#not sure what to title it for a thread but hope this helps get your muse back Mage!

[whiskeysmulti]

He'd stepped out for a smoke, avoiding the others as much as he could sometimes was healthier than nothing. In the quiet peace and serenity of the outdoors, he reached for his cigarettes but recalled a promise he'd made to cut back. "God damn it!" Gokudera crumpled the pack and shoved it back into his pocket muttering something about stupid health and stupid promises as he pulled out a replacement to help with the oral fixation and started chewing a pocky. He hadn't expected to find anyone out there, but when he saw her specifically, he wondered if she was even okay right now. This girl who had been so attached to Mukuro before was strangely all alone. Chrome was still a fellow guardian though and as the future right hand of the tenth, it was his job to check on the others and ensure they were okay. "Oi, what the hell are you doing out here alone?"

@astrxthesiai

[running-with-kn1ves]

Desperation

A/N: I wrote something very similar to this with the Belsire previously but I couldn't help myself 🙏

Belsire: male equivalent to the Beldam (Coraline)

CW: kidnapping, manipulation, sewing needles

A beautiful lullaby hummed against your ear, fog-like breath both chilly and thick caressed against its shell.

You never imagined that he could sew; sure, he was keen to cook you extravagant dinners, you never saw him clean despite the crooked house always spotless, and the clothes that were put in your drawers were consistently washed-- but such delicate needlework? You didn't think the creature had it in him. His fingers seemed made for it though, long and spindly and black at the tips, they held the needle at a fine point, without having to lick the end of the thread before putting it through the eye.

"Stab the needle through the eye....wrap two knots around the tongue, and pull it out the mouth."

His low, rasped voice was unlike anything you've heard from the men in the "real" world. Its croaky demure made sound as if his vocal chords were on the brink of snapping. It was very few and far between that his voice resounded throughout the house in a thunder-like boom.

Tonight, was not one of those nights. Not unless you made an effort to wrangle out of between his stick-like forearms in the wooden chair and began yelling ungrateful spiels whilst staying in HIS house. He said it was yours-- your "other home," but since the gateway tunnel back to your original 1-bedroom apartment became nothing but sturdy drywall with a key hole, its been his. It was always his, you were just too blind to see past the beautiful illusions built for you.

"Just like that... mending is simple work."

You feel his left hand, the one once holding your torn cardigan steady, reach up to lay a cold finger beneath your chin. It rubs back and forth, relishing in the warmth of your throat, the soft flesh between your jaw and jugular.

The Belsire seemed to enjoy running his smooth, icy digits along your naked skin, brushing from side to side, up and down to dip against your collar bone. He relished your warm-bloodedness from how often he took advantage of it. It was a wild contrast to his ever-frozen, rigid body draped in fine blacks and bruised shadows.

"C-can you show me again?" You plead, hoping the end of this activity wouldn't be the finale before your demise. Each time you have one of these "bonding" sessions the Belsire encourages you to entertain him with, you anticipate it being your last.

Each day you wait and wait... wondering if he's hungry again, if it'll hurt, if you'll make one more frustrated comment away that'll make him snap and pick your bones clean.

"Again..?" He tapped thrice on your neck, a twitching habit that sent cold shocks through you. "Why don't you try it yourself this time, dear?"

The sweet, affectionate name oozing from his lips was unnatural-- and yet, perfectly normal for the creature of love seduction. How many had fallen for that same adoring title, only to find themselves now locked in his stomach?

You couldn't tell anymore what was genuine adoration, or a disturbing method at getting you to put your guard down. When he was angry with you, for hiding or attempting another escapade to get back home,  'dear' transformed to spits of "insolent one" and "maddening human", at the very least. On his worst days you were a bewitching, dimwitted little creature too stupid to be let free- better off in his hands if not crunched between his teeth.

"I'm not too sure, I might..accidentally stab myself with the needle, you know?"

You shrug in feigned helplessness, hoping your lack of enthusiasm wouldn't tick him closer to the dark side.

"If you do, then I'll lick your wound and we can start again. Give it a try, won't you? I've seen your work on my coats," he mumbles lowly at the rest of his comments, "and that damned quilt you seem keen to keep."

He muses at the mention of your skilled handiwork you sneak to do when he's gone away at "none of your concern" events. However he knew of your activities in this prison cell while he was out didn't surprise you; the house had eyes, in places you'd rather not think of.

You took the needle from within his delicate grasp, mahogany red thread swinging loose and ready to be tightly wound in your wine colored cardigan.

You copy the movements he had done a million times, though you really weren't watching when he had. It was hard to concentrate with your body shivering, waiting for a sharp dagger or set of teeth to find it's way buried in your back.

The Belsire seems to ease up as you begin to complete the torn cardigan hole, placing two abnormally long hands upon the sides of your shoulders.

"Don't move," he grumbles, almost annoyed at the idea. "Smooth and quite warm... I never understood the pleasure of keeping food around longer than it's due date. But you, little button... why, you're almost opening a soft spot inside of me.."

You didn't like the sound of that. A soft spot within him would certainly be something he sought to squash.

"Are you sure you want a soft spot? I'm not even sure where that would be."

You almost laugh at your own joke, imagining his crisp limbs deflated. If you were making a soft spot, you best keep at making it grow.

"It seems you force it in me, whether I like it or not. I enjoy having you to myself, to come home to... even if the idea that you're taking part of me, is... infuriating."

The Belsire leans deeper into you, pressing the inside of his thighs against yours, craning his neck downward.

"The unfortunate part is, I think I may fall apart if you disappear."

You see the looks he gives from the corner of your eye; dark, empty buttons staring into you, awaiting your reaction. Was this another attempt to swoon you?

"Then I guess that means you can't eat me."

You sigh, hoping he'd agree. And oddly enough, he cracks a grin.

"I guess not. Though, don't hold your breath. I can't make any promises as to what my temper will lead to." The bridge of his nose is uncharacteristically pressed against your cheek, black dots boring holes into you. "On the topic, I'd be less inclined to eat you if you accepted my present..."

You round off the last bit of stitching, only to see an all too familiar velvet box on your left. It was open, music box playing a soft melody as a range of colors and sizes in buttons were available to view.

"I... I still can't, give you an answer." You go back to tying an end to the thread, praying for the Belsire's eerily calm mood to stay uninterrupted.

He goes quiet, habitually running a thumb down the shell of your ear. The chill was almost welcoming, soft flesh touching your heated one. It felt... genuine, a form of physical affection that was done for his pleasure more than your own. It would be comforting, if you weren't waiting for him to explode.

"I expected as much," he calmly huffs, shutting the box with a single finger. Its harsh snap made you drop the thread. "But you can't expect me to wait forever; you aren't going home. You will remain here, either as my slave, or my spouse. The difference is whether I have to force these buttons on you, or you take them willingly."

"I.. I just need a little more time. I haven't-- I'm not-- done adjusting. I'm not used to this world, like you."

You've given up pleading; for all you knew, there was no way back home that either of you could conjure. This was your fate.

Like a doll he dressed and cleaned and made a perfect dollhouse for, you were to sit here and provide him the comfort he could not create on his own. Like a god, creating his creatures of free will, he relished in the uniqueness you offered without him having to fabricate it first, the obedience you gave from fear in your own desire rather than a direct command.

A long silence left the air hanging stagnant, your patchwork sitting in front of you, finished and yet not quite the same as it once was. Why couldn't you go to the store and buy a new one, spend frivolous money and speak to the miserable cashier that reminded you humanity was still alive?

"...Fine. But not much longer, my sweet button...this-- mortal flesh still tying you to your world, has kept me at a distance I do not wish to stand at." A soft kiss, from creased, inexperienced lips touched the top of your cheekbone. "I want you for myself... I don't like not getting the things I want. And, I want you far more desperately than I imagined."

His voice was stoic, gentle and logical despite the romantic lines that were fed to you. Spindly fingers pulled back pieces of your hair, caressing the skin on your face with soft strokes. Like a human would do to an animal, running his knuckles against your cheek and his fingertips along your jaw.

Just a simple touch and turn of your chin was all it took to make you look at him.

"Don't make me wait. I will have you, and I want it to be because you will it. Please, don't make me do what neither of us want."

His tongue was warmer than his touch, somehow. Maybe it led to his even warmer heart, but you doubted it. Even with the way both his large, balmy palms were gripping beside your ears, pulling your face to touch his in a dance of lips and stolen breath, you wondered if this was just another web of lies spun to create your damnation.

But the desperation in how he swallowed you whole, pulling your hands away from the touchy needlework he was once keen on making you finish-- there was something human about it all, something touchy and irritable and obsessive. If he wanted you desperately then, you could only imagine how horribly ridden he was now, feeling your warmth as he made you colder with his hands and wrists, him never changing.

You peeked an eye open, wondering if those buttons stayed all-seeing, all watching, even when you kissed.

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Chapter Two: It All Turned Around

dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 2.6k

Series Warnings: Mature to start, but will ultimately be Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. There will be angst, drama, fluff, humor, romance, smut... basically, the works. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname from her dad, which is explained in this chapter.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Thank you for reading this little tale! I did not expect all the love the first chapter received - my heart is fit to burst!

Chapter One | Main Masterlist

Chapter Two: It All Turned Around

You walked the few blocks over to Joel’s house on Monday morning, ready to start your new gig as Sarah’s… babysitter wasn’t the right word. Nanny? Au pair? Nah, that didn’t work either. Whatever, the wording did not matter. You were helping Joel out by taking care of his daughter when he couldn’t, that’s what mattered. Jeez, you thought as you walked along the sleepy neighborhood sidewalk, you were one step away from talking to herself aloud like a mad woman.

When you finally reached Joel’s house, already damp with sweat from the lingering heat, climbing the porch steps to the front door with your eyes glued to Joel’s truck, you realized the flaw in this arrangement.

You didn’t have a car.

How the hell were you supposed to take the kid to and from school without a car?

How did you not realize this sooner?

Knuckles rapping on the door, your teeth worried your plump bottom lip as you considered your options. Admit to the gorgeous single father relying on you to help with his precious daughter that you were a complete flake. Sneakily order an Uber with the hope that Sarah will keep her mouth shut about it. Or just buy a car off one of those online dealers and hope it gets delivered in time.

Those options weren’t great, but what the hell else did you have to work with?

The door finally opened to reveal a frazzled Joel, tee shirt inside out and dark curls mussed. A giggle bubbled out before you could stop it.

“Mornin’ darlin’,” Joel greeted, his lips tilting upwards at the sight of you while his free hand attempted to tame his wild curls. “Come on in. We’re runnin’ a little behind schedule this morning.”

“Good morning, Joel.” Your eyes drank him in. Even in his disheveled state he was gorgeous. If anything, the harried morning look made him even more endearing.

He stepped aside to let you in, glancing to the driveway then the curb. “Where’s your car? Did you walk here?” he questioned, confused.

And just like that, the pleasant feeling of seeing him again washed away in embarrassment. You almost forgot about the car situation again. “Yeah, ‘bout that. I don’t actually have a car.” You could practically see the wheels turning behind his dark chocolate eyes as he stared at you.

Finally, Joel’s head bobbed in a nod as he led you into the kitchen. “Okay, we can make it work. Tommy is on his way over and I’ll just hitch a ride to work with him. You can use my truck for running Sarah around.”

“You sure?” you questioned doubtfully. “I’m sorry, it didn’t occur to me that I don’t have wheels until I was standing on your porch.”

Waving off your apologetic concern, Joel called for Sarah to come down for breakfast. Turning back to you, he smiled, the scruff of his beard barely concealing a delightful little dimple. “Don’t worry about it. Just use my truck when you’re on duty until we figure something else out. It’s not like I need it when I’m stuck on a job site all day.”

“Well, thanks for being understanding, and so kind,” you replied, feeling a little overwhelmed by how wonderful Joel was being.

Sarah appeared at your side as Joel dug in his pocket for his keys, throwing her arms around your waist. “You’re here!”

“I am!” You hugged the little girl to your side with a laugh, surprised to see Joel’s warm gaze on you when you looked up. There was something in his expression that you couldn’t decipher.

“Here are my keys – this one is for the truck, obviously, and this one is for the front door. Don’t mind the other ones,” he said after clearing his throat, a slight flush spreading across his cheeks. “I’ll get a spare house key made this week so you can come and go as you please. You have my cell number, so call me if you run into any problems with the truck or anything else.”

Once Sarah was seated at the table with a bowl of cereal, Joel filled you in on a few other details pertaining to Sarah’s weekday routine and where anything you might need was located in the house.

“Drop off at 8:30, pick up at 3, homework before play, and don’t let her snack too much before dinner,” you summarized his instructions. “I got it. I can make dinner, too, if you’d like.”

Dark eyes flashed with a hint of something indecipherable again as Joel smiled. “You don’t have to do that unless I’m gonna be real late. I’ll call or text to let you know when I expect to get home each day.”

“Sounds good.” Your finger traced random patterns on the countertop as you watched the Millers go about their morning routine and you wondered if you should say something about his tee shirt. You didn’t want to embarrass the guy, but it would be rude not to let him know, right? What was the protocol here? If it was you, you’d want to know before leaving the house, right?

Before you could decide what to do, Tommy came bursting through the front door, boisterous voice calling out for his brother. “Come on, man. We gotta get rollin’!”

Joel rolled his eyes to you as Tommy came to a halt in the kitchen, the younger brother’s smile widening when his eyes raked over you. “Well, hello again, gorgeous.”

“Hey Tommy,” you greeted in return, glancing between the two brothers. Where Joel was broad and brooding, Tommy was lithe and energetic, and flirty to a fault. Both were handsome, but Tommy had ‘player’ written all over him. He was the exact type of guy that you avoided getting entangled with – the overconfident, love ‘em and leave ‘em type.

Growing tired of his brother gawking at you, Joel grumbled. “Alright, stop flirting, Tommy. It’s time to go.” Dropping his empty coffee cup in the sink, he turned back to you. “Call me if you need anything, darlin’.”

You nodded with a smile, watching the brothers kiss Sarah goodbye.

“Your shirt’s on inside out, asshole,” Tommy blurted out suddenly causing Joel’s cheeks to pinken. “God dammit,” he muttered, tugging the shirt over his head to set it right.

Unable to tear your gaze away from the glimpse of broad chest and slightly soft tummy, you jolted when something bumped your shoulder. Snapping your head to the side, you frowned at Tommy’s beaming grin. “Ah, I see how it is,” he said cryptically, the grin never leaving his lips.

“What?” you asked, baffled, mind still flooded with the image of a briefly shirtless Joel. The brothers were gone before you could shake your head clear.

Joel’s truck was ornery, you learned quickly. Stomp too hard on the gas pedal and it stalled. Don’t step hard enough on the pedal and it made funny noises while going nowhere fast. Brake too hard and it squealed. Don’t brake hard enough and, well, then you’d crash, obviously. It was a damn Goldilocks truck, but you adapted quickly, making sure you could get Sarah to and from school safely.

God, could you imagine if your first call ever to Joel was to tell him you crashed his truck and put his daughter in danger – or worse yet, she got hurt? That would be beyond awful!

By the afternoon, you and the truck had come to a grudging agreement. You would treat it nicely and it would do what you wanted it to. That was another sign you were losing your mind, right? Coming to agreements with inanimate objects? It was getting sad. You needed a life, some human socialization, for fucks sake.

“Hey nugget!” you called to Sarah, spotting her bouncing down the steps of the front entrance to the K-8 school. It was the very one you applied to earlier in the day, hoping to take over for a science teacher retiring at the end of the year.

“Hey! That’s what my dad calls me!” the little girl declared as she came to a halt in front of you.

“I know! It’s such a cool nickname, much better than the one my dad gave me,” you laughed and opened the passenger door, watching her scramble into the seat like a pro. Satisfied with the security of Sarah’s seatbelt, you jogged around to the driver’s side and hopped up into the truck.

“What’s your nickname?” Sarah asked as you started the truck with an encouraging pat on the dash.

“Spud,” you groaned, voice barely louder than the rumble of the truck’s engine.

Sarah’s brow furrowed and her cute little nose scrunched up. “Spud? Why does your dad call you that?”

“Ugh, the way he tells it, I was a really chunky baby. ‘Round like a potato’ he said. He didn’t like the thought of calling me ‘potato’ so, the nickname spud was born. I’ve hated it every day, but my dad loves it, so I tolerate it for his sake.”

Sarah listened to your explanation with rapt attention. “Yeah, I can see why you like mine better. I’ll make sure to never call you spud. Maybe we can come up with something better?”

“Thanks, kid! I’d like that.”

The rest of the ride back to Joel’s house was quiet as you focused on driving and Sarah bobbed her head to some tune she hummed. Once you pulled to a careful stop in the driveway, the little girl turned into a chatterbox, recounting every moment of her day as you led the way inside and prepared a small snack.

“Fourth grade is quite the adventure, I see,” you said when she finally stopped to nibble at an apple slice. “I don’t remember it being quite that much fun.”

There wasn’t any homework to assist with, but Sarah insisted on showing you all the A grades she got on her work from last week. She preened under your undivided attention, and you encouraged her to keep working hard.

The two of you were in the midst of playing some Lego video game when your phone buzzed with a text from Joel letting you know he was on his way home. The job site wasn’t far, and he walked through the door before 5 pm to find you and Sarah giggling as you bashed away at things in the video game. You were both laying on the floor, knees bent, and heads perched on throw pillows from the couch as you stared up at the TV. Neither of you even noticed him come in and he smiled at the precious moments he had to take in how genuinely happy Sarah was in your company.

Sarah caught sight of him first, pausing the game and rushing over to hug him. He eyed you as he hugged his daughter, his exhausted gaze silently thanking you for taking care of his entire world.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” he asked, kicking off his boots before stepping farther into the house. “I was gonna order pizza.”

Tempted to say yes just to spend more time with him, you declined knowing they had limited father-daughter time. “Thank you, though. I should get back to my house to finish the paperwork for transferring my teaching certification. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Joel escorted you to the door, watching as you descended the porch steps and strolled down the sidewalk until you were out of sight.

The next few weeks followed the same pattern with you staying late a few nights a week or covering a Saturday when Joel was stuck on a job site. You started making dinner most evenings. Whether he made it home early or late, he always seemed exhausted, and you wanted to ease his burden as much as possible. You might have also wondered how many home-cooked meals the pair actually ate when Joel was left in charge of dinner.

You bought a car off another one of your dad’s buddies – a no nonsense sedan just to get you around town with Sarah safely. Some days, while Sarah was at school, you would even do Joel’s food shopping, knowing that he liked to shop at the bulk stores to save money.

Soon, you found yourself staying longer after Joel got home, eager to spend time with him and watch him be a dad. He was such a good one, much like your own, always giving Sarah his full attention and speaking to her with respect and making sure she felt heard. It left you in awe of the man he was and your burgeoning crush quickly, and quite by accident, developed into an affectionate longing for something you couldn’t have.

“How’s it going with Spud?” your dad asked, taking a swig from the bottle of beer in his hand. Seated at a table on the Miller’s back patio with Joel and Tommy, the men enjoyed a few after-work beers as you and Sarah sat together in the grass nearby.

“Why do you call her that, JB? I always wondered.” Joel questioned in return, curiosity finally getting to him.

You dad laughed, the memories of you as a baby always brought a smile to his face. “She was the chunkiest little potato as a baby, all round with the cutest chipmunk cheeks. The nickname spud just popped into my head and stuck from day one.”

Joel’s chestnut eyes flicked over to watch you during your dad’s explanation, a bubble of guilty warmth building in his gut. He found you immediately attractive when you first met, but now, nearly a month into getting to know and spend time with you, a strong affectionate attraction began to develop. It was wholly against his will, too. You were JB’s daughter – his best friend aside from his brother – and therefore off limits.

Surely him lusting after you broke some guy code, right?

Maybe he just needed to get laid. That would set him straight.

As if reading his mind, JB changed the subject. “Now that you have some help with Sarah, maybe it’s time to get back into the dating world. You need the love of a good woman, son.”

“Yeah, how long’s it been since you had a girlfriend, brother?” Tommy chimed in with a smirk. “A decade?”

The younger brother merely chuckled in response to Joel’s scowl. “I’ve dated, just none of them were good enough to bring home,” he replied, a rough edge to his deep voice. “Sarah’s always come first.”

“As she should.” JB nodded. “I know it ain’t easy being a single dad, but you have to make some room and time for yourself otherwise you’ll go crazy.”

Your dad went on to share some of his experiences with dating as a single dad and how you practically begged him to find a girlfriend when you were a teenager, just so he’d give you some space. After a short while, JB and the Miller men were laughing so hard their eyes were watering. At one point, Joel caught you watching them with a tender smile on your lips and his heart skipped a beat.

“Okay, I guess it’s time to put myself out there,” Joel admitted, forcing his gaze away from you.

“Yeah? I know someone who’d love to go on a date with you!” Tommy declared excitedly, turning to JB. “You know Annica over at the lumber yard? She’s been gagging over this one for ages. I’ll text her to set something up for Saturday night.”

“Sounds like it’s settled then. You’re going on a date, son!”

Joel’s brow furrowed, glancing between your dad and Tommy wondering if he just made a huge mistake.

tbc

Taglist: @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @anoverwhelmingdin @runningmom94 @leilanixx @pedropascalfan221 @lovelyjess69 @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 11

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content (parts 9 and 11), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning. This chapter also contains very light smut.

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Face claim: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut), Part 10

A/N: Well, I'm sorry everyone - I know I promised the wedding for the next chapter, but the file hit 10k and the flow was terrible, and so the first part is what you're getting now. I still plan to get the actual wedding out this week, likely Friday or Saturday! Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter. -WTT

Part 11

The afternoon sun bathed the weaving room, painting it in shades of soft, hazy pink and gold. The fabrics on the looms shone in the light; Linnea was working a white velvet on the velvet loom, and on the regular loom, she was just beginning a new test fabric in shades of grey. The sunlight turned it brighter, almost purple; she was mixing linen and wool for a soft, easy drape. And if she was successful with the charms she had planned, it would be a pattern she would share with the weavers that helped clothe the army.  

Her eyes anxiously passed over it. Her hands, idle now, twitched to work, to let out the nervous energy that filled her.

But this day was not a day for weaving.

Adabes and the servants had done their work well. All was in readiness; a sideboard had been moved into the room, and was laid with fruit and bread and cheese and various other refreshments. Wine had been set out, as well as water flavored with mint and lemon. The weaving room itself was immaculately clean, all of the tools and supplies neatly put away, all of the scraps of fabric and ends of threads swept up. 

A book sat on the table next to her, but she barely recalled the title. She had brought it to distract herself while she waited, but she might as well not have taken the trouble. There was no distraction possible.

Fortunately, she did not have to wait for long.

A stamp on the landing alerted her to the first of the arrivals, and her ears strained for a hint as to who it might be. She heard heavy boots, grunts - 

A fist thumped on the door, and it swung inward.

“The Princess Disa, of the Dwarven realm of Khazad-dûm.”

Linnea rose, and as she did so, the princess stepped into the weaving room. 

She was dressed in light grey, a silken fabric that flowed around her figure and draped in a way that made Linnea want to examine the weaving much more closely. And there was gold upon her everywhere: a heavy gold pectoral necklace with triangular pendants dangling from it, as well as gold bracelets, gold beads upon her gown, and even gold paint staining her thick dark hair and her fingers.  

Linnea wondered if such a thing had ever happened before. Disa’s husband, Prince Durin, had met and treated with Gil-galad. But had there ever been a meeting of an Elven queen and a Dwarf princess? If there had, it had surely been hundreds of years ago.

Disa stopped after a few steps, and she curtseyed deeply as the door shut behind her. 

“Lady Linnea,” she said. “On behalf of all Khazad-dûm, I thank you for welcoming me into your halls.”

It had been a careful plan that they had made together, herself and Gil-galad, debating various strategies for how they might receive the most important of their guests. They had considered a more formal dinner for this last night before the wedding, but had eventually settled on separate, more casual affairs, Linnea with the women and Gil-galad with the men. Even now, he was likely greeting Prince Durin, as well as the Elven lords that had also arrived in the last two days.

She supposed she should be grateful that there were fewer women for her to manage. Oropher had brought his queen, and his son had come as well, but Thranduil was not yet wed. And the lord of Lórien’s wife had perished some time ago. She had extended the invitation to Commander Galadriel, and to the commander of the Eastern Armies as well, but all told, she would not be working as hard as Gil-galad.

And with that thought, part of her regretted the other decision that they had made concerning that evening.  

She would not go to him that night. They would not take their tea together; they would not discuss their days; there would be no shared pleasure. They would stay and sleep apart, this final night. They would rise separately and prepare for the wedding, and only once they were ready would they see each other again.  

She knew her bed would feel empty without him. It had been easy to grow accustomed to his warmth next to her, the sound of his soft breath as he slept. But it added weight, if any needed to be added, that this was the very last night she would sleep alone. 

And besides that, it was probably a good idea to stay apart, after what had happened the previous night. After how near she had come to be standing there, greeting the Princess Disa, as a married woman. 

It is the second time Ereinion has done this. The first had had her nearly cracking her own spine in half at the feel of his tongue between her legs. And while that first time had been pleasurable beyond belief, it is even better now; with repetition comes perfection, and she lies there moaning and incoherent as he tastes her. Her slender legs are over his broad shoulders and his hand teases, two fingers slowly slipping in and out of her in rhythm with his lips and tongue. 

And once she’s had her pleasure, he slides up her body for a deep kiss. Neither of them is wearing much at all, and he’s on top of her, and her thighs are tight around his hips, and it would be so easy. 

So easy.

He looks into her eyes, and a word from her would shatter his resolve - what is left of it. She looks back at him, and a word from him would shatter hers.

And perhaps that knowing, that unwillingness to speak it but willingness to accept it, is what stops them in the end. What has him rolling off of her, wrapping trembling arms around her trembling self, holding her until the fire ebbs a little and they both have their breath back.  

It is not much longer to wait. 

She drew in a breath, and made her own curtsey to Disa, whose eyes widened at the movement. 

“Princess,” Linnea murmured. “You are most welcome, and I thank you for gracing my hall with your company.”

As they took each other's measure, she found that she liked the look of this Disa. Elrond had returned late last night, with Disa and Durin accompanying him; this was the first sight Linnea had had of the Dwarf princess. She had met more Dwarves than most Elves, due to the merchants that had frequented Eregion, and their ways were not so strange to her. There was a strength about the princess that ran as deep as the mountain she called home; she could be a formidable ally, if the seeds that Linnea was planting eventually bore fruit.

Disa smiled, folding her hands in front of her. “My husband may have made his grand protests, but he understood the honor you showed us with the invitation. If he'd kept saying no, I would have dragged him here by his beard. And he would have thanked me for it in the end.”

Linnea laughed; the words conjured an image of herself doing the same with Gil-galad, only by his hair. She wasn't at all sure she'd win that fight, although it might be rather amusing to attempt it.

“Please,” she urged. “Help yourself to refreshment, if you like. I am sure you must be tired from the journey.”

Disa needed no further encouragement. She made her way to the sideboard, looking appreciatively at the array of food that was laid out. “We did keep a fast pace. No time to spare, to get here in time. And we'll be needing to head home again as soon as the wedding is over.”

Linnea nodded. She could guess the reasoning behind it, the maneuvering for the throne that they had heard whispers of even in Lindon. Gil-galad’s thought to use their wedding as a message, inviting the prince and throwing their support behind the candidate most friendly to Elves, had been a sound one. Part of her disliked that they had to consider such things, but the rest of her knew that that was the life she had chosen. Almost everything would be political now.

“Then I shall do everything I can to ensure you enjoy your time here,” she said, smiling as Disa took a plate and began heaping it full. 

“You've certainly made a good start,” the princess said, popping a piece of cheese in her mouth. “A full stomach goes a long way to ensuring a smooth road.” 

Linnea chuckled again. Now that this first greeting was over, her nervousness was beginning to settle down, and she felt confident enough to join Disa at the sideboard and pour herself a glass of wine. She watched as the princess turned, starting to glance around the room even as she ate, and her heart fluttered with pride at the look on Disa’s face. The Dwarf woman was impressed. 

Her eyes landed on the frame loom, and she let out a satisfied sound. “I knew I'd like you when Elrond said you were a weaver,” she said, beginning to walk to the loom. “Do ye know what it's going to be yet?”

Linnea nodded, walking over to join Disa at the loom. “If all goes well, it will become the pattern for a cloak for Lindon's armies. It is something my mother was very gifted at - laying protective charms on the threads. I learned much from her.”

Disa's brows lifted, and the impressed look was back on her face. “I thought I could feel something from it. There's a sort of vibration, isn't there?”

Linnea knew that other Elves could feel the art to varying degrees, depending on their sensitivity. Most would have at least a feeling of safety and protection. But to actually sense the charms at work? She could do it, especially if it was the art of someone she knew well, like her mother and father. So could other weavers. But a Dwarf? 

She groped for words, stunned almost beyond speech. “How is it you can feel it?” she managed. 

Disa smiled, satisfied to be affirmed. “We Stone Singers use our voices to resonate with the mountain that is our home. Aulë granted us the gift to sing to the rock so that we may take from it properly and know where best to leave it undisturbed. This fabric has a song of its own, for those with the ear to hear it.”

A thousand questions leapt to Linnea's mind. If she had had her way, she would have spent every moment until the wedding the next day interrogating Disa about what exactly a Stone Singer was and what resonating meant. A fancy crossed her thoughts of arranging a visit to Khazad-dûm; the logistics and politics of an Elven queen visiting the Dwarves were second to wanting to witness this stone singing for herself. 

But then Disa hummed.

Linnea felt the fabric come to life at the sound, as brief as it was. The charms she had laid so far were subtle, more experimentation than anything else. But at the sound of Disa’s voice, the intensity increased tenfold; she could feel the faint protections even without touching the fabric. The magic radiated off the cloth, rolling off it in waves. 

Disa’s eyes had gone wide. She could feel it too.

All thoughts of propriety fled from Linnea’s head. She rushed to the loom, laying her hands on the fabric, the better to feel what was happening. 

“Forgive me, my lady,” Disa was stammering. “I did not know - “

“No.” Linnea was running her hands over the cloth, only half-hearing. “No, do that again…please…”

Disa hesitated, but finally did as asked. She hummed again, louder that time, and there was more effort behind it. The hum had dimension, and the fabric responded accordingly; it was like sunlight striking a piece of crystal, scattering rainbows in all different directions. 

She couldn’t help the smile, the grin that came to her lips, as the hum faded. She turned to Disa standing next to her, and the look between them transcended any and all difference between Elf and Dwarf.

There was another strike upon the door.

“Queen Tinnaril, of the Woodland Realm.”

Linnea straightened up, trying to calm her expression. The weaver in her grumbled at the interruption, wanting to ask Disa to hum again, perhaps even sing - and the rest of her laughed at that part, that she could even think of wanting a queen to leave her alone.

But she was a queen now, too. Or would be, by this same time tomorrow.

Tinnaril came through the door, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts - not even when she saw Disa standing by Linnea’s side at the loom. The queen of the Greenwood was of a height with Linnea herself; they were Sindar kin, smaller and shorter than their Noldor brethren. Tinnaril’s hair was icy blonde, the same as both her husband and her son, and her leaf-green eyes were shuttered as they swept about the room.

She was clad plainly. Oropher had desired to live a simpler existence than the rest of the Sindar and the Noldor, and his followers had merged with the Silvan elves of the Greenwood many years ago. Tinnaril’s gown was a sage green fabric, without embroidery or jewels; the cut fit her well, and she wore a filigreed silver circlet, but otherwise there was nothing to suggest that she was royalty.

Linnea had known such, and had dressed carefully for the day so as not to make Tinnaril feel uncomfortable or annoyed. Her gown was one of the simplest she owned now, a dusky lavender with only a small amount of gold detailing around the cuffs and the neck, and she had bade Pendes forgo any jewels in her hair. The only concession she had made to ornament was the thin gold circlet tucked in her curls.

Tinnaril had stopped a few steps from the door, and she carefully folded her hands in front of her. “Forgive me for the interruption,” she said, her voice even and calm. “I was unaware you were occupied, Lady Linnea.”

“No - of course not, you do not interrupt.” Linnea moved away from the loom, extending her hands. “Be welcome, my lady. And thank you for making the journey.”

Slowly, Tinnaril took the offered greeting. Her hands were cool and smooth in Linnea’s; she squeezed for precisely the correct amount of time, and then released.

Oropher and Tinnaril had arrived two days ago, and since then, Tinnaril had kept to herself. Linnea had sent messages of welcome, invitations to meet, but all of them had gone unanswered save this one. She wondered if Tinnaril had only come now out of a feeling of obligation. She had asked Gil-galad to tell her of the queen, that she might know what to expect, but he had had as little to offer as Arondir all those months ago.

I am sorry, melethel. I have met her seldom, and she spoke but few words. She lives apart from court. 

Linnea had known that from Arondir, but had still shaken her head in amazement, wondering how such could be. She could not imagine wanting to live apart from Gil-galad, and he had smiled when she had said so.

Nor I you. May the Valar grant that it is always so between us, my love.

Tinnaril was still standing there just looking at her, and Linnea fumbled for words. “Queen Tinnaril, this is Princess Disa, of Khazad-dûm. She and her husband Prince Durin are great friends of Lord Elrond.”

“I see.” 

Disa made another curtsey - although Linnea noticed that it was much shallower than the one the princess had given to her. “Your Grace.”

Tinnaril raised one thin blonde brow, making no move to return any sort of gesture, and Linnea fought the urge to gulp. There had been conflict between Oropher’s people and the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm; Oropher had moved his rule ever northward to avoid the expansion of the Dwarf realm. Linnea had counted on the goodwill of the wedding keeping things civil - as indeed it had, with helping to mend the rift between Durin and Elrond after Eregion.

Perhaps this had been too much to ask, as she beheld the chill in Tinnaril’s eyes. But on the other hand, she wasn’t leaving. 

“Do you practice a craft, my lady?” she asked, desperately trying to find words to fill the silence. “I believe you are aware I am a weaver. Princess Disa and I were just speaking of her art as well - she is what the Dwarves call a Stone Singer. I was not familiar with such.“

Disa nodded eagerly; clearly she felt the tension in the room as much as Linnea did. For a moment, Linnea appreciated the ludicrousness of the situation; she was more allied with a Dwarf princess than a queen of her own kind. 

“It isn’t spoken of much outside of our own people,” Disa said. “The work of the Stone Singers is sacred. We safeguard the mountain, and in return, it allows us to call it our home.”

Tinnaril’s lip curled slightly. “Your work has borne fruit, it would seem. We hear the ceaseless noise of Khazad-dûm throughout the Woodland Realm.”

Linnea’s throat tightened again, and her heart sank. Gil-galad had been working so hard to forge an alliance with Oropher; the Woodland Elves were proud and distant, those ties were as fragile as the finest-spun silk. This couldn’t be helping matters at all; for all she knew, she was not just breaking those thin threads but setting them aflame.

She had been shocked before. She had spent most of the last months in a state of disbelief. But what Tinnaril did next outstripped it all.

The Woodland queen turned, and Linnea's heart sank even further; she hadn’t thought that that was possible. She could feel Disa’s worried eyes on her as Tinnaril walked back towards the door, and she tried to think of something to say, anything - 

Tinnaril swung the door open, and she leaned out to catch the attention of the guards outside.

“Send to my rooms,” she commanded. “Fetch my harp. The brown leather case, near the hearth.”

Linnea stared. Disa stared.

The door swung closed again, and Tinnaril turned back to face them.

“I have lived with Dwarven noise all my days,” she said firmly. “If I must continue to be subjected to it, I would know whether there is any pleasantry to be had. My craft is my music, Lady Linnea, and if the princess consents to it, we shall make some together.”

Linnea turned slowly to Disa, who looked as stunned as she herself felt. The princess could not manage words; she simply nodded. 

Tinnaril’s lip curled again. But this time, there was warmth to it.

“Very well.”

It was long hours later when Linnea finally sat at her dressing table, letting Pendes comb out her hair. 

They had indeed made music. She herself could sing well enough, although nothing compared to Disa, but had no skill with an instrument. And so she had been content to watch and listen, and weave a little, as the queen and the princess had passed the hours in song. Galadriel had come by, as well as a few others, and they had enjoyed the music and refreshments. But none had remained for very long. 

It had reminded her of her parents’ shop, on those occasions when they had hosted musicians. The fabrics had seemed to weave themselves of their own accord, with the distraction of the melodies. And Taucion had had a fine voice; he had often sung along as they worked. 

The memories still hurt, a little. But they also reminded her - as had the afternoon - that she had the opportunity to make new memories. She could invite singers and musicians to her rooms, to spend the afternoon with the weavers.  

Pendes finished and bowed, and Linnea turned. Lavan was just coming in from her nightly circuit of Linnea's rooms, and she shifted to be able to look at them both.

“Is all ready for the morning?”

Lavan nodded. “Yes, my lady. We will arrive at the normal hour.”

The feast was set to begin at midday; her normal rising time would be ample to prepare. Her dress was hung carefully to air out, and really, there was little enough to do that was not part of her regular routine. 

She smiled at Lavan. “Very well. Then I bid you both goodnight.”

They bowed and left, and Linnea rose from the dressing table, slowly wandering back into the main room. It would be early to retire to bed, but perhaps it was a sound notion? The following day would be long and busy.

And the following night.

Her cheeks heated, as she settled herself by the fire, lacking anything else to do. She cast a glance to the side; she had her own kettle, and could have easily prepared tea for herself, but it was not the same any more. Evening tea was no longer solitary, it was a shared time, and the idea of drinking it alone seemed sad somehow.

There was a small stack of books on the hearthside table, and she glanced over them. She had been reading the works of Pengolodh, last of the Loremasters, in an effort to learn more about the history of the Noldor. But as captivating as the words were, having enough focus to read seemed the height of fancy.

Melethel.

That candle slowly lit in her heart, the one she'd become more used to feeling now. It was always there, banked and softly burning, but it came to life each time Ereinion reached out to her. She had an easier time hearing him than he did her as of yet, but that would come in time.

She smiled at the sound of his voice in her mind, settling back in her chair and closing her eyes. Meleth nín.

Was your afternoon enjoyable?

More than I had dared hope. She summoned a memory of Tinnaril and Disa together, experimenting with what Tinnaril had admitted was one of her own original compositions. It had been just the three of them at that point, Linnea at the loom, and it had gladdened her heart to see the differences between Elf and Dwarf put aside in the name of creating something beautiful. And she felt Ereinion’s happiness as he beheld it. And yours, aran vuin?

This time she felt him sigh; felt a touch of the weariness on him. As well as could be expected. Oropher is proud. He lost no opportunity to jab at Durin. I am grateful Elrond was there to mediate, otherwise I might have exiled them both from Lindon permanently.

Linnea laughed softly, her eyes still closed. I am sorry I was not there with you. 

You had your own work to do, my love. And by your account, you accomplished it admirably. There was a pause. I miss you. I cannot recall why we thought being apart tonight was a good idea, but I regret it now.

Do you think to tempt me to come to you? She chuckled again, letting him feel the warmth his words brought to her. We seem to have found a way around it, even so.

There was an answering chuckle, an answering warmth. I do not. I shall hold to our agreement. But perhaps…

There had been no specific images in her mind up till then, except for the memory of the prior afternoon. But a scent reached her nose, the scent of growing things and wildflowers, and there was a warmth all over her skin - as if she were outside in the sun. 

And finally, she could see it, fading in from the dark behind her eyes.

It was the field she’d taken him to, that afternoon after his training session. They were lying on the same blanket, in the same position; Ereinion’s head was in her lap, and her hand was gently stroking through his hair. 

“I think of this day so often,” he murmured. “How it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.”

She smiled. The ósanwe had grown so strong; it was as if they were really there. She could hear the chirping of the birds and the buzz of the crickets. Ereinion's hair was like silk beneath her fingers, just as if she were really touching it.

“You had never laid in a field after a picnic before?”

She was teasing him, and he smiled up at her, reaching for her free hand and bringing it to his lips.

“I had never laid in a field with my wife,” he said softly. “I had never set my sword down after training, only to see my wife coming to me with a laden picnic basket. I had never felt so loved, melethel - until the next day, and the one after that, and the one after that. All the days since that very first, you have given me more love than the one before. I can only hope I do the same for you.”

She took their entwined hands and nestled them against his chest, right over his heart. “You need not wonder that for an instant,” she murmured. 

He sighed contentedly, closing his eyes, not speaking. She ran her fingers over the back of his hand, letting him enjoy the peace for a few moments before she spoke again.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

His lips curved. “More than I have ever been, for anything,” he said softly, eyes still closed. “I feel that I have prepared for this all my days. Even the night before my coronation, so long ago - I did not feel such. I had never expected to be High King. And it was a hurried affair, with war raging, and my chief concern was to have it done with.”

“I wish I could have been there,” she said, stroking her hand through his hair again.

“I do not.” His brow creased, remembering. “As much as I would have been glad of you, melethel. It was a hard time, and our people lost much. I would not have lost you as well.”

There was a catch in his voice. She had a guess as to its source, especially given the direction that their conversation had gone. His sister Finduilas, taken captive by orcs while he had still been a child during the Wars of Beleriand, and ultimately slain.

She squeezed the hand she held, and pushed out through the ósanwe, lighting her own candle in his heart to give him comfort.

“You never shall,” she whispered. “After tomorrow, we will never be parted, not truly.”

Her words brought the smile back to his lips, and he squeezed her hand back. “And you, melethel? Are you ready?”

In answer, she bent, pressing her lips to his. They might have been in a vision, in a place conjured by the ósanwe that was not real, but the kiss was no less warm nor loving for it. She felt him holding her hand tighter to his heart, returning her kiss, and nuzzling against her nose as she released his mouth.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I am.”

It was all she could say, and all that needed to be said. It drove the last of the long-ago shadows from his eyes, and he reached up, running his thumb over her cheekbone.  

“I am grateful for this time with you, but we should not remain here long,” he murmured. “It is not so taxing when we are so close. But I would not have you tire yourself tonight, not when tomorrow holds so much for us.”

She could feel it - just a slight drag inside her, a faint pull on her fëa. It was worth it, to have had even a few moments, and also worth it to know that this sort of an interlude was even possible. There might be times in the future when they would have to be apart, when this would be the only way they could be together.  

But it felt so good to be with him. This memory was precious to her too, and it was so calming, sitting here with her back against the tree. It soothed the restlessness she’d been feeling; after this, she could rest, and wake refreshed to everything that the next day would bring. 

“Let us stay a little longer,” she said softly, and was rewarded by his smile. “Just a little longer, meleth nín.”

Continue to Part 12

[harmonysanreads]

Dear Harmony,

I finally got a day off from being a bartender at the hostelry. However, I've been rather stuck on a few ideas I'm unsure how to pen down for an upcoming short story deadline with the publishing house. Hence, I've come to ask you something if it isn't too much to ask, dear Sunday kinnie expert. Pick anything from these questions, just one is fine :)

How would a certain avian hybrid who is madly obsessed with an unsuspecting darling...

a) act as a student council president who couldn't quite express his love for a blockmate/fellow council member?

b) react when he has finally received confirmation that the person he had fallen for is an assassin?

c) deal with the fact that the person that caught his eye is a very vocal punk artist who challenges whatever ideals he stands for?

That is all I would ask of you. I thank you for your time, and may your God keep you in Their care.

— Cranberry N.V~

Dear Cranberry N.V~,

I do apologize for the delay in my reply, some matters prevented me from picking up the pen for a while. I hope work has been easy for you — the regulars haven't given you too much trouble, right? I see your humor is as infallible as ever. The title of ‘Sunday Expert’ is beyond me, but I will do my best in assisting you out of this impasse.

a) How would Sunday act as a student council president who couldn't quite express his love for a blockmate/fellow council member?

You are a most agonizing distraction. The tempting blue of the sky during a particularly hard lesson to fixate on, the interest that presents itself as more appealing than the revision for the upcoming finals, more so. But he can't indulge, must force himself to be lucid — because that is the image he's crafted for the world to see. There is too much at stake, the lull of an escapade might echo as freedom, but the sky beyond the cage has long lost the trust of the bird.

It's alright, though. Seeing you free and happy blesses him with an unusual sense of contentment and for the minute instances where he's had the fortune of witnessing it up-close, he's sure to repay in any capacity allowed by his position. Blessing may it be, is a mixed one. Every so often, when the threads of clarity slip away from the Halovian's grasp, he can't help but deem his situation unfair. He wonders, if he hadn't been so restricted by his position, by himself — would he be able to experience your world as well? Would you then, not drift away as he watches helpless?

b) How would he react when he has finally received confirmation that the person he had fallen for is an assassin?

Not entirely surprised, but disappointed nonetheless. Despite how much caution and humility he exerts, some people get offended without any notable effort, hm? He has sufficient connections to warn him beforehand of impending betrayals, though this one, he wished never became real. The suspicions were there and you behaved exactly like someone who would point a knife to his eye soon. Usually, that's not how backstabbing happens... does it?

The confusion ignited his curiousity though, a miniscule hope kept it burning — you were able to come this far because of this leniency he bestowed. Now that the pretenses have been cast aside, the long overdue conversation can at last begin. Do take a seat.

c) How would he deal with the fact that the person that caught his eye is a very vocal punk artist who challenges whatever ideals he stands for?

That... explains a lot of things, though he isn't sure what it says about his preferences in romantic interests. You are interesting, for the lack of a better word and for his unwillingness to be crass. He will not lie, sometimes you do get a bit annoying. He can clearly see your perspective, but you're resolute in not respecting his. It's admirable how you can express yourself so easily though, something he admits is far from his reach. Yes, there is much in you that outweighs the negatives.

But you tend to get swayed somewhat easily, too, especially by those friends of yours. He wouldn't be astonished if you were coerced into this scheme either. Despite the disagreements, your conversations are enjoyable — until they're interrupted by others. He's certain, if he could have a proper, undisturbed heart-to-heart with you, you'd understand him. Perhaps... that could be the starting point.

Thank you for your well wishes, I had fun pondering about these ideas. May peace and happiness be in your life, as well.

Sincerely,

Harmony.

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Twenty-Three

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two,

A/N: Alright so this chapter covers three episodes. The FireLord and the Avatar, the Runaway and the Puppetmaster!

The gentle knock on his door alerted Iroh. He sat up from where he had been laying on the floor trying to sleep. The heavy metal door opened to reveal a Fire Nation soldier who quickly approached him.

"Ah Ming! I was getting worried." Iroh stated with a pleasant smile, as if he were greeting her for tea, and not from behind bars. The young woman, gave him a brief smile before her expression turned serious.

"The rounds have just changed, so we don't have much time." Ming whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door, as she quickly pulled out a scroll, a bottle of ink and a writing brush. She held them out towards Iroh through the bars, who took them quickly and once she had produced a small flame to provide some light, he wrote down his message.

Once done, he blew on it so that the ink would dry quickly. "I thank you for your help, my dear. It is nice to see our children carry out our mission." Iroh said, smiling at the young guard who returned the gesture with a respectful bow of her head. "My father and I are honored to be of service to such a high ranking official of the Order of the White Lotus."

The ink dried, and once he had added in the secret message that could only be revealed by flame, he rolled it up and held it out for Ming to take. "Will you be able to deliver it to my nephew?" He asked, worry gnawing at his heart as he thought of the lost young boy. Ming nodded confidentially. "My brother will be on rounds near the Prince's rooms tomorrow night. He knows of our secret work and shall ensure this reaches him."

Relief passed through him as he nodded. With a final respectful bow, the young soldier was gone, leaving Iroh to mull over what he had done.

This was his final attempt to try and help his nephew. Perhaps, he should have taken this route long ago, but he had not want to burden Zuko.

But it did not matter now. If a heavy burden meant Zuko would choose the right path, then he would have to learn to carry it.

Iroh just hoped Orora would be there to help him shoulder that burden when the time came.

                                          ————————–

Orora glanced over where Aang was mumbling in his sleep. She smiled as he rolled over before settling once more.

Where once the nights she'd stare into the fire would be a rather depressing past time, now it brought her a sense of calm. Especially since she spent the entire day trying to make sure no one tried to do seriously hurt or maim anyone.

It was a mystery how Toph hadn't crushed anyone under a rock, or Aang hadn't blasted anyone into the sky, or Katara hadn't frozen anyone, or Sokka hadn't hit anyone over the head with his boomerang with how much they all bickered. Granted it wasn't anything malicious, but when tempers were high, especially with teenagers, anything could happen.

She was the designated peacemaker within the group, a title she shared with Aang. Though while Aang used words of wisdom to calm the situation, which weren't exactly received well by the audience most of the time, Orora preferred to have them speak their mind, and try to come up with a solution that would benefit both parties.

A tantrum didn't last more then a few hours. If it was really bad, it would last a day or so, but that was the extent of it.

Still, she smiled to herself as she looked around at the sleeping figures, it was nice to have a role in the little group. It was kind of the same role she had played while traveling with Zuko and Iroh, though back then it had been exclusively for Zuko and whatever inner turmoil he faced.

Did he face any of that inner turmoil now? She mused to herself as she stared into the fire, taking comfort in the gentle warmth of it. Probably not, since he had the life he'd always wanted. Did he ever think about her? Did he ever think what had happened to her after his betrayal?

She highly doubted it, she sighed, rising to her feet and walking to where her bed roll was. Burying herself under the covers, her mind still swimming with thoughts of her Soulmate, missing the way her string briefly shone red.

Her eyes slowly slid closed.

                                          ————————–

His eyes snapped open.

Zuko's ears perked at the sound of footsteps just outside his door. Throwing off his blanket he rushed to the hall to investigate. He opened the door, only to be greeted by the sight of a cloaked figure disappearing around the corner. Zuko made to follow, only to stop when he caught sight of a scroll on the floor.

The curtains all along the hall blew gently in the breeze coming from the open windows as he held the scroll.

A hand closed over the fingers that held the scroll, prompting him to look up. Orora gave him a smile from where she stood across from him.

He blinked and she was gone, but her nod of encouragement was all he needed to break the seal and open the scroll to read his Uncle's message within.

                                          ————————–

Katara and Sokka were a little occupied in a squabble, which meant that Toph and Orora had to make themselves scarce so as not to be dragged into their sibling disagreement.

"The only downside of being on an island, is that you would never be able to really get away from people." Orora stated before she jumped from one hardened lava stream to another. Toph chuckled as she followed. "Yeah! I wander how did the couples who lived here take a break from one another?" She jested to which Orora grinned.

"Maybe the wife threw the husband in the volcano?" She suggested to which Toph grinned widely. "I love how your dark your mind can get. Its really refreshing." She stated in a joyful tone, to which Orora laughed. "Oh yeah? None of the others share their dark thoughts with you?" She asked, to which Toph shook her head.

"Nope! Katara and Aang are too nice to think dark thoughts." The earthbender stated, as she created a small bridge where the distance between the frozen lava rivers was a bit too big. "And Sokka is well, Sokka."

The older girl let out a bark of laughter. "No arguments there. But I guess when you've lived in isolation like the two of us have nearly our whole lives." She nudged Toph playfully. "Thinking dark thoughts tends to be a good past time."

It was strange how much she had in common with a thirteen year old. While Orora had lived a life where she was forced to live in submission of her father and brothers, Toph had lived a life where she was coddled and treated as an invalid, just because she was blind.

The context did not matter.

What mattered was that they had each led lives where they felt like they were alone in the world.

"Whats the darkest thought you have ever had?" Orora asked Toph, to which the girl shrugged. "What my life would've been like if I didn't have my bending." The girl revealed to which Orora came to a sudden halt. "My life would be even darker then it already is." Toph continued as she kicked her foot out, loose ash forming a small cloud around her as she did.

Reaching out, Orora took her head and smiled down at her, even if she couldn't see it. "Well, the Spirits blessed you with earthbending, so lets leave it at that."

Toph smiled back, the cloud that had suddenly loomed over her dissipating, as she squeezed Orora's hand. "What about you? Whats your darkest thought?"

The older girl pursed her lips, her gaze trained towards the wide open ocean as it stretched out in front of them. "That I will die alone."

Silence followed her confession, one that was finally broken by Toph. "Woah, that's even darker then mine." She said in a tone that was half-joking and yet somehow serious and worried as well. "Why do you think that?" She asked, curious to know what went on in the older girl's mind.

Orora sighed, running a hand down her face. "I don't know. I guess because now that Zuko has betrayed me, I know there is no chance of my being with him." It still hurt saying it, but she continued. "And yeah, I could find someone else, but would I be able to have what I did with Zuko?"

So saying she slumped to sit down on the ash covered ground. Toph stayed where she was, her forehead creased in a frown as she thought over what Orora had just revealed.

"I don't know Zuko as well as you or the other three do." She finally spoke, to which Orora hummed in agreement. She felt Toph shift where she stood, taking a few steps forward to stand next to her.

"But I've heard how powerful a bond can be between two Soulmates. I mean it was so powerful between Oma and Shu that they were able to learn earthbending, just so they could be together." Orora turned her head so she could look at Toph. "I mean sure, he died, but when they were alive, they always found their way back to each other, no matter how much the war forced them to stay apart."

The waterbender frowned. "What're you getting at Toph?" She asked, her curiosity peaking as Toph smiled in her direction. "I'm saying, what if Zuko finds his way back to you, just like Oma and Shu did?"

Stunned silence followed her words. Orora couldn't help but blink at Toph in surprise who was looking at her in a strangely hopeful manner. A flicker of.....something sparked in her heart, but she pushed it aside.

"I don't know Toph." She finally said with a shrug. "I doubt fate will be that kind to us." A sudden punch to her shoulder had the older girl frowning and rubbing the sore spot. Toph, who still held up her clenched fist, glared at her. "If a blind girl can find her soulmate during an all out war, then a girl who's soulmate left her once, can come back to her again."

Orora stood. "How can you be so sure?" She snapped, not wanting to get angry, but frustration did simmer just under her skin at the moment. The younger girl suddenly sobered and dropped her hand. "You've said so yourself that no matter what he did, his heart was always in the right place right?" She asked, to which Orora gave a small shrug. "I suppose so." She muttered.

Reaching out, Toph laid a hand on Orora's chest, right where her heart was. "So if his heart is with you, and you're in the right place, he'll come back to you. Its as simple as that."

Orora stared at Toph, her mouth open in shock and her ice blue eyes wide. The shorter girl shook her head. "Honestly, its amazing how people who have eyes can't even see whats so obvious. I guess its a good thing I'm blind."

So saying, the girl walked off, leaving behind a still stunned Orora who was decidedly ignoring the way her string was flickering red.

                                          ————————–

Zuko's mind was racing.

He knew his Uncle was the one to send him the scroll. But why? He hadn't gained any new information from what he had read. Other then the fact that his great-grandfather had been friends with Aang's predecessor. It was strange how two people who had been the best of friends, could turn against one another.

Or rather, Sozin had turned his back on Roku.

That part was what haunted him the most?.

Was it something that ran in the family? Betraying the people you called friends. He had done the same to Orora what Sozin had done to Roku.

Was that the point his Uncle had been trying to make?

No! He had said he needed to know about the death of his great-grandfather, yet Sozin had been alive in the end. His death had revealed nothing.

Frustration clawed at him from the inside as he marched into the prison tower and towards his Uncle's cell.

He just hoped the man would speak to him.

Slamming the door behind him as he entered, he held out the scroll that had the message on it. "You sent this, didn't you? I found the secret history, which by the way should be renamed history most people already know!" He yelled, allowing his frustration to seep into his words. "The note said that I needed to know about my great-grandfather's death, but he was still alive in the end."

Iroh looked up at Zuko, and for a moment he thought he wouldn't speak.

"No. He wasn't." Though the relief at hearing his Uncle finally speak to him warmed his heart, he pushed it aside in favor of the confusion that clouded his mind.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, as Iroh finally met his eye, and for once Zuko didn't feel the shame and guilt that burdened him since Ba Sing Se.

"You have more than one great-grandfather, Prince Zuko." Iroh revealed. "Sozin was your father's grandfather." He paused, preparing Zuko before he revealed the truth and reason behind all the conflict he felt all the time.

And really the next few words changed Zuko's outlook on life forever.

"Your mother's grandfather was Avatar Roku."

Shock raced through his veins, prompting him to drop the scroll he had been holding. His eyes widened, and his heart beat wildly against his chest. His knees felt weak, and yet it was a testament that he did not immediately drop down to the floor.

"Why are you telling me this?" He whispered hoarsely, his mind exploding with questions, each one burning at the tip of his tongue and yet he could voice none of them.

"Because understanding the struggle between your two great-grandfathers can help you better understand the battle within yourself." Finally, his legs gave way. Zuko dropped to the floor, his head hanging as every moment of confusion and conflict he had ever experienced his entire life rose to the forefront of his mind.

Everything.

Everything he had done, every decision he had ever made and everything that happened to him. It all came back to his family.

His father had banished him after burning him, making him the bitter person he had been for nearly three years.

His mother had left him, influencing him into accepting that he could never trust anyone with his heart.

His sister always lied, pushing him into believing that no one would help him and that he had to help himself.

And now, his great-grandfathers.

Sozin's ideas about sharing the wealth and prosperity of the Fire Nation with the rest of the world had blinded him to all the horrible atrocities the Fire Nation had committed over the past Hundred Years.

Roku's hesitancy on taking out his former best friend was what had led to the war in the first place. If he had thought of the world, rather then the relationship he had had with Sozin, maybe the war would never have started in the first place.

"Evil and good are always at war inside you, Zuko." His Uncle continued to speak, his words echoing against the cold stone walls of the prison. "It is your nature, your legacy."

Was this it?

Was he meant to feel utter anguish and turmoil for the rest of his life? Was he to know the difference between right and wrong but never be able to act upon it?

He had acted upon it once before, and had suffered the consequences.

Not because he was the Prince of the Fire Nation.

But because he was the son of Ozai.

"But, there is a bright side." His Uncle's voice prompted him to look back up, scarcely allowing an ember of hope to burn in his chest.

"What happened generations ago can be resolved now, by you." Iroh stated, his voice firm and stern. The time for gentleness was long past. It was time to show his nephew the utter reality and truth of the situation if he were to do something good for the world and save himself.

"Because of your legacy, you alone can cleanse the sins of our family and the Fire Nation. Born in you, along with all the strife, is the power to restore balance to the world." Iroh was aware how Avatar Aang was meant to do just that, but he had known, long ago, that the young airbender would not be able to do all of that alone. He had to see to the entire world, not just one Nation.

Restoring the honor of the Fire Nation would be up to Zuko and no one else.

He stood, moving to the wall at his side. Iroh pulled out a loose brick and reached for the object within that was wrapped in a frayed, dirty cloth. He removed it to reveal a headdress as he walked towards Zuko and held it out for him.

"This is a royal artifact. It is supposed to be worn by the Crown Prince." Zuko stood in awe of the artifact thought to be lost long ago. The headdress gleamed in the moonlight. "Sozin gave it to Roku as a token of their friendship long ago, but it became tainted, when Sozin betrayed Roku."

Zuko blinked, before closing his eyes and reaching into the pocket of his shirt and pulling out the comb he always carried with him these days to feel her close. Iroh's eyes widened at the sight of the familiar comb.

"I suppose these two share a history of betrayal don't they?" His nephew said, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotion as the two hairpieces were held aloft side by side.

Iroh's heart softened, and he knew Zuko regretted the decision he had made in Ba Sing Se. Perhaps, because of the bond he shared with Orora, it would push him to make the right decision. Placing the crown atop the comb, and closing Zuko's fingers around it, Iroh gave him a look of understanding.

"Then, it is up to you to make it right."

The small room glowed with a sudden blue hue that had been dim for most of the time. However, in that moment it glowed so brightly that if anyone else other then Zuko saw, they would believe the Moon Spirit herself had descended upon them.

However, it was only the string that connected him with his soulmate.

Glowing bright and blue as he finally, finally, realized the true extent of his feelings for Orora.

                                          ���———————–

"You mean, after all Roku and Sozin went through together, even after Roku showed him mercy, Sozin betrayed him like that‌?" Katara's astonished voice cut the tense atmosphere once Aang had revealed what Roku had shown him.

Orora stood to the side, frowning. "All those years of friendship." She said in a low voice. "He just threw it away because he wanted to realize his own ambitions." Why did that sound so familiar? And yet, this was not the time to think about him, the young waterbender scolded herself, focusing instead on what Toph was saying.

"It's like some people are born bad." She said, sounding confused and sad at the same time. Aang stepped up, shaking his head as he did. "No, that's wrong." He insisted, walking so he could stand with his back to them to look out at the ocean. "I don't think that was the point of what Roku showed me at all." His voice sounded so hopeful and optimistic.

Sokka shrugged, ever the pessimist of the group cut in. "Then what was the point?" He asked, to which Aang turned back to look at them. He smiled at each one of them in turn before speaking.

"Roku was just as much Fire Nation as Sozin was, right? If anything, their story proves anyone's capable of great good and great evil." His grey eyes landed on Orora at that part, and she felt herself stand up straight, knowing he was thinking of Zuko the same way she was. She chewed on her lower lip, slowly looking away from Aang, who continued with a small smile of understanding.

"Everyone, even the Fire Lord and the Fire Nation have to be treated like they're worth giving a chance." Aang concluded with that ever-present hopeful note in his voice.

"And I also think it was about friendships." He added with a grin. That last part did warm Orora's heart a little bit, prompting her to smile at Katara when the other girl looked at her.

"Do you really think," Toph began, sounding unsure and hesitant as she did. "Friendships can last more than one lifetime?" She asked, and Orora had to stop herself from reaching out and hugging the younger girl.

Aang reached out to take Toph's hand. "I don't see why not." He said as Katara took Toph's other hand as well. Reaching out, Orora placed a gentle hand on Toph's shoulder. "Friends are the family we choose for ourselves Toph." She said before she moved to take Aang's free hand as he held it out for her with a smile. "And I don't know about you, but I don't plan on letting go of any of you in this life or any other."

Aang, Katara and Toph both smiled at her. Sokka, however, had something else to add.

"Well, scientifically speaking, there's no way to prove that-" He began, only to have his sister shoot him an annoyed look. "Oh, Sokka, just hold hands." She said, holding her hand out towards him. Without missing a beat, his hand grasped hers.

Orora gave a soft laugh as Aang turned towards her to wink playfully. And as they stood there, greeting the new day with a more hopeful outlook on everything, Orora closed her eyes and inhaled.

Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she could feel someone taking her other hand.

One that she was all too familiar with.

Considering she had held that hand many many times during her time with him.

For a moment her string glowed a warm red hue.

                                          ————————–

"People are starting to talk."

Zuko looked up from where he had been going over some new firebending forms he was mastering. Mai stood leaning against the doorway, a half smile playing about her lips.

"About what?" He asked, as she walked into the room, coming to sit opposite him. "That we're dating. Something about going out and walking into the same flower shop twice."

Zuko rolled his eyes. "Its just people gossiping nothing more. And its keeping Azula off both our backs, so I welcome it." He added, recalling how delighted his sister had seemed to be when she had spoken to him about it earlier that day. Mai hummed in agreement.

"True, my parents have also backed off." She pulled out a small knife from her sleeve, flicking it in the air and expertly catching it by the handle. "They were starting to look for marriage proposals for me, so dating you seems to be benefiting me as well."

Zuko followed her movement, his mind conjuring a sharp icicle rather then a knife as it twirled in the air. He had seen Orora do that very same move multiple times. Sometimes to practice, but most times out of sheer boredom.

"Have you been meeting with Kei Lo?" He asked, not wanting his thoughts to wander to Orora. Mostly because even the mere thought of her had his string glowing.

Zuko had met Mai's soulmate the first time he had gone to the flower shop. She had introduced him and Zuko had to admit, the boy seemed perfect for Mai. She needed someone to bring out the more softer and fun side of her, and Kei Lo was the right person to do it. Even the mere mention of him had a smile playing across Mai's lips as she nodded. "Yes, I met him just yesterday. My mother is starting to think I have taken an interest in flower arrangements, and my aunt is happy to keep my secret." She admitted.

Zuko smiled back, reaching out to gently pat her hand. "I'm glad you found him Mai." He said, his voice genuine. The girl nodded.

"What about you? Are you still seeing Orora?" The moment she spoke her name, his string began to glow blue. He ignored it in favor of responding to her question.

"Yeah, sometimes, every now and then." He admitted. Her appearances, where they had been quite frequent before, were now sporadic, not to mention she barely spoke in any of them.

He would never admit it out loud, but it was starting to scare him a little, how she was barely there whenever he would think of her.

As if he were forgetting what she looked like.

"Maybe you should go and find her?" Her suggestion had him staring at her wide eyed and dumbfounded. Mai only lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Obviously you miss her, so what harm could there be in going to look for her?" She made the suggestion so carelessly, as if she were commenting on the weather or something.

Zuko frowned. "I can't exactly go out and find her. For one I would need a legitimate reason to leave the Palace." He stood up, walking towards the window and looking out towards the setting sun. "Besides, I doubt she would want to see me after what I did to her." Behind him, Mai pursed her lips, nodding in agreement.

"True, but have you thought that maybe she misses you just as much as you miss her?" She stood, slowly coming to stand behind him, settling a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Trust me Zuko, it's never the right thing to run away or stay purposely away from your soulmate. It doesn't really work."

With that, she turned around and left Zuko to his thoughts.

It was strange. He had been so focused on how his betrayal had effected her, that it had never occurred to him that she would be missing him, just as much as he missed her.

Or perhaps more, he thought to himself, as his string glowed blue.

                                          ————————–

When she had left home, Orora had known she would have to leave several luxuries behind. One of them being shopping.

If there was one thing Orora loved more then anything it was shopping. In Ba Sing Se, she had always been the one to go out and buy whatever they needed. Iroh had been a little surprised at her enthusiasm, but he had not commented on it.

Traveling across the Fire Nation with Aang, Katara, Sokka and Toph meant that they rarely went shopping, if ever. What money they had, they needed for supplies, and many a time Orora had to walk away from a shiny trinket that would catch her eye. All because she didn't have money.

But now?

They had sacks of it.

Her, Sokka, Toph and Aang all but cackled as they exited the town, their arms laden with several purchases, as well as sacks of silver and gold. "Spirits! Why didn't we think of doing this earlier?" The older girl said, smiling from ear to ear as she eyed the meat they had been able to buy. They would be eating really good that night.

"Don't think of the Why Orora." Sokka said, happily carrying his share of shopping. "Think of the What," He trailed off as the other three looked at him, prompting him to continue. "As in, What are we going to spend all this money on?"

Another round of laughter followed his words as they finally reached their little camp, where they dumped their purchases in front of Katara who was cooking.

"Where did you guys get the money to buy all this stuff?" She asked, looking curiously into the baskets. Aang, grabbing an apple from one of the baskets, took a bit out of it and sat down. "Toph got us money." He said as a way of explanation. "She scammed one of those guys in town who moves the shells around all sneaky-like."

Orora grabbed an apple herself. "You should've seen the looks on their faces Katara. Hilarious." She praised as she passed by Sokka and gave him a high-five, before throwing the apple at Appa who caught it in his mouth with a happy groan.

Sokka nodded as he sat down. "She used earthbending to win the game! Classic!" He shot the bling girl a thumbs up, even as his sister adopted a disapproving look. "Ah, so she cheated."

Toph, who had been about to bite into her own apple, stopped. "Hey! I only cheated because he was cheating!" She grinned. "I cheated a cheater. What's wrong with that?"

Katara shook her head. "I'm just saying this isn't something we should make a habit of doing." She reprimanded as Orora dug into their purchase to grab something, only to extract Momo by the tail who had sneaked in when no one had been looking.

Toph scoffed. "Why?" As Orora took the many apples Momo had been trying to sneak off with, leaving the annoyed animal with just one. "Because it's fun? And you hate fun?"

The girl huffed. "I don't hate fun!" Catching Momo as he sulked away, she placed him on her head. "See? Fun!" An awkward silence followed as Momo slipped off her head, screeched at her before running away.

Aang, not wanting to see Katara worry about something so mediocre stood up and lifted his headband to reveal the tattoo below. "Katara." He spoke solemnly, bowing. "I'll personally make you an Avatar Promise that we won't make a habit of doing these scams."

Katara smiled in satisfaction before turning her attention to Orora. The older girl blinked back. "What?" Katara gave her a look, one that had Orora pursing her lips before finally letting out an exaggerated groan.

"Alright! Alright! I'll make sure they don't get too carried away." She promised halfheartedly before pulling out another apple and offering it to Katara as a peace offering.

Of course all their promises meant nothing to any of them.

The very next day, after a successful round of scamming, Orora was happily wandering the streets of the town to see what she could buy. Sokka, Toph and Aang were carrying out another scam, but Orora had wanted to shop.

Pocketing the winnings from the scam she had pulled with the younger girl, she walked around in search of a good clothing shop. With the Invasion drawing near, she wanted to make something for herself. She had no desire to defeat the Fire Nation wearing their colors.

Besides, she missed wearing blue.

Though her chances were slim, maybe she would be able to find something?

She passed through the center of the town, and the sight that greeted her, had her coming to an abrupt halt.

There in the middle of the town stood a tall statue of the current Fire Lord. Orora stood there, staring up at him. Pure hatred raged in her heart as she looked at the likeness. This was the man who had burned Zuko. Who had stood over a young boy, a boy trying to do good, and mercilessly burned half his face off.

"Hey Orora!" Aang's voice barely registered in her mind as she stood where she was. The young Avatar raced to her side, his own gaze lifting towards the all too daunting presence of the statue.

"Its strange to finally put a face to the name, isn't it?" Aang said as he stood beside her. Not breaking her stare, she spoke to him. 'How do you mean?"

Aang shrugged. "Well we've all heard about Fire Lord Ozai for months, and I had no idea what he looked like till I went to school." She nodded. "Yeah, but now we have someone to picture when we talk of him." A brief pause before Aang spoke again. "He was the one who gave Zuko the scar right?" She had told them briefly about how Zuko had gotten the scar, but hadn't gone into the details. His words prompted her to tense up, her hands clenching in fists at her sides as she gritted her teeth. Anger ran through her veins as she turned on her heel and began to walk away. Aang followed after her.

"Hey! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you!" The worry in his tone was what prompted her to finally halt and turn to him with a reassuring look. "You didn't Aang. I'm just angry at him for what he did to Zuko." Her gaze flickered to her string. "Which is strange because why should I be angry about what happened to him after what he did to me?" Aang's features morphed to an understanding yet sympathetic look as he took the older girl's hand in an effort to comfort her.

"Maybe because your feelings for him go a little more deeper then you realized." His statement had her frowning slightly, before she sighed and shook her head. "Well whatever the reason, I don't have time to think of him right now."

Forcing her thoughts to steer away from Zuko she instead smiled at Aang. "Come on! Help me find a fabric shop! I need to buy something!" Since they were still holding hands, she quickly led him away down the street in search of the aforementioned shop.

Leaving behind the statue of the man she hated.

Pushing aside the fact that her string had glowed red the entire time she had spoken with Aang, only disappearing when she finally entered the shop and began to browse the fabric, looking for the color she needed.

                                          ————————–

He had no idea what he was preparing for. During his training, he worked ten times harder. Be it perfecting his firebending forms, or practicing with his swords. His appetite had returned since he came back from Ember Island, resulting in him having more energy then he previously had.

While he did focus on the political part of his studies, he was no more interested in all the colonies the Fire Nation had created over the past hundred years. Not to mention the devastation caused.

The librarian had been a little surprised when Zuko had asked for those specific records, but everything was given to him because he was the Prince after all.

Everything the Fire Nation had done.

Every act of violence.

The number of people they had killed, not counting the entire Nation they had wiped out.

The resources that were being sent to the armies rather then being used by the general public.

The many many machines of war that had been created to support their so called cause.

The taxes imposed on the people to pay for the war.

The law stating every member of the family were to send two children to the front of the lines.

Nothing in all his findings told him anything about the Fire Nation actually contributing to the betterment of the world.

All they had done was take and leave nothing behind.

He remembered the time he had spent in the Earth Kingdom. All those people he had met on his journey. How in one way or another, every single one of them were effected by the Fire Nation.

The thousands of families displaced by the war.

The hundreds of families leaving behind their homes because it was no longer safe.

The children who had been orphaned.

The parents who had lost their children.

Soulmates who had lost their other half.

Uncle had lost his son.

Lu Ten had lost his life.

Aang lost his entire people.

Katara and Sokka lost their mother.

Song was scarred just like he was.

Lee had lost his brother.

Orora had almost been killed.

And so many countless others.

And all of them, had one thing in common.

They all hated the Fire Nation. No one respected them. They all feared and hated him and his people.

He hadn't helped in that belief by chasing Aang and his friends around the world. And then he had gone and betrayed Orora. Then he had sent that assassin after them.

Maybe Mai was right.

Maybe he did need to go out and find her. Tell her that he was beginning to think that the decision he had made in Ba Sing Se was the wrong one.

But how could he leave?

He couldn't just up and go, that would raise suspicion, and his father might send someone after him.

As he lay there with his hand held aloft so he could look at his glowing string, Zuko came to a decision.

The first chance he got, he would leave everything, find Orora, and join the people working against the Fire Nation to put a stop to it's tyrannical rule.

Once and for all.

                                          ————————–

Their escape from the newly named Combustion Man was a close call.

Too close.

In fact, it had put all of them on edge, and they'd taken to flying as far away from that town as possible.

In hindsight, maybe she should've discouraged them from telling scary stories as a way to unwind after their most stressful encounter yet. Orora had to admit, the place they had decided to make camp was spookier then any place they had spent the night at. Or maybe it was just her imagination, she mused to herself as they all sat around the fire.

"Water Tribe slumber parties must stink." Toph stated when one of Sokka's scary stories was not well-received. "I've never been to one, so I can't be the judge of that." The older girl put in her two thoughts, adding another dried stick to the fire the burned between them.

"No, wait! I've got one!" Katara spoke up from where she sat. "And this is a true Southern Water Tribe story."

Sokka rolled his eyes, not believing his sister. "Is this one of those 'a friend of my cousin knew some guy that this happened to' stories?" He said in a sarcastic tone, to which Katara shook her head.

"No, it happened to Mom." Upon hearing that, Sokka stiffened and everyone stopped moving as they sat in utter stillness, waiting for Katara to begin her story.

"One winter when Mom was a girl," She began, her voice low and soft. "A snowstorm buried the whole village for weeks. A month later, Mom noticed she hadn't seen her friend Nini since the storm. So Mom and some others went to check on Nini's family. When they got there, no one was home." A shiver ran down Orora's spine, her arms came to wrap around her legs as she hugged herself, eyes wide as she stared at Katara.

"Just a fire flickering in the fireplace. While the men went out to search, Mom stayed in the house. When she was alone, she heard a voice. 'It's so cold and I can't get warm!'" Sokka stiffened with fear, and even Toph gulped nervously where she sat. "Mom turned and saw Nini standing by the fire. She was blue like she was frozen. Mom ran outside for help, but when everyone came back, Nini was gone."

Aang used Momo's ears to cover his face in fear, while Orora quickly shifted to sit beside Toph, who didn't hesitate in grabbing her hand as they huddled together. Sokka, who had taken to hiding behind a gnarled tree stump peaked out. "Where'd she go?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Katara shook her head. "No one knows. Nini's house stands empty to this day, but sometimes, people see smoke coming up from the chimney, like little Nini is still trying to get warm." Orora glanced over her shoulder, as if she expected Nini to be standing right there behind her.

Suddenly Toph straightened up, placing her hand on the ground. "Wait! Guys, did you hear that?" Her movement was so sudden that Orora let out a broken shriek, while Aang, Katara and Sokka clutched at one another, staring around in fear.

"I hear people under the mountain. And they're screaming." Orora blinked. "Wh-what?" She gulped, ice blue eyes wide in fear as she stared around their small camp. Sokka, assuming Toph was just joking relaxed his grip around his sister and scoffed.

"Pfft! Nice try." Toph shook her head, her hand still pressed to the ground. "No, I'm serious. I hear something." She insisted, as Orora shifted to quickly sit beside Aang who was still hugging Katara. "Toph, cut it out. You're scaring everyone." She insisted, though even her voice sounded small and meek to her own ears.

A horde of physical enemies she could face any day, but spooky stories? That was a weakness her brothers had exploited when she had been younger.

"You're probably just jumpy from the ghost stories." Katara insisted, glancing at Aang and Orora in worry, who were both huddled together.

Toph frowned. "It just ... stopped." Aang gulped, clutching on to both Katara and Orora. "All right, now I'm getting scared."

Suddenly a voice called out through the darkness, soft and gentle. "Hello, children."

The camp rang loudly with the screams of said children as they scrambled around trying to find a place to hide. But then they all stopped when they saw what, or rather who had emerged from the shadows.

An elderly woman.

An elderly woman who turned out to be a Southern Water Tribe waterbender named Hama. Who told them all about what had happened during the Fire Nation raids, and how she had escaped them before hiding here.

It was all sad and heartbreaking, and yet, perhaps it was the scary stories still floating around in her mind, or perhaps it was her older sister instinct, or the fact that they were being hunted.

But somehow, Orora didn't trust Hama.

All because the old woman seemed to watch Katara's every move with a greedy, almost hungry, look on her face when she didn't think anyone was looking.

But Orora was.

Orora was always looking.

Always looking out for her family.

Which was why the night Hama told everyone what had happened to her, Orora pulled Sokka away from the rest of the dinner party to speak with him.

"Aww come on Orora! I was just going in for seconds!' He whined as she shut the door behind them and stepped outside in the night. She gave him a look that had him frowning. "Whats up?"

No sooner had he voiced his question before she spoke, making sure she kept her voice down. "Its just...." She wrapped her arms around herself, eyes looking around nervously. "I don't know something about this place and Hama makes me feel uneasy." She revealed to which Sokka nodded. "Well the stories of people disappearing certainly doesn't help." He added, to which Orora simply nodded.

Reaching out he gave her a comforting pat on the back. "Look, we're just gonna solve this mystery, then be on our way. Don't worry, we'll all be on our guard. And remember what Aang said, not everyone we run into is bad or out to get us." When she gave him an unconvincing look he sighed.

"Look, I get you would be nervous when it comes to trusting people, but you have all of us watching your back and each other's, so really there's no need to worry." And though Sokka's words did bring her some comfort, Orora still remained alert, not wanting to be caught off guard.

Of course, that amounted to nothing when the very next morning, Hama asked to see her under the pretense of having her get something from the market, only to knock her out from behind and drag her away into the forest.

Orora woke just as Hama was tying her wrists and feet to keep her from running away. Still groggy from the hit to the back of her head, which was still hurting, Orora was barely aware of where she was as she watched the old crone go about securing her.

"You know, when the first raid happened, we sent a message to our sister Nation, begging for help. To send reinforcements." Hama spoke once she was satisfied with her bonds. A filthy rag was wrapped around her mouth to keep her from screaming. Despite the pain, the young waterbender was able to glare fiercely at Hama, anger burning in her ice blue eyes.

"Of course being so far away, they couldn't send help in time. But my brothers and sisters did hold out during our first few months in our cells. Thinking that perhaps our Northern brothers and sisters would come to rescue us." She turned her hateful gaze towards the young girl, who glared right back.

"However, with every full moon that passed, we realized that no help was coming. And whatever hope we had of escaping slowly died. And though I realize you are not directly responsible for your forefathers actions." The old crone leaned down right in Orora's face as she smiled coldly at her. "Holding you accountable is the next best thing."

Orora felt herself grow cold, her mind racing with all the possibilities that Hama would carry out on her out of the anger and hatred that had festered in her for so long.

Running her long bony fingers through the white patch of her hair in a condescending manner, Hama hummed as she smiled. "Now, why don't you wait here while I have a one-on-one lesson with your friend Katara."

Her fear for Katara triumphed her own own fear. She tried her best struggling and thrashing to get away, but Hama was strong, stronger then she looked. Pulling on the rope, she was able to tie Orora to a tree, tight and secure her there.

"I'll be back for you." She promised, before walking off, leaving the girl to struggle and call out into the wind, her voice muffled and barely audible.

The entire day she pulled and thrashed, trying to free herself. Her wrists began to ache and she knew she had split the skin from where the ropes burned against her. Even her ankles burned, and her throat ached from screaming.

All that for nothing.

Finally, during mid afternoon, she gave up. Her head hung to the side as she began to doze off, the occurrences of the day getting to her. Tears of frustration burned her eyes at every waking interval, as she cursed her own stupidity, and for not listening to her instincts.

She was worried.

Worried for her friends. But especially for Katara.

What would Hama do to her?

All day long, the questions and scenarios plagued her mind. Slowly, the sun set and the sounds of the night roused her from her half-asleep stupor. The bright light from the moon shone down on her, prompting her to inhale deeply, taking in the strength it provided her with. Her tired body gained a little strength, though the back of her head still stung from where she had been hit.

Suddenly, she heard voices.

Her ears pricked up and she focused on the voices that approached her.

Hama and Katara.

Instantly she began to squirm and pull at her restraints. She could feel the dried blood on her wrists split as fresh blood oozed out.

"And to make sure, you learn what I have to teach you, I brought a little incentive."

Suddenly Hama appeared in her view, making her recoil in fright. The old woman worked quickly, untying her from the tree and pulling her towards the clearing where Katara was standing.

"Orora!" Katara's shocked voice cut through the night, echoing the clearing as the older girl lay battered and bruised at the old woman's feet. "What have you done to her? Let her go!" She demanded, stepping forward, to which Hama held up a placating hand.

"What I'm about to show you." Hama began, glaring down at Orora in a menacing manner before turning her attention back to Katara. "I discovered in that wretched Fire Nation prison."

Orora only caught snippets of the story, trying hard not to pass out from the pain that radiated from her head. It was so difficult to focus when all she could pay attention to was the stricken look on Katara's face. But she did manage to catch the important parts of the story.

Hama had created a new sub-form of waterbending.

One that allowed her to control the water within any living creature.

Bloodbending, she called it.

"Once you perfect this technique, you can control anything or anyone." Hama continued, her gaze dropping to Orora who tried her best to glare back at her.

Katara shook her head. "But..... to reach inside someone and control them? I don't know if I want that kind of power." She said, casting a worried look in Orora's direction.

Hama shook her head. "The choice is not yours. The power exists. And it's your duty to use the gifts you've been given to win this war." she urged, before appealing to Katara's kind nature. "Katara, they tried to wipe us out, our entire culture, your mother!"

Katara closed her eyes, thinking of her mother. "I know." She whispered.

"And our sister Tribe did nothing to help." Hama added, glaring down at Orora. "You should understand what I'm talking about! We're the last two waterbenders of the Southern Tribe. We have to fight these people whenever we can, wherever they are, with any means necessary!" She concluded, that scary, desperate and mad gleam coming to her eyes once more.

Katara's eyes widened in shock. "It's you! You're the one who's been making people disappear during the full moons!" Her gaze flickered to Orora. "Let Orora go! Now!"

In response, Hama simply growled. "They threw me in prison to rot, along with my brothers and sisters! And her people did nothing to help! They all deserve the same! You must carry on my work!"

The younger waterbender shook her head, pointing at Hama. "I won't!" Pride swelled in Orora as she watched her friend stand up for what was right. "I won't use bloodbending and I won't allow you to keep terrorizing this town!"

Suddenly Orora felt her entire body freeze up. A horrified gasp was muffled by the cloth around her mouth as she felt her entire body lift from the ground, the bonds fell from around her wrists and ankles as her arms and legs contorting in unnatural angles, her head falling to the side.

Her eyes widened in horror, as she tried, but failed, to move her limbs.

"You should've learned the technique before you turned against me!" Hama's voice came, snapping her out of her terrified state. Her eyes were all that she could control as they darted around, trying to see what was going on, and to escape. "It's impossible to fight your way out of my grip! I control every muscle, every vein in your body!"

With swift motions of her hands and arms, Hama used bloodbending to bring them both side by side before beginning to throw them around. The first swing had Orora crashing through branches, the sharp edges scratching her skin as she went. Somehow, her rag loosened from around her mouth, allowing her cries of pain to echo all around her.

Hama slammed her onto the ground, making her hit her head. She paused briefly with Katara, as turned her attention on Orora instead. "I'll deal with you later." She hissed, before throwing the girl to the side. Her helpless body slammed against a tree trunk, which shuddered from the impact.

The hit was enough for her to drop to the floor and for her vision to go black.

Orora's ears rang with the sound of Katara pleading and crying for Hama to stop, before everything went black.

She roused to someone shaking her shoulder.

Ice blue eyes snapped open. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she sat up, arms held aloft and at the ready to defend herself. Only to be greeted by the sight of Sokka leaning over her with a worried look. He'd barely opened his mouth to say something when something or rather someone over his eye caught her attention.

Katara.

Sobbing hysterically as Aang held her.

Her entire body screamed with pain, and yet she pushed past Sokka, barely noticing the various cuts and bruises her whole body supported. Aang pulled back a little from his embrace, looking at Orora in a helpless manner. The older girl wasted no time.

She wrapped her arms around the younger girl in a fierce and protective embrace, holding her close. Katara, realizing who was holding her, began to cry anew, burying her face in Orora's chest, her entire body shaking with each sob that wrecked through her. Orora could feel her own emotions welling to the surface, prompting tears to silently cascade down her cheeks as she held and did her best to comfort her sister.

It took awhile for them both to calm down, but once they were, they didn't waste any time climbing atop Appa and flying away into the night.

Katara sat next to her brother, leaning against him for support. Aang sat on Appa's head, though every now and then he would glance back at his soulmate in worry. Toph sat next to Orora who had Momo in her lap. "You should heal yourself." Toph spoke softly, reaching out to place her water satchel in her hands. The girl gave a nod, pulling out the water and healing the injury to the back of her head, the open wounds on her wrists and around her ankles, as well as the various cuts that littered her any skin that wasn't covered in fabric.

It was a little slow work, since her limbs felt stiff. Not to mention her whole body ached. From being thrown against a tree or because Hama controlled her entire body. She didn't know. It was a truly terrifying experience. Not being able to control her actions and being at the mercy of a mad woman.

Once done, she threw the water to the side since it was mixed with blood and dirt.

Her mind was still heavy with all that she had endured, but nothing could compare to what Katara was feeling. She pursed her lips as she stared worriedly at the younger girl. Her gaze met Sokka's who shared in her worry.

Walking on her knees, she was able to catch Aang's attention, who came to sit on Katara's other side. Guiding Toph to sit beside her, with Aang on her right side, Orora reached out and took Katara's hands.

"I think we've shared enough scary stories." Everyone, minus Katara, gave weak smiles at her attempt to make a joke. "We could all do with something a little more brighter and happier." Katara raised her red-rimmed eyes at her, her usually bright blue eyes looking so dull and hopeless that it broke her own heart. "So I'm going to recite this poem I love, about two soulmates, and the love they had for one another. Sound good?"

When no objection came, she nodded. Closing her eyes briefly, she cleared her throat and began to speak.

Her voice was soft and gentle, the words hopeful and full of love. So unlike everything they had faced in the past few days. Maybe it was the poem or maybe it was the fact that they were all together, and they were safe.

Whatever it was, it helped.

And slowly, gradually, eventually, the darkness around them began to lift.

                                          ————————–

He was dreaming.

It had been a long while since he had dreamed.

Or rather dreamed of her.

And yet, there she was, standing there with his back to him, staring out at the open ocean that gleamed under the light of the full moon.

He slowly walked up to her, unable to hesitate or even think it through. Why? Because he wanted to be near her. He wanted to see her face. In that moment nothing else mattered. Not the beautiful scenery or that this was all in his head.

He just missed her so much.

Once he reached her, he was surprised to see that she was crying. Her eyes were closed, and tears were sliding down her cheeks, every tear gleaming like a diamond against her beautiful skin.

Where he had been unable to approach her when she had appeared to him crying once before, this time Zuko didn't even think about what he had to do.

He reached up, cupping her face, prompting her to open her eyes and look at him.

Sorrowful blue met gentle warm amber.

His thumb wiped at a tear that escaped her gorgeous eyes. Call it wishful thinking, but maybe she leaned into his touch a little, as if drawing comfort from him. His head leaned down, pressing their forehead together, their noses brushing.

This was all a dream. Zuko knew that.

So then why did it all feel so real?

"I'll come back to you." He whispered, prompting her to open her eyes and look at him, the surprise clear across her features. "I promise." So saying, he shifted so his lips could press against the middle of her forehead in a tender kiss. Orora closed her eyes again, relishing in his presence, one that she had so sorely missed and yet had never admitted to herself that she did.

He pulled back, but only to hold up the finger that had his string tied around it. Of course, if was glowing a bright blue. Orora's eyes widened, and he knew she saw the color. Slowly, she lifted her own finger, showing the red hue that gleamed there, warm and bright. Zuko couldn't help the breathless laugh of happiness that escaped his lips. The sound prompted a smile to form on Orora's lips as she allowed their fingers to intertwine, allowing whatever length was left between their strings to completely disappear. Their gazes met.

"I'll be waiting."

                                          ————————–

When she awoke, there was a warmth on her forehead where Zuko had kissed her. Her string glowed a bright red through the day.

                                          ————————–

When he awoke, there was a warmth in his heart and a lightness to his soul. His string glowed a bright blue throughout the day.

                                          ————————–

And it scared her.

                                          ————————–

And it gave him strength.

                                           ————————–

Tag List - @wavesofchaos​ @violet-potter​ @rennysketch​ @emma-andrea1 @lovesammikinzz @fuzzyfestcat @msrawog @notsaelty @lust-for-pan @aces-tattooartist @jinxxangel13 @lotr-got @bitterspoons @realrintaro @gatorgirl151 @inutheangel @heartfully10 @lucaaahhh @juniper-july19 @anuttellaa @gfksz @bussyvussy @punksnotdeadbutiam @ablofftoneverland-blog-blog @slut-for-menn @vyliie @army-moa75 @juwhls @aqlodun @lovelybaka

[tar-maitime]

bring myself to hold you

Rating: G Characters: Maedhros | Maitimo, Maglor | Makalaure, Elrond, Elros Relationships: Maedhros & Maglor, Maedhros & Elrond & Elros Additional: post-Sirion, questionable adoption, slowly becoming a family WC: 1k

“What’s the Quenya word for ‘mother’?” Elrond asks.

The question is a little out of nowhere, but ever since Maglor started with his insistence on teaching the twins Quenya, one or another of them will pipe up with a random vocabulary question at odd times. Maedhros shrugs, and tries to not let the mental image of Elwing falling with the Silmaril clutched to her heart take over.

“There are several,” she says, not looking up from the maintenance she’s doing on a pair of daggers. “Ontaril is perhaps the most technical of them - it only means ‘she who begets’. The most commonly used is amil, although there are several variations on that, as well as a couple of...warmer diminutives - ammë and amya.”

Elrond nods, looking serious, thanks her, and goes his way. 

Maedhros doesn’t really think about it afterward. Even if it’s been pretty much assumed that they’re keeping the twins indefinitely ever since the new star rose, she doesn’t like to let them occupy too much of her thoughts. She helps Maglor with them as needed - probably everyone who’s left has at some time or another - but she won’t play along with his fantasies of parenthood, won’t get too comfortable. If Maglor can fool himself into thinking he’s unmonstrous enough to raise children, good for him, but she can’t.

“Really, Nelyë? I know you weren’t like this with Gil-galad,” he’d said to her once, early on.

She’d stiffened at the mention of her no-longer-son. “That was entirely different,” she’d said shortly. “I was not responsible for his first home’s destruction. And even he wants nothing to do with me now.”

And there is, after all, plenty to concern herself with besides the idle questions of children, if they want to keep on surviving here in this poorly-manned fortress in the midst of the wild, so she’s almost entirely forgotten the conversation a few days later, when Elrond says casually over supper, “Ammë, would you pass the bread?”

At first, Maedhros ignores him entirely - it’s been decades since ammë meant her. When he nudges her and repeats, “Ammë?”, it finally dawns on her who he’s talking to.

She continues to not look directly at him. “I don’t know who you mean,” she says evenly. “No one’s mother is here. Yours is...in the West.”

“Naneth is in the West,” Elrond agrees. “You’re here, though. Do...do you not want us to call you that?”

“I told you she wouldn’t,” Elros mutters from the other side of the table. 

“It was worth a try!” Elrond retorts, with a brief glance at Maglor, whom Maedhros has been trying not to notice gaining the title of Atya occasionally from the twins. Maglor, for his part, is a study in neutrality, although she knows him well enough to see the hope seeping through the cracks.

“If you insist on giving me some kind of familial title,” she manages, “I would have thought you would try atarnésa.” ‘Aunt’ is still not something she thinks anyone ought to call a kinslaying kidnapper, but it would make more sense if they insisted on calling Maglor a father.

Elros shrugs. “We’ve never had an aunt, so we don’t know what it’s like,” he says. “And you - you’re like Naneth.”

Aside from them both being female, Maedhros cannot think of anyone else she would be less likely to be compared to.

Elrond seems to sense his brother’s floundering and picks up the thread. “You’re busy a lot, and you’re always working to make sure everyone stays safe and has enough. You don’t like to stop and rest in case somebody thinks you’re broken, but you will if it’s to spend time with us. That’s how it was with Naneth, too.”

Maedhros is unable to speak for a moment, and when the ability returns, she rasps, “I drove your mother off a cliff. I was part of the reason she was hurt like she was.” She doesn’t usually lay it out that baldly for them, but there doesn’t seem to be anything else for it.

“We know,” Elros says, not casually, but calmly. He shouldn’t know how to sound like that at his age. Just one more thing she’s broken. “It’s...marred. So is everything. But we’re all here now, and it would only make things worse to hate each other, so we might as well try the other thing.”

“We don’t have to call you Ammë if you don’t want it,” Elrond says quietly. “I just thought it might be nice to try.”

Maedhros is silent for a few long seconds. She’s not sure how to explain that Ammë isn’t supposed to mean her, Ammë is supposed to mean strong, gentle, chisel-callused hands and a warm smile and the smell of clay and dust and someone who can comfort and fix things. The name had only barely started to sit right with her when she had to send Gil-galad away, and now it chafes against the sticky new blood on her hands.

But the twins seem to think it would make them happy, to call her this, and doesn’t she owe them that, after everything? She took away their real mother; she can deal with them using her as a substitute, wrong as it is, if they consider it some kind of restitution.

“It’s all right,” she finally says. “You can call me that if you want to. Whatever you like.” 

The children’s eyes go wide with delight, and a hopeful smile slips onto Maglor’s face.

[starryficsfinishwen]

✧。◟[NSFW] ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ – lee x reader [PGR]

there's an indentation in the shape of you

a.n. - dress by taylor swift got me writing this fic first before I should even start writing the first ones I planned LOL + Lee's Eng VA got me feeling things. also not edited yet, I will edit it when I get back 🙏

pairing - lee x f!commandant (allusions that he's using the hyperreal frame, but you're free to imagine which lee this is)

words - 7,055 words (this idea was supposed to be a drabble. pls don't ask kek)

TRIGGER WARNING - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MAJOR SMUT AHEAD: mentioned fingering, cunnilingus (m to f), penetration, dry humping, tit play?? other stuff I can't seem to put my finger on. allusions to virginity loss. dom!lee hyperreal. a bit of a bratty sub!reader. includes jealous lee. degradation (but only in the seggs part) (mentions of slut, whore). a little bit chrome x commandant/reader. slight tipsy characters because wine and alcohol is involved. we get a soft!lee because he is™️. lee and reader gets to have the bed break because he is also a beast rawr ଲ(ⓛ ω ⓛ)ଲ

Everyone thinks the relationship between a construct and their commandant is purely professional; the latter exuding orders to be executed by the former, the war they face, the blood they had and have to shed — all for the sake of survival and success of the mission. In the end, glory and honor await those who return to Babylonia.

However, beyond the exemplary titles and glimmering medals of valor, no one knows what happens behind those walls.

For example — they never saw the way Lee's fingers curled on your thigh.

Babylonia shone its bright lights onto the heroes that successfully reclaimed another place on Earth. To celebrate their arrival, the leaders took initiative to throw a grand party. Not only to celebrate their win, but to also reignite the nearly-doused flames of hope to the remaining humanity, to show that there is still a chance to take back the Earth from the reigns of death.

Cheers still rang throughout the halls of Babylonia, its joy incomparable to the wails down below. Surely, those who are still alive at a time like this couldn't help but join in their charade, at least, before they wake up once more to the sorrowful reality.

The Gray Ravens are no exception. Being one of the elite squad to spearhead the operations with the banner of Babylonia, they were the subject of the grand feast. And that meant the glimmers of tonight awaited their victorious presence.

“I don't- ah!” A small squeak escaped your lips, as Lucia finally finished pulling on the flimsy thread on your back.

Gasping, Liv covered her mouth in awe, rose-colored irises twinkling as she looked at you, “Commandant, you look so pretty.”

Laughing awkwardly, you slightly nodded to your construct, “really? It feels...awkward though.”

“Liv's not lying,” a soft assurance came from your team leader, Lucia, a grin reflecting on her face, “you look really pretty today, commandant.”

Gently tugging your figure to the nearest mirror, Lucia and Liv revealed your outfit tonight. Mirrors were supposed to reflect what one should see, yet, your own eyes wouldn't believe what was in front of you:

A cream-colored silk dress with a sweetheart neckline, the end of the gown reaching the floor, that hugged your curves all too well. Your usual tied hair was freely cascading your bare back, strands tickling wherever they could reach. You noticed your skin was sparkling even; you were well-aware of the vigorous training and all the other unfortunate scenarios that you and your team went through, yet, your body seemed like it knew no fatigue or stress at all.

“Ayla volunteered to help you look perfect tonight,” Liv pipped, “I think you noticed it when she was scrubbing your body earlier.”

“That was her?” It explained the intense scratching on your skin while you were in the bath, one that your constructs insisted on doing.

The three of you laughed. You couldn't help but marvel at your own constructs as well — Lucia wearing a dazzling carmine gown that reflected her Plume frame, and Liv with her luminous bubblegum cocktail dress mirroring her Eclipse one. A small sense of pride that intertwined with your joy bubbled in your chest, you were glad they were around as your friends instead of just ordinary constructs that only know of staying in the battlefield.

A knock on the door interrupted your moment with your teammates. Liv quickly ran to the door. “It must be Lee!”

A mention of his name made your heart skip a beat. It wasn't supposed to be like that — the relationship between a construct and a commandant is strictly professional. Deep down, you knew your feelings for him are far from that; you saw Lee more than just a teammate or a best friend. But to you, you don't even know the depth of his own attraction to you, unless you remember that one time—

Pretending to look away and deciding to create a small talk with Lucia, your eyes betrayed you as it caught a glimpse of Lee's figure emerging from the front door.

“Are you excited for tonight, Commandant?” Lucia asked.

“A bit. I feel like it's different facing a crowd for a party than facing the corrupted.”

“I agree with you,” she hummed, “but I think it'll be alright, we are all here together rather than fighting at different places all at once, right?”

Once more, your heart skipped. You looked over the mirror, to see cerulean eyes staring at you: an unreadable emotion written on his face.

“Ah, other than that, we have respective partners for tonight anyways. Are you excited to have Lee accompany you, Commandant?”

Another mention of his name. Paired with Lee's lingering gaze on you made you feel like you've shrunken like a mouse. It made your heart beat even faster, that you stumbled on your words.

“I think Chrome will be an excellent pair.”

A pin-drop silence entered the room. Your attention flickered to the reflection of the mirror, where a downcast expression was rewritten on Lee's face.

“You mean Chrome is your partner for tonight?”

Curse your carelessness. You hadn't even asked Chrome in reality; you were just running away from Lee and that unfortunate time—

—Liv hurriedly came back into the lounge. Noticing the air of gloominess, Liv opened her mouth, before hiccuping into a squeal.

“A-ah, guys! I think we should be going now...the party will be starting soon!”

You took that as a cue to turn and face your team members. Taking Lucia's hand, you trudged up to Lee and Liv. You made a mistake in looking at the construct you've been ignoring ever since you came back to Babylonia: the navy blue suit that was carefully ironed, and the smell of musk that flooded your senses. And you wished you hadn't looked up instead when you met his gaze.

Cerulean eyes stared down at you, and the initial fear of shrinking into a mouse returned to you. Looking away, you noticed a small bouquet of roses behind Lee's back, making your heart ache for no reason.

“Commandant.”

Lee's voice matured through the months you've been together. This time, his usual calculative tone melted, and instead, a softer yet rough baritone tone escaped his lips.

He held out his free hand. White gloves instead of the rough ones you've always seen were in his hands instead. “Commandant, good evening.”

“Good-” your voice cracked, making you cringe, “-good evening, Lee.”

You instinctively took the hand that was for you, but Lee was faster, the bouquet of fresh roses and baby's breath already in front of you.

“This is for you.”

No words came out of your blanked out mind. Lee finished the sentence for you, opting to give the bouquet to you without even touching his hand.

“I initially thought I'd be the one to accompany you tonight, but I suppose Captain Chrome already took that place. I'm sure his bouquet is much better than mine, then I suppose I should leave this here?”

Bastard.

A new sense of embarrassment erupted in your face that covered the butterflies that charred in your stomach.

He certainly was about to make that night memorable, wasn't he?

Golden lights poured all over the grandiose auditorium. People and constructs wearing ballgowns, dresses, and suits flocked underneath the glinting chandelier, its rainbow lights reflecting on the tiled floors. The faint smell of food and the clanking of glass filled the entire room, creating an ambiance that was sure to be remembered.

At that moment, confused gray eyes stared at your awkward figure.

“You want...me to be your partner?”

As soon as you entered the room, you had successfully evaded Lee and quickly found Chrome. You tried to keep things short and concise, just to let the captain of Strike Hawk agree to your proposal.

“Just for tonight.” You hushed your tone, frantically looking around to see if someone was eavesdropping on your conversation, “please, Chrome. I'll give you the cleaning robots you want for the whole month.”

“There's no need for that, Commandant. You already know that I'd do whatever you'd ask me to do, but I just don't get why? Isn't Lee around?”

A helpless sigh escaped your lips, to which the captain saw. Before you could speak, the expression on his face changed when he looked up, then looked back at you.

“Is this about Le-”

“-I know, I know, I'm a coward.” You deeply sighed once more, face covered by your hands, “I'm an idiot.”

Fortunately for you, Chrome knows about your dilemma – your infatuation for the man in your team. Giving you an assuring pat on your shoulder, Chrome lightly laughed.

“I see, I understand. I will be your partner for tonight then, Commandant. However, you should already know that you really need to talk to him about what happened before more misunderstandings would happen.”

You breathed out in pure relief. “I will, maybe not now. I still need time...”

Chrome held out your hand and whisked you away into the crowd. “I hope you do it sooner,” Chrome's voice cracked, “Lee looks like he's ready to assault me when I'm asleep.”

By the time Chrome led you to the dancefloor, you realized something: enjoying the party was a complete understatement. The laughter rang in your ears as the food you ate filled your stomach. Fruity gossip — especially those about Hassen and Nikola — reached your ears, paired with the ever-growing amounts of wine you've consumed over the last hour. Or was it last few hours ago?

“Commandant,” in your drunken state, you still managed to hear the worry in Chrome's voice, “I think you should put the glass down...you drank too much.”

You shook your head, refusing to give your glass into the gentle pull of his hand, “I'm fine, I'm not drunk. Let me have one more...”

While earlier, you were worried about Lee and *that* particular disturbance in your mind, you were already dancing with the lights in your vision to care about those trivial matters; after all, the wine was too sweet to whisk you away from everything.

“Ah, Commandant, please.” Chrome's voice shook with uncertainty, “Lee is-”

“-Lee this, Lee that!” You exasperatedly groaned, pouting as you downed on the nth glass for the night, “To hell with him! You're my partner; just come on and dance with me!”

The captain couldn't stop you, as you excitingly dragged him by his necktie to the dancefloor, the crowd around you cheering. Yet the loudness couldn't even drown out your laughter, as you drunkenly danced around your 'partner'. The alcohol had long fogged your head, but you weren't blind to the way Chrome's intense gaze was on you the whole time. You felt his hands around you, from your shoulders to your waist.

As the music played a sensual bass, your eyes opened to look around. Dim lights, a shadow overhead of the chandelier's outline, the sea of people on the dancefloor. Songs of praises about how tomorrow was another day for heroes to save the future, words of congratulations that only passed through your ears. Amongst the beat of the music playing in the background, your heart was playing a different song — there, you saw the person you'd been ignoring, yet looking for all this time: Lee was laughing and smiling at the ladies that surrounded him.

For a moment, you seemed to have gone sober. Perhaps, this was your punishment; and you deserve that heartbreak. So, you closed your eyes and danced to the unfathomable soundtrack of the night, forever drifting in your drunken stupor.

“How alluring,” you were suddenly aware of how Chrome was already too close from comfort, breathe tickling your ears, “I should have known that you were a mastermind to such things like this.”

His hands bordered around the area of your hips. It tickled you, but you couldn't help but remember Lee's own hands gripping your hips like what happened—

“Commandant,” his voice dropped an octave lower, making your spine shiver, as he brought you even closer to his chest, “why must you be like this?”

Reality and imagination overlapped your consciousness; while someone else held your body, all you could see in that proximity was Lee in his place. Your heart was throbbing now, as your drunken thoughts only made you remember that certain day with Lee.

His breath fluttered in your ear. Wandering hands. A tight space.

All you could do was inhale in that moment, before the breath of fresh air slipped through your lungs.

A momentary shake clouded your already-drunk thoughts. The bright lights in the dim room flickered in your vision before you felt a broad surface collide with your body.

“...enough.” Frankly, you must've been stuck too long in a daydream that you imagined Lee's voice. But then again, it must not be because—

“....Commandant....too much....drink.”

You shook yourself awake. When you returned to your senses, Chrome was in front of you, looking disappointed above you, but not at you. All because Lee was the one behind you, hands gripping your shoulders.

“I've already told her that.” the captain scoffed, “we're only dancing. I'm taking her home already.”

“Right, says the man who was close enough to kiss her.” Lee's cold tone made you shiver your spine. You've never seen him this angry before.

“At least I have the guts to do so, unlike someone who's been a coward.”

Coward. That seemed to sum up yourself. Or the man holding you.

Wait.

“Lee,” you cried out a slur, alcohol coming back to consume you, “enough, Chrome didn't do anything wrong.”

The light of the chandelier blinded his features, making you unsure whether or not you'd seen Lee's face in the darkness. Pulling you away from the light and the crowd, you heard a shift in Lee's whisper, a softer tone, “I'll take you home, Commandant.”

“...wait,” a small whine escaped your lips, before your surroundings blurred into pure darkness, “Lee, hang on...”

Your eyes closed, your sense of hearing faded like your vision, yet you felt a pair of strong arms wrapped around you.

“Lee...my mac and cheese...”

You remember that day.

A mission on Earth. The Gray Ravens were dispatched to help reclaim the piece of land vital to the operation's success. Alongside Strike Hawk, the two squads were sent without a hassle. Things were going very well until you and Lee somehow found yourselves cornered in one of the abandoned buildings.

You never expected yourself to be in that tight situation: a small dresser, with you and Lee stuck inside. You tried to awkwardly make the space comfortable enough still, but all the shifting and turning only made the situation worse.

“Commandant,” Lee breathed out after you tried to move your body, “I think you should stop...”

Sighing, you couldn't help but grow frustrated. “I could, but I think you're the one having trouble here. I don't want you to get back aches when we return to our base.”

“True, but...” he suddenly went silent, causing you to look at him, “this position is rather...”

“We don't have much of a choice then, I'm sorry, Lee. Don't worry; when we get back, I'll-”

Without missing a beat, Lee leaned forward, covering your mouth. Your eyes widened at the intrusion, eyebrows raised.

'There's someone out there'. He mouthed at you, still keeping his hand there.

As you listened to the creeping footsteps — one you identified as a corrupted — a small vibration, akin to a fluttering heartbeat, was heard thrumming alongside yours. You redirected your gaze from the small opening of the dresser, to Lee's focused stare to where you first looked.

A sharp jaw, clear and calculative cerulean irises that were curtained by his bangs, dimpled cheeks, soft-looking lips. You've known all this time that Lee was a handsome man, but have you ever looked at him like this? Have you ever stared at someone in a different light, that you want to kiss them?

“What?”

A startled question brought you back to reality. You caught him staring back at you with a wild, confused, yet curious expression written across his dainty features. You reeled yourself back — did you just say your thoughts out loud?!

“Um-” squeaking, you frantically shook your head, “n-no, I was just-”

Without hesitation, Lee leaned forward, one hand over the aide of your head, the other grasping your chin. In the middle of your hazy thoughts, you read an unfamiliar expression on Lee's face, this time, you could hear both of your hearts beating in sync.

“Pull away when you don't want to, Commandant.”

Sensing no imminent signs of restraint, you could only breathe in the moment Lee closed the gap between the both you.

And God, who would have known, his lips were soft.

Enough to drive you mad, enough to drive you insane. Greed corrupted your rational thoughts, blindingly wrapping your arms around Lee's neck and grasped his hair, as if afraid he'd be dragged away. But he wasn't; instead, he pulled you closer, holding you by your waist.

The only antagonist that appeared in your play was oxygen. Pulling away, a small whine escaped your lips. But it did grant you a sight: Lee's disheveled hair and swollen lips. The fire in your stomach did not disappear; instead, it ignited even more.

“...more.” you muttered through shallow, shaky breaths, “I want...more.”

The taste of him felt trivial, yet it made your appetite appear itself. You wished to be devoured, to succumb to his strength alone — but it didn't seem enough.

Yet, you were afraid to be rejected. However, much to your dilemma, a faint smile appeared amongst the unfamiliar expression on Lee's face.

“As you wish, then.”

Lee hoisted you up to his lap, before closing the gap. Your hunger clashed with his as you kissed him with more fervor, breathing in his mouth, touching wherever your hands could reach.

As you moved in his lap, you suddenly felt something rub down there. Peeking as you gasped for air, you noticed a bulge sitting eagerly on Lee's middle. Experimentally moving upwards, you heard Lee's breathy groan in your ear.

“Commandant...” his tone was a warning, but your hunger was insatiable, opting to thrust yourself in a languid motion.

“Do you,” you held out a shaky inhale, pleasure clouding your senses, “do you like that?”

He grasped your hips, eliciting a small whine from you. “do it properly, Commandant.”

“No.” You grunted, slowly rubbing yourself on him, “you should call me properly when you want me to.”

A low growl came from his lips to your ear, a shiver that went directly down to your aching core. You tried to hold back a low moan, when the grip on your hips tightened even more, before he flawlessly guided you on him.

“Alright then, [Y/N].” He groaned in your ear, making you gasp as he directed you instead, “two can play at this game.”

—

Before you could finish what you've dreamt of, you jolted whenever you were laying on, breathing heavily from the dream's impact.

Coming back to reality, you felt your head throb mercilessly, groaning from the pain. When you opened your eyes, a dark room welcomed you back, with the faint light of day haloing the windows. You also noticed yourself on a bed you've known all this time, the sheets smelling like musk. Confirming that you were still wearing the dress you wore the last time, you were safe to say that nothing bad happened. At least, the decency of the blanket that covered you.

...wait, that wasn't your blanket. Nor was this room.

Panic filled you as you scrambled to get out of the bed with a raging headache, but a familiar voice somehow calmed your nerves.

“Relax, you're in my room.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you turned to your side to see Lee, still wearing the suit from last night, sitting on a chair beside the bed, a small screwdriver and a little toy in hand. You recognized it as the little robot he had built for you, a stray thought that made you believe he must have finished tinkering with it.

“Lee...”

“There's a hangover drink on the table beside you, along with the mac and cheese you requested.”

The drink was expected. But mac and cheese?

“Um...”

“Before you passed out, you called out to me for your forgotten mac and cheese. And threw a fit when I said no.”

You cringed. Pretending to look away from Lee, you silently took the drink and ate the freshly prepared food with a muttered "thank you". No thoughts — other than the raging headache — could come to mind, except for the tasty food that somehow satiated your hunger. But you were thankful, even though the creeping sense of dread and embarrassment filled your tired body. After finishing the food, you slowly got ready to get out of the bed.

“Well, um, thank you for the meal, I will probably just go back to the party now.”

“The party ended hours ago. You were asleep for eight hours.”

You looked at the bedside table to see the illuminated clock, signaling it was 10:42. You awkwardly chuckled, still avoiding Lee's intense gaze.

“O-oh...well, that's a shame. I guess I'll go back to my office, then. I will be finishing the do-”

“-I finished them for you while you were busy drooling on my bed.”

You contorted your face in disdain. This bastard...

“I guess I also still need to go, I need to talk to Lu-”

“-if you are talking about the favor Lucia asked you, I already did it for you.”

Your mind started to race once more, deciding that the only thing Lee should face was your bare back and not your disappointed face as you finally ran out of excuses. Opting out the last option, you stood from the bed, and sprinted to the door.

“...bye Lee!”

Freedom awaited you. Or you thought so. Because you only came in contact with Lee's chest instead. Looking up, annoyance written across your features, as Lee stared down at you, expresionless.

“I need to go, Lee. Please let me pass.”

“What is the rush, Commandant? I already did all the things I knew you'd use as an excuse.”

“I'm not making excuses!” Liar. Embarrassment and anger flushed your puffed cheeks, “I really need to go!”

“I'll let you go,” enlightenment filled your poor soul, “only when you tell me one thing.”

“Say it.”

“Why are you ignoring me.”

Why are you ignoring Lee? Simple. You didn't want to finish while you're drowning in the fear.

“I refuse to answer.”

“Then I'm not letting you go out.”

“Why do you want to know?” You exasperatedly sigh, glaring at Lee, “I thought you'd stop this charade.”

“Are you telling that to me, or are you telling that to yourself?”

Both of you glared at each other. He may be taller in height, but your pride refused to back down. “To you. I'm already honest.”

“I know you're not. You don't think I don't notice what you've been doing?”

In a sudden motion, Lee grasped your shoulder ever so gently, cerulean irises looking at you softly. “Why are you ignoring me, Commandant?”

“I'm not...”

“or should I call you [Y/N]?”

The way he spoke of your name made you weak in the knees. Flustered, you turned your back on him, approaching the bed.

“I'm not going to talk to you, Lee.”

“Alright, should I enumerate the things you've been doing then?”

You refused to answer.

“You never even look at me ever since we came back from the retrieval operation. Whenever I'm in the room, you always try to leave.”

The moments when you've done what Lee mentioned came to mind. You internally cringed.

“You told Chrome to be your partner, even though we already established that I'll be the one to accompany you, and Chrome didn't even know.”

Memories of last night resurfaced. The amount of wine you've drank, the music, the way Lee held you — no, that wasn't Lee. That wasn't supposed to be...

“Are you ignoring me because you are running away after what happened to us down on Earth?”

“N-no, I-”

“-then why are you running away from me?”

You turned to see Lee already behind you, eyes looking like they were close to tearing up. You couldn't help but feel your heart break into a million pieces, as the cracks of Lee's emotionless façade started to appear across his features.

“Won't you tell me?”

Your heart betrayed you.

“This is purely professional.” You breathed out, “constructs and commandants should not have a romantic relationship with each other. We already listed our names in Death's checklist, and anytime, death would reclaim us in this neverending fight; whether I succumb to the natural death or you succumb to the punishing virus.”

“Your point?”

“I-” you choked on your suddenly overwhelming tears, “I cannot accept what happened to us down there. I can't risk putting our feelings first when our duty calls.”

You looked at him, breathing in your tears, “what if I lose you?”

The dam of unspoken feelings finally broke down. You've put a lot of thought into it; the fear of losing Lee as a lover, as your construct, as your teammate, as your friend. What goes beyond the weapons and glory, you feared what happens when one of you either dies or succumbs to the virus?

With a gentle coo of your name, Lee leaned closer to cup your cheeks, his thumb caressing away the tears that were falling from your eyes.

“We cannot stop that. I know. I have already seen the futures; but should that really be the reason for us to be apart? To simply be my commandant, and I, as your construct?”

You thought it to be the answer. But Lee proved you wrong.

“I can't do that. I don't want us to be just like that. [Y/N], I feel the same; I can't imagine myself without you in this life.”

No words spoken to you other than what Lee told you made you breakdown like this: crumbling into the bed, the overwhelming feelings of the future consuming your thoughts. But Lee, he cradled you into his arms, soft sweet nothing muttered as he kissed the crown of your head.

“I like you. I like you so much that I am afraid to lose you in this life, that I want to be close to you all the time, I don't want you to pick anyone else; I need you. I'll love you all the time, I will keep you safe from everything.”

Kneeling to your crouching frame, he cupped your cheeks with a small smile on his face, “that's why I'll stay alive for you, I love you, [Y/N].”

Your feelings are incomparable to the confession you've heard from Lee. You felt the same; you'd devote yourself to him, you—

“I love you too, Lee.” You confessed, taking the hand on your cheek to your lips for a kiss, a choked sob signifying your truth, “I'll stay alive with you, for as long as we can.”

Without hesitation, Lee leaned forward, a hair's breadth away from your lips.

“I want to kiss you.” Lee muttered, “Pull away when you don't want to, [Y/N].”

This time, you were the one to pull him into the kiss. Fervor and hunger awakened deep inside you once more, devouring whatever Lee could give as he kissed you back deeply, pushing you onto the bed. You taste the wine you drank last night, you inhaled the musk Lee was wearing; everything drowns you in its mere presence.

You could stay like that with Lee forever: tangled in each other's arms, breathing into each other's mouths. But the way his leg slotted in the middle of your hips made you feral; greedily grinding like how you've done to him down on Earth. He fueled your hunger more, bouncing his leg to your rhythm, making you moan onto his lips.

Was it the alcohol making you like this? Or were you getting drunk just from Lee's ministrations?

“You are eager,” Lee chuckled, pulling away, making you whine. He watched you with interested eyes as you tried to get off with only his leg. “I should have known you're like a slut.”

The degradation only made you even more turned on. Pouting, you whined as you tried to pull on his suit. “Take that off and touch me more, please...”

“You think you deserve it, after acting like a brat?”

Without a warning, his fingers found your drenched core, making you whine from sensitivity. He laughed, “already wet, even though you were just grinding on my leg.”

“Lee, please,” you grinded on his hand, back arched, “more...please.”

He leaned in to kiss you, fingers still rubbing your wet panties. Pulling away, he fumbled with the ties on your dress, “I wanted to tear this off of you, but I think I'll spare the fuss of destroying such a pretty dress on you.”

He expertly took off the top part of the dress, exposing your bare breasts. You forgot you didn't even wear a bra, so you tried to hide yourself from Lee's hungry gaze.

“Don't,” you whined as he slapped your pussy, “don't shy away from me now.”

From your lips, he was now devouring the left part of your breast. Temporarily abandoning your soaked core, he played with your other breast. Oh, the way he was playing with you was driving you insane — you were sure you were wetting the bed all from his ministrations.

One hand covering your mouth to suppress your embarrassing noises and the other tugging on Lee's locks, you were desperate for something to fill your neglected hole down there already.

“Stop covering your mouth,” Lee scolded as he rose, a shiver running down your spine, “let me hear you calling for me, [Y/N].”

Effortlessly, he manhandled you to the center of the bed, teasingly looking at you as he slowly unbuttons his suit. Annoyed, you fumbled with unbuttoning his trousers.

“Stop teasing,” you whined, “hurry up, Lee, please.”

Begging was never an option, but desperation clawed at your throat, the knot in your stomach begging to be fulfilled. Lee only chuckled at your situation.

“You're so cute, Commandant, if only they know how much of a needy little whore you are behind these walls.”

Fuck. This bastard knew what he was doing. Kneeling in front of your now-closed legs, he effortlessly pried them open. Taking his precious little time taking your soaking panties off, threads of your essence sticking, you could hear a soft groan from the man.

“God, how are you so wet already, [Y/N]?”

A finger teasingly traced your slit, making your back arch. “L-Lee...”

You made a mistake in looking up; he was already close to your aching pussy, blowing a small breath on it. Your eyes met as he proceeded to kiss your wet core — eliciting a moan from you.

“Fuck.”

One last curse from Lee made your hole flutter around nothing. He smirked in response, “such a pretty little pussy for me to see, hm?”

And with that, he opened his mouth to your pussy. And fuck, indeed. It felt so overwhelmingly good — his mouth sucking on your hole, thumb twiddling with your shaking nub. You couldn't keep your eyes off from Lee's focused expression; you couldn't lie, it felt too fucking good. The way his mouth now moved to suck on your clit, fingers prodding to enter your fluttering core.

“God, fuck, [Y/N], stop squirming. If I can't prep you now, how are you going to take something bigger?”

Your hazy mind blanked out. Bigger? A broken moan came out of your mouth then, when you felt two of his fingers enter your leaking hole. Back arching when he rhythmically fucked you with only his fingers. How was it even possible — to already feel so goddamn full with just two fingers?

“Pretty,” he cooed, looking at your writhing figure, “who would have thought I'd be the only one to see you like this? To see you moaning like a needy slut?”

The knot in your stomach was close to snapping now, Lee could tell in the way you're pathetically moaning his name and how you pulled his hair. In kind, he maintained his pace, coaxing out the orgasm out of you.

“L-Lee, I-”

“Do it, [Y/N].” Lee muttered between your folds, “cum for me.”

With one more broken moan, you came over Lee's mouth, clamping your legs around his head. Lee didn't even flinch — he fucked you through your orgasm.

When you came back from cloud nine, you could make out Lee's figure, haloed by the light from the windows. You felt his hand cupping your cheeks, before leaning down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his lips; salty, sticky, but it never fazed you.

You opened your eyes to find his own, looking at you with such reverence, that if you hadn't paid attention to your surroundings, that you wouldn't have noticed something hard rubbing on your slit down below. You peered down as Lee fondled your chest, and your eyes widened —

“Lee,” you whimpered, “you're so big...how are you going to fit that in me...?”

A small laugh passed through his lips. Down there, you underestimated the size you initially thought, but never took into consideration what it would have looked like when clothes are off. In response, the tip of his cock, smeared with what seemed to be pre-cum, making you jolt from the pulsating contact.

“You can take it,” he hummed as he leaned to your ear, licking the space underneath it, his breath tickling every part of your ear before lightly biting your earlobe, “if not, then we'll make it fit. You're a good girl, aren't you? You'll take it well, won't you?”

The cockhead was then playing with your swollen clit, and all you could do was to moan in response, hands gripping the sheets tightly, “I-I...I will try.”

“I'll be careful,” Lee kissed your ear, before pecking your lips, “your safe word is zero.”

Gently, he tried to guide his hardened member to your hungry hole. You mewled in pain, as the cockhead came through your folds. God, it stung: how it was already stretching you more than his fingers, but Lee wasn't even halfway through.

“Relax,” he grunted, whispering in your ear, “you should- ah, relax. You're too tense.”

Even so, Lee tried to comfort you, as he tried to push his dick further in, with your moans getting louder. In an attempt to ground you, he gripped you by the hips — before breathing in, and pushed further.

Your pussy spasmed at the intrusion. And all Lee could do was groan in your ear. “[Y/N], you're so warm...so tight. Breathe with me, relax.”

A strangled moan escaped your lips, but Lee closed the gap, just to calm you down. He let you adjust to his length that was now sheathed inside you, but God, it was too warm, too wet, too good inside. If you were going insane with him inside of you, then he's close to losing his mind to ramming you to oblivion.

But like the good man he was, Lee bit back those urges, even as your legs trembled and hooked by his hips.

“I'm going to move now,” he muttered, “I'm- ah, tell me...if you're uncomfortable, use the safeword.”

You might have been drunk over the alcohol, but no wine could compare to the pleasure that was drowning you profusely. Too fucked out to care, Lee began to shallowly thrust into you. There was slight pain as he started to move, but it eventually subsided, paired with his subtle touches on your body here and there. Finally, he bottomed out inside of you.

“Lee,” you babbled, “Lee.”

“I'm here,” he kissed your lips, one hand gripping your thigh, the other on your hips, “are you okay?”

“You feel so good,” you mewled when he thrusted deeply, back arching, “wan' more...I wan' more please.”

Who was he to deny you? Maintaining the pace, he held you by the back of your thighs, raising them to his shoulders. You were completely helpless now — the way he was pressing you onto the mattress, the world spinning around you as he was drilling so goddamn deep onto you. It didn't take long for Lee to find that one spongy spot that made you see beyond the stars in Babylonia.

“Lee-” you cried out his name, breasts bouncing from how he bullied that spot in you, “Morian-”

That made him stop. Looking down to see your fucked out state, he gripped your hips to shake you awake. “what did you call me?”

You froze. A shiver ran down your spine, only making you open your mouth. “Morian...?”

The gears in Lee's mind started to work. So that's what it was like: to be called by someone you love, your real name on their lips. For the very first time after being a construct, Lee felt human. Very human, that the proof was right there in front of him, being one with him. It drove him wild — his dick fervently pulsating inside of you.

“Say. It. Again,” he punctuated every word with every thrust, “say my real name again, [Y/N].”

You mewled out in pleasure. “M-Morian!”

That newfound energy throbbed inside of Lee, causing him to ram you deeper and harder onto the mattress. There, you babbled “Morian, Morian” like a prayer, and Lee could only growl in your ear as a response.

And such, you felt another knot in your stomach close to coming undone. Through tears in your eyes, you called out, “M-Morian, I'm c-close...”

“So am I.” He smiled at you, gentle hands clasping with your clammy ones, “we'll come together then.”

Reaching out to rub your neglected nub, your orgasm is closer than you thought. With one last look at Lee's glinting cerulean irises, his mouth moved faster.

“Cum.”

Mind-blowing pleasure corrupted your mind, as you came over Lee's cock. A frothy white ring creamed on Lee's pulsating dick as he fucked you through your orgasms.

Lee thought you looked like the prettiest person alive as you came. Easing you through, he kissed and caressed every part of your body — cheeks, clavicle, chest, stomach. Soon enough, as you both came down from your highs, heavy breathing filled the room. You were about to wiggle out of Lee's grasp, when he held your hips. Looking tiredly at Lee's smiling face, a dreaded realization came over you.

“We're not yet done, [Y/N].” He whispered, his dick that was still inside you throbbing, “I still need to show you how much I love you.”

Before that, a creaking sound happened before you felt the mattress dip into the floor.

You're fucked indeed.

The afternoon was a pretty time to see nice sights around Babylonia. Still drunk over last night's festivities, the constructs you've known decided to take a stroll around the place.

Bianca and Karenina were sitting on one side of the table, munching on the food they brought. Wanshi, Kamui, Camu, and Chrome were at the center, minding their own business.

“Commandant went home early, didn't she?” Bianca asked the surrounding constructs.

“That was past 11 pm though,” Karenina sighed, polishing the inver-device she had been carrying around, “I heard she was pretty drunk already.”

“Wasn't she with you the whole night, Chrome?” Said Bianca, “did you take her home?”

Chrome, with a disappointed expression on his face, shook his head. Opting to drink the glass he held, he muttered, “I was, but Lee took her...”

From a distance, Kamui waved to the appearing new constructs. “Lucia! Liv! Perfect timing!”

Even before the two Gray Ravens could sit down, an annoyed and confused expression is written across the team leader's face. “I already received a report that a bed in our dorm needs to be fixed...”

“Huh,” Wanshi perked up, yawning, “why'd the bed break? Did something happen?”

“No idea.” Liv sighed, “No one else was at our dorm...”

Kamui looked around, “where's Lee and the Commandant?”

“I haven't seen Lee since last night.” Lucia spoke, to which Liv also shook her head.

“Were you talking about us?”

A voice spoke from behind. The group turned to see Lee, and you beside him. Awkwardly smiling and waving, you sheepishly greeted, “Hello, sorry guys. I had a major hangover.”

“The commandant couldn't get out of bed. I had to look over her.”

Everyone around them was cheering, except for Chrome, who secretly ticked his jaw.

“Good to know you're alright, Commandant! Come and join us!”

You walked to where Liv and Lucia were, but you were flinching, as if in pain. In a heartbeat, your members went beside you, but Lee already had his arm around your waist.

“Commandant? Are you alright? What happened to you?”

“I'm fine!” you smiled and waved at Lucia, “just a little sore from...the heels I wore last night. I tripped while I was wearing them back home.”

“I got her, don't worry.” Lee cooly said.

Soon enough, you and Lee were settled nicely in the group. All of you talked about duties, the celebrations and other things under Babylonia's guiding light.

Everyone thinks the relationship between a construct and their commandant is purely professional; the latter exuding orders to be executed by the former, the war they face, the blood the had and have to shed — all for the sake of survival and success of the mission. In the end, glory and honor awaits those who return to Babylonia.

However, beyond the exemplary titles and glimmering medals of valor, no one knows what happens behind those walls.

For example — they never saw the way Lee's fingers curled on your thigh.

Or the way he looked at you as the group spoke.

“[Y/N],” he whispered. You gazed at him, before taking and squeezing his hand.

Lee leaned on you, his breath tickling your ear, sending butterflies to your core. “Don't forget about tonight.”

don't forget to like, share, reblog!! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! please dont copy or plagiarize my work!!

[vampiretendencies]

helloooo! i was going to send this in as a jj request, but the more i thought about it i was like eddie??? so you pick!! but not being able to fall/stay asleep, maybe they find you in the kitchen frustrated with a glass of water & help you get some rest. (totally not thinking about this in the middle of the night bc i can’t sleep)

warnings; fluff

pairing; eddie x fem!reader

authors note; decided to go with eddie because requests are over flowing with jj. but not enough rafe or eddie. hope you end up getting rest.

You were tossing and turning with such force it was a wonder how Eddie didn’t wake up.

His curls are splayed all across your face, you swore that a single curl is inching its way toward your mouth. Whilst he clings onto you like a bear hugging a tree. Leg thrown over your two, trapping you in and merely giving himself a gateway to grasp onto you all night. You haven't slept a wink, sort of despising Eddie in a way for falling asleep with such ease and looking all the more endearing doing so. Not to count, he's also snoring ever so slightly in your ear, something close to a whisper. All this bed, yet he insists on being wrapped up in you so much so you're nearing the edge of the twin sized mattress.

You couldn't grumble too much though, at least he's here, he's present, and he's Eddie.

Besides, on any other night this would be of a normal occurrence and you'd willingly oblige like you always do. But since you are hanging on by a thread with no sleep, any and everything is getting beneath your skin.

Gently, you writhe his arm from around you, placing it firmly to his side. You know the no contact won't hold him off and the last thing you wanted was for Eddie to be restless as well, every step you make towards the kitchen can be matched with a tippy toe.

Praying that an ice cold glass of water cold soothe your achingly exhausted body— and it would at least for a moment. The dimness of the yellow bright stove light is your only source of managing to pour the water into a fine glass, sure to not wake up both Eddie and Wayne. Though you practically lived there, it was of decency.

A plastic jug of water is titled into the glass, and your couldn’t reach it to your mouth fast enough. Parched, it stings the sensation of your throat with relief— knowing that it would completely solve the deepened bags under you eyes, despite desperately wanting it to.

“So what? Didn’t think to ask me to join sweetheart?”

Eddie scoffs, grabbing at the bare was of his chest faking that of cardiac arrest. And his thick, raspy voice practically has you jumping out of the enormous band tee that he lended you, hairs of your arms standing upright at his suddenness. Aware that it wouldn’t have been too long that his trail would follow, for he’d follow you into the dark.

“You were sleeping.”

“All m’hearing is that you don’t love me anymore!”

He’s insufferable and absolutely overdramatic, his figure appearing closer the more he inches away from the door frame to you. Hair tousled and bunched up so miraculously, features still appearing as if they were hand crafted and delicately woven.

“Shh!” You semi whisper shouted, pointing in the direction of Wayne’s room and all Eddie can muster is a hump of his shoulders. He’s not fond of who he wakes up, but he is fond of the reasoning as to why you aren’t in bed next to him— rooted in his embrace.

“Just come back to bed okay?”

A task that would normally be so simple to complete, yet you fear doing so— if you can’t fall asleep this time then you think you’re pretty much fucked for the rest of the night and you’ll be resembling a walking corpse tomorrow.

“Eds I can’t sleep.”

“Want me to read you a story?”

He’s taunting you at this point. Christ.

You find his joking of sheer irritation, how is this a laughing matter? He knows out of all people, that your ways are ruthless if you’ve not slept like a baby the night before. By the glint in your eyes, he gulps back his chuckle. Instead snaking his arms around your waste to push you flush against him. Admiring your soft breaths and the dullness beneath your waterline— eyes bleeding a plumb purple beneath.

“Don’t get all frustrated, sweet girl. What do you need? Want me to help you?”

“Mhm.”

You hum into his chest, whilst he peppered repeated kisses the center of your forehead. Arms grasped around you so tight that you might split it two, but it’s solace nonetheless.

“I’ll sing to you for a bit, maybe that’ll help. If not, I’ll give you enough kisses that you won’t have a choice but to go to sleep.

“I like the kisses part more.”

[jemariel]

Falling With Style

By Jemariel

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dean/Cas

Words: 15,831

Tags: Wingfic, Dean has angel wings, Human Castiel in the Bunker, domestic fluff, wing grooming, flying lessons, love confessions, Cas has self-worth issues, first kiss/first time together, Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Hot Entity Summer

Written for the Profound Bond gift exchange for @eyesandwingsonlyafterdark !! I hope you enjoy 💙💚💖

Summary: Dean's facing a long summer cooped up in the bunker with nothing but his own brand new eight-foot angel wings for company. And Cas, of course. But the former angel is acting super weird about this whole thing, and Dean can't figure out why. He could sure use some help from the expert, though.

(In which Dean learns to fly, and Cas remembers what it's like.)

Read on ao3!

Excerpt and tag list below the cut, let me know if you want to be added to or removed from my tag list!

On this particular Thursday, Dean finds Cas in the library. Deep in the stacks, in a section that mostly contains books on angel lore, as far as Dean knows. He’s got an armload already and is peering with great concentration at the cobwebby shelves.

Jackpot.

Dean sidles closer, winching his wings in tight as they’ll go so they don’t knock anything off the shelves (again). Be a shame to give away the game.

Closer… closer… years of practice keep his feet and breathing quiet until he can count the hairs on the back of Cas’s neck. And then, just as Cas is juggling his books from one arm to the other—

“Whatcha lookin’ for?”

Cas jumps about a half a mile, and a dozen moth-eaten volumes go tumbling to the floor. Sam’s gonna kill him.

Worth it.

“Dean—” Cas exhales, a hand on his chest and murder in the set of his jaw. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dean grins and relaxes his wings a touch. “Just having a little fun,” he says, tongue between his teeth. For some reason, getting a rise out of Cas always gets him giddy. It’s like champagne bubbles under his skin, and ever since he sprouted these feathery intruders, that’s where he feels it the strongest. It’s like all the feathers are standing on end. It’s happened before. Like the time he pretended not to know or care about the Library of Alexandria for an entire hour, and Cas had gone on a righteously livid rant that left him flushed and sweaty. There’d been a chalkboard involved. Or the time Cas had wandered into the kitchen all pre-coffee grumpy in nothing but sweatpants while Dean was making eggs. That hadn’t exactly been Dean getting a rise out of him, but it gave him the goosebumps all the same.

Dean had chosen not to analyze it too closely.

With a glare in Dean’s direction, Cas crouches down to pick up the books, ruddy around the ears. It’s then—looking down at Cas’s head just below waist level—that Dean realizes just how close he’d positioned himself. His wings tingle harder, and his stomach does this funny little twist as he shuffles back to a more respectable distance. Suddenly, he has to swallow a whole mouthful of saliva and clear his throat before he can speak.

“Seriously, what are you doing back here?” he asks. Totally neutral. Completely normal.

Rising to his feet, Cas hands over one of the books. The spine looks like it’s decided to make a break for it, hanging on by a few bare horsehair threads. Dean actually feels bad for a minute before he reads the title.

“Alchemical Properties of Angelic Minutia? Sounds grim.”

Cas nods, still averting his gaze, fingering the dusty pages of a slim, gilt-edged volume. “I was hoping to uncover a solution to your… predicament.”

“Gabe said it would wear off on its own, right?”

One of Cas’s eyebrows climbs toward his hairline. “And you trust him?”

Dean snorts, handing the book back. “Not even half as far as I can throw him, but why would he lie about that?”

“I can think of a dozen reasons. But even assuming there is truth in that, why shouldn’t we try to”—he gestures vaguely with his laden arms—“encourage the process?”

Dean considers, crossing his arms as he leans against a bookshelf. The edge of the shelf digs into his bare bicep, and he shudders to think what kind of dust his feathers are picking up. “It’s not so bad,” he says. “Kinda grateful for the vacation.”

Cas squints at him in flat disbelief. “Dean, you have put up a protest every time Sam has left on a hunt for the last two months.”

“Yeah, well.” How does he explain this? “Netflix ain’t gonna binge itself, right? C’mon. I’ll make some popcorn.”

Cas nods vaguely as Dean slaps him on the shoulder and turns to escape the library. “Give me a moment to… reshelve these, I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Read more on ao3!

Tag list below:

@magnificent-winged-beast @starsinursa @silvie111 @gneisscastiel @yourspecialeyes @weathergirl83 @daughter-of-the-rain-and-snow @maliciouslycreative @suckerfordeansfreckles @rosemoonweaver @paperwhitenarcissus @maiosaurus @naruhearts @super-powerful-queen-reyna @anironundomiel-blog1 @jasminrogue @onsarah @cassbutt-and-the-righteousbi @elanor-n-evermind @sharkfish @fangirlingtodeath513 @angelarbaugh @psychoticblackhappiness @holyllamabanana-blog @lanaserra @freckles-and-wings @7faerielights @casbean @destielhoneybee @feraladoration @deaneatscake @generaldeliciousness @bre95611 @psychicbouquetblaze-stuff @lizleeillustration @hexentaenzerin @peacewhenuaredone-blog @nickelkeep @ellen-of-oz @malmuses @ltleflrt @archiival @idaaeri @kazshero @depairt

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓒𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒕. TAMSY CAINES ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 1.9k ノ gn reader — title is quite literally the plot. tamsy has weird feelings towards you. likewise. reader described by him as awkward. a very subtle case of mutual pining. ropes and bruises are involved, but it’s completely sfw. just a casual day with other characters mentioned. spoiler-free — there are some hints tho. before relationship. maybe a pinch of clueless flirting, but only if you squint lol

There are many unexpected mornings at the Cleaners’ HQ. A fact that no one dares to undermine, a reality that greets them all with every new day.

If not a sudden attack of the trash beasts, then maybe Delmon hitting his toe against the bed and screaming at the top of his lungs, or Enjin coming back from the city after a frivolous night and stumbling into every obstacle because he’s certain that another love of his life just decided to end their relationship (how long has it been this time? Barely a month?), or Follo and Gris hitting the clogged pipes with every tool they have in the bag because someone messed up the hydraulics and there’s already a queue of people wanting to use the bathroom.

Yes, there are many unexpected mornings at the Cleaners’ HQ. Tamsy is well aware of the antics and misunderstandings happening between the members, but at least he’s glad that usually no one bothers anyone until they leave their rooms — pitiful is what awaits after one decides to venture out on the corridor and is not ready for the challenge.

But it’s his day off work, so he can enjoy the solitude of the four walls in peace.

Except this time he hears an impatient banging at his door, directly. Nothing of great strength, so that at least confirms it’s no one with the extreme personality (like Delmon) who otherwise would soil his lovely start of the day.

Well, it’s you.

“Good mornin—”

“Hi Tamsy!” You interrupt his slow greeting, followed by a questioning raise of his eyebrows. But you’re quick, too quick, and continue immediately, almost putting your hands straight into his face. “Please, please, you gotta help me!”

“Calm down, first. What happened?”

“See?!”

He sees, clearly. One of your arms, from wrist to shoulder, is wrapped up in a total mess — a good quality rope or a net of some kind, whatever — and your skin already lost a fraction of its colour. Looks painful, that’s for sure. And, unfortunately, complicated. There’s barely anything he can deduct in just a few seconds from seeing you in front of his room to having to hold your elbow so you stop wriggling your shoulder, so he may examine the situation further.

“Why didn’t you just cut it off?”

“Because I can’t! I just can’t! Semiu said it’s something expensive that the boss had bought a few years ago, but the kids started playing with it while cleaning the main hall and then they bumped into me, and then— well, nevermind! Can you please get it off me before I lose my arm and Semiu comes for my throat next?”

There goes his peaceful morning.

He takes a deep breath, ignoring that first wave of annoyance after being disrupted so early when it’s his day off, and lets go of you so he can retrieve some tools from the drawer. Probably a needle or a pin, anything of that sort, will have a use in that case.

“Come in. Untangling you shouldn’t be hard, but it might take a while…”

“Aren’t you well-oriented with the ropes and stuff like that? Isn’t your vital instrument a distaff?”

“Heh, I guess I am well-oriented with the ropes and stuff.”

You watch him curiously, sniffling and fidgeting all over the place with your nails scrambling the coarse threads in hopes that maybe you will get out of them by yourself.

After a moment, Tamsy drags you across the room, nudging you to sit on the bed.

“Yeah, this will take a while.” He mumbles out, eyes already focused on the task. “But you won’t lose your arm.” He chuckles at that. Mayhaps a subtle joke will take your attention away from the bubbling anxiety.

“What about my neck?”

“Working on it. At worst, we’ll both lose our heads.”

You hum under your nose, entertained and not so stressed anymore, and lean to look at his hands. Working carefully on the rope, unwrapping one by one, all this while trying not to poke the pointy end of the pin through your skin. To be honest, it looks more like you’re a bird caught in a net left on the wind for at least a year, but if he considers how chaotic Guita and other teenagers can be, let alone running around together, then maybe it’s not that impossible to cause such a disaster in the first place.

The moment you feel Tamsy’s fingers pull out of the loops and brush against your skin where the short sleeve doesn’t reach, you lower your head as if it’s suddenly forbidden. You get the feeling, again. The one you dislike because it makes you act like that, like you cannot just enjoy being casually acquainted with him.

This is not love. No. Love doesn’t exist for people like you. Not on the Ground, not at all. But the idea of it lingering at the edge of your consciousness doesn’t leave you alone and brings shivers down your spine every time he so much as glances at you.

This is the worst.

“I’ve never noticed that you’re missing a part of your little finger. It’s not causing you any problems?” You pick up the most random topic, your stupid brain just letting anything get on your tongue.

Tamsy doesn’t even flinch when you mention it.

“I forget about it all the time.” He admits in a heartbeat.

“Oh. Well, good that it’s nothing serious then. Sorry…”

“It’s okay.” He sighs.

Really, it’s hard to be angry at you, especially that this isn’t your fault you got into whatever happened in the main hall, but he doesn’t want you sitting on his bed, in his room, acting so awkward. It would be annoying if it was only him treated this way — could suggest you’re developing certain feelings for him, regardless if positive of negative — but you’ve always been weird when interacting with others, unable to get the clue even after working with them many times and even befriending some of them.

Sure, you’re all over the place, but you’re not the only one among the Cleaners. However, Tamsy considers you a complication and a distraction. Only you. It’s entirely on him that he’s starting to like you, against his own rules. But then again, do you even notice that, or are you just enjoying the quiet company? He wants to make sure he isn’t wrong, because he could use an ally, yet… You don’t seem to think of him that way. It’s too risky to even consider sharing the truth with you.

“Ouch!” There’s a sudden rush of pain down your shoulder that gets you to squeak and jolt in place. Distressed once again, you look at your limb and then at Tamsy, and back at your limb.

“Don’t worry. The circulation is back, but you’ll feel sore and ticklish.” The lukewarm fingertips trail up to your elbow, just to make sure everything’s back to normal, and he stares at your expression for a moment with an absent gaze. “I’m almost done, so try not to move too much for one more minute, okay?”

You nod, a bobblehead toy, hot in the face, unable to hold the eye contact anymore. Instead, you fixate on his palms (yes, again, how obvious), on how delicately he holds your wrist while he takes care of the last tangles. It’s just too funny, the sensation of a pulse returning to your arm; you giggle and shiver, but try your best to remain calm despite the numb tingling rushing down your nerves.

Along with the last loosened loop, Tamsy pinches at your skin on purpose until you laugh and shy away from his grip. That one time you look back at him, you get the feeling again, the same he was wondering about earlier. What a fool you are.

“And everything’s alright again.” He announces, that pretty face of his softening, like he’s comforting you after some traumatic experience and not just a small predicament. Although you were, in fact, seriously scared for a moment there. Well, if it came to that, you would just cut off the ropes in the last resort, much to Semiu’s displeasure.

“You sure?” Still doubtful, you examine your limb, worried about the splotches of bruises and angrily deep imprints waved into the soft flesh.

“Just be careful. It looks… hmm, that’s expected given how tight this net was digging in.” He cannot say what’s actually on his mind. The wince doesn’t escape you, and Tamsy immediately regrets that he let his voice falter. The next second, he covers his mouth and scratches his jawline instead, trying to keep the smile off his face, but failing miserably at it.

“I don’t get it. Why are you smiling?” You pout at him, attempting to sound offended by his reaction. “It hurts and looks awful.”

“I’m sorry. I really hope the pain goes away soon. It’s such an absurd way of starting the day. It’s funny.”

No, Tamsy isn’t cruel, it’s just… he really finds it amusing. He will never say it out loud that his face got warmer after having the chance to look at your arm, unable to not imagine that this is exactly how you would end up if caught in the threads of his vital instrument.

Give him a break, damn.

With defeat, he has to admit in his thoughts that it looks pretty on you. He likes the image of it. Not the fact that it’s painful for you — or precisely because of that, but he wishes not to ponder on that possibility — but it was probably inevitable in this case.

Maybe he’s becoming a sadist? No, no, not at all. If anything, he would prefer you unharmed and untouched. No, what is he even thinking about now? He should know better than this.

“Try not to get caught in more nets.” He gets up from the place beside you and puts the pin away. “I will help you take it back to Semiu and the boss. But I wouldn’t recommend using your hand until the marks disappear.”

“Thanks…”

“Are you sure you can work, though? Maybe it would be better if you take the day off as well?”

“No, I’ll be okay. There are things to be done, so I’ll just focus on something easy until that numbness goes away.”

Tamsy isn’t pleased with that answer, but shrugs that off. Instead, he walks back to you to grab the neatly untangled net (it’s quite heavy, which wasn’t so noticeable when it was still wrapped around your entire arm) and guide you back to the exit.

There’s a limit to how much time you can spend alone with him in his room, and this one comes to an end. A pity.

“You’re a lifesaver.” You let out a tired sigh, the stress that weighed you down finally dissipating.

“No problem. I’m glad I could help you out.”

It would be such a waste to give up that opportunity, he thinks to himself, almost caving in to pull you close enough for a brief hug; he eventually gives up on that idea, biting his tongue and only putting a palm flat against your back. A friendly gesture to gently push you forward, like he often does with other members, whilst he’s busy locking his door behind you two and following your steps.

You’ve been nothing but trouble, occupying his mind when he should have a clarity; that memory of ropes digging into your skin engraved just as deeply in his brain.

[sebsallowapologist]

Little Bird || Part 5

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC - 7th Year

Rated: 18+

Warnings:  cursing, being overworked, exiling yourself from your friends. 

Author’s Note: it has come to my attention while re-playing the game that I’ve been spelling Garreth wrong, in my defense autocorrect also thinks its “Gareth” so I feel like I should have a pass.

Little Bird Masterlist

I took my sweet time getting ready that morning, brushing my hair and teeth meticulously before putting on my robes and leaving for breakfast. I’d hoped that by dragging my feet the dining hall would be mostly empty and I could just swipe a few things before going to class. 

Of course - I was not that lucky, Sebastian was standing outside of the Ravenclaw dormitories, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

When he sees me talk out the door he stands up straight, moving his bag filled with his school supplies to his other shoulder. “I was beginning to worry I’d missed you.”

“Running late.” I mumble, not completely over the fight we’d had the evening before. 

Sebastian easily keeps up with me as we walk down the stairs, “I needed to apologize.” He says and I blush, “I was the one who set the Undercroft on fire.” I sigh, embarrassed by my outburst. 

“I deserved it. I had been pushing you too hard and I shouldn’t have done that.” He says, grabbing my arm so we stop walking down the stairs and he can turn to face me. “I’m sorry, Bird.” He says and pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me tightly. “I hate when we fight.”

Fighting seems to be the only thing I’m good at lately. 

I want to give in, just squeeze him around the middle as tightly as I can and say it’s all water under the bridge, but his face last night, the pure fear in his features was burned into my brain. I’d never forget it. 

“Sebastian.” I sigh and pull back. “I just. I’m running late, okay?”

“No.”

“What?” 

“I said no, it’s not okay. It’s not going to be okay until I’ve made up with my best friend.” God he’s so fucking stubborn. 

“We’ve made up, Seb. We’re fine. I just really am running late today.” I lie. “I told Professor Weasley I would meet her before lessons started today and I’m afraid won’t make it in time.” 

“O-Oh.” He says, not really able to argue with that, even though I can tell he doesn’t fully believe it. I don’t often lie to him, and it’s making me feel a little sick.

“Maybe we can have lunch? Or do a dinner with the little beasties, yeah? Ominis hasn’t been bothered by the Nifflers in some time. I think we could go for a laugh.” He suggests, pulling at threads.

“Yeah.” I give a half hearted smile. “Maybe we’ll do dinner.” With that as my farewell I turn and start taking the stairs as quickly as I can without breaking out into a full run, and head to a floo flame. 

To make myself into less of a liar I do go toward Professor Weasley’s classroom. Ever since Fig had died my fifth year, she’d become my confidant. She’d been a tremendous help my sixth year when I was stressed out about school, about trying to rebuild my friendships after everything. 

I slip into her classroom and move to the back, knocking on the door. No one was waiting in the room so I assume she didn’t have a class this period. 

She calls for me to come in and I crack open the door, walking into her pristine office. She was always so put together in my eyes, well for someone who was practically running the school without the title of headmaster. “Good Morning, Professor.” I smile lightly at her and she gestures to the little sitting area sitting by a window. “How nice to see you, how has your term been so far?”

I felt the immediate urge to lie, to tell her that everything was alright, that my year was going beautifully. I didn’t want her to think I was failing, but at this point I wasn’t sure what much of an option I had. 

As soon as I opened my mouth the floodgates broke. I told her about me struggling in lessons, about not being able to contain my magic, or stop myself from fighting with my friends. My the end I had fully lost control of my emotions and I was just sobbing into the sleeve of my robes. 

“Oh deary.” She sighs and comes around to sit on the same couch as me, putting her hand around my shoulders and rubbing my arm comfortably. “And on top of all of it.” I sob. “I’ve got bloody boy problems.”

She lets out a laugh that breaks me from my train of thought. “I know it seems silly, given the rest of it, but really these boys are driving me mad.” I giggle a little, wiping the tears off my face, taking deep breaths to calm down. 

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but they never get better.” Professor Weasley smiles. “I didn’t think so.” I sigh. 

“Does one of these mad boys happen to be my nephew?” 

I blush, answering her question for her. “I can tell him to leave you alone if you wish.” She smiles kindly and I shake my head. “No! No- I think he’s actually quite... charming.” God was this awkward to talk about with his aunt. “But-”

“The Sallow boy?” She asks and my mouth drops open, I’m sure I look like a fish out of water. “How did you know that?!”

“As much as we try to act above it all the teachers do talk. We all thought you were...” She trails off and I shrug. “He doesn’t like me like that, and... he knows about my magic how I don’t always... act normally. It scares the Jesus out of him.” I sigh, “I can’t blame him.”

“I doubt that.” She sighs. I shake my head and stand up, looking at the time piece on her desk. I was already 5 minutes late for Charms. 

I wipe my face once more. “Thank you... for speaking with me.” I sigh, I don’t know fi I felt any better, but it was nice to get off my chest. 

The Professor waves her hand and a quill floats up, writing a note on a piece of parchment. “I don’t know how much I can help in the boy department, but let me know if you need help with any lessons, I’m always here. And I’m going to start looking for someone who might be able to help you with that ancient magic.” The note floats over to me and I grab it out of the air, just a pass for being late to class. 

I nod, thanking her once more before heading off to Charms. 

When I get to my class I slip the paper on the Professor’s desk and slip into my seat next to Ominis, Sebastian on his other side. I open my books and Sebastian leans over our friend. “You’ve been crying.”

I ignore him, now was neither the time nor place for this. “Bird talk to me.” He begs, leaning closer to Ominis. “Bird ple-”

“Sebastian I am trying to pay attention to this lesson can you PLEASE stop pretending I don’t exist.” Ominis groans, maybe a touch too loudly. 

“Sallow, Gaunt. Am I boring you?” The Professor asks, the entire class turning to look at us three. I try to hide my red, puffy face from the prying eyes. 

“No, sir.” The two answer at the same time. 

“Five points from Slytherin, more if you continue to ignore my lesson.” He scoffs and turns back to instructing the class. 

Thankfully, Sebastian drops it.

_________

taglist: @stuffyownswrld​ @findingtruenorth23 @flowered-bicycles @lumiiiiiiiiii

[poohsources]

I'm new to tumblr and i'm not sure how rp bandwagons work on here haha.

I know i have to reblog them, but i'm not sure what happens next or where to put the starter 'n such. so sorry if this doesn't make sense LOL.

hi there! gotta be honest here, i have no clue what bandwagons are ( i tried looking it up but all i gathered was that it's something used in twitter rp ) so i'm not exactly sure this'll be the right answer. but i hope this will be of help for you anyway and is what you're looking for. if not, feel free to send me another ask and i'll try to give a better explanation.

after you've set up your blog and gathered some followers, there are two easy ways to get interactions going. technically there are more, but these two are the ones that work the quickest and make you start doing stuff on your blog.

starter calls. make a post titled starter call in which you give people a chance to request a starter from you. they can like or reply to that post, which in turn shows you they're interested in writing with you. now you can either reach out to plot with them ( if you want to ― usually, starter calls are more of a spontaneous thing that isn't really planned out, although it can eventually evolve into something deeper ) or just make a new post / starter for them. you can keep it simple with just a line of dialogue ( remember to make open dialogue and give your partner something to work with; roleplaying is a back-and-forth that requires some kind of effort being put into it ) or write maybe a paragraph or two ― whatever you feel like doing. it's best to tag the person the starter is for somewhere in the post ( you can do that by using @ and putting the username right after the symbol ) so they'll hopefully see your post. from there on, they reblog your post with their reply, and afterward, you reblog your reply to their post, and so on and so on.

memes. another easy way to get things going is by reblogging memes / sentence starters to your blog. you can find a variety of them either by looking up rp memes ( or if you want something more specific, e.g. angst starters, try looking up that ) and all you'll have to do is to click on the reblog button and put them on your blog. now your followers can send you one or multiple of these through your inbox ( which reminds me that you have to make sure that is turned on. to check that, go to your blog settings, scroll down until you see the switch titled "let people ask questions" and make sure it's on ) for you to reply to. as for your reply, you can either directly do that by accessing your inbox ( if you're on desktop, it's the little mail symbol on top / on mobile you can access it by clicking the profile button on the far right, then going to the settings at the top right and clicking on inbox ) and clicking answer or you can make a completely new post in which you'll copy and paste the sentence starter that was sent to you, and then do basically the same thing i explained for the starter call. write your reply, tag the person who sent it to you in it, and let the reply thread begin.

anyway, it might seem a little daunting at first but once you've got the hang of it, it's really simple and quite fun.

[aollosjustlurking]

This was based off of a sewing related prinxiety prompt given to me by @lemonlinelights

I went a little bit off prompt but not by much

(It's not lettign me link it here rn but it is also up on my ao3, same title. @apolloinspace)

Relationships: Prinxiety Word Count: 1257 Summary: Roman has decided to give cosplay another try, but he's not sure where to start. Luckily for him, Virgil knows how to sew.

Roman had been bored that day and decided that the sanctity of Virgil’s peace was nothing sacred. So he decided to pay a visit to the resident emo, even though he expected to get kicked out immediately. He walked into the dark room, forgetting to knock (much to Virgil’s dismay), and was greeted by the sight of Virgil hand-sewing cross-legged on his bed. My Chemical Romance played in the background as he mended a patch on his beloved jacket. 

The Prince cleared his throat which caused the other, who had been well immersed, to jump. “I never realized that you sew on the patches yourself,” Roman commented, ignoring the shock he had caused to the other. 

“Well, not all of us can imagine anything we want into existence. I mean, I could summon this I think, but I like the process. It’s, tangible y’know?” Virgil had recovered from his scare quickly and had gone back to guiding his needle through the fabric. 

“You make me sound lazy, like I just summon everything and never actually create,” Roman was dramatically offended at this idea, making sure to put heavy influence on that last word.

Virgil met his eyes quickly, giving him a mischievous smile, and questioned, “Isn’t that what you do?”

“No! How dare you! I create! Of course I create! That’s my whole thing! My skill for materializing things out of my imagination does not make me complacent.” Roman was dramatically gesturing his indignation about the room as Virgil watched, amused. 

“Alright, sorry. What did you come in here for?” He tied off his thread and looked up at Roman expectantly. 

“Well nothing, originally, but now I realize I could use your help.”

“With what?” He was somewhat dreading the answer. 

“I’m working on some new costumes, and as we both know, costume construction isn't my- strongest suit,” that last part came out strained, as if adminting a weakness of his was physically difficult for Roman. 

“Getting back into your cosplay phase?” 

“I guess you could say that.” It had been a while since Roman had tried genuine costume construction as, despite his previous outrage, he did typically just summon up whatever costume he felt he needed. His past struggle with it had caused him to avoid it, but he was trying to get back at it. This new found positivity was great, though it didn’t address the fact that he still had no clue what he was doing. That’s where Virgil came in. “Do you know much about machine sewing?” 

“I know enough, I guess,” Virgil answered. Roman figured he knew more than he was letting on. 

“Can you teach me?” 

Virgil had wanted to say no. He wasn’t a great teacher, and this seemed like a lot of effort. But Roman’s eyes held so much excitement and hope, and he didn’t want to be the one to snuff that fire out. Especially since he had been the driving force in snuffing the original cosplay-fueled fire, and now Virgil found himself harboring guilt. “Fine.” 

They decided to work in Roman’s room as the adverse effects that Virgil’s had on Roman was the last thing needed when trying to learn a new skill. There was a small table where Roman had placed a machine and various materials, but he hadn’t started anything. He didn’t know how or where to start. It was a nice machine, a Singer, one that Virgil did in fact know how to use. Roman watched as Virgil inspected his station. He finally looked up and asked, “What are you trying to make?” 

The Prince handed over a sketch book with the designs for a Prince Phillip costume. He was great at designing what he wanted to make, amazing at drawing in general really. It was the process of taking it from theory to practice that he got hung up on. 

“This looks complicated,” Virgil flipped through the pages, occasionally looking up to inspect the fabrics Roman had chosen. 

“I never want to do things simply. You know me! The more the better!”

“Yeah well slow down there, you don’t even know how to thread the machine yet.” He was right. The machine sat, untouched on the desk, nowhere near ready to stitch anything together.  

“Well how do I do that?” Virgil grabbed some red thread and began to explain how to spin a bobbin. Roman sat confused as he did not know that one had to spin a bobbin, or really, what a bobbin was. By the time they had gotten past bobbin making, bobbin placing, and threading the top half of the machine, Virgil had gotten frustrated. He was very close to walking away from this little project. Sewing is already a frustrating activity, and trying to teach it was beyond annoying. Right as he was about to give up teaching Roman how to pull up the bottom thread, he realized how close the two of them were physically. Virgil was sitting on the chair in front of the machine, and Roman was standing, bent over, very near in order to have a good view of what was going on. What was the most distracting was how close their faces were. Well actually, maybe the most distracting thing was the way Roman’s eye brows were furrowed with concentration, his entire face showed how much effort he was putting into this task. Or alternatively the most distracting thing was that Virgil could feel the heat coming from Roman’s body, or maybe that was just his own flush. Or-

Virgil's thoughts were cut off abruptly by Roman kissing him. His head had been guided by the Prince’s hand to face the other and then the gap had been closed. If Virgil had not expected the close proximity of the moments before, he had definitely not expected this. Roman pulled away, gently and in no rush, and looked back at him. “You kissed me?” It had taken a few seconds for words to actually leave Virgil’s mouth.

“I- yes. I apologize-” 

“No.” Virgil couldn’t begin to think of how to explain to Roman that the surprise element was what was throwing him off, not that he didn’t enjoy it or want it in the first place. 

“No?” Roman couldn’t begin to think of what that response meant. Refusal? Rejection?

“Not no as in like, no. No, as in don’t apologize,” Virgil could feel the heat on his face, and this time he was sure of its source. 

“Oh. Oh! Good! Great!” Roman, as opposed to Virgil, was not freaking out but rather ecstatic. 

“You still haven’t told me why.” 

“Why what?” 

“Why did you kiss me?” Sewing wasn’t really known to be a romantic activity. Much of it was filled with irritation and defeat, honestly. 

“Oh, well. You seemed spaced out, and you were right there. So I figured, ‘how do I get him out of this trance? Oh, I know, I’ll kiss him!’,” Roman said this to Virgil as if this level of confidence and courage wasn’t absolutely foreign to him.

“You astound me.”

“Thank you,” Roman replied, a proud look painted on his face. 

“I never said it was a compliment,” Virgil looked back up at Roman, who was standing up straight now, that mischievous grin once again taking residency on his face. It didn’t stay there for long however, as Roman once again pulled him into another kiss. They did eventually get that machine threaded, albeit they were distracted for much of the afternoon. Work on Roman’s costume began the next day. 

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Pygmalion (VI)

Pairings: Rook/ (Pygmalion) MC // Idia/MC (Platonic)

Summary: You were frequently told that your career as a renowned sculptor did not match your dull and less than colorful personality. With your cybernetic hands, you carve the lives and deaths of those long gone‒ producing pieces which have been held in both technical and emotional high regard, dubbing you with the title “Pygm.AI.lion” despite your human heart and brain. When you accidentally still the usually flamboyant archer into silence after he comes across you working in your atelier‒ you find that you’ve become a victim to one of his ceaseless stalkings. Though, you’ve been prey long enough to know how hunt the huntsman himself.

Notes: Ey sorry this took so long lol. Been a bit busy lately, scrambling to get my life together and all that‒ grad apps are the most stressful thing to exist in this goddamn universe besides job applications. Also been a bit busy writing Lasting Spring which you can read here:

Tumblr link

AO3 Link

It’s a Vil fic, with a reader based on the Orpheus myth, with a childhood friends to lovers dynamic‒ lots of pining and yearning (as usual lmao)

Enjoy~

CW: none

AO3 Link Here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 / Part 6 (Here)

Masterlist.

——————————————————

Rook feels it when you leave.

Not just with the magic he cast on his jacket before he took off to fetch the headmage‒ but he feels a part of him being hooked, threaded, and ripped from his heart into somewhere so distant not even a glimmer of a fragment can be seen. Though he knows the distance of your physical presence with the enchantment that coursed through his blood‒ he feels that your essence, your soul had cindered to dust, hollowing his body, his heart in its absence. "Knowing and feeling are two different things." You were right.

That heartbeat that had hammered and raced from your touch rang empty in his flesh, a cavernous elegy that ate away at his bones. The floor under him slowed, wavered, opening its jaws to swallow him whole‒ the earth as if witness to the rising desire inside of him‒ for the world to swallow the parts of himself which you could not lovingly devour before your departure. The picture of clarity crumbles into a speck of dust, that fruit tree looming with its festering makings once more. Things were so bright‒ why did you leave?

"Pardon?"

He finds himself asking to clarify the pointed look from both Shroud brothers and Dire Crowley, failing to absorb any of the words before it. The usual lucidity of his sight was softened, blurred and muddled from your absence, the vacant ballad of his heartbeat spinning him under its lashing strikes.

Crowley folds his arms. ”Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Before Rook can respond or nod his head despondently, the headmage opens his mouth again. “No matter, the infirmary and other facilities are at your disposal‒ I have more pressing matters to address since this seems like yet another S.T.Y.X related incident.” The man gives a weary sigh, before pointing a cane towards his students. “Do not do anything rash. I expect you to keep yourselves busy, unlike the circumstances last time this occurred, understood?” His students nod their heads. “Alright. Stay. Put.”

The remaining three watch Crowley’s back as he disappears down the winding Ignihyde halls, back to the otherside of the mirror. Idia narrows his eyes at Rook, for what, he does not know, spun from the thickness mulling at his temples.

“Whatever, can you pay attention? Basically the love of your life was just kidnapped in front of us. Did (Name) tell you anything before they left? Anything that will help Ortho triangulate a location?”

With no restraint, he grasps Idia’s shoulders with his hands, tingling with the rising feeling in his chest. Joy? Hope? Whatever it was, he would trail it like a starving dog if it meant leading to you. "Roi de Ta Chambre‒ my friend, my chevalier‒ you are willing to do this? To save Maître d’Ivoire?”

The older Shroud brother plucks Rook's hands off his shoulders, grimacing at the feverish look in his eyes. "I mean yeah. They're my friend too or whatever." He mumbles.

The younger Shroud speaks up. "What my brother means to say is of course we're going to retrieve them! But we need a more precise way to locate them before we jump into anything.”

As soon as Idia plucks the huntsman's grip off his shoulders, they snap back with full force, clambering around the Shroud brothers.

"Sacré bleu‒ I must be blessed by the great seven‒ merci, merci, my friends!" Though he sings those words in a heightened octave, drenched in a melodramatic tune‒ the tears that seep from his eyes are quite real. Idia lets out a “oof” while stiffly standing against his grasp, while Ortho pats Rook’s shoulder with a sympathetic expression.

“Okay…that’s enough of that.” Idia somehow worms out of his tight embrace, keeping an arms length from him. “Also, are you listening? You haven’t even answered my question. My best guess would be Island of Woe but Ortho and I just checked the databases‒ Krios has been erased from all of our security systems so it would be nearly impossible to enter S.T.Y.X or Jupiter Enterprises without triggering any of the security protocols in place, I can personally see to that since I revised the code to most of the security systems at S.T.Y.X.”

“You are aware of my unique magic, yes?” The brothers nod their heads. “Bien‒ then grab your brooms. I will lead the way.”

——————————————————

The lashes of your eyes stuck together with the blur of tears when you opened them, a sudden jostle of the carriage jolting you awake. Your body is tightly wound in a cold embrace, the familiar scent of bleach and decay stinging your nose. The breath in your throat shakes when you confirm it is Krios that has his hands twisted around you like dense, choking vines, enveloping you in a fragrance of winter and decay. The flesh in his throat is grayed, brown as he speaks.

“We’re here.” The way he thumbs your cheek makes you retch silently, but you don’t pull away‒ the weight of your weary bones submerging you in a languid prostration. You think he puts you under some enchantment‒ your body never felt this heavy and spent since your youth at the atelier, running around day and night under your master’s rigorous apprenticeship. Since you were human, you guess. When you exit the carriage, the wind is merciless against your lassitude, cold and lashing against your tear slurred face. You hear it roaring, wailing‒ but this earthly force is not nearly enough to strain the lament from your flesh. Alone on this jagged, rocky island, shaven of any life floating atop of the deathless, whipping waves‒ the world would have to conceive some cosmic holocaust to wring a drop of anguish from your petrified heart. The ceaseless stir of the ocean chills you to the bone, so you barely feel Krios pull your body into a small, underground opening, the firelight in cast on his staff bringing no warmth to your cold metal frame.

"This isn't the S.T.Y.X lab."

"Any more profound observations, little lamb?"

"You're no longer under S.T.Y.X?"

"Ohoho‒ no child. They don't appreciate all of the world I've‒ we’ve‒ done for them‒ the progress we could make. Why did you think I took a leave of absence? " His fingers singed as he curled them around your bare neck, inserting a key into a heavy iron door with his other hand. “Think‒ our dream of climbing to the ranks of gods is not a far journey.” He opens the door, revealing a pristine, white lab with various equipment laid out on the metal table at the center, above it, a large glass window embedded in the ceiling that trickles bitter, blue light onto Krios’ body.

“Our dream?” You dive further into the darkness, away from that silver sharp gleam. “I never wanted any of this. It was never a dream‒ it was a remedy, a medicine, a solution. But never a dream. You’re wrong, you have always been‒ I wish I could have seen that, but you knew I couldn’t.” That night you met him was clear now‒ having turned it over and over in your head as your memories were pulled by the threads of Rook’s heart, revealing a striking monument of your lost humanity. “I don’t care if you tear and rip me apart like the jaws of Kronos‒ I’ve felt pain, I’ve felt loss, I’ve been eaten away by death." The heat returns to your tongue, smoldering red in the flesh of your throat, your lungs, your chest behind your clenched teeth‒ the blood runs wild in your veins. “Death to you, to it all. If that means the same for me‒ I do not care. I will die as the centuries built inside me‒ the people, the earth, the happiness, the loss‒ I will die human. Not as some phantom as you are, Krios."

A hand snaps like a serpent at your neck, bringing your throat close to his sharp teeth. You harden your face. “You should be grateful then, little lamb. You will end as you please soon‒ a human, an animal, a husk‒ it is no matter to me. Your empty vessel will serve as trial for my rightful ascent to godhood."

"Do as you please, doctor. You will bleed your body of its remaining life and will never be filled with anything resembling godhood. The only thing you will be left with is your vanity and the remaining scraps of your idiotic dream." There's an image that descends upon you‒ a reliquary of adoration in the form of images curated from Rook's hands. His camera, petrifying a moment of his love for your hands. You take a fragment of the light kindled by his ghostly touch, bringing vigor to your gaze. Krios scoffs with his usual conceit, but the feeble waiver in his eyes against yours feeds your flame with triumph.

"You were nothing before I found you, you understand? I made you. You owe your body, your everything to me‒ and I will take you apart piece by piece to retrieve what is rightfully mine. Then, you'll see the mark of a god.” He spat. But there is no saliva that forms on his tongue, no blood which vexes his throat pink. There is no sign of life you see within his body, despite the two of you being made of the same ingredients. When he flexes his arm to pull you off the ground from your feet, knocking you to the wall‒ you find that there is no sweat, no creak of his machinery‒ just a soundless sweeping movement. Perhaps some would compare the mystic workings of his synthetic muscles to a god, but you knew it was void of any spirit, any frailty to be considered something as man made as divinity.

There is a familiar rasp in your joints as you begin to stand, dark fluid writhing from your body as it meshes your body back together again. Unable to solidify your body into one piece, you crawl over to Krios who has turned to prepare his tools, who shoots you an repulsed stare, kicking your hands away at his feet.

“Pathetic. Though perhaps it was partially my lapse of judgment, allowing you to keep rotting flesh in that perfect body I made you. No matter. I will fix such miscalculations soon, dear lamb.”

There's a sharp smile that streaks across his face, a glimmering metal that is gripped in his stilled hands. Your memories piece together that it is the Kopis knife from all those centuries ago, still as keen and fluid as a crescent moon, untouched by time. He’s been waiting for a moment like this, there is little surprise in that realization, just a growing resentment which hardens your grasp around his solid ankle, resisting his arm heaving you towards the metal table above you. He finally tears your hand from his ankle with a frustrated growl, hurling your body carelessly onto the table, clashing with the metal tools laid out on the table in haste to begin the process.

As you struggle to quicken your healing process, Krios reaches for his worn staff, waving it to bind you down with a burst of magic. With slow, taunting movements, he reaches for the knife once more, checking the sharpness of the blade in the blue glint of the oceanic glow. He steadies it above your heart, which nearly brushes against your skin as your chest rises and falls. Your ears fill with the serene rhythm of your heart, your vision crystalline to the knife that will gouge your open, bleeding you of your life. Muscles, tightened by struggle, now relax.

“Remember your old name, child. You have fallen far from the Jupiter name, so now I shall reap you of everything you were once worth with these divine hands.”

You do. You remember your family name, your mother's soft face and touch, the worn hands of your master; your sick, dying friend; Idia and Ortho Shroud‒ many faces that come rushing to you like outstretched hands. But nothing quite in those memories clutch and weave against you like the face of Rook, filling you with all of the earth's warmth. You never thought death would be like this, having felt it in the weary palms of your hands in fleeting heartbeats, fading warmth. It was, rather, brimming with what you felt was deathless heat and love like the blazing sun, sprouting your chest to the celestial skies where it consumed itself. Memories, touch, love. Him, him, him. Images of him plunged to your heart, sharper than that knife Krios held that threatened to carve your flesh. Perhaps if there was a god, it was this. In these last moments, you would devote every sense, every thought, all your worship and humanity to it. You were sure your heart would gush with florid blood, ablaze in all of its wild heat if you were to be slain now. It brings you peace in that moment, you lay your palms up towards the heavens, relaxing your body to the somber seaborne light. You remember your name, touched and alive by his voice. His laughter, his tenderness, his hunger, his fire, his adoration‒ your only thought is that you wished you could have loved him again, and again, and again until it felt like you had carved yourself tight against his shape.

Krios raises the knife, swinging down with surgical precision down to the center of your heart.

Red, red, red. May its animal vivacity color your body whole again in this one last, final death.

You hear glass shattering, and it's like the first rainfall you remember as a child, the fragments of sharp glass glimmering like plunging stars dying into the entropy of the cosmos. Time has never been kind enough to slow for you, but in this second it does, offering you a chance when Krios raises his neck towards the sound, forgetting for a moment, to tether you to the table. You know to raise your hand to the stars, reaching high to catch the hand which reaches for you. Instantly it molds against his touch‒ you would know this hand, this warmth, this shape better than any marble you've chiseled in the four hundred centuries you've continued to create. Rook.

He pulls you up on his broom, against his back.

"You're late." There is no certainty in this statement, but you say it with conviction. The speed of which he hauls your bodies upwards towards the entrance he made makes you immediately latch onto his waist for support, digging your head into his back to bask in his warm fragrance once more.

"I'm here now, mon coeur. You know I would dive deep to the corners of the earth, to the fires of hell for you."

Your pressed bodies echo each other's heartbeat into your bodies, saturating your flesh and thought with each other's life. It feels as if your hearts touch, thundering against one another, pacing its speed with the other. The darkened sky beginning to stain with the rising sun is the only thing to bring you into the present moment, coloring your vision the color of blood and flesh. It's a grotesque color, but you revel in the prickling feeling it brings you.

You feel him lower you closer to the ground, where you see Idia conversing with white-suited figures, which you presume were Jupiter Enterprise officials from their uniforms. Maybe this is when it finally ends. Your body is tired, so you gladly take Rook’s hand when he dismounts from the broom. He lets you stay far from Idia for a bit, giving you a moment to gather yourself before you're thrown into an interrogation. Your hands are still intertwined, you don't want to let go. But you have to, in order to clamp your arms around his neck, squeezing your eyes to feel every curve of his body.

"How did you find me?"

He squeezes back, your hearts now face to face with each other, how it was meant to be.

He chuckles. "I only had to follow my heart, of course."

You mirror his joy with a puff from your nose. "Sap. I bet it has something to do with your magic."

"Ah! Deduced already. Secrets are never safe from you."

There is a moment of silence, allowing the two of you to sink in each others touch. Two souls, just simply, being. Moments ago, you had accepted your fate, clinging your remaining fragments of humanity and love to his memory‒ but now here he was‒ you didn't quite know how to shape your hands against his form, to bring him closest as you possibly could to engrave the expanse of your fondness‒ carve your hands so they could better love him. But you did know to squeeze harder, pull yourself closest as flesh allowed to pour the rhythm and heat of your life into his. You mull this sweet peace in your throat, warming it with the terrific fitter of your heart‒ the sensation of the mild sun tingles on your tongue, and you yield to its words like an ardent acolyte. Memories, touch, love. Him, him, him. If there was a god, it was this image, this body sculpt against his.

"Roi de Ta Chambre is likely discussing the steps to discharging that doctor once and for all. He seemed adamant on settling that on our journey here." He wraps his arms around your waist. "What will you do now, Maître d’Ivoire?"

"I suppose thank you, Rook."

He blinks, a boyish smile blooms on his face. You feel it in the heat of his cheeks, growing high against your face with his joy. "No need, mon ami. I simply could not stand being away from you, that is all."

"No. Not just for this." You separated your head from his shoulder, grazing your bare hand onto his cheek, brushing a cold thumb against it. "Thank you. For everything." His cheek is smooth as marble, warmed with your touch as you press your tingling lips against it. It's hot‒ almost burning against your flesh, but you savor its heat with a smile that widens softly against his skin. That smile makes his own widen when you pull back, your image against the blazing sun solidifying that picture of clarity inside him once more.

His hand laces around yours. You'd carve your shape against his as long as time allowed, fitting together as one, sculpt from each other's adoration. It feels like an eternal kiss, breath pouring the rhythm of life into one another. You savor the carnal taste from through his touch, your heart growing vibrant in its warmth. The two of you step forward, hand and hand.

——————————————————

Notes:

Reliquaries most often refer to a container for holy relics or even parts of holy people/saints, etc, and are worshiped as an integral part of a church/cathredral. I wanted to use the imagery of divine sanctuary and devotion so I thought that would be the perfect way to describe it

Ugh I dislike writing plot driven parts like I have to actually decide what happens next?? So much work

Mon coeur means "My heart" 🥺🥺

Sorry it seems like an abrupt ending??? But I feel like Jupiter Enterprises has enough power to imprison Krios of put him on trial for abusing his position as researcher and doctor even with S.T.Y.X's position, since it's a violation of ethical code than anything??? Like his license would definitely be taken away and Jupiter Enterprises will probably investigate into S.T.Y.X's activities, eventually leading them to the evidence of MC's experimentation. Idia and Ortho obviously help with the investigation, probably silenced before by their parents on the matter

Gonna start working on the Azul x Siren fanfic next~ so stay tuned for that

[thewhynotpod]

Welcome to Why Not?!, Episode 7: “Borealis; or The Twins”! Spotify

Apple

As you may have guessed by the title, this is the one we’ve been talking about, where we “chat” about Aurora and Northstar and…a lot of what’s been going on there.

So! We called in some backup and are joined by Sara Netzley! Sara is a professor of communication by day and a romance author and freelance entertainment writer by night. Her first exposure to comic books were the X-Men posters on her brother Chris' (this is how we were able to get her) walls in the '90s, but since then she's read a bunch and watched a whole lot more. Sara teaches classes on journalism, fake news, conspiracy theories, and representation in the media, and she definitely has an opinion about your favorite TV show. You can find her on all the socials under Sara Netzley (Instagram and Threads), and she publishes her rom-coms as Sara Whitney (Instagram and website).

Having competent folks on this early in our existence is…gratifying? Neat? Sure? But, seriously folks, we have A LOT of fun.

In this episode, Chris:

almost pulls a Jean Reno (listen to the outtake)

makes fantastic points re: how we understand characters and stories and how reading the things we love at different points in your life can really peel back some layers

has a great time interacting with his older sister (like, folks!, it’s really quite sweet)

Sara:

wonders why she agreed to come on here

gives a crash course in media theory, specifically re: queer representation

brings up the appropriate amount of information vis-a-vis slash fiction (Tom here: I never thought I’d write such a phrase but here we are)

Tom:

does his favorite thing: a lot of accent work

engages in some unfortunate internet research

also wonders why Sara came on here

really wants a livestream of Thanksgiving at the Baker household this year

Issues covered:

Alpha Flight #7 - The Importance of Being Deadly - cover date February 1984

Written and drawn by John Byrne

Colored by Andy Yanchus

Lettered by Michael Higgins

Edited by Denny O’Neil and Jim Shooter

Alpha Flight #8 - Cold Hands, Cold Heart - cover date March 1984

same creative team as #7

Alpha Flight #9 - A Stranger In My Mirror (specifically the backup story) - cover date April 1984

same creative team as #8

Alpha Flight Issue #10 - Family Ties (specifically the backup story) - cover date May 1984

same creative team as #9

We jump around a fair bit in this one as we pull from 4 different issues to build this tapestry of Aurora and Northstar. We get into queer coding, possibly some incest coding, and address the use of Aurora/Jean-Marie’s split personality. So there’s a lot we address but damn if we don’t keep it as light as possible!

As indicated in the bullet points above, we’ve started to include some outtakes! So please listen to the end for a peak behind the curtain.

We’ve had a lot of fun making this and we really do hope you enjoy it, too. And even if you don’t, a great rating and review costs you nothing. Literally nothing. Not even five seconds, right? Less time than it takes Guardian to cross Canada. (Still can’t believe they did the math that…wrong.)

Check us out at The Why Not Pod to see the full art clips for this episode and leave us a comment; we love to (try to) answer your questions about Alpha Flight!

Special thanks to the Excelsior Embroidery Co. for helping make this project a reality.  Here's this episode's Featured Design: the Sasquatch face patch! You can see this and more at the GeekCraft Expo in St. Louis on July 27 and 28. Mention the podcast and Chris will have something nice for you.

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