved sleeping beneath it—there was something comforting about its silent glow, a reminder that the world, even in its broken state, could still be beautiful. So any chance you could get, in the small in between nights of rare safety, you would sleep under the stars.

Tonight, you find yourself lying on the damp grass, the air crisp and cool against your skin. You can hear Daryl beside you, his breathing steady and low, a quiet rhythm that anchors you in the dark. You turn your gaze upward, the scattered stars glittering in the soft glow of the milky way, and you think about how the sky feels more like home now than any place you've slept in years.

It’s then that you notice it—a faint pink glow creeping along the horizon, like the sky itself is blushing. You sit up, your breath hitching slightly as you stare. “Daryl,” you murmur, your voice barely breaking the quiet, but he’s already noticed. He shifts beside you, eyes narrowing as he looks up.

"What’s that?” he asks, his voice rough, curious.

You shake your head slowly. “I think… it’s the Northern Lights,” you whisper, almost afraid to say it out loud, as if speaking might chase it away. You’d read about them once, how unpredictable they were, how you could never really know when they’d appear. And now, against all odds, here they are, soft waves of pinks and greens slowly unfurling across the sky like an ethereal dance.

Daryl doesn’t say anything. You can feel his gaze flicker between the sky and you, as if unsure which is more worth watching. The corners of your mouth twitch into a small, wonderstruck smile, your eyes wide with awe. You feel his hand brush yours, a brief, awkward attempt at comfort or maybe just connection. It’s enough to make your heart skip, the warmth of his rough fingers grounding you in the cold night.

The pink glow deepens, giving way to deeper greens and purples, swirling like a living painting. You don’t know how long you sit there, mesmerized, the two of you side by side in the soft glow. It’s like the world’s trying to remind you that there’s still magic here, even in the ruins.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see somethin’ like this,” he mutters, a hint of wonder creeping into his usually gruff voice.

“Me neither,” you admit, voice soft and a little raw. When you look over to him, his eyes are on you, and the reflection of the dancing light above you is breathtaking in his deep blue eyes.

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, the rare softness still lingering in his eyes, before you both wordlessly shift back onto the grass. You settle in, your head turning to watch the lights above—but it’s not enough. The colors feel like they’re pulling you closer to him, as if the night itself wants you to be nearer.

You shift again, this time leaning over to rest your head on his chest, your ear pressed against the beat of his heart. He tenses at first, his breath catching, and for a brief moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then you feel it—the way his chest slowly rises and falls beneath you, the way he seems to settle into the closeness.

His arm hesitates, hovering just for a second, before wrapping around you fully, pulling you in tighter against him. You hear the faintest, almost awkward sigh escape him, as if he’s trying to figure out how to hold onto the peace of this moment. The tension in his body fades, replaced by a quiet acceptance that makes your heart ache a little.

The sky’s colors continue to swirl and shift above, but your focus is on the warmth of him, the way his hold becomes more certain as the minutes pass. There, beneath the luminous dance of the Northern Lights, you allow yourself to simply exist—safe, close, and understood, without a single word spoken.

[themissfits]

Home

I never thought that leaving the US would be this hard. 

I knew from the beginning that staying in the US is temporary. It was going to be only for four years, and then… back home again. Indonesia. PT Kantorku, Tbk. Because, you know… ikatan dinas.  

Then, things change.

Covid happened.

Dad passed away.

My family fell apart.

And the current management in my previous employer is taking the company far down south.

I am concerned about the well-being of my family, but returning to my previous employer is not a viable option given the current management's incredibly stupid policy. Consequently, I have begun searching for a new job, hoping to remain afloat while waiting for the new management to take over. However, the reality of being a J1 Visa holder from Indonesia has hit me hard. I could not get a job that suits well with the Fulbright Indonesia J1 Visa holder. So, here comes the sad reality: returning home.

It is hard to accept the fact that I am going home sooner than I thought. Over the past few weeks, I have been struggling with my decision to leave the US. Despite what the media portrays, I have thoroughly enjoyed my time living in this country. As a student with limited income, I have managed to travel across the country, from the Midwest to the East Coast, the West Coast, the Pacific Northwest, the South, the Southwest, and even the northern regions just below Canada. It really saddens me to leave behind the people, the experiences and memories I have gained while living in the US.

I talked about this with my best friend who is also a J1 Visa holder. She is going home too. Her home is South Africa. Among other things that we converse during our walk, she says, “This is temporary, and we can always come back here again.”

  Then, I started to see the concept of "home" and "moving" in a different light. As human beings, we are constantly in motion. Even the tiniest cell in our body is always moving. As long as we are alive, we will always be in motion - always moving.

Hence, "home" is not a permanent state, but a transitory one - a pit stop before we move on to another home.

I am going back home to Indonesia… and this is temporary.

So, where should I go next?  *) By the way, I defended my dissertation. Please to meet you, I am Dr Safira. :)

[the1nightowl]

Who cares what the world thinks about me or who I am or who you are. All that matters is the inevitability of caring about another and hoping for the best ending possible for them and who they care about as well. We can go on and on and on thinking and hoping and praying for a meaning and a path forward, we forget to simply sit down and go through the seconds as they pass by. While it may be hard, simply sitting and allowing things to happen, it is the only way things actually get done. You can do anything you set your mind to yes, but what does it matter when everything else is working to ensure that everything you want to do is not done, when the fiber of your being holds you back and constrains you. When the world is giving it all to ensure that the life you want to happen is not the life that will happen, that the people you love will not love you back, that you will be forgotten and maybe sorely missed all at once. Circles circles circles. That’s all it is, just a bunch of circles, maybe triangles if you look closely enough. We don’t matter. That’s what matters. Make your own circle, draw out the boundaries, decide what goes in and what goes out. Determine your path, let it flow out from you and leave everything behind. Go forward. Live. And maybe you will be happy.

 Who cares.

Who cares.

 We are not the same. We are the same. We are different, and yet we are not. Who cares. Leave it all at the window and leap, let the ground hit your face and let the feeling of feelings melt away in a painful twist of agony that lets you know you were once alive, and now you are dead. I am not alive. I am not yet dead. I am simply alive.

 My name is Todd. It doesn’t matter, but I want you to know this. What else do you want to know about me? I am a 45 year old man who has never seen the world, I know nothing about anything that isn’t my own home, and even then I’m sure theres a corner or two I’ve never looked twice at. There is nothing interesting about me. Why should you keep reading. Why are you. Again it doesn’t matter, but at the same time it does. I do not wish to be alone anymore. Yet I’m not alone in the first place. Why does it feel like I am so much of the time then. I am tired. I am dying and living all at the same time. Who cares. I want to go home, I want to see my family, I want to be loved and I want to die. Happily hopefully, but even then what would it matter. I am close to the end. Let me rest. If not, I may have to tell you a story to go away.

Still here? Fine then. Lets see what can be cooked up in this old rotting brain of mine.

I was young once. Even then I don’t think I had much going on in my life, but the world did seem bigger than it does now. I was even younger than that, and the world seemed smaller than it does now. I grew up in northern America, in a state called Arizona. It is a place where I left many memories, many traumas and many happy things as well. I buried many dogs and left my family and whole life there to go and be a big time money maker. It mattered so much to me then. Now I sit and laugh at myself, I knew nothing. Of course I still don’t but again what does it matter.

I lived alone in a one door shack, not because it only had one door but because the front was blocked by the furniture I called my own and the back door was the only convenient entry. I thought I was happy, I thought I was free. I spent my time online, reading and watching videos and essays on anything and everything that interested me, mostly video games, movies and long winded explanations on life, for whatever the writer of that piece thought it was. I may not have had the most exciting life, but it was good enough for me.

I had a love, maybe I still do. She was the light of my life. I did everything for her, I let her do anything for me. She wanted a car she got a car. She wanted a pretty light she got a pretty light. It didn’t matter to me, but if it mattered to her I would do anything to get it.

I’m rambling more than a bit, but I’m tired of being told by my own self where my inadequacies lie. Let others judge them for me, it matters not to me. I hope there is a self out there somewhere who can read this and live a better life than me. It doesn't matter if there isn’t, but it doesn't matter if there is either, so I hope there is. A fool I am. Maybe so are you. Why are you still reading this? It doesn't matter, there will be no conclusions, there will be no light at the end of the tunnel, only this sentence, and then maybe the next.

What did you want to do when you were growing up? Were you chasing a dream? Were you flying high on the wings of life, hoping to never have to come down to where all the adults were, with their boring jobs and meaningless lives? Where are you now? Are you still growing up? Are you one of those adults now? Are you a child screaming inside a broken mind to be let out to play, do you want to eat ice cream and sleep late but can’t because it doesn’t matter? Because you have responsibilities? Because you want to live a better life? Why does any of this matter? Because. Because we are all here. Alone, yet together. A cliché crying into the night for one more round in whatever story wishes to use us. We are all cliches, it’s a simple sad truth. But it doesn’t matter.

Why are you still reading this? Does this matter to you? Does the ending matter, the journey, the destination, the conclusion of a certain plot device, the hope that I will stop being a depressing little shit and tell you something interesting? Are you still here for some dumb story about me?

It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t be real anyways. I would simply wake up and forget all about you and you would likely forget about me. Maybe I could annoy you into remembering me forever, maybe you’ll tell someone else about this and they will read it and remember it too, or maybe you’ll both forget and this will be a waste of both of our times.

I need to wake up from this dream. This dream that I will be noticed and become a big super star. It doesn’t matter.

My name is not Todd. It still doesn’t matter, but I wanted you to know that. Almost nothing you’ve learned about me is true. Does that matter to you? Does it hurt? I’m sorry for that. I know it doesn’t matter but I’m still sorry. I want you to like me. I want everyone to like me. I want to be seen and for others to show me themselves. But at the same time I don’t. Does that matter?

I sometimes find myself questioning what it is I think I’m doing. This might be a rough draft, this might be a finished product. I hope it matters to someone that I am alive. I hope it matters to someone that they are alive. Because to me none of this does. And that sickens me inside. I want to live. But at the same time I want all of time to stop. I am tired. None of this makes sense. And it doesn’t matter.

[silasdrake]

JERK

“Pulled Over & Busted”

I began the long journey from Fort Lauderdale to visit my buddy in New Orleans. I figured it would take me about 14 hours, give-or-take, to complete the journey to Louisiana. I was so excited to venture out on my own and visit a state that I have never been to.  Little did I know how exciting this little excursion would become before I even crossed the Florida border.

It was about 3pm at the time and I was heading north about 1 hour from the Florida/Georgia border when I saw flashing lights behind me.  Fuck! I was getting pulled over and I imagined it was for speeding but I wasn’t really sure.  I pulled my car over to the side of the highway and the police cruiser followed suit.  I anxiously waited for the officer to walk over to my window.  When he did, he asked me if I was aware of why he pulled me over.  I apologized to the officer and said that I wasn’t sure.  I asked the officer if I was speeding and he smirked, nodded his head yes and stated that I was traveling 20 miles over the speed limit.

I assumed that I was about to receive a speeding ticket but that thought immediately left my mind once I noticed how beautiful this cop was.  He must have been in his early 30’s, had a short, trimmed beard and mustache, had aviator glasses on and looked to have a body of a Greek god.  Just looking at this dude was worth the price I would inevitably end up paying in fines and insurance rate increases from a speeding ticket.  If it was only that simple…

The officer asked me to step out of my vehicle.  I began wishing that he would just give me a ticket and send me on my way.  Was I in more trouble than I expected? Did I say something wrong to him?  I was pretty scared and unsure of what was to come. I have never been asked to exit my vehicle by a police officer.  I mean…I was hours from home.  I was freaking out!  I am definitely not the type that would fare well in a northern Florida jail.

As I opened my door and stepped out of my car, the officer guided me to a grassy area on the right side of his police SUV.  The SUV windows were tinted so you could not see either of us from the highway.  It seemed that he had guided me to an area where his vehicle would act as a barrier and prevent passer-by visibility.  I was definitely nervous. I had no idea what was going on.  

The office had me stand with my back against the rear passenger door and stood directly in front of me as he took off his sunglasses and hooked them onto his uniform.  To no surprise, he had beautiful green eyes and was way more attractive than I had originally thought. For a brief second, my nerves went away; that was until he asked me if I was hiding any drugs. I quickly responded that I did not have any drugs of any kind on my person or in my vehicle.  

The officer then asked if I minded if he checked and knowing that I didn’t have any drugs, I agreed to his search request.  Little did I know that by search, he meant ME!  He took his hand and pulled my tucked-in tee-shirt from my shorts exposing my stomach and the view of my CK underwear elastic poking out above my khaki shorts.  He took his index finger and slid it just behind my underwear elastic and I could feel his finger brush against the top of my dick pubes.  At this point, I was not sure where all this was all heading but I was certain it was not about drugs.  

The cop continued to move his fingers under my briefs and my dick naturally began to thicken up and the officer must have noticed the lack of space inside my shorts especially considering that he still had 2 fingers in my jock.  I have an 8-inch cock, so you could surely see the full shape of my dick forming through my shorts.  It was also pretty obvious when my pre-cum soaked through exposing a wet spot on my tan shorts.  

I figured by this time, the cop knew I was on board to fuck around with him on the side of a highway and I was correct because he moved his fingers deeper into my underwear and gently stroked my dick with his fingers.  I am a major pre-jack leaker so when the cop pulled his hands out of my underwear, he saw his wet fingers and licked them clean all while smiling at me and looking directly into my eyes.  I smiled back and attempted to lower myself to access his zipper and expose his cock but he resisted and asked that I stay standing right where I was.  I anxiously said, ok. If he wanted to be in control, I was going to let him.

Right then, he got on his knees in front of me and began sucking and licking the pre-cum spot on my shorts. His mouth pushing against my dick felt amazing.  Once he sucked all the flavor out of my shorts, he asked if he could unzip my shorts and of course, I said “FUCK YES”.  In one swift motion, my khakis were around my ankles and my big cock hiding underneath my white briefs was exposed to him.  He commented on how hot I was and how turned on he was and then put his mouth on the wettest area of my briefs, right where my hard cock head was resting and began to lick and suck the pre-cum out of my underwear, too.  This dude loved pre-cum like no other man that I have ever met.  It was so hot to watch this cop worship my dick through my briefs but I wanted more.  I needed more.  I wanted to see his cock.  Fuck!  I wanted to taste this dude all over, so badly!  

After he was finished milking my briefs, without any warning, he pulled my CK’s down exposing my huge, wet erection and immediately began sucking on the head of my willing member.  I was in pure ecstasy but still, I wanted this guy in my mouth, so badly. I had to taste him in every way that he would allow me.  I mean, this kind of shit never happens so I was certain that I was going to make the most of it. So, I took a chance and told him that I wanted to suck on his cock and balls.  With my cock still in his mouth, he looked up at me and said “ok”.  

The officer stood up from his blow job position and stood in front of me, staring into my eyes and nodding his head.  I then, slowly started to unbutton his tuxedo striped police pants and to my surprise, he was commando.  He had very thick, dark skinned, cut cock and it was also leaking pre-cum pretty heavily…just like me.  I put my hand on his cock and began to lick the underside of his cock-head, gently.  He moaned with pleasure and I immediately tasted his salty pre-juice and swallowed it down.  God, I loved having this cock in my mouth. I could suck it for days.

The officer clearly wanted to take full advantage of this moment because he asked me if I would lick his asshole.  Without hesitation, I said “fuck yes, officer”.  After my response, the cop pulled out a wool blanket from the cargo space of his SUV.  He spread it down on the grass next to his car and laid down on his back with his legs up in the air, exposing his perfectly furry asshole.  His hole was perfect!  My lips and tongue took a quick dive into his hole.  His ass tasted musky and masculine and it was perfect. As I made out with his asshole, the cop moaned loudly while tugging on his cock.  

He began to push on the back of my head which seemed to be his way of asking me to get my tongue deeper inside of his asshole.  I thought this was the perfect time to slip a finger inside him along with my tongue.  While I was enjoying his manly flavor, the cop was squirming and I could tell he was definitely into getting fucked and that he wanted more of me deep inside him.  Without asking, I began rubbing my juicy cock-head on his tight, little hairy hole.  I spread my pre-cum all over his hole to get it naturally lubed up and ready for my cock.  I could see that he didn’t want me to stop so I began to push my raw cock through his tight, yet willing hole. After a little more pressure, my dick slipped completely into his wet, warm hole.  Just seeing my cock completely inside this dude made me so hard that my cock was pulsating inside him.  I was in heaven on the side of a highway bare fucking a police officer that pulled me over!

After a good amount of cock thrusts into this man, he told me that he was getting close to shooting and that he wanted me to kiss him while he came.  Of course, I obliged and kissed this man with all the passion that I had while I continued to drill my fat dick into him.  I could feel his asshole tighten up as he began to shoot his load all over his uniform shirt.  Midway through his orgasm, I began to unload all of my load into the depths of his asshole.  I could tell he felt every drop of cum from every thrust because his eyes rolled back into his head as we both continued to kiss and release our loads, together.

In the end, I did not get a ticket but I certainly got “busted”.  I’m not sure if I fucked my way out of it but this will go down as one of the hottest fucks of my life, so far.  I will fantasize about this moment forever.  And for the record, I did make it to New Orleans and had an amazing time.

[livingfictionsystem]

Contemplative Asks

1. cosmos: what's one thing you wish you could say to someone you are no longer friends with?

I was right and you were wrong.

2. galaxies: what are three things you want to do before you die?

- Visit London.

- Have a drink at the Oscar Wilde bar.

- Finish All of my planned books.

3. waxing: what is your proudest accomplishment?

Breaking up with my worst ex, despite the hit to my social circle and reputation.

4. waning: what is your biggest regret?

Not realising what Rowan was doing soon enough to save my husband from them.

5. full moon: what type of person do you hope to be?

The type that's remembered and debated for centuries.

6. contemplation: if you could wake up one morning and everything in your life was perfect, what would that look like?

I'd be living downtown in some historic, capital city. Somewhere high up, where I could see several buildings from my window. I have rooftop access and have tea On the roof with a partner or friend who lives close, but not necessarily with me. Some friends/lovers are going to get together and we're going to see a show later on. Some theater production I'm familiar with. But first, a fancy dinner and a bit of bar hopping~ My treat.

7. night light: who/what makes you feel safe?

Not much. Though I am a being of comfort-rewatching.

8. ponder: what do you want to do with your life?

Help the host with their goals. (They still have a chance. I don't.) But also travel, sample the various fruits of life, and perhaps one day completely dismantling the cult. It'd also be nice to have my books less niche.

9. sunset: who is someone you thought would be in your life forever, but you no longer talk to?

Seran.

10. midnight: are you a different person late at night than in the early morning?

Oh definitely. I Thrive at night and bumble through mornings.

11. candle light: are you an indecisive person?

No.

12. reflection: have you ever changed something you liked about yourself to satisfy someone else?

Absolutely fucking not. I've faked it before, but only when I had to.

13. sweet dreams: are you happy?

No. I've been in a persistent state of misery and bitterness for four years. Grief's a bitch.

14. nightmare: what are you most afraid of?

Probably my system redacting itself and the person controlling the body acting like we, including myself, had never existed.

15. constellations: who is someone you could talk to for hours and never stop?

My partner and close friends.

16. reminder: who is someone you will never forget?

It'd be quicker to list those I will forget.

17. 11-11: what's something you want, but feel like you will never have?

Peace. No rest for me in this life---maybe in the next.

18. shooting star: who is someone you trust to help you make the right decisions?

Kaspar. It's like a godsend of a social tactician and I've learned a lot from watching it. Cotton is also a good sounding board for moral decisions.

19. earth: where do you feel most at home?

Savannah, Georgia.

20. soothe: what's one thing that always makes you feel better when you're upset?

My MP3 player. Watching one of my favourite shows with someone. Champagne. One of my adopted siblings. My partner. Gallows humour.

21. slumber: what's one thing that helps you fall asleep when it feels impossible?

The cold and white noise. Especially the sort of 40 F cold that you only start to feel in the northern autumn.

-Xanthe

[nanamimizz]

𝐂𝐇. 𝐅𝚶𝐔𝐑: 𝐒𝚶𝐔𝐍𝐃

tags: WC- 2k, sfw, no warning, fem reader, cleric reader, reader worships lathander(!!), protective reader, set in act 2, mention of the goblin camp, mention of animal murder,- let me know if i missed something !

synopsis: in which astarion gets to hear in all the ways you say his name, from protective to understanding.

taglist: @allright @ghostinvenus @ghostbeam @p00pdev1l @dottores - let me know if you want to be added !

The trip has become long, like a tale from the fables and the party finds themselves at the Moonrise Towers. There is a curse upon the land, one that casts a darkness that cannot be absolved no matter how devout your prayers to Lathander, Astarion notes seeing how you pray surrounded by the flames of the campfire. The gold on your necklace shines like a star among the black of iron and sheen of silver. Shadowheart seems right at home, in the inky black throes but even she is not free of the unease that seems to grip even the earth itself.

But all of this matters for not, for nothing matters more to Astarion now than seeing that sanguine alchemist’s head on a spike.

You didn’t like her from the beginning - he notes, seeing how your face that is as bright as the sun is eclipsed by your temper just as the god who you pray to does. Since her dark eyes flitted from yours to Kalrach’s and then to his own she has made herself the target of your worst self.. The way she looked at him was nothing different than what has been seen in the eyes of others before but even Astarion is put off edge by her gaze, eyes like abyss and filled with such hunger he wondered if she would ever be sated, if she ever could be. 

“I assume he belongs to you?” Araj speaks, voice pleasant in faux politeness as her eyes take in your form, dressed in sensible but ceremonial garb. Your eyes narrow and the single golden streak of your hair shines in the dim light.

“Astarion does not belong to anyone.” You grit out, casting a ray of warmth over his name as if to protect him from the outstretching hands on the shadows. Astarion says nothing, eyes focused on your smaller form as you begin to lean in front of him to make a shield with your back and a sword of your words.

The way she said his name, like a grating purr that was harsh to your ears and made your eyes narrow. It felt like being plunged from the Morning Lord’s arms to the bottom of the northern sea. You could not forgive it, you could not abide by it.

Araj Oblodara - her name is like bile on your mind's tongue presses her deal again. Eyes locked on your vampire “charge”, her words not yours as she asks for a vampire’s bite in exchange for a potion.

“I fear I will have to decline.” He says with an air of cheer, smiling charmingly as he waves his hand to try to dispel her frowning face.

“Excuse me? This is a once-in-a-life-time opportunity and you’re squandering it.” She scowls, pointed ears flickering back.

“I gave you my answer.” He returns, fangs peeking behind his lips as he snaps. He met with her looking back at you, almost whining petulantly to try to talk some sense into your “obstinate charge”. Her words make you frown, cocking your head to the side as something fierce burns in your eyes. Astarion scoffs, doubting you’d take the bargain but at the back of his mind he can not help but doubt wriggle its way into his thoughts. It’s easy to use him, to see him as a tool or something to be consumed. It’s what his master did for two hundred years. You could do it too, he thinks almost guilty for imagining you doing such a thing for when you have done nothing but show him the sun’s kindness.

“Astarion gave you his answer. Quit trying to get your way, it’s beneath you.”  Your words are scorching flames, not soft sun rays and for the first time since first meeting you your party is stunned. Never once have you lost your temper, never once had you spoken so strongly. Even at the goblin’s camp who proudly stated their murder of the owlbear mother, your punishment was swift as it was just. There is a burning edge to your words, your temper, a roaring sun and even the drow who has never seen the celestial body flinches from the heat.

Araj concedes, lips down to a frown as you and your party depart back to your camp in the tower for rest. Though your party - especially Kalrach tries to ruffle your hair and whistle at your impressive display to cheer your foul mood up, you are quick to depart to your own quarters. Karlach and Wyll exchange a look, letting their gaze land on Astarion who stands there, his eyes locked on the gentle swaying of your tent flap. Just as the sun rises in the east without certainty, once again you have proven his scheming mind wrong with the extent of your goodness. There is a sour taste to his tongue that he swallows around with trepidation. His feet are quick to drag him to your tent, and his back is as stiff as a rod as he feels the weight of other’s eyes on his back.   

His feet carry him to your tent easily enough and he can hear you pacing, muttering prayers for patience, for strength and for wisdom. He hesitancy, waiting at the edge of the fabric that separates you from the truth. The truth of his intentions, the truth of the depths of his gratitude and what lies in his unbeaten heart. His hand, pale like ivory in the light of the fire shook in the shadow of his chest as he finally gives - Astarion pulls back on the fabric and calls into your space.

“Do you have a moment? I want to thank you.” He says, eyes down on the stone floor of your space before he flickers up to look at you. His throat almost closes up at the sight of you, warm and golden in the light of the lap emblazoned in the emblem of your god. It’s hard to keep his mind from wandering, so close to you here in a space that surrounds him in the smell of sunlight and honey. Warm and soft - just like how your eyes look when they rise to meet him, your brows furrowed as you question him.

“Whatever for Astarion?” Your tone is gentle, soft like a morning dove’s coo and it makes him want to weep. Whenever his name sounded so sweet, nothing could compare to your lips.

“For what you said while I was in front of that vile drow.” He clarifies, hands raised to further show his point. His gaze flickers away from you, wetting his lips he returns to meet the warmth of your gaze and finds that you have not changed in your stance. Your eyes soft, your face concerned for him - the man that tried to scheme himself into your heart so you could never be compelled to hurt him the way one man has for the past two hundred years. Despite the  kindness you’ve shown him, the tears you’ve shed and the promises you’ve kept. Despite the fear in his heart he continues, you have trusted him since the beginning, Astarion must take the next step with trusting you.

“I’ve spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back to my Master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered,” his face scrunched up in displeasure - disdain for his past, “You could have asked me to do the same - to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned. But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.”

Your face falls, you’ve hated to hear what Cazador did to your friend, the evil of the world has always left you with tears in your eyes and knowing one you hold so deeply in your heart faced the brunt of it, made you tremble with anger and misery. Astarion almost can’t bear to look at you when you make that face the one he calls your kicked puppy face where you look ridiculously cute for being so miserable.

“Oh, Astarion,” shivers break out on his skin the way you say his name alone. “You don’t need to thank me for this, I never want you to do anything you don’t want to.” He nods, ducking his head as he swallows around the lump in his throat.

“A novel concept I admit - and a little intimidating.” He half smiles at you, and there’s a small victory in his heart when he sees how your lips half tug in a smile too, “But there’s more to it.  I feel..awful about something else.”

Your frown, eyes downcast and he’s half tempted to soothe out the wrinkle in your forehead from your brow bending under the weight of your concern.

“You can tell me anything Astarion, I want you to know that. You can say anything and I will not abandon you.” You say as you take a step forward, your shadows become one in the light of the lamp just as they did on the night you shed tears for him after seeing the horrors on his back. The next few words he utters are bitter on his tongue, just like your tears.

“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. But ah, I guess I didn’t get to sleep with you.” He mutters in an afterthought His gaze again looks to the corner of your room, Astarion fears he wouldn’t be able to bear the weight of your gaze whether it would be scornful or sorrowful.

“It was easy - instinctive after years of doing nothing else. All you had to do was fall for it…and all I had to do was not fall for you…Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.” His words are like stones in the sea of your friendship, heavy and could crush the budding cliffs of that something more that was growing between the two of you. Astarion no longer looks to the corner of the tent but gazes at you and finds that your gaze is even, steady against his. He pauses to breathe, to give life to things so deeply hidden in his heart no matter the consequences. The moments you have shared from you giving him your blood, to the gentle touches to his hair and the kindness you extended to the unmerciful world he knew.

“You -....you’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

The words are heavy and he looks at you with eyes wide - there you can see it, all his love and terror balanced there between those eyes.  Your face is cool and impassive and he watches as you let your eyes close shut for a moment only to gaze into his with something burning in them so deep he wonders if the Morning Lord sees the world through you

“Astarion,” you say in a voice as soft as a feather, “I knew you were trying to use me. But it didn’t matter to me, not then and not now. What I feel for you goes unchanged and unwavering.”

It’s as if someone drove a stake in his chest with how you took away his breath with such few words.

“What do you feel for me then?” He asks and when you look at him you can see for the boy he once was, not a vampire spawn but someone who lost everything and who finally found something.

“I care deeply for you. I trusted you then because I could tell you needed that. I sought for the best in you, and that’s what you have given me back. It wasn’t because I was naive or foolish, it was because it was necessary for me and for you.” You say as you close the distance between the two of you, your hands barely grazing each other as you look down, unable to meet his gaze like a blushing bride.

“I want the same that you want - for us to be something real.” Finally you raise to meet his eyes, and there is so much understanding found in the specks of color in your eyes that he feels like he’s drowning in it. 

“I don’t know what real is, or what it looks like. I’ve held hundreds of lovers but never have I had what this is.” Astarion confesses, throat bobbing in an effort to stay calm but you make it hard by smiling at him, tilting your head just so as you utter these next words.

“Let me show you.” The words are said and then pressed against his chest as you embrace, slowly and he feels like he stood in the sun for the first time since he was casted out from its light. It’s warm, it’s bright - here in your arms it feels like when he could see all the color in the world again after all he knew was the dark. His head bows, unable to withstand the goodness that leaks from your skin onto his and lets his nose find its way into your hair. 

Sunlight. Morning Dew. Lavender.

It fills his senses and makes his shoulders drop as he lets his arms find themselves winding around your form. They cross over your back and for the first time in so long Astarion feels untainted, unstained and born anew.

[autumnwritcs]

bluejeanbaby​

“Oh no, we’re a little old to be just starting out,” Sven chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck. At least he wouldn’t want to be getting started in his thirties. “The band is called Nábrók. Which means dead pants in Icelandic.” he explained with a soft chuckle. “Metal bands are weird because we can get very popular, sell out tours but no one really notices us on the streets.” Sven rambled for a moment before taking a break to sip at his water. “It’s hard to compare anything to Sweden. I mean that is home, and where I live it is very beautiful. You can see the uh…shit. I’ll think of the word. Bright lights? In the sky? All green and shit?” he tried to think, taking a moment before snapping his fingers. “The northern lights!” finally he remembered with a chuckle. “You’ll get to go abroad, it’s worth it.” he promised with a nod, secretly hoping he’d be the one to help her get away.  The Swede’s shoulders slumped completely when she brought up his name. “Oh how dare you?” he asked exasperated. “Well technically my name is Øyvind, which is very easy to say but not so easy to spell.” he chuckled. “Sven was my grandfather’s name and it sort of stuck as a nickname.” he explained, squeezing her hand gently before letting go. “Yes Andy, I would love another beer, thank you.” 

"Metal? Man, I'd have never guessed." Andy chuckled. "Looking at you like this I'd have gone for... I don't know, indie or something like that. I'll be googling you as soon as you turn around." The tone was teasing but the only reason she wasn't grabbing her phone right then was because she was hooked on the present conversation. "Lights in the s- oh! You mean the northern lights." She said at the same time he did. "That must be mind blowing, living with that kind of wonder." She smiled dreamily. She knew comparing the guy in front of him with an animated reindeer might not have been quite flirty but the thought just popped. "Hey, Sven is cute. So are you." Andy stated with smile then nodded as he examined the root of his name. "Ah, I see- your name is nice, too, your actual name and I'll go with it since the imagine of the reindeer will flash in my head every time I call your Sven." She joked as she got his beer. "My full name isn't as complicated, it's Andressa but people have such a hard time with the r, because it's very strong, like, you've got to roll your tongue, but peolle don't it and it's tiring to correct them."

[musings-from-an-elder-goth]

What It's Like Being a Goth in Florida

From time to time, folks who hail from colder climes will message me offering pity for the poor darkling stranded in The Sunshine State, or to simply inquire as to what herculean efforts I must undertake to avoid being burned to a crisp. These concerns are entirely fair and understandable - even I would never have guessed that a goth could survive in Florida prior to relocating here. I assumed my world was about to become profoundly limited and that I'd be the only shadow scurrying about in a futile attempt to dodge the sun, heat, and humidity. So, without further ado, here's something of a Goth Survival Guide to Florida. (Abridged edition.)

Sun & heat. Yes, those are a powerful pair of adversaries for any who dress the dark, especially in more southerly locals such as La Pascua de la Florida. First, you have to understand that most folks who live here have adapted to the heat and humidity to some degree - some quite a bit, others less so, but all of us more than someone visiting for a week from, say, Toronto. So the heat a northerner feels is much worse than the heat we feel (for example, I'm perfectly comfortable at 80 degree Fahrenheit, as long as I'm not in direct sunlight). Nevertheless, even those goths born here don't generally go outside during the day in the summer. However, it cools down quite a bit at night, and that's when you'll see us out and about. During the day, air conditioning is your bestie. Your home, car, and work will all have it and it will be blasting. We dash from one AC source to another during those dog days of summer, but that's just how it is here. I used to live in Minnesota and my life there was reversed - I'd stay inside all winter - so, pick your poison.

The beach. Yes, folks will try to get you to go to the beach. My advice? Spit in your hand and slap them. Kidding! I just say, "No, thanks," and tell them that the beach just isn't my thing. Which it isn't, so not even lying - I'm more of a forest kind of person. I've come across goths that like the beach at night, which is understandable. The temperature cools significantly once the sun sets and those pesky crowds also clear away. Perfect time for a small gathering around a little fire. Few drinks, good conversation, perhaps a ghost story or two. Not too bad, actually.

Clothing. Do I mostly wear black? Yup. Even in summer? Yup. The trick is to wear lightweight fabrics. Again, I'd never subject myself to the daylight during August, but once the sun sets, it gets much nicer. Goth gals still look lovely in light, breezy, black summer dresses and goth guys still look sharp in light black slacks and t-shirt. No one needs to break a sweat. Now, if you have to go out during the day in the summer, which sometimes just can't be avoided (graveyard photo shoot), be sure to wear a wide brimmed hat, slather on the SPF 100 sunblock, drink plenty of water, and try to stay in the shade. Personally, I've reached the point where nothing - absolutely nothing - drags me out of the AC in the summer during the day. Funeral for a friend? I'll send my condolences regarding his death. My co-workers wedding? I'll send my condolences regarding his death.

Critters. 'Aren't mosquitos attracted to dark colors?' Yup. 'So...aren't you plagued by mosquitos?' Oddly, no. 'What about poison ivy? What about Florida Man? Don't you live in terror of The Florida Man? And Skunk apes? And gators?' The flora and fauna hazards of Florida have been much less of an issue than the media had lead me to believe. Mosquitos certainly thrive here and I do get stabbed by one from time to time, but no more so than in other states I've called home. In fact, alligators, poison ivy, Florida Man, alien abductions, and skunk apes have all had minimal impact on my life here. I didn't say zero - just minimal.

Harassment from non-goths, i.e. The Normies. I genuinely thought I'd never see another darkly inclined person again when moving to Florida, but I was pleasantly surprised that not only are there goths here, but there are many goths here. One benefit of a large goth population is that the normies are accustomed to seeing us. They may not understand us, but at least they're used to us being part of the landscape. Thus, I've never been harassed or even lightly teased about being goth here in Florida. People don't even stare. I think they view it as just another character aspect, like being a sports fan or a serial killer. Additionally, many normies here are remarkably well informed about local goth culture. They usually know about the local goth clubs & sometimes about local goth bands. Many of them have even gone to the local goth clubs - for sure as a novelty lark - but they usually say they had a great time and would love to go again. Refreshingly different attitude from the people in some other places I've been.

Goth activities. "Do goth bands even play in Florida?" Wow, do they ever! I legit go to more shows here than even when I lived in LA. Bands playing for the first time here always say they're surprised at the large number of enthusiastic folks at the show and bands frequently return year after year, so as far as live music goes, we have an embarrassment of riches. If there's no live music going on, you can always head to a goth club for music and dancing on the weekend. Plus, there are various non-music events that usually interest most goths like horror conventions, vampire balls, oddity markets, etc. Just a couple weeks ago, I had to decide if I'd go to the Florida Bat Festival or a horror convention, so sometimes there just isn't enough time to do everything you'd like to and you have to pick and choose. (I went with the horror convention.)

So as you can see, no need to worry about the poor goths under the pitiless, Florida sun. We're managing quite well, actually. Because even in The Sunshine State, the sun does still set.

And the night belongs to us. 🦇🖤🦇

creaturesfromelsewhere 11-3-2022

[sneverussape]

What kind of person do you think lily was? There's a lot said about her in the series, but i have trouble reconciling pure, shining paragon lily with someone who would marry someone that spent years tormenting her friend, 4 on 1.

ooh boy this will be a LOT. i can't even promise it will be coherent but i'll make an attempt to be. (going under a cut to save us all the grief).

first off, i think it's fair to state that one of the biggest drawbacks of lily's character is how she was written. she is a plot device. she exists to boost other characters’ narratives: she's simultaneously the Rich Boy's trophy wife, the self-sacrificing mother of the Boy Who Lived, the best friend slash lost love of the Fallen Hero, and, at the same time, also no one at all. lily is a character with little to no background and character development that she can barely stand on her own two feet without any of the associated (usually male) characters to prop her up. it absolutely sucks but that's how it is. that's how jk wrote her.

given that and working with the scraps that we do have, my opinion of lily is...complex. i try to give her justice by trying to understand her context, the workings of her mind, and the possible pressures she was subjected to, but it can be challenging especially since lack of canon pushes you into a space where you have to put them in Either/Or situations. my opinion of her has also changed as i got older. when i was younger (i read the books waaaay back, as they were getting released in fact) i only saw her as an extra character (i was most interested in snape, if that's not obvious enough, but neither did i think snape was 'obsessed' with her as a lot of hp fans now think). i saw her and snape as good friends who had had a falling out, and that he'd probably had a crush on her at some point, and it got naturally overtaken by guilt etc when she died. then when i reread some chapters containing her, i was quick to put her in the Bad Friend camp. i don't think that now. i think that she, like snape, was a complex human being who made a lot of questionable decisions but shouldn't be entirely vilified for them.

my main thoughts of her that are kind of built on material from canon as well as what jkr has said herself:

- she was not posh. she grew up in cokeworth, in the same town as severus. i don't think she was middle class as a lot of fics portray her. i think the evanses were slightly better off than the snapes but they were all working-class, and living was a day-to-day struggle. the kids spoke in the local accent, their clothes were all worn and patched over, there were no green spaces or public infrastructure for kids to safely play in, and they were all mostly running wild about the town since all their parents had to work. food was something to be thankful for because there was never enough, and sometimes they had to share with their neighbors. that's the kind of setting i think lily and severus grew up in, although severus suffered abuse on top of it all. it's possible that lily did too because of the setting (post-world war 2, poverty, adults dealing with repressed trauma from the war, etc) and it wouldn't even be that surprising if she had been;

- she and petunia got along fairly well up until the point lily found out she was a witch and, as a result, became friends with severus. it's stated in canon that petunia had also wanted to attend hogwarts with them, going as far as writing to dumbledore to allow her admittance. her jealousy upon his rejection had festered and grown into outright hate that she projected onto harry as an adult, but i don't doubt that she continued to love lily even after her death and despite how she treated harry. i think as kids they had stuck together and were very close, but magic had torn them apart. suddenly lily had a world of her own that petunia wasn't welcome in, and that would have hurt. pottermore stated lily attended vernon and petunia's wedding or engagement party but james made a right mess of it. i think lily TRIED to maintain their relationship but external factors always got in the way. i don't doubt she had also loved her sister very much;

- i don't think she had any other friends. she may have had a lot of acquaintances but i think her only real friend, the one who saw her for who she really was, was severus, and i think, at a certain point in their lives, she saw that as a weakness and resented it;

- i think, from the interactions we saw in canon of lily with other people, that lily had a penchant to please people, especially the ones who ranked higher than her in terms of power dynamics - petunia (who was the older sister), professors (sluggy comes to mind, the head of slytherin with a lot of connections), even the marauders whose actions she defended. it's not necessarily a bad thing, but i've always seen it as her being borderline manipulative. i noted that she wasn't the same with severus (based on their conversations, especially the ones in 5th year, before SWM) because he's lower than her in a lot of aspects, being a slytherin and quite likely of a lower social standing. she could boss him around and tell him to piss off and he probably wouldn't have minded. she actually strikes me as someone who could have been in slytherin; a perfect arrangement, save for the fact that she was a muggleborn. i think lily knew her place and the cards she was dealt with more than anyone, but she was also determined not to stay there;

- this brings me to the point as to why she ever went out with james potter in the first place. i think her friendship breakup with severus was inevitable because they were in the middle of a burgeoning war and both of them were being pulled to opposite and opposing ends. as an added complexity, i think she also wanted to be better than being muggleborn lily evans of cokeworth, best friend of the evil greasy slytherin git, and her way out was to associate with housemates who were in the upper echelons of power. like, we don't even know what her life was like in gryffindor tower. ron was poor, but he was also a pureblood, so that may have saved him from ridicule. but what if you were a poor muggleborn, with a northern accent to boot? in the same way severus trained himself to be more posh, lily could have done the same and could have furiously tried to blend in. maintaining a friendship with severus would have ended in heartbreak as there were too many risks and it likely outweighed the gains. this was the wizarding world too which is much much smaller than the muggle world and relied on connections more than anything. openly siding with the marauders would have saved her skin and secured her a future (which, as we all know, was forfeit anyway but whatever);

- jumping to the jily relationship, i honestly think it was also not one that was meant to last. iirc jkr projected a lot onto lily, so i'm surmising jily reflected a lot of her own failed relationships. i think james and lily had a less-than-ideal relationship, one that involved abuse (verbal, emotional, mental, physical, take your pick, but at least one form of it), and i think she may have been unhappy in the last year of her life, living in hiding with none of her own friends (if they even existed) and seeing no one else but james' pals. her only light in that darkness was likely harry as she couldn't even see her own family. i think, during those times, she thought a lot about the home she left behind and, as a consequence, her lost friendship with severus. she probably missed him, and i'm sure she must have been very lonely.

in sum, i don't think she was the Virgin Mary figure a lot of hp fans paint her to be. imho she had her own questionable but utterly human moments, and i just tried to fill in the blanks as to why she would have acted the way she did. i don't think it was easy to be lily evans at all, and majority of the 21 years of her life was likely a struggle.

[malereader-inserts]

Happiest Year

Fandom: Avengers Pairing: Avengers & Male!Reader Summary: Your statement is vague - they just did the best the can to counter it. Word Count: 1,485 Warning: Death

“By the end of the year,” You say, as you and the team overlook the lake, “I’ll be dead.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed as you chuckled.

It was January first, the night of celebrating the new year had truly hit the team hard. So, the majority of them were out by the docks with you, getting fresh air hoping it would wash away the hungover they were experiencing. It was a nice bitter morning, the cold was nipping at your nose.

Clearly, January would be cold.

“I just have a feeling, you know?” You answered, groaning as you wave them off, “Well,  my hungover is fading off - I’m going inside.”

It was the last time you mentioned it, but that doesn’t stop the team thinking about it. They don’t know what you meant by that statement, but they did anything to prevent a death. January was the longest ever month, everyone could feel it. But, with the snow in New York - they made the most of it. 

They haven’t seen you with so much joy before when playing with snow. It was almost weekly to make the best fort in teams, there were meetings of teams to create the best one before actually making it in the allotted day and time.

When the snow started to melt away and warmer days were arriving, the team had to think of new ways of keeping your life a little bit more exciting. Tony had the great idea of taking you to places you’ve never been before.

First of all, it was a trip around America, taking you to places you would love to visit. Natasha got great pictures of you and the team if Natasha was in the picture she either got one of the boys to take pictures or a stranger. 

You went hiking, went to explore the colours of Antelope Canyon. Took a trip to Savannah in Georgia, you got taken to see the sunflowers in Kansas. And you decided to get pulled into a trip to New Orleans. At Minnesota, you got various pictures with the Peanut character statues, Peter was too happy about this trip - he loved every minute of it.

You enjoyed the Smithsonian museum, you’ve been dying to see it - you dragged Steve around because he was equally excited to learn. When you visited each state to do something because Tony owns a jet and it was easy to move quicker.

He takes you to Tokyo and part of Japan. You visited stores of various shows and movies you love, you take part in trying new food. He takes you to one of the Scandinavian countries so you could witness the Northern lights, they were so pretty - but not as pretty as your face as it lights up. 

He brings you to different countries to taste their cuisine. Bucky was fond of Italian whilst Sam likes to argue that France had better food, Clint was just happy to be included. 

Natasha had started an album of places, one album dedicated to the US - it was full to the brim with pictures of you and the team. You never thought that she was a type of person to be scrapbooking, but she made you do the writing. 

You don’t question her.

There’s another album for Asian and Europe countries you have visited, with the European scrapbook, everyone had a different coloured pen to add their contribution of notes. 

You travel to South America, get to live the carnival life in Brazil. Somehow in between travelling, you get to enjoy the 4th of July back home in New York. You enjoyed immersing yourself in different culture during the summer until you were worn out of travelling by the end of August. 

You don’t know how you managed to keep travelling whilst some of the team were being sent off to deal with enemies. Not once, Nick had sent you away to a mission - the team asked, you never gave them a solid answer.

September was the start of autumn, it was the excuse of you guys taking a break from travelling. You helped Natasha finish the books, even helping her to make them look pretty by making some borders on some of the pictures.

October rolls in, it’s spooky season as Peter proclaims. You visit corn mazes, pumpkin picking. You make jack o lanterns, watch horror films. You had a blast in the Halloween party, you got to dress up once again.

By November, the team started to notice something wasn’t right. You had no energy to stand up, you were constantly sitting down. You were always cold, they thought because the temperatures had started to drop drastically, but even with the heating on in the Avenger base, you were bundled up in a blanket and your thickest hoodie.

“Still cold?” Bruce asked you, handing you a hot chocolate - noticing your shaky hands.

“Unbelievably,” You responded, there were tints of blue upon your lips.

You could barely keep food down in you, sometimes you were too tired to even make yourself food and hold a fork up to your lips. You were sick and it doesn’t seem like you were able to recover.

That was until by the end of November, you were hospitalised. For a week, the team was in the dark about the situation. There was a lot of talks between Nick and the doctor, between you and Nick, between you and the doctor.

“It seems like they’ll have to know,” You spoke softly, rough at the edges as if you haven’t been drinking water.

“Yeah, don’t suppose you want to tell them?” Nick asked, hoping it would bring out a smile to you.

“I wouldn’t be able to look of hurt in their eyes.”

Nick breaks them the news.

You’re dying, you have known this fact since the start of the year. Did you mean to keep that information from them? No, it never came up. You knew there was no cure, and you hated that. You’re a superhero, people look at you expecting you’re untouchable. 

Nick never wanted to send you out for a mission, he wanted you last year to be one to remember. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Steve asked, looking at you in the hospital bed.

“You never asked.”

“Is-” Bruce lets out a heavy sigh before continuing, “Is there a cure at all?”

“If there was I wouldn’t have told you I would be dead by the end of the year,” You answered, you let out a cough.

“Why?” Tony whispered, brushing your hair, “Why did you hide it from me? From us?”

“It was easier.”

The team looked at you, you look fragile, there was a clear loss of weight and you were too weak to even pick up stuff. You were a concerning paler shade of your skin tone. Sweat dripping from your forehead and you were shaking. Every so often you would cough so violently, a wheeze would escape your mouth - god it hurt you so much, the team could tell that. 

“A superhero is not immune to diseases with no cure,” You chuckled to yourself, no one joins you - they look at you with pain in their eyes. “I just want to thank you though.”

“For what?” Steve whispers, if he speaks any louder - he fears his voice will break.

“Thank you for the happiest year of my life.”

You died in your sleep at the age of twenty six. They didn’t expect it because despite two weeks composed of bad days, that one day, you were actually better.

But it didn’t matter. Because the team was there with him. Steve held your hand as you slept, held you even when the doctors came and told them you were no more. The team didn’t cry. They didn’t beg them to try again. Because that night when you were supposed to be unconscious, Steve felt you squeeze his hand twice.

It was your own way of saying Thank You.

Thanking them that they stayed by your side to the end.

The funeral was simple, after all, you were a simple man. It was just the team and people who truly knew you. They couldn’t hold back the tears, the funeral was quiet sobs, they couldn’t bare to look at the smiling picture that was present in front of them.

Christmas wasn’t the same without you, there was an empty part of the team. the new year came around, they drank so much that they regret it. They found themselves back at the dock, fresh air will help their hangover.

It’s been a year since you announced that you will be dying at the end of the year.

At least, in their mind, they gave you the happiest year - that’s all it matters.

You were happy and content with the life you have had. 

They were happy to be a part of your life.

[floralbuckley]

Orange Trees and Royalty - A Wilmon Drabble

I would recommend listening to my light academia playlist whilst reading this, specifically Sweet Creature, Today Was a Fairytale, Northern Italy, and You Are In Love...

As Simon looks up, his eyes open in absolute wonder and amazement, and he swears he’s never seen anything more spectacular in his life. Gorgeous windows lining the outside up to the third story, the gold trimming painted on them glowing against the sunlight. He could make out the lacey curtains behind them, and the corners of his mouth turn up shyly at the thought of Wilhelm’s bedroom hidden behind one of those curtains. The lush green grass is perfectly trimmed, so bright and inviting against the pale cream walls of the Palace. He wants to take his shoes off and run across the lawn, feel how each blade would feel in between his toes as he skipped along and brushed his fingertips across the foliage of the trees.

But he knew better.

Now was the time for proper manners and tucked-in shirts and warm smiles full of grace and poise. Not childish behaviours that could end up flooding every news website in Sweden. He could just see the headline now: “Boyfriend of His Royal Highness, Prince Wilhelm, runs like a crazed monkey across the front lawn on his first visit to Stockholm Palace.”

Exactly what he doesn’t need right now.

Simon feels a hand on his back, and he turns to see the driver, a polite smile on his face as he begins to make his way toward the Palace. Simon, however, feels frozen in his spot. His grubby vans and green shirt feel so plain and out of place compared to the magnificent building in front of him. And suddenly, he wants to run home and change, or smooth out his wrinkled shirt, or put a buttoned-up blazer on. Or do anything to make him feel like he actually belongs here.

He turns his gaze away from the driver and up to the castle, and there he is. Prince Wilhelm. The lace curtain of the very left window on the third floor is pushed to the side, and all Simon can see is that mop of blonde and that toothy smile, and it’s exactly what he needs. The face of the boy he loves is enough to settle any single shred of doubt in his chest.

As a small smile settles on his face, Simon closes his eyes. Breathes in deeply. Takes in the scent of that perfectly cut grass and the orange trees and the pure dense amount of royalty surrounding him. And with a final breath, his eyes are open and his feet are moving and off he goes. Towards the front doors to fucking Stockholm Palace.

He doesn’t even need to knock. A rustle comes from inside the Palace, and suddenly the doors are shoved open and Wilhelm is rushing forwards, crashing into his boyfriends’ frame and almost knocking him over. Simon quickly wraps his arms around the taller boy whilst attempting to steady his balance, not wanting to look like a complete mess in front of the paparazzi—who are waiting by the car, cameras firmly grasped in hand as they snap shots. But it would seem the other boy has plans of his own.

All too quickly, their lips are pressed together, and giggles are escaping mouths and fingers are running through hair and happiness is spreading through chests.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” Wilhelm says excitedly, pressing multiple kisses to Simon’s cheeks before giving them a gentle pinch. Simon lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, his dark curls covering his eyes, and he’s doing everything he can to not make a total ass out of himself in front of all of Sweden. But, God, he hasn’t seen Wilhelm since they graduated. Three whole months of being stuck in Bjärstad. And now that he’s finally here, he wants nothing more than to keep pressing their lips together.

But, again, Wilhelm most definitely has plans of his own. He grabs Simon's hand and pulls the shorter boy up the path and through the giant front doors he had just burst through. Then, without waiting for the driver to enter the Palace, Wilhelm pushes the doors closed and doesn’t waste a second before his lips are on Simon’s again, warm fingers gripping his boyfriends’ shirt and pulling him closer than ever. And Simon simply melts into it, his hands making their way from Wilhelm’s shoulders, sliding up to his neck and eventually resting on his jaw, his fingertips scratching at the base of his hairline.

They stay like that for what feels like forever, basking in the warm embrace of the person they love the most, mouths open and hearts beating so hard against each other’s chests.

And it’s a small cough that interrupts them. Simon lets out a groan of frustration. He turns, and it’s the driver, standing there with his eyes looking up at the roof and his hands locked together in front of him.

“Uh, did you still need me, Your Highness?” The driver questions, his gaze still averted. A small chuckle of embarrassment escapes Simon’s lips, and he rests his forehead on Wille’s shoulder.

“That’ll be all, thank you, Isak.” Wilhelm reaches his arm out, and the two shake hands before Isak nods his head and walks across the foyer of the Palace and through another door.

“Thank you, Isak,” Simon mocks in between giggles.

“Argh, shut up!” Wilhelm laughs, pressing more kisses to the other boys’ cheeks. Finally, he grabs Simon’s hand and starts to pull him further into the foyer towards more doors. “C’mon, I want to show you the grounds. They’re so pretty in summer.”

“Not as pretty as you,” Simon says quietly, lifting their intertwined hands and kissing the back of Wilhelm’s, who stops before they reach a large wooden door. The smile on his face is one full of amusement and raised eyebrows, and a small chuckle escaping his lips.

“That was so gross.”

Before Simon has time to respond, Wilhelm has dragged them through the door to reveal the back gardens, and Simon’s eyes are even wider than when he first pulled up to the estate. Small garden beds full of flowers and orange trees are placed all over the grounds, some with bird baths, others with a lemon or an apple tree next to the oranges, one even with a small river running through it. There is a brick pathway leading to an ample outdoor dining space with a huge wooden table, able to seat at least 50 people. Vines of ivy crawling up the archways with fairy lights hanging from the wooden beams above the table. The lawns are even lusher than the front garden, stretching on for a few hundred metres before it turns into the biggest lake Simon has ever seen, giant fir trees surrounding the body of water. There are two boats on the lake tied to the small pier, rocking back and forth slowly with the gentle breeze. To the left of the lake are tennis courts, and on the other side, Simon can see the pool that’s beyond the dining space—so large he’s sure that all 50 people who join them for dinner outside could also hop into the pool together after they eat.

Simon is in a state of wonder and amazement as he looks over the grounds, and everything is so perfect. And the boy holding his hand next to him makes everything feel even more perfect if that’s at all possible.

“Holy shit,” Simon breathes out. Next to him, Wilhelm chuckles. “I think I chose the right boyfriend.”

Wilhelm gives him a small shove, a huge toothy grin plastered on his face. “Hey, if I had known you were just after me for my money, I would never have kissed you first!”

“Well, good news for you then, because I kissed you first,” Simon says matter-of-factly. He licks his lips and juts them out, knowing just how much it drives his boyfriend crazy and also how badly he wants to win this faux argument.

It takes Wilhelm a few seconds of staring at Simon’s lips before licking his own and letting out a huff. “You so did not. You were walking away, and I pulled you back, and then I kissed you first.” He runs both his hands through his hair, letting the strands fall into his eyes—his own move that he knows Simon loves.

And Simon does. And he’s weak, and he can’t be bothered with this fake argument anymore. And now that there’s no press around, Simon wants to have some fun. So he kicks off his vans and takes off his socks, then, with a turn of his head, he’s off, running across the grounds towards the pool. His laugh rings through the air as he looks behind him to see Wilhelm chasing him.

“Come and get me!” He calls. “C’mon, Prince Wille, keep up!” Cheeky giggles escape his lips, and as he reaches the pool, he slows down and turns around. Wilhelm is catching up, and Simon makes the quick decision to start running again, this time towards the pier. After graduating from Hillerska, Simon had stopped rowing, and therefore his fitness levels had significantly dropped, and right now, he could definitely feel it. The aches in his legs, the heaving of his chest, the warmth in his face. But this is just too fun, and the blades of grass feel even better between his toes than he could have imagined.

Wilhelm’s footsteps are getting closer as Simon is closing in on the pier. He slows to a stop just before the small wooden bridge, his feet still firmly placed in the grass and his breaths coming out heavily. He watches his boyfriend running towards him, and he shouts, “Is that all you’ve got, Your Royal Highness?!” Laughs are escaping both their lips, and Wilhelm is slowing down as he gets closer to Simon.

Both boys stand silently for a moment as they try to catch their breath, huffs of air coming in and out of their mouths quickly. “You’re an asshole,” Wille says, the smile not leaving his face for a second as he runs his hands through Simon’s curls to mess them up.

“Good thing you love my asshole then, hey?” Simon replies, swatting his boyfriends’ hands away, a frustrated grunt escaping his lips.

“God! Shut up!”

Not giving him a second to reply, once again, Wilhelm’s lips are on Simon’s. And once again, they both melt into it instantly. And once again, it’s cut far too short then either of them would like. Simon feels a drop of something wet on his cheek, and as he pulls his mouth away from Wilhelm's, he wipes his cheek and looks up to the sky. Among their little running adventure, huge grey clouds have taken over the sky, angry and threatening to begin pouring at any moment.

And soon, that one drop becomes two, then three, then too many raindrops for Simon to keep count of. And they’re in his hair, and on Wilhelm’s cheeks, and Simon’s on hands, and covering Wilhelm’s shoulders.

And from head to toe, the two boys stand by the pier, sopping wet and completely drenched, Simon’s bare feet beginning to feel numb from the now wet and cold blades of grass. The summer sun is still beating down on them, warming their cheeks as they tip their foreheads so they’re touching, sounds of laughter and happiness tumbling out of their lips.

“I can’t believe I had to go without you for 3 whole months,” Wilhelm says, pressing a quick kiss to Simon’s lips.

“I guess we better go inside and make up for lost time,” Simon giggles in reply, returning Wille’s kiss with one of his own, slightly longer this time, however, and followed up by many more chaste kisses.

It felt like they were in their own world, just the two of them, alone finally, running around the Stockholm Palace gardens hand-in-hand. Not a care in the world. No school. No drama. No press surrounding them. They finally had their own little bubble of happiness to enjoy. And not just for a weekend or a two-week break this time, but for the entire summer. And damnit, were they going to make this the best summer of their lives.

[divina-yae]

Heey I saw you were looking for requests and you said you wanted to write for genshin as well! So in light of the new update and his lines when you put him in the tea pot, could you maybe write something where Childe brings the reader home to meet his siblings and stuff and how that would go?

Thank you!!! 💕💕

𝐇𝗼𝗺𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐬 𝐟𝐭. 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞

✹𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘚𝘖 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶!!

❥𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧!

“Guys! You’re hogging (Y/N)! This is supposed to be my vacation with them!” Childe whined, trying, in vain, to shoo his siblings away.

You sweat dropped, letting out a huff of amusement. “I thought that you wanted me to meet your siblings? Isn’t that right, Teucer?” Childe’s youngest brother grinned from where he was latched onto your shirt.

“Yeah! And we still have to make you Borsch!” You ruffled his hair, grinning. “Oh? And will you be making it?” The boy nodded proudly, but before he could respond, Childe was interrupting.

“Hey now! Making you Borsch was my idea! Shouldn’t I make it?!” He complained. “Who knew Ajax was so whiny,” Sonia snickered, pointedly.

“That’s it! Come with me, we need our own time! Away from siblings who have no sense of loyalty!” Laughter from both you and his siblings echoed around him as he dragged you away from the house.

Despite all his complaints, a warm smile was still on his face, eluding to how happy he was to see you getting on with his family.

Once you’d calmed down from your laughing fit, you took a moment to look around yourself and wondered where you were.

“Where are you taking me? It’s getting dark you know,” You stated, walking closer to his side. He just grinned, a glint of mischief shining in his eyes. “Exactly! You’ll love it, just trust me, yeah?”

You squeezed his hand, not hesitating to do exactly as he said. “Don’t make me regret it,” You joked bumping his shoulder.

He just laughed as he pulled you to the top of a snow covered hill. However, your gaze landed on a fluffy blanket, a campfire, and a basket of food.

“What is all this…?” You asked, a smile slowly spreading across your face. Childe grinned proudly, gesturing for you to take a seat. “I told you I’d show you the best scenery didn’t I? A little bit earlier I made Borsch- by myself by the way! And why we were tactfully distracting you, my big brother took everything out here!”

You were too stunned to speak for a moment. When Childe had first promised to bring you to Snezhnaya, you’d never imagined he’d go so far to show you his home, but you were in no way complaining.

“Don’t get speechless now, love, there’s still the grand finale!” You blinked surprised. What could possibly top a romantic dinner overlooking Snezhnaya?

Still, you decided to trust Childe and enjoy the present moment rather then dwell on the future. And in present moment, you were preparing to take your first bite of the Snezhnayan delicacy.

Across from you, your lover sat, watching you, his expression filled with anticipatory excitement.

The second you tasted the soup, your eyes widened and you quickly swallowed it. “Are you sure you made this? It’s so good!” The Harbinger just laughed, too happy to acknowledge your teasing.

“I’m glad you like it, even if you can’t just say that,” He sighed, mock wistfully. Your smile turned genuine as you leaned against him. “I’m just kidding, love. It’s great, you’re great. I haven’t been here long but… I don’t want to leave anytime soon.”

He lowered his face to yours, and his lips met your own with a unique softness, one that was filled with pure love. However, he pulled away far too soon, but before you could make it known, he was pointing behind you.

“Look to the sky… there’s the finale.” Following his finger, you took in what was one of the most beautiful sights you’d ever seen. Bright green and yellow ribbons of light danced across the night sky for as far as you could see.

“They’re called the ‘aurora borealis’ or the ‘northern lights’. They only happen certain times of year and I thought you’d like it,” Childe murmured, his gaze on you rather than the celestial show, not that you noticed.

“It’s beautiful… thank you, I- I don’t know what to say,” You whispered, your gaze flitting from the lights to Childe.

“Say you’ll stay by my side,” He pleaded quietly, a fond smile playing at his lips. Your forehead rested against his and your eyes fluttered shut.

“Always.”

[forever-rogue]

In Name Only - Part 5

A/N: Hello, my sunshines! Here is the re-write of the original part 5. Hopefully it’s as good as the original, and if it’s your first time reading this, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: language, period typical sexism and misogyny

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Oberyn groaned as he sat up, rubbing away the bits of sleep that were still clinging on from his tired eyes. It was before first light and his rooms were shrouded in darkness, but he knew he needed to get up in order to prepare for his journey. He needed to leave soon in order to make it out of Sunspear before day broke in order to make the long trek that would consist of several long days. 

He hadn’t slept much the evening before, his head swimming with a mixture of different thoughts, but more anything else, he had been all consumed by you. After he had kissed you, he wasn’t sure he had made the right decision, or if he had possibly ruined everything that was building between the two of you. But when you had kissed him, unsure and hesitant at first, but then melted into his touch, he realized that maybe you had wanted this too. You had looked back at him with the absolute sweetest eyes and took it everything in his power not to grab you and pull you back into his rooms then and there.

But no. This wasn’t going to be like that. This wasn’t going to be anything like that. If you wanted this, as he was beginning to think he might as well, he needed to know for sure. He wanted everything to be crystal clear, and at no point would he want to take advantage of you.

He stood up, letting his feet hit the floor with a dull thud, finding himself reluctant to leave again. Something was calling to him, encouraging him to stay, but he knew he couldn’t. There was a job to be done and he needed to do it before addressing whatever was going on within his heart and his mind. Oberyn’s gait was heavy, a sharp contrast to how light his tread normally was, as he crossed the room to his wardrobe and lazily pulled out some clothes to wear. His morning routine was simple, but today it felt overwhelming, most likely because he was unenthusiastic to leave and would rather have stayed. Stayed and spent the time with you.

But a knock came at his door and told him that everyone was waiting on him to come down so they could all leave. Grumbling his acquiescence, he grabbed the few things he planned on taking before exiting his chambers and leaving his bag in front of his door. When he stepped into the hallway, straightening his tunic with a yawn, his tired gaze fell on your door. He slowly walked over, resting his large hand on the wooden door as he debated whether or not to come in. His curiosity got the better of him and he opened the heavy door, slowly, as to not make a sound and disturb your sleep.

Once there was enough of a gap for him, he slipped inside and walked over to your bed. You were bundled up in your blankets, only your head poking out of them, a peaceful, serene expression on your face. A smile crossed his own face as he leaned down, unable to stop himself, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. A small sound escaped your lips and he worried for a moment that he had woken you, but your eyes remained closed, and you shifted slightly as your hand appeared moved to rest on top of the blankets. He looked at it closely, finding it hard to fight a smile when he saw the wedding band on your finger, the one that matched his.

“I’ll see you soon, sweet girl,” he whispered, gently touching your face, before straightening back up and slowly retreating out of the room and closing your door again. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he grew even more hesitant to leave. This pull, this strange sensation that was washing over and drawing him towards you was getting even stronger. With one last longing look at your door, he started walking down the stairs and out of the palace. He really hoped that this wouldn’t take a whole week and it would be an easy there and back job.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The journey to Yronwood was an interesting one; it required travel from his home through many different parts of Dorne, all varied and different in cultures and customs. One thing that seemed to be ever present however was the warm, welcoming feeling that was ever present wherever he went. People stopped what they were doing, coming out of their homes and shops to see their prince and greet him. Oberyn was beloved by his people and he loved them in turn. 

Many stopped for even a mere glimpse of the handsome prince, waving and shouting well wishes at him. Wishes of good fortune, health, and a long and happy marriage. He had no doubt many had been eager to see a glimpse of his new bride, but that would all come in time. For now, he was happy to keep you safe and at home, while he handled whatever troubles were brewing in Yronwood. 

The various states of Dorne were something to behold; each boasted a different look and atmosphere and yet it was all harmonic and came together beautifully. Despite having traveled the world, this would always be his favorite place to be - his home. He hoped one that day you would consider it yours too. But that was another thought for another day, when he had time to show you more. Now he needed to focus on weeding out the problem, although he was sure he had an inkling of what was going on.

As soon as Yronwood came into view, an odd sensation settled in his stomach. It was still beautiful, in its own way, but a sharp contrast to the rest of the region. Instead of the vibrancy and openness of many Dornish holds and cities, Yronwood more closely resembled the Northern parts of Westeros. A slight shudder ran down his spine at the thought. While people, namely women, retained the same liberties here as they did throughout Dorne, the reality was vastly different. No one said anything, but it was...a known fact. And as it turned out, every once in a while Doran or Oberyn had to remind them of that little detail. 

“Uncle!” Oberyn was pulled back into attention from the sound of the young man’s voice. He turned and saw his nephew, Quentyn running towards him, flanking by a few others from the castle. He was grinning from ear to ear as he stopped in front of Oberyn’s horse and took the reins while Oberyn slid off.

“My boy,” he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around his nephew, clutching him tightly to his chest. The young boy was almost the spitting image of Oberyn at his; tan and lithe, with a mop of dark curls and soft eyes, and a smile that matched his own. He’d always had a soft spot for his nephew, the only boy that was ever-present in his life; in some ways regarded him as a son rather than a nephew. He pressed a kiss to the top of head, “I’ve missed you. Look at you, you’re practically a man grown.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Quentyn grinned at him; he looked up this father, naturally, but there was no denying that Oberyn was his hero. They’d always shared a special bond, “I am glad to see you again. And what of your new wife? Are you hiding her away?”

“You will meet her soon enough,” Oberyn promised, “she’s remaining in Sunspear for the time being until I can show her more of Dorne. I figured that would be best for now, and that her first introduction to Dorne should not be with Yronwood. She’ll quite like you - and you’ll like her. She’s very kind.”

“I should be glad to meet her as well,” he grinned as the men started heading towards the castle, “perhaps I can come back home soon for a visit - or better yet, for good. I know Papa thinks I should remain here but I’d like to be home with everyone else…”

“I know,” Oberyn offered his shoulder a firm squeeze, “but for now you must remain here. It’s only for a few more years; I know it seems harsh, but your fostering is almost complete. Besides - you are a Martell. You must not bow to them, you must keep them in line too. What are your words, Quentyn?”

“Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.”

“Exactly,” Oberyn grinned, “never let them take that from you. Have they been treating you well?”

“Yes,” he said as they headed into the dreary keep, “the arms master and maester are kind and knowledgeable. It’s mainly the Yronwoods themselves, Uncle. They’re…”

“Oberyn Martell!” the booming voice was commanding and Oberyn turned on his heel to find its owner.

“Anders Yronwood,” he acknowledged with a slight bow of his head. Anders Yronwood was a tall, portly man with a scarred visage and a receding hairline. He’d seen many battles throughout his lifetime, which left him hardened in looks and personality. Oberyn had always felt there was something off about him, but he never had quite even evidence of anything to prove his claims. Instead he made sure his visits were not too infrequent. The man extended his hand and Oberyn shook it, refusing to be the first to break eye contact, “a pleasure as always. I hope things have been well.”

“Well enough to cause me to wonder why you’ve made your presence known,” he laughed, a loud boisterous thing that caused Oberyn’s skin to crawl, “shouldn’t you be enjoying the company of your new bride?”

“My nephew here informed me that there were some rumors going around,” Oberyn’s hands went to his hips as he made sure to display his trusty dagger, “merchants not getting paid enough and taxes being raised and levied against the poor. All rumors of course, but I just decided to come and make sure everything is in order. There won’t be a problem, will there?”

“Of course not, your highness,” the man’s face pulled into a worried expression for a moment before he laughed and clapped Oberyn on the back, “I’ll have chambers readied for you and your men at once but for now, we’ll get a drink and celebrate the famed Dornish Prince. Now, tell me more about this Northern whore of yours. I know they’re not good for much-”

“I would choose your next words wisely, my lord,” Oberyn’s expression shifted to one of calculated anger as he raised his eyebrows, “I will not hear you refer to my wife as such again.”

“It’s a joke!” Oberyn knew it was anything but a joke, “you know how warm and giving our women are here. The ones from the North just lie there and expect you to do all the work. But I guess it doesn’t matter, does it, as long as you can find release and they can produce a few heirs.”

“I would cease to speak if I were you,” Oberyn stopped dead in tracks as he was almost trembling with anger. Such foul, vile words from a man who called himself fair and just. He was anything but, “I’m not sure if you’re aware that women are people as well? Equal, if not better, no matter where they’re from. They do not exist solely for our pleasure or for the purpose of bearing heirs. Have you forgotten that?”

“I’m just saying,” he held his hands up in mock surrender as Oberyn glared daggers at him, “my second wife was Northern - wasn’t good for much, but managed to give me some sons. Other than that it was-”

“Listen here and listen well,” Oberyn grabbed the lapels of his robe and pulled him close. For once, Anders Yronwood appeared nervous, “you will learn to treat women, and everyone else with some decency and respect, regardless of their station. My nephew will be watching you closely - everything he sees and hears, so do I. Don’t forget where your loyalties lie - House Martell. One word and you will find yourself without a name, a title, or anything you deem so important. I am your Prince, as Quentyn. Remember that.”

His mouth pulled into a thin, tight line as he nodded in silence. He knew better than to tread on the Red Viper; even he wasn’t that foolish. Oberyn let him go before shoving him out of the way; he could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall on him, “of course, your highness.”

“Good,” he stated simply, motioning for Quentyn and a few of his men to follow, “I’ll see you around.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next few days were spent with Oberyn traveling throughout the region, along with some of his most trusted advisors and Quentyn. He'd always tried to instill in him the importance of being there for his people, and taking care of them. Much to his relief, Quentyn had no arguments following in his Uncle's footsteps. 

As it turned out, rumors that the Yronwoods were participating in salacious activities turned out to just be rumors. It didn't mean however, that the people were happy with their rule. Oberyn would make it a point to bring up the peoples' apprehensions; he knew he had to deal with what was going on within the castle walls first and foremost. He noticed more and more that things were off as the days had passed and they had left him with an uneasy feeling. 

More than anything, he'd gotten to the conclusion that he was missing you. It had started off as a slow, underlying feeling, but with more and more time passing, he understood what it was. He still had so much to learn about you, and vice versa, but gods, he already missed your smile and that kind hearted spirit you openly displayed. He couldn't wait to be back in Sunspear.

On this particular evening, the prince had retired to his temporary chambers early, leaving the grand hall before the sun had even set. He was feeling restless and growing listless the longer his stay in Yronwood grew. He'd gone for a walk earlier that day, and spoken with some townspeople, but that had only taken up so much of his time. 

A heavy sigh passed his lips as he stoked the fire in the corner to provide some light and warmth. It was almost laughable; this was the only part of his kingdom that wasn't light and airy.  This was cold and dreary and the lack of light and life made his heart heavy. But it was no matter, he reminded himself, he would be home soon enough.

He settled into the small, uncomfortable and uninviting bed and grabbed his book. If nothing else he'd have something to occupy his mind. 

And for a while, it worked. At first his thoughts had kept drifting back to you and Sunspear. He wondered what you were up to, if you'd had full, happy days. He couldn't imagine you shut away and hidden like he currently was. Maybe you liked to read too - maybe at night he could read to you or you to him. Still so many mysteries that would need answers. He hoped one day that he would get them all.

As he allowed himself to concentrate on his book, a quiet, almost timid knock came at his door. Raising a brow, he decided against answering it, thinking that perhaps it wasn't intended for him after all. But then it came again, but less timid this time, followed by a quiet, "y-your highness?"

A look of confusion crossed his features as he got up from the bed and made his way to the door. He opened it with slight hesitation as he spied a young girl on the other side. She wore a thick, dark robe and a nervous expression as she met his eyes. He stepped to the side as he let her in and cast a glance down the hall.

"What is your name?" he asked, shutting the door as she looked at him with wide doe eyes, "how can I help you?"

"I don't have a name," she answered softly, "and it doesn't matter. I am a gift...from Lord Anders for your pleasure. Whatever you like, My Prince, I will do to you or for you."

"Why would he send you?" Oberyn ran a hand over tired face as he internally groaned. He knew exactly what Yronwood was up to. He shook his head to himself, "did he force you? Threaten you if you didn't come?"

"O-of course not, my prince," her face faltered for a moment as she reached up and ran her hands over his broad chest. She looked young, so young, and despite her assertion that she wanted to be there. He had a feeling that while she might not have been averse to him, she was nervous, "it is an honor and privilege to pleasure the famous Prince of Dorne." 

He sucked in a breath as she pushed his robe off of his shoulders. He couldn't  feel the inner turmoil within him start to rear up. While he wasn’t normally one to pass up such an offer, he couldn’t in good conscience have the young woman. She clearly wasn’t up to this on her own merits and he would never take advantage of another; Oberyn would be in his grave before he did that. He took a step back and shook his head. He wasn’t going to do this anymore; he was, in some odd sense, already committed to you. You’d never even told him that you wanted more than a friendly relationship, but he couldn’t help his mind from wandering back to you. 

“Please do not feel obligated to do anything of the sort,” he insisted, swallowing the lump in his throat. She pushed the woolen robe from her shoulders and let it fall into a small heap on the cold stone. Oberyn couldn’t help but look her over, immediately surprised by the fact that she was bare underneath. He knew it didn’t matter what he did with her, technically, since you’d both agreed that either of you could do whatever you wanted with whomever. She took a step closed and put a delicate hand on his cheek. 

“Please,” she insisted with an odd glint in her eyes. Part of him was conflicted but before knew what was happening, something came over him and his hands found her hips as he pushed her towards the bed. She easily complied and laid on her back as Oberyn loomed over. His hands were on her sides as he bent down and kissed with a deep hunger. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close to her, nervously kissing him back.

Before it could go too far, to the point of no return, Oberyn caught himself and looked down at her. That’s when it hit him - she wasn't you. He stopped immediately and moved off the bed, shaking his head furiously. The young girl was so startled by his sudden actions that a flush of warmth crossed her features as she worried she had committed some wrong.

"My Prince," she stammered nervously, grabbing the blanket and covered herself up, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do anything wrong. I-I…"

"No," he held up his hand and picked up the discarded robe, gently handing it back to her, "you've done nothing wrong. I'm afraid the fault is on me."

“Is everything alright?” she made quick work of dressing herself before offering him a timid smile, “I can...send someone else, if I did not please you…”

“No,” he insisted as he gently brushed back her hair, helping her tie the robe, “I won’t take advantage of this situation...besides that, it appears my heart seems to lie with my wife at this time.”

“Your wife,” she smiled slightly at the thought, “she must be very lucky to call you her husband. You’re a good man, my Prince. Much better than the pigs around here-”

As soon as her last words left her lips, a look of surprise crossed her features. Clearly, she hadn’t meant to voice her thoughts out loud. 

“I believe I am the lucky one,” did you feel the same? He hoped you did, “tell me one thing. Did Anders Yronwood threaten you if you did not come here? What did he say?”

“He…” she looked at him, searching his eyes to make sure it was safe to confide in him. He answered with a small nod and encouraged her to go on, “he has several women he favors...women that are not his wife. He considers it a gift to share them with visitors. If we do not...if we do not do as we are told...we can be punished.”

“Punished?” his brows shot straight up.

“I’ve seen it a few times,” she whispered, “they’ll get beaten until they are left a mess. I-I can’t go back, please, don’t let me go back. Not tonight. He’ll hurt me too if he thinks I've displeased you or we haven't done anything."

"Its alright," Oberyn promised her, his blood already boiling with anger. He was glad he came - apparently his little message to Yronwood hadn't quite gotten through to him. Oberyn would make sure that he received it. He must have been extremely stupid or brash in order to think he could get away with sending his gift in such a manner, "go to your chambers, and remain there. I'll make sure you're safe - now and always. If anything ever happens again you or anyone in this castle, you are to let my nephew Quentyn know. He'll get word to me and I'll be here to help however I can. You mustn't be afraid, you've got me as a friend now."

"I don't know how I could ever thank you," her eyes were closed with tears as she couldn't help but her arms around him. He hugged her tightly and offered her a few more well wishes before opening the door to her, "you really are as they say. A good, kind, and just Prince. And handsome at that. Thank you again. I hope our paths again, and that I can meet your wife, preferably under better circumstances."

"As do I," he agreed, "until our paths cross again."

He watched her go, making sure she was safe and out of sight before closing the door and locking it behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and let out a long, wary sigh. He couldn't help himself from wondering what it would be like to kiss you in such a manner. Would you be receptive? Would you be eager and happy? Or perhaps you wanted to keep him at bay. Whatever life decided to throw at you both, he supposed he would discover your true desires soon enough.

For now, he had more pressing matters to attend. He was going to make sure Anders Yronwood knew exactly who he was dealing with. He grabbed the book he had been reading and tossed it onto the table before sliding back into bed and pulling the covers up and bundling up.

He quickly fell into a deep, restless slumber. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, all of his thoughts drifting back to you. He wondered if you could feel it, all his warm and tender thoughts all the way back home in Sunspear. It was a comforting thought to know that you were both looking at the same moon and falling asleep under the same stars. It made the world seem that much smaller. It almost felt like you were there with him, at his side where he wished you were.

The thought alone of seeing you again, that sweet smile and lovely face, was enough to finally get him off to sleep. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

If Anders Yronwood was a gruesome and horrible overlord, his son Cletus was his mirror in every worse and still worse. It was a small solace that Cletus was not the heir to Yronwood, but rather that fell to his sister, Gwyneth. Oberyn had only met her on a few occasions, but he knew she was miles above the rest of her family. It was fortunate that Dorne did not follow the traditional customs of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and only allowed male heirs. 

The Great Hall was bustling and loaded with rowdy people, causing an uneasy feeling to well up in Oberyn's stomach. It might have seemed lively, but once he looked closer, he could see that the only people having any semblance of a good time were the men of the keep. 

He rolled his eyes to himself as he grabbed a quiet seat at the end of the hall, attempting to keep hidden in the shadows. But it was no use - it continually proved to be a challenge when tried to pretend he was not the Prince when he was so easily recognizable. 

"Oberyn Martell," he was starting to hate the sound of his own name as Cletus took a seat next to him. He grimaced slightly as he turned to face the sudden interruption, "a pleasure as always."

"Cletus," he acknowledged, attempting to cut off the situation as quickly as he could. Cletus looked around and quickly flagged down one of the servants, waving her over obnoxiously as a nervous, vacant expression crossed her gestures.

"Go and get the biggest and best plates of food for myself and the Prince," he commanded as she refused to meet his eyes and nodded in understanding, "now."

"Are you always like this with people, Cletus?" 

"Only with people that deserve it," he leaned back in his chair and shrugged, clearly disinterested, "she's a kitchen wench. There's really not much to it."

"She's a person," a frown graced his features as he shook his head internally, "all people deserve to be treated with respect and kindness. What if she'd spoken to you in such a manner?"

"She wouldn't dare. I am her Lord-

"And yet still just a person," Oberyn snapped, "one who can be made to bend the knee with a single word from me."

Cletus remained silent as he stared anywhere but Oberyn's face. The silence was awkward and tense, easily cut with the dullest of knives. The Princes' fingers danced around the hilt of his dagger but he managed to stay his hand. One wrong move and it would cause an uproar. If it wouldn't have been such a risky move, he was half tempted to eradicate the problem then and there.

"Here you are my Lord, my Prince," the young woman had made a nervous return as she put two full plates of food in front of the men. They were overflowing with food that looked dry and sad and bland. There was so much flavor and spice available, yet this looked anything but. Oberyn thanked her gently while Cletus remained silent, "if there's nothing else, I'll attend to my other duties."

Before she could make her escape, Cletus grabbed her wrist and pulled her down to his level. She yelped in surprise as she tried to pull out of his clutches on instinct, "I'll see you in my chambers this evening. Don't be late like the last time or I'll have to punish you again. You don't want that, do you?"

"N-no, my Lord," she stammered nervously as he let go of her and she stumbled backwards from his tight grip. Oberyn's rage flared up when he spotted what appeared to be fading bruises along her shoulders and neck, "I will be there and on time.”

“Good,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand while Oberyn pushed his plate away. His already meager appetite had all but diminished. Cletus took a large bite, ignorantly unaware of the wrath that he had just brought upon himself, “you have to teach them...they’re not good for much else.”

“You’ve laid your hands on her,” it wasn’t so much a question as it was a direct statement. Cletus nodded lightly but kept shoving his mouth full of food, “you require her to warm your bed as well? How many others are there?”

“Maybe a dozen or so,” he shrugged, “we like to rotate through them. The one you were sent last night was one of the newest. A special treat.”

Unable to control himself any longer, Oberyn quickly pulled his dagger out and stabbed into the table between the two men, right near Cletus’ left hand. His mouth hung open at the action as he nervously looked at his Prince. 

“If I ever hear again of you touching any man, woman, or child in this castle, or anywhere, it will be the last time you do anything. You will not harm them, or require them to sleep with you,” he spat out as he grabbed his collar and pulled him close, “you will treat everybody, regardless of their position or station in life with respect. This is the Dornish way - the only way. I will have eyes on you and your family and your entire family. Do you understand me, boy?”

“You wouldn’t dare-”

“Oh,” Oberyn’s lips curled up in a devilish smile, “I would. Do you really want to find out what I will do? They call me the Red Viper for a reason - but I’m not afraid to resort to calling in the Boltons to flay you alive. My word is law around here and it’s time you and your filthy father learned to respect it.”

“You have no power,” he hissed nervously, casting a glance at the dagger that could have easily ended his life. The Great Hall had grown silent as all eyes were trained on the two men, “your brother rules.”

“Aye,” Oberyn nodded, “but it just so happens I rule too. I am the Prince of Dorne, boy, and Doran’s most trusted advisor. But again, if you want to take your chances…”

“Let me go,” he insisted in panic. 

“Remember where your loyalties lie,” Oberyn’s voice was quiet and dangerously low as he leaned in so only Cletus could hear him, “House Martell. We are your power - you will do as well say or your entire family can go off to the North...maybe even the wall. This is Dorne, and you will respect our way of life. A name and a title doesn’t keep you safe; not here. I will personally come and dole out justice if I need to. My nephew will be watching closely - one wrong move and I will hear it. You even think about touching as much as a hair on his head, you will have not just my wrath to fear, but all of Dorne’s. If I ever hear of anything like this again, you will rue the day. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"

"Yes," he whispered quietly as Oberyn grabbed his dagger and held it to the man's throat. Be pressed just enough to make an ident into his skin but not hard enough to draw blood, "crystal clear, your highness."

"Good," he insisted before pulling away and shoving Cletus away. Oberyn sighed  heavily as he got up and started to storm away. Before he left the Hall, he turned around and held up his arms. Every eye in the house was still on him, "and let this be a lesson and warning to everyone here. If I so much hear a whisper or breath of anything happening that goes against the laws set forth by House Martell, you will face our justice. Here in Dorne everyone is equal and will be treated with respect and dignity. If you have a problem with that, feel free to leave or you will personally face my blade."

There was small murmuring of acknowledgement as Oberyn left the hall, standing tall and proud. As much as he hated flaunting rule or power over anyone, sometimes he knew it needed to be done; equality for all was something he was extremely passionate about. They were lucky in some ways, to have him as their Prince. While he could be firm and violent, he was tame compared to some of the other Lords and rulers throughout the Kingdoms. He might have been the Red Viper, deadly and dangerous, but he was also fair and just as long as no one tread on him.

As soon as he reached an empty spot in the hall, he leaned against the wall and let out a long sigh, hiding his tired face in his hands. He’d seen more than enough and was ready to be gone from this foul place. All he could think about was making it back home to Sunspear, back home to you. 

“Uncle!” Quentyn ran up to him, barely able to contain the little smirk on his face, “is everything okay? I heard the last bit of your little speech.”

“This place is dreadful,” he sighed as Quentyn nodded in agreement, “of all the places your father had to choose to sequester you, it had to be here. I understand his reasoning, and yet the idea still makes me ill. We’ll have you home soon, I promise. For now, I want you to be our eyes and ears here. I know it’s a lot to ask, but do you think you can handle it?”

“Of course,” he grinned and nodded eagerly, “I’m always excited to help however I can.”

“Good boy,” he pulled him into a tight hug before kissing the top of his head, “you make us all very proud.”

“My Prince,” one of Oberyn’s men found him, a concerned look on his face, “Anders Yronwood has heard of your little outburst and he’s not happy…”

“I don’t care,” Oberyn insisted, “if he has a problem with our rules, he can leave. My word is law. Now, let us pack up and be rid of this horrid place. I want to get home and back to my wife."

"I can have everyone ready to leave within a few hours," Oberyn gave him a thankful squeeze on his shoulder, "and we'll get you back home to Sunspear as quickly as possible, your highness."

"I am forever in your debt," the idea of you waiting at home for him was enough to cast a warm feeling all over his body. He was more than ready to see you again - to kiss you again - everything. If nothing else, his time in Yronwood had been enough to give him a sense of clarity and peace. He really did want to try with you, he wanted to see you. The revelation was enough to send him in a tale spin.

"Aye," he grinned at his Prince, "we'll get you back to her post haste. Besides, the Lady made us swear to bring you back home safely. She's eager to have you back, no doubt."

"I am eager to be back with her as well," Oberyn's grin threatened to break his face in half, "and back with some decent company. Until later then."

"Unbowed, unbent, unbroken."

"Unbowed, unbent, unbroken." 

[everlarkficexchange]

the song of my heart (plays in you)

Written by: @thelettersfromnoone

Prompt 108: Everlark fall for one another over a blood transfusion. It happens not once, but twice. His blood runs through her veins, and now hers runs through his. What are the odds they would save each other’s lives? [submitted by @mandelion82]

Rated: Teen and up; mentions of: car wrecks, physical and mental trauma, amputation.

Tags: One-shot, Soulmates, Time Jump(s), Blood-Oaths.

Word count: 2342.

Notes: Unbetaed. All mistakes are my own. Thanks to @javistg and @xerxia31 for being amazing hosts for this exchange ❤️

“The blood [of the covenant] is thicker than [the] water [of the womb].”

“Mama, tell the story again?” Grey eyes peek up shyly through dark eyelashes, fingers curling the folds of her mother’s nightgown. “ ‘bout the dream-people?”

“It’s late, darlin’,” Mama murmurs with a soft smile. She presses a kiss to her daughter’s brow. “Papa will tell the long version tomorrow, hm?”

The girl’s lower lip pops out in a pout- papa is the better storyteller, but she wants to hear the story tonight. She snuggles against her mama’s belly, whispering a ‘night-night’ to the baby they say is growing in there.

“There once was a boy who was called to war, to fight for a king in a land far from home. Though he survived many times in battle, one day, an enemy struck him, and he was hurt, something terrible. At death’s door, his friends brought him to a healer’s house, who saved his life. As he recovered, he grew to love the healer’s daughter, and she grew to love him. In time, when he was recovered, his king came calling on him again. Before he left, the boy and the healer’s daughter made a blood-oath. They drew their own blood, and held their wounds against one another. They vowed that, from that moment until they met again, the song of their blood would call out for one another, no matter how far.”

Her little hand reaches over to mama’s, pressing their palms flush. “Like this?”

“Mhm,” Mama interlaces their fingers, kissing her daughter’s knuckles. “Just like this. Every night, while he was away, all they needed to do was close their eyes, and they could feel one another’s feelings, and see through one another’s eyes.”

“Till forever?” The little girl’s eyes are growing heavy, a yawn coming in spite of her best efforts. “Mama, it’s til’ forever, right?”

Mama doesn’t answer straight away. When she does, it’s soft as a butterfly’s flight; “Till forever, until they found each other again.”

The little girl’s breathing evens out, eyes slipping shut. 

(She’s always wanting a happy ending.)

She’s twelve and using the computer unsupervised the first time she looks it up on a whim. She is meant to be researching poetry, but that quickly becomes dull. 

Instead, the rabbit hole of the web sucks her in.

According to the internet page that comes up, a Blood-Oath Soulmate is defined as a myth, steeped in legend: a couple who, when faced with separation, make a blood-oath that allows them to see, hear, and feel one another across the thousands of miles. 

The origin, exactly, is unclear. It’s a myth with several cultural variants- in her own region, Twelve, and in the northern regions of Åtta, Tio, and Tretton, the war is won, and the boy returns to the healer’s daughter. By contrast, in the southwest, they say the boy earned a glorious warrior’s death, and the girl grieves but honors his memory. In almost all the other regions, the myth is drawn out, many side-adventures and evils hinder the boy’s path home, and by the time the boy finds his way back to his love, amidst a continent of misery, they both are old and grey. It’s not clear where the myth started, some say it’s a retelling of an old Sumerian tale; others, that it comes from Viking oral lore. Some, still, argue that they all are true, that the same fate spreads itself throughout time, throughout the world, in different ways. 

All modern experts, essentially, concur on the matter of the story’s implausibility. The human body replenishes its blood count within weeks, one discussion board points out.

It was just a myth to make humans feel their love could be impermeable, or withstand the tests of distance and challenges, claims another. Or, one user with a profane avatar states, the modern meaning is just guess-work and the cultural context and any kernels of truth will forever be lost.

And everyone knows there’s no such thing as a soulmate.

Kat feels her stomach clench as she quickly exits the browser, lonely in the wake of her father’s death, and her mother’s subsequent depressive episode, and still clinging to her mother’s hushed telling of a love that is palpable down to the bone.

(She can’t decide if knowing it’s ‘just a story’ hurts or helps more. The veneer of childhood is always treasured for a reason.)

She is seventeen when it happens. 

A flash of a medical room. Harsh fluorescent lights. Thick, strong hands trying to block the light out. Starched sheets, scratching skin. A pinch of a needle and stifled shout- 

She wakes covered in sweat. 

Something is wrong, niggles at the back of her mind. Her pounding heart beats out wrong, wrong, wrong. She pushes it away, presses the thought down. She manages to lull herself back to sleep, a deep, imageless thing, but the wrongness sticks with her. 

The next night is nearly identical, except the stranger’s hands are tearing off the bedsheets. A stump of a knee rests where a leg should extend. A panicking voice, a nurse, shouts for help as the struggling and screaming begins-

“Where’s my fucking leg?!”

Kat wakes with a jolt, strangled gasps as she pushes her own blankets off, hands grasping at her limbs, the phantom terror and horror bringing bile up her throat. 

What was that?

A dreamless sleep doesn’t find her again, her eyes bruising with nights of nightmares and days of exhaustion. The hospital, the scratchy sheets, the nurses and medications and injections. 

One week, then another.

She’s in Civics class when it occurs to her. 

The blood drive, at the beginning of May. She’d turned seventeen, and finally weighed enough to donate blood.

Could it be…?

She sleeps in, one Saturday morning, when they are fitting a prosthetic on her stranger; crutches and halting steps as those beefy hands grip support bars.

“Just a step further,” a voice encourages. 

Shame and frustration, and a deep, croaking voice lashes out of the throat-

“I can’t!”

You can, you can, you can, she tries to will the stranger her confidence.

The figure stills, and for a moment, she thinks they can hear her. 

“I’m done,” they say, and in spite of the disappointment on the nurse’s face, a man in a white lab coat agrees, and helps them back into a wheelchair.

Kat feels the sinking failure, the desperate yearning to help this person, this stranger. There are only nurses and doctors, in her dreams. She knows what it means to be lonely, even when there are people around; what it means when you wake up in emotional pain, but have no one to share it with.

She wants to tell her stranger it will all be all right, but the weeks pass and she can only confide her secret to herself. They wouldn’t believe her, even if she could say it in person.

Where is your family? she tries to ask.

They never seem to hear her.

(Waking becomes harder, but she can’t confide in anyone that she wakes wishing she could live in her dreams without them thinking she’s gone mad.)

They are kneading dough, seated at a wood table in a cluttered kitchen. The prosthetic is fitting to the leg, tender today but not sore, exactly. She can smell the flour and feel the silky-smooth texture between her fingers. Smoothe jazz music is playing, from a radio over on the counter. She feels a hand squeezing her stranger’s shoulder.

“Looks good, Pete.” It’s a gruff voice, but not unkind.

“Needs to rise,” her stranger- ‘Pete’!- retorts. They don’t look up, but she can feel a flush on her ‘Pete’s’ cheeks.

“We got some coursework from the school, then.”

(She doesn’t realize this is the last she will dream of her stranger.)

The dreams evaporate, after eight weeks, as abruptly as they had begun.

In the aftermath of her first dreamless night in over a month, she wakes to the dawn breaking with no images from her stranger. 

‘Pete’. 

She tries to will herself back to sleep, compel visions back from the brink. It’s the first night she thinks to try and remember the names of the doctors and nurses, or the location of the hospital. The nametags are foggy in her memories, a nurse Jackie or Jenny and a last name they had abbreviated to, ‘A.’ 

The internet doesn’t help her any more than her own mind can. ‘An amputee named ‘Pete’ who likes to knead dough and is doing high school coursework at home’ doesn’t do much in a White Pages search. 

She writes it all down, then, each snippet and sound she can recall. She keeps the journal under her mattress, knowing her mother won’t bother, and her baby sister wouldn’t dare to look. 

Like a madwoman, she rereads her own accounts, adds notes to it every morning, hoping the dreams will start again. But every morning, the dreams seem more as if they were fantasies, and her journal reads like fiction.

A year passes. 

Her dreams now are either blank, or memories of ‘Pete’.

She could blame it on her family friend, and his stupid insistance that she attend Prom; or maybe the girlfriends she eats lunch with, who guilt her by saying that everyone needs a life outside of school, and after-school jobs.

Kat had only driven into town because she needed a damn dress. Two weeks later, and she would have been exhausted from Prom as she crossed the school stage, collecting her high school diploma.

Nothing pans out the way she imagines it will, though.

She’s alone in the car when a truck in the oncoming lane overturns at a curve in the road.

Pain bursts on her head. Flames against her skin. Crushed metal, and broken glass. In the distant fog of wailing sirens, she can hear first responders attempting to call out to her. 

The only thing she remembers seeing clearly, between the accident and the hospital, is smoke rising into a blue, cloudless sky, through a shattered windshield.

“You lost a lot of blood, Kat,” the doctor says, tone not unsympathetic. “We had to do a transfusion.”

“Oh.”

She blinks, a haze of morphling in her preventing her from fully comprehending. Some broken bones. A neck brace. Burns on her face and arms, but not as bad as they first had thought- she won’t need skin grafts.

All small mercies.

Her sister and mama are there, balloons and flowers and hugs a-plenty. Get-well-soon cards from several classmates and family friends.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” her mama murmurs, as the doctor leaves.

“Okay.”

Mama runs her fingers through Kat’s knotted hair, while her sister clings and tells her how much she loves her.

She’s not numb, not beneath the morphling. But she’s so damn tired and her skin itches under the bandages. 

(She can’t comfort her family while they try their hand at comforting her.)

She is washing her hands in the hospital room sink, when she feels a jolt, a compulsion; a chill down her spine and gooseflesh down her arms. She looks in the mirror, and feels in awe, feels a foreign elation. A burst of affection, a warmth. 

She can’t reckon with it, can’t justify it. 

It’s just… her own face. Sloppily braided dark hair. Healing stitches on her cheek, and forehead. Silver eyes, surrounded by a bruise, set in a narrow face. She gulps, leaning in closer, and trying to grasp the sensation. Out-of-body, might be the right term- dissociative, she’d read about once, for Health and Wellness. 

There’s a knock on her door, the nurse doing a check, and as Kat turns, the warmth dissipates.

The nurse comes in not long after, checks her vitals and asks a series of questions.

“My name is Katniss Everdeen.”

That warmth in her chest is back, the hair at the base of her neck stands straight.

She scrubs her hands over her face, focusing on the simple questions the nurse is asking.

“I’m eighteen years old. I’m graduating from PPH12 in Sommen in one week. I’m at Merchant Memorial Hospital.”

In the bathroom that night, she stares at her own reflection, and wonders if maybe that feeling of someone looking over her shoulder- more like looking through her eyes- if maybe….

She fogs up the mirror, and writes her room number. She stares at it, for a time, before scoffing at own ridiculousness, and wiping it away with her towel.

She only has one day left before being discharged, though she’ll miss graduation and the parties that would entail. She can’t say she is particularly disappointed; she’s never been a party person.

She’s awake when the door to her shared hospital room opens. She pays it little mind. The curtain around her bed is pulled taught, her roommate jabbering away on their phone about the food service as if this were fine dining, rather than a hospital. Kat is reading a get well card, this one signed by the whole senior class and class advisors.

There’s a thrumming in her veins, but that might be them weaning her off of the morphling.

Curtain rings scrape against metal, and she barely glances up, the nurse rounds due any minute now. Normally, though, the bubbly nurse who does the day-shift is already bustling with an overwhelming enthusiasm that makes Kat question how exhausted the nurse is at the end of the day.

Maybe it’s a different nurse or a doctor or mama, or- 

The blue eyes that are boring into hers are ones she has only seen in her dreams; she can finally see blonde curls framing them, familiar thick, strong hands brushing through the curls. 

“Pete?” she croaks, certain she’s finally lost her damn mind.

His eyes widen at the sound of his name, lips parting. 

“I found you.” 

A tone of surprise, as if he’d driven all this way, but in expectation of disappointment.

“Peeta,” he introduces himself, edging closer. His hand carefully takes hold of her own. “And… I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Katniss.”

(Her name has never been spoken as sweetly, and her heart has never felt so full.)

[drazzilder]

A Hellish Encounter

Art credit goes to @stormcallart

By Drazzilder

You're an escaped test subject from a United States testing facility. You have been on the run for years when one day you meet the man that can change everything.

Chapter 1: Regret

The soft sounds on the morning are suddenly interrupted by the harsh noise from the alarm clock. A large hand tiredly aims for the off button which is found after a few attempts. The man attached to that hand wakes up begrudgingly with some groans and cracking joints. He slowly gets up to get ready for the day, heading toward the bathroom. As he enters, he sees his reflection, but he doesn’t hold on it long. He can’t stand the sight of himself. The man in the mirror may be Endeavor, but Enji doesn’t like what he sees. He should be happy on his 40th birthday but he can’t stop his mind from racing. He hurt his family; his first son died from his own power, his youngest was scarred by his mother, and the rest of his children where mentally neglected and abused by Enji himself. Enji’s wife, Rei, couldn’t handle the stress and guilt from everything and ended up in a mental institution soon after hurting Shoto, but by then it was so bad that she took her own life two years ago.

Enji sees all of this when he looks at himself in the mirror. It affects him so much that looking makes him sick to his stomach. He quickly looks away and gets ready for the day.

Coming into the kitchen, Enji sees Shoto, getting ready for school with the help of the nanny Hina. Fuyumi and Natsuo already left for school. Hina is the fourth nanny they have had in 2 years. She has been there the longest because she knows no one else will stand the family and someone needs to be there for the children. Plus, she is the only one who can actually stand up to Endeavor and is not afraid of him. She knows he would never hurt her.  When Hina looked at Enji, the look on his face made her stop what she was doing.

“Everything ok Mr. Todoroki?”

“I’m fine…” he answered in a gruff tone, letting her know that he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Im off to school dad, are we still training this afternoon?”

“Good, and yes we always train on Wednesdays!” Sounding more annoyed than anything.

They finish up breakfast and getting their things ready for the day. They soon left the house and went to their final destinations. Enji made it to his agency and meet his secretary.

“Sanji, after I’m done with today’s paperwork, where is my patrol going to be today?”

“Sir, you will be taking the northern end of Tokyo”

“Very well. Thank you Sanji”

“Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy Birthday.”

Sanji is the only one to acknowledge the day let alone tell you happy birthday. She has been working for you for years and knows almost everything that has happened. Enji knows he can trust her with anything so of course she would be the only one to wish him a happy birthday. Enji quickly finished up his paperwork, at least quickly as he could. He squinted and moved the papers so he could read everything clearly. “I’m going to need glasses soon” the man thinks to himself but is to stubborn to actually go get them. After this. is done, he takes a quick lunch and heads out for his afternoon patrol of the city. He does a few heroic acts here and there, but overall the day seems to be quite boring. He is kinda glad because all he wants to do is go home and sulk. That is, until Sanji called.

“Sir, there is a bomb threat at Shibuya crossing!”

“Why are you calling me? Just send some of the sidekicks to handle the bomb.”

“Sir, he is asking for you and the whole crossing is being held hostage. The man has a dirty bomb, please!”

“Alright, I’m on my way!” He says as he rushes off a full speed.

As Endeavor arrives, he assesses the situation, and it’s not ideal. There are hundreds of people on the ground face down, the other hero’s and police and in a standoff with the lone assailant in the center. The man is dressed in tailored suit. Everything is fitted perfectly, not even a single strand of hair is out of place. How he managed to hold everyone hostage quickly becomes clear as he is voicing his demands.

“Ah! Endeavor, I was wondering when the number 2 hero would show up. Be careful what you do, as you can see, I am wearing this fetching bomb vest with matching dead man switch! See how it brings out the green in my eyes. Oh, I almost forgot, the rest of my ensemble is filled with anthrax, one of a kind thread thread makes this silky smooth lining. Plus, shoulder pads are coming back into to style this season, so why not make them special! As you can see, if anyone makes any wrong moves, all of these people will suffer because of you!” The man finishes his speech with an evil laugh. Endeavor knows that he can’t do anything which is just making him hotter as his flames grow brighter around his face. The villain takes one quick look at Endeavor. “Better watch your temper” he quips, “we wouldn’t want to get all hot under the col…..” The villain stops.

Everyone looks almost in shock as the villain has stopped completely. He can still move his eyes and blink but he is completely immobile. No one moves because they are afraid what ever is happening will end just as suddenly as it started. That is until one person gets up and starts walking toward the villain.

You are frail looking, very thin, eyes sunken in, bags under your eyes. Wearing tattered clothes with matching long shaggy hair, representing the years you have been on the street. Your eyes are the most startling part of you as your left eye is completely white with no sign of a pupil and the other is black with red glowing iris. You look at Endeavor and just say “Stand back” in a weak voice. You are so tired but you can’t just sit back and let people get hurt. As you walk closer to the villain, his eyes show more and more fear. He now knows it is you holding him still. Once your next to him, you place a hand on the bomb vest and give it all your attention. As this is happening, the other heroes are yelling their concerns for your safety. “Sir, it’s not safe” “You need to step back” “Sir are you alright?!” All of these go over your head as you are concentrating on the task at hand: saving these people.

Suddenly, the bomb vest starts to glow a little, just enough for Endeavor and the other heroes to notice. A flash of light and then darkness again as everyone notices the bomb is gone. Just as fast as the bomb disappeared, a large explosion happened overhead. “Was that the bomb?” “Did he teleport it away?” “What happened?” Hero’s rush to the villain and detain him. Endeavor approaches you because in his gut he knows something is wrong.

“How can this man have a teleportation and a body controlling quirk?” He thought as he gets next to you. Suddenly, you cough up some blood and collapse from the effort you put out. Everything was too much for you in the state you were in. Your body could not give anything more. Endeavor catches you and he looks right at you as you try to reach his face while barely being able to say “Help me…” as you pass out completely.

Next Chapter