#or in the shadow of his feet since it naturally casts a darker silhouette than regular shadows

[starry-bi-sky]

The Boy (and his Shadow)

I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

[kim-monsterlings]

Edel - M Nokken x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board, with a thank you to @handy-dandy-monster-candy​ for helping edit the photos! Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; mentions of moving home, selkie friend, light flirting, gifted flowers, bakery treats, slight angst, flirting with fae, kissing, receiving oral, penetrative sex (+ mention of protection), with a fluffy ending

Wordcount: 4302

Faebruary Summary: of your new neighbour and struggling to befriend him

Masterlist // Faebruary Masterlist

No more than twice before moving in had you met your soon-to-be neighbour. On both occasions – the first a tour of the cosy, ground floor apartment, and the second on the day of finalising the lease - he greeted you with the gentlest of handshakes, warmed by a tenderness born of restrained strength. He owned the building and lived in the flat across from yours, apparently for years now.

“Call me Edel. It’s my pleasure,” he’d said the first morning, with a tilted smile and a soft, almost musical accent. His voice distracted you the entirety of the tour so much so that the flat itself barely made an impression. Instead, you remembered Edel and the soft waves of long, dark hair, how the sunlight caught his cheekbones when passing large, bay windows. “You’ll love it here. I promise.”

Had you moved in for the neighbour with a crooked smile and his unimposing nature, a month from dragging indoors the last of your belongings, you would have been sorely disappointed. Even your first meeting left you wanting more; whether that came in a passing smile when crossing in the hall or more, you weren’t yet sure. With less than a couple of feet from his home to yours, you still couldn’t find it in you to initiate that new relationship, and now it felt like you had waited too long.

You didn’t need to wait any longer.

Moving entwined with an independence you had lacked. Now closer to work, closer to friends and with enough distance from home you really felt free, settling into a new routine preoccupied you for a month. That, and decorating with warmer shades of paint and softer cushions, so that now, curled beneath small window lights, you saw him.

The farthest end of your shared garden faded into outgrown woods, sheltering a lake so far only seen in the advertised photos of the property. Not a cloud marred the pale light cast over Edel’s bare back, shadowed by the hair loose against his shoulder blades. He left the back entrance of the building barefoot, never looking from the tree line before fading into it.

He hadn’t returned when you retreated to bed, no matter how slow you walked, peeking back and hoping for another glimpse. With a fresh coffee in hand the next morning, a blur drifted by, the slender form of your neighbour emerging from the woods. In this light, warmer and clearer for your prying, a slight sheen glistened over his bare body, curls where his hair before rested straighter. Steam no longer rose from your mug when you finally looked away, but it was harder to force Edel from your mind.

Retaining the picture of the slight hue beneath falling water led you into your favourite bakery hours later. Favourite not only because your best friend owned it, but now for its proximity to your home, too. This infatuation thrived in the space of a month alone, then being for the soft touch of his palm to yours a, his quiet laugh at your persistent questioning the flat before he answered each with enduring patience. It was more than that, now, and when your close friend found you in her doorway, the dappled pelt draped around her shoulders reconciled with your neighbour’s night passed in a lake, and his melodic way of speaking.

Isla’s loose braids of pepper hair rested along her coat, flyaway strands wisping around her dimpled cheeks when she grinned. Since your moving, where before you would only see one another on occasion, you would pass with a wave, either beckoned by her or entering with some time for catching up, just to make up for the distance no longer between you.

Though, not today, and without a word of pleasantry you said, “I think my neighbour is fae.”

“You mean Edel?” With Isla so close and her recommendation an incentive to renting the flat, her knowledge of the area was invaluable, even in muffling a laugh behind a cough. Her lips still curled when she continued, “he’s a nokken. Didn’t you know?”

She asked like your drawn eyebrows and frown hadn’t been answer enough. “Like fae? Water fae?”

“Distantly fae.” As Isla reached for your favourite treats, the light caught her pelt. “You seem to attract us.”

Her teasing warmed through you as she handed you the warmed bag. She refused payment, though didn’t turn you from the tip jar on the promise of seeing her tomorrow. 

This hadn’t changed anything. You loved your home and living with a nokken hadn’t – wouldn’t, change that.

Knowing what he was, tonight you crept nearer the windows at the faint creaking of doors opening in the hall. The same silhouette left and without the marring confusion or worry for him leaving so late, you tiptoed closer. On a darker night, the moonlight illuminated his muscles tensing with each step further from where a human would choose to rest.

Halfway gone, he faltered, a misstep bringing pale light to cast from his chest to his low hips. Hair darker than the shadows clinging to him tangled about his slender frame when his head tilted. With the slight wind fluttering his hair, it would frame his sharp features beautifully tied back, but then his eyes reflecting white light pinned you. Only then had you the sense to duck.

That shame clung to you long after retreating from your lounge. Maybe he hadn’t seen you, rather only the curtain swaying as you fled, but he had sensed you all the same, turned right to where the the netting tucked back for you to follow him down to the trees. If not for the signed lease, the mortification nearly had you packing your things.

Even as temptation tickled you with a shadow passing your window, you smothered it. Where you curled into the counter, kettle boiling, was far from view had he ever been able to see into your home; he couldn't through net curtains, but reminding yourself came with the sting of shame from last night.

Hiding from him worked until gentle raps came at your door. If he had come now to question your staring, to challenge your urge to watch him walk deeper like he belonged in the night, no defence would rise to your lips.

Edel braced himself on your doorframe. He'd just returned from the lake: hair curling now, the loose trousers cloying to his thighs. That little defence you had ready - an apology, really, drowned beneath the breath fleeing you at his fingers brushing your cheek.

“Come with me."

What little knowledge of fae you now cherished alarmed you, but not so much you didn't move from him. "To the water?"

"Wouldn't you like to?" Lake water followed the muscle of his chest, ending at the darker hairs of his abdomen. Edel's smile burned when you found him looking down to you. "Is that not why you watch me?"

"Call it curiosity," you said, though your breath trembled. He had seen you.

His warm hand fell from your cheek. "Tomorrow, then?"

With a noncommittal, "maybe," and a shared smile, Edel left you to collapse back against your closed door.

No invitation called you to the lake, but a water lily laid outside your door reminded you of the nokken across the hall. The cheaper rent - now, you knew, from fear of living with a creature like him, one related to fae - blessed you not only with a blossoming friendship, but fresh flowers brightening your home with his returns.

Each night on his path to the woods, Edel would pause. Sometimes that was all, just a second's hesitation, but other nights, he would turn and find you half-hidden. Those nights you treasured for the slight tipping of his head to the trees in an extended invite.

You never accepted, and he never stopped offering.

It wasn't so much the fear of entering unfamiliar waters with a nokken hindering you but that you would embarrass yourself. The bright lilies started your day warm, and to follow him would cross a line you weren't ready for; but one you so badly wanted to cross.

The soon familiar routine and its floral scent hadn’t seemed anything more than pleasantries, until a night you replaced the water for the flowers after waving Edel down the garden. Out of love for Isla when she waived a cost, you returned a tip, but you hadn’t offered anything for the flowers nor the smiles from your neighbour. Your friend would never claim a debt against you and while, you doubted Edel would, hoped he wouldn’t, the accumulation following weeks living on his property could amount to any kind of debt, if he chose to claim it.

What better way to appease fae, than with gifts in return?

"Fae like sweet things," Isla told you that afternoon. Sugar coated her fingertips from a long day, a slight dusting along her coat tucked at the back counter, never far from her. She gestured back to the shelves of recipes lining the old bakery.

That wasn’t all that you wanted, though. Isla waited while you fidgeted, seeking the right words. Of course fae liked sweet things, but you wanted Edel to like them, too. Not solely for their purpose in repaying a debt but for who gifted them.

“Like?”

"Bake him something sweet and the effort is gift enough. Try this."

Your friend scowled at the note tucked into her tip jar on handing over a recipe, but waved you out with a smile. The honey-sweetened scent lingered in your home with the flowers after meticulous effort, wafting with you into the hall.

Edel’s breath formed your name, your bodies brushing from his step taken out of his door. On time, too, and the flowery perfume rose from him, stronger and somehow sweeter. His gentle hands rose to your arms, thumbs rubbing slow circles. He was all that stopped you from trembling.

Through a warm accent, he asked, "have you come to join me?"

"Another night, maybe."

"Maybe," he echoed. His eyes fell to where you lifted a warm box. "Those smell lovely."

"They're for you. For the flowers."

"For the flowers," he whispered. The gentle embrace broke like he planned to accept your gift, but instead he brought a foot of distance between you. "You do not owe me anything. If the flowers created such an impression, I am sorry."

The forced tilt to his lips came and went before you could explain, and you stood in the hall long after the backdoor swung open and shut again.

He hadn't returned the next morning. No flower graced your doorstep but when you were just stepping indoors from work, the blur passed your window earlier than each night before, and your stomach dropped.

The tentative friendship fractured further come morning, at a time your absence was known. No flowers came when you left, but the backdoor closed as you turned down the hall. Your distraction allowed him time to leave without your seeing.

So when you finished a painfully long week of waiting and hoping to cross paths, you waited some more. You would go to the water as he had always hoped but going at a time when he was there hadn't been harder. He went to avoid you and by chance after waking late in the night unsettled, finding a glimmer of moonlight disturbed by your neighbour fading banished all remnants of sleep.

In all your nights of peeking through curtains, Edel had never shivered. It was cold. It was windy and dark and you had never been so far down the garden, spurred into the trees by the persisting ache in your chest. It eased when you neared the lake, but replaced with dread as you knelt on a small, wooden platform jutting over the bank.

The water was unforgivingly dark. An unholy screech tore from you when something skimmed your hand hovering against the surface. Edel rose faster from the water to steady you than you could comprehend, cold hands gripping you by your ribs before you toppled forward.

His thumbs stroked in slow circles as you forced yourself to calm down. "You deserved that."

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your heart a weight in your throat. "I miss the flowers."

"Oh?" His head tilted, bringing long hair to cling to his chest in slight waves. "The flowers and their debt?"

Each word hit like a crack to your ribs. "I'm sorry."

When his hold left, it felt like more of a rejection than his avoidance, until he sighed. "It's late."

"It wasn't just repayment. It was a gift, too." He hadn't looked up again. "I promise I've not be waiting, either."

Edel breathed a laugh. "How did you know to come now?"

"I saw you leaving."

His lips rose as you seemed to lie, but before you could remedy it, his palms flattened to the deck. He rose on the strength of his arms alone until water lapped at his hips. It was when he continued to lift himself that the absence of any clothing had you staggering back.

Old wood groaned beneath you but it was quieter than when you said, "I can walk back alone."

At first unsure, his fingertips brushed yours. You hadn't looked back - he was standing, dripping, bare, but curled your hand with his until you muffled your surprise at the touch of webbed skin, as timid a touch as his following whisper.

"You don't have to."

The walk would have been silent, had you not asked to suppress the rising fluttering in your chest, "why aren’t you cold?"

"Are you cold?"

"Freezing."

Edel squeezed his hand to yours. "Then dress warmer tomorrow. Goodnight."

Tomorrow came so soon, with a soft tap to your door all it took before you were smiling up to find him leaning close. No lily, but he reached out to take your hand again.

"Before we go," he murmured, and you rested against the closed door, angled back below him. "Do you know how long this apartment was left empty? Before you?"

His face fell when you shook your head. "I knew it was empty for some time, but…"

"Two years. Over twenty-six months." His touch softened when he released your hand, revealing the thin webbing tickling you. Edel's lips twitched when you traced along it with your fingertip. "Do you know why?"

You hadn't the heart to say it, only nodding.

"Those lilies were gifts," he began and stared at your hands sliding together. "I may be folk, but I have no malicious intent in luring you to the lake. I only ever sing in the shower or beneath the water. If I ever-"

"Never," you said. Irrespective of whatever threat he thought of he posed, you didn't care.

"I'd love your company."

When you tugged on his hand, he fell in step. "I'd love yours, too." 

Late in the evening, Edel would meet you in the hall. Until you shivered or tired, you would spend the time on the deck while he floated in the water. The lilies returned after he ventured back to the lake, but without fail, he walked you back the short way to your door. His touch would pull on your hand until falling with a smile always soft on parting.

What little progress made found its way back to Isla when she urged you in, with instructions to offer him the same treats he before refused; not as a gift like they had been, but something you wanted to give him. You promised to meet him later, after you had warmed the honeyed puddings, even holding your ground when his frown tugged at your heart before leaving. Carrying them down to him was worth it, if only for the rising nerves in your chest - the good kind.

The scent teased him from the water. Edel extended a hand to draw you closer before his bright eyes widened. "Not in trade?" 

"Not in trade,” you nodded. “I promise."

"While I do believe you," he murmured, and your throat tightened as he lifted himself to your height. "If this is not in trade, give me something more."

His breath fluttered against your face. Your fingers curled against the edge of the platform. "Like?"

"One kiss." Edel's hand stroked from your crossed leg up, rising to your waist. "If you would like to. As a gift."

The wood might have splintered beneath your hands when you lifted your chin. Water dripped from his hair, cold to your face but the heat of him, his hand tight against your hip, lit a fire in your stomach.

It lasted no more than a passing second before water rose back to his chest. Edel grinned from the lake, his lips fleeting against your knuckles still locked tight to hold yourself from following him in.

He no longer left bare down to the garden since your accompanying him, though the night you first saw him, he hadn’t been either. Whether he dressed anticipating your stare choked you, but freed you to turn once to your door. Edel stilled at the kiss his cheek and you were inside before he could fully utter your name aloud.

His cheek tasted of the sugar form your honey treats.

Another week, you would have celebrated the weekend, but nothing helped pass the time until it was late enough his door opened. Edel hadn't closed it again before you were there, breaths fast and smiling up.

"I'm coming."

"Good," he breathed, before lowering himself to steal a light kiss. His hand tugged on yours. "Now?"

Though this had been why you were restless all day, having him soften, both hands rising to your cheeks to lift you closer, nearly made you faint. He whispered your name and kissed you so gently, you tiptoed and sought him again.

This time, he lingered. With your foreheads together, he ran his hands along your arms. "I've never kissed someone into stupor before."

"Don't tease," you gasped. He was still sweet on your lips and he carried that same floral scent you loved, clouding your thoughts.

"Was I not clear?" He kissed you again but lifted himself so you could see the warmth to his pale cheeks. "It's you I want, not just company."

"Me?"

"You."

"You want me?" Edel hummed, his touch tracing up your arms again. "Prove it."

He gasped and as he stared after you, inching backwards over the threshold, it felt like too much of an overstep. Then it passed and he followed you, the door closed and locked behind him.

His lips rose crooked. "Go on, then."

The apartment mirrored yours in layout and later, by his side, you would marvel at the softer hues in his decorating, more greens and greys, but you were running beyond the lounge, past large windows to an open bedroom door.

His arms came around you and aided in slipping free your clothes, until his bare chest warmed your back. "I'm to prove I want you, yes?" The heat of his palm stroked down your stomach. "Is that right?"

"Yes," you gasped, trembling already at his hand slipping lower.

"Kneel on the bed for me," he whispered to your throat and you were helpless, only hesitating at the end. Edel circled the bed and when he turned, your stomach fluttered at him tying his long hair up. His chin tipped in an unmistakable invitation. "Come here, beautiful."

His hands on your thighs lifted you closer when you gasped, astride his chest and swallowing hard. He kissed your inner thigh, undeterred by your small whine.

"Wouldn't this be better if I laid down?"

His tongue ran over his lips. "Please."

"If you need to stop," you whispered, though the strain of withholding yourself from bringing his flushed lips to where you ached most nearly overcame you. “Edel?”

"If I need air, I will tap your thigh. I won't, though," he teased, and guided you to kneel around his head, so grateful his hair had already been knotted back. "Come here…"

You lowered yourself evidently not fast enough, as Edel let free a groan and drew in a slow breath. The headboard trembled with your clutching it tight, knuckles aching like last night on the lake's platform.

One, slight touch of his hot tongue to your slit had you gasping, forgoing any inhibitions and rolling down against him. Edel made as many sounds of contentment and circled his thumbs into your thighs, parting your folds for him to lift his face higher.

"Do you… do you need me to-"

"Closer."

Edel's groan came when his lips softened against your clit, gentle at first before he focused there, mindful of how you clenched and what made you whine, then what made you gasp. The flattening of his down dragged, coaxing your cries louder. He drew on the coil burning in your navel with each stroke of his hot tongue, down until he curled it against your aching centre and tasted you around him.

One hand fell low, tugging at his hair to keep him close. Every flick of the muscle prolonged the tingling running down your spine, down to your toes curled on the sheets.

Soft palms gripped your thighs in aiding you back once your moans eased to harsher breaths. Edel settled you over his lap, but your body already so sensitive against him made you tingle again. He faced you with a glistening smile, one tended to by his tongue before you chased after his moan.

"Is that proof enough?"

Your forehead rested to his, breathing deep. "Proof?"

"Proof of how much I want you." He laid kisses along your throat and when you thumbed the waist of his trousers, his eyelids fell low with a hummed moan. "Say no."

"No."

His cheeks were flushed, hair curling at his temples from your body around him, so unlike the weight to his dark stare. "I'd like to prove my want with you sitting like this-" he rolled his hips up against you, and both of you shared a moan. "Is that what you'd like?"

Edel relinquished himself to you. Only in trousers, you caught yourself moaning just from reaching to stroke his length. He stretched from the bed for protection as you inched closer again. The tint of blue to his body tempted you closer, wanting nothing more than to already have him.

Edel kissed the heat falling from your cheeks down to your throat as you undressed him. The tint to his body captivated you, down to the blue hue to his dark head. He stretched back from the bed for protection, though trembled with the pad of your thumb tracing up the veins running along his length.

That shared thought brought his hands to your hips, your body lifting above him. His cock pressed to you, slick and aching, and you clenched around him when taking him deep. That sensitivity hadn't faded and dizzied you, adjusting still when he kissed you.

"I was right. My pleasure," he said, before his body moved against you, his cock dragging along your fluttering walls.

My pleasure, he'd greeted you on your first meeting, but you disagreed. Every arch of his body brought him deeper, and every kiss enticed another whimper until you were trembling so soon around him again.

"So beautiful," he whispered. His hand cradled your face, thumb running along your parted lips as he peppered touches along the column of your throat. "Everything I've ever wished for."

"Edel-"

He gasped with you as you tightened your legs around his hips, clinging to him at the returning pressure in your abdomen. The lake could wait. You wanted to spend forever in his arms, letting your head fall back so his tongue could trace down to your collarbones.

Edel grunted from your hand unravelling his hair, only to draw his lips to yours as his thumb graced your flushed clit. One firm stroke and you cried loud, your rhythm faltering as your orgasm overcame you. He continued to rub your nerves, an arm banded tight around you until he moaned your name and stiffened.

Until your breaths eased, you clutched each other close. The gentleness in his care as you rested by his side was no different than any other time, tucking an arm beneath your crown as you lazed in his hold.

You woke alone.

The bedsheets were cold, tousled and bathed in the same moonlight he had left you for. No light came from his lounge as you left in his trousers and your shirt.

The night wasn't so cold, but quiet. Each step nearing the lake matched your racing heart, and it rose to a crescendo finding him waiting in the water, reaching out to hold you when you undressed. Even if the night hadn't been cold, the water was, so you curled tighter to his chest.

"You left."

He waded deeper, kissing your temple. "I'd have been by your side before you truly woke."

"I'm awake now."

Edel breathed quietly against your hair. "I wanted you to feel free to go."

"Is that what you want?" If not for the water strengthening his embrace, you would have turned away. "For me to leave?"

His lips curled down, though he looked beyond you. "I'd rather now than later."

"Was I not clear?" Edel's shoulders softened from beneath his jaw. "It's you I want, until you want me gone."

Where his lips had been hours before, he kissed your throat, soft against your flitting pulse. It was promise enough as he cradled you to him, holding you all the way back to his bed, and neither of you planned on leaving soon.

[oneofyatosfollowers]

Happy Yato Day!

Fanfic: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13936397/1/The-Stray-Cowboy

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33158902

It was ironic that a little dusty down in the middle of nowhere would bear the name “Heaven,” especially since it’s been declining since her grandmother’s time. The town was built around a large natural spring that has been shrinking ever so slightly each year while the buildings only grew taller. Hiyori strolled down main street, her heels kicking up loose dirt which dusted the frills of her pink dress. Her father, the only doctor in town, had let her go for the day, giving her a break from replacing her run-away brother at the clinic. So, after visiting her friend, Ami, at the fabric store, and Yama out with the horses, Hiyori made her way to the saloon.

The building was two stories and housed a bar, a small stage, and tables with different games other cowboys could gamble on. Since this town held so much water and resources, it was a common place for vagabonds of all types to stop in and rest. The Inn was right next door, owned by the bar owner’s husband, it’s front often tied with horses. Hiyori’s eyes scanned the beasts for a familiar black mare with a short mane but was disappointed when she saw none. She entered The Lucky Lady, the batwing doors swinging behind her, eyes adjusting as she ignored the cat-calls.

“Hiyori!” The bartender called like they haven’t seen each other in years. The Lucky Lady, a spunky night-time-dancer named Kofuku, waved her friend over with a dirty cloth.

“Good afternoon, Kofuku,” Hiyori gave a short curtsy before taking a seat at the bar, “where’s Daikoku and Yukine?” She asked as her eyes scanned the bar, finally adjusted to the darker space.

“They’re tending to some of the horses behind the Inn. Yuki’s getting good at changing shoes you know,” Kofuku mused as she wiped down the bar, “although they’re not really who you’re looking for are they?” The comment shocked Hiyori out of her scanning. The teasing glimmer in the young woman’s eyes sparking a fire across Hiyori’s cheeks.

“Well! He did say he was coming back today and he’s supposed to be handling my job!” Hiyori sputtered. She crossed her arms with a huff and looked towards the door, waiting for the black silhouette of a certain hitman-turned-messenger-and-bounty-hunter. Unbeknownst to her parents, Hiyori had hired the man to find her missing brother. It felt off to put a secret bounty on her own brother, giving it to an enigma of a man recommended to her by Kofuku and Daikoku, but he’d stopped sending her letters almost a year ago and it had her worried.

“If there’s someone you want found, dead or alive, he’s your man,” The Inn owner had growled, “just don’t get too close.” The gruff man scoffed when his bubbly wife waved off his warning. Of course Hiyori was the strong, intelligent daughter of a doctor, who practiced cattle roping with her brother. She didn’t judge just based on one reputation, Hiyori had to see for herself. Especially with the reputation that particular cowboy had. No, if it weren’t for Yukine then Hiyori would have never hired him.

“Yukine!” Hiyori called when the boy in question walked in from the back. The young teen pulled off a black cutter that was too big for him, and revealed a puff of blonde hair. His hazel eyes popped up and he smiled at the sight of her.

“Hiyori!” He greeted, giving Daikoku the hammer and nails before heading to the bar. Yukine was one of the few people in this town Hiyori didn’t know since birth. Now, she didn’t know the whole story- the boy in question refusing to tell- but she did know the place he came from was not a very kind one. That, for one reason or another, the cowboy she hired to track her brother was the same one that saved Yukine from that place as a toddler. They traveled together since then, Yukine being dropped off at Kofuku’s place so the man could go on more dangerous jobs. Just like now. It was during those times, Hiyori had gotten to know the boy. Even early on, when Yukine would throw tantrums at being left behind or run away from strangers.

“He’s still not here yet?” Yukine sighed as he took a seat next to Hiyori. The boy gave a curtsey scan around the saloon, knowing the man’s figure too well to miss it.

“Sorry Yuki, he said more towards the sun down,” Kofuku reminded them of the last letter the messenger pigeon brought them. The blonde, becoming more and more like a teenager each day, scoffed and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, well, he better get here before Sheriff Bishamon gets back from her trip to the city. Otherwise he’ll just get chased out again.” Yukine soured at the thought, ready to hit the open road again. Hiyori knew a bit about how he felt. She’s felt the need to leave this dusty place, to hop on a horse and ride off into the sunset with nothing but your wit and a couple bullets at your side. But she could never do that to her parents, not like her brother did. Instead she lived through the stories Yukine brought back with him, after the cowboy in black strolled into Heaven like he owned it.

“How long is the sheriff gone for?” Hiyori asked. If the sheriff caught the man sneaking into town there would be a shotoff on sight.

“Oh who knows. I asked Uncle Ebi to keep her there for as long as possible so,” Kofuku shrugged, “I’m sure he’ll buy you two enough time to catch up.” The pink haired woman winked causing the two younger patrons to sputter with disgust.

“Don’t be gross! Hiyori could do so much better than that dusty rattlesnake!” Yukine hissed, insulting the one man he deemed as blood family. Still, the statement jolted something within Hiyori. A boxed up secret that’s been locked up tight since the man in question last rode out of town.

“Hey yeah! Our little Miss Hiyori still has a courtship with that gun dealer from the city,” Daikoku suddenly walked behind the bar, giving his wife a kiss on the head.

“Ukk! You mean Kouto? Hiyori, don’t tell me you’re still seeing that as-donkey,” Yukine quickly muffled his cursing, remembering he wasn’t out on the open road with a not-so-great role model. Daikoku raised a brow at the kid, muttering out a mental note to have a word with the kid’s kidnapper.

“I am not ‘seeing him,’ it is a one-sided courtship at best! One that I do not plan on pursuing,” Hiyori stood suddenly, face red enough to pass as sunburn, “so if you’ll excuse me. I’ll be back after dinner to see if-.” The young woman stopped short, half way from the bar to the door, when she realized the saloon had gone silent. Someone was approaching the planked doors, the sun casting a shadow across a smirk that could steal a golden fiddle from the devil. The room fell into hushed whispers as he pushed open the door and approached Hiyori with careless saunter. The various weapons and coins hidden among his long black coat clinked as his brown boots thudded against the squeaky floor. Since his hat was left in the care of a blonde boy, there was nothing obscuring his sharp gaze from meeting hers. The white ascot around his neck covered his grin to the others in the room, helping keep up with his dark and bloody reputation. If only they knew how sweet he really was.

“Hiyori,” his drawl was rough from breathing in nothing but hot desert dirt but she found his dust-smudged cheeks just as endearing. His blue eyes and smile didn’t waver from her, even as the men closest to him raised their hackles and fixed him with narrowed eyes. The cowboy stopped directly in front of her, much too close for an upper class employer and some hired vagabond. But despite the towns and names he’s buried six feet under, Hiyori met his eyes with a straight back and a confident smile.

“It’s nice to see you again, Yato.”

“A pleasure, Hiyori,” he chuckled. The two shared a moment for less than a second before a barstool behind Hiyori squeaked with movement.

“Finally! About time you got here!” Yukine said. Regardless, the kid was off his stool and across the floor in an instant, arms crossed and hat off, waiting for Yato to ruffle his hair. Which Yato did. Until he pulled the kid into a large hug, encasing the small boy in his leather coat with a happy laugh.

“There he is! My baby Yukine! Have you gotten smaller? Or bigger? Definitely bigger, look at those arms! Turnin into a big strong man now! Gone for a season and look at you! Did you keep my hat nice and safe like always?” Yato gushed.

“Blegh! You smell like horse shit and sweat! You disgusting loser! Get off me!” Yukine hollered, squirming out of Yato’s hold and shoving the man’s hat back in his arms. Yatolet the boy go, satisfied that the bar’s paterons went back to their drinking and card games. Hiyori could understand, having a cute child by his side made Yato look a little less like the hitman he once was. The boy stomped back to the bar, Yato smiling after him.

“Ya heading out?” Yato asked, placing his hat back at home on his head.

“Um nope! No,” Hiyori said. Yato’s smirk quirked back on and he nodded his head to the bar, pouting when Hiyori declined his offered arm.

“Oh Yatty! We missed you!” Kofukue leaned over the bar, her corset popping a string, as she pulled him into a hug.

“Hey Kofuku! Glad to be back,” Yato squeezed her, “thanks for watching the kid again.”

“Yeah, well, the kid’s welcome here anytime. You, on the other hand, got a long tab to pay.” Daikoku grumbled by the taps.

“It’d be easier if you just let me go with you,” Yukine said, haughtily. The kid watched the man that saved him take a heavy seat on the bar, removing his iconic twin shotguns from his shoulders and laying them on the wood. Hiyori took a seat on the other side of Yato, eyeing the long, silver double barrel guns. Her gaze tracing tiny flowers engraved on the metal. She knew without looking that the wooden butt of the guns had the names “Sekki” and “Setsu” carved into them when he was Yukine’s age. Of course, Daikoku’s rule about weapons on the bar went ignored as Yato gave Yukine a side eye from over his pint.

“Death Valley is called ‘the underworld’ for a reason, kiddo. It’s too risky for a youngin.” Yato said.

“I’m not a youngin! I’m fourteen!” Yukine spun on the stool, “and you were even younger when you started out.”

“Not by choice, Yukine.”

“Okay but I’m choosing to.” Yukine’s eyes narrowed even more when Yato just scoffed and took a large swig of cheap beer.

“Come on, Yato! You said it yourself, I’m turnin’ into a man now. I’ve been traveling with you for nearly a decade! I know how to shoot and lasso and care for horses and where to look for gold and know when it’s gonna rain! You taught me all of that and you always say when I’m older you would keep me with you all the time! On all your jobs, so why?” Yukine almost pleaded, frustrated. Hiyori bit her lip and looked from Yukine to Yato.

“Because I thought this one was going to be particularly dangerous. You know I don’t want you seeing that,” Yato finally said, setting his glass down with a clink, “besides, I was just going to poke around and gather information. If there was anything solid I’d come get you.”

“Is that right?” Yukine asked, unconvinced.

“‘Course. It’s not like you missed anything big. I just went around, did the normal askin, followed a couple hollow rumors, then came back. You would have been bored anyway. Why? You think I would lie about it?”

“Do I think you would? Yes. Cause you lie to make me feel better. You do it all the time.” There was a beat that no one commented on. Hiyori couldn’t bring herself to see Yato’s reaction to that attack on a very recent wound.

“Well that clearly isn't the case this time is it?” Yato said, then sighed and softened his tone, “there really was nothing Yukine but I just wanted to be sure. There’s no law in the underworld and I don’t want you anywhere near that place.” The man finally turned and fully faced the boy he claimed as his own. Yukine regarded Yato for a couple moments longer, just as water started to rise over his hazel irises. Suddenly and harshly, Yukine got off his seat.

“If you don’t trust me to have your back and you don’t want me around just say so. Stop coming back already.” Snarled Yukine. He left the saloon and Hiyori knew he would be heading to the Inn where one of the rooms was permanently his and Yato’s. Beside her, Yato chugged the rest of his beer then slammed it back on the counter with a sigh. Daikoku chided him and took it, wiping it clean with disdain.

“Don’t worry, Yatty. He’s at that age. Yuki didn’t mean it, he just missed you and rather go on your adventures than stay here,” Kofuku offered.

“That’s what he doesn’t get. They’re not adventures,” Yato scratched his neck, “I’m out of bullets.” The implication silenced the young women.

“Still, the boy’s right about one thing, he’s growin up. Can’t tell him what to do forever,” Daikoku eventually butted in, placing a new mug of beer in front of Yato.

“Watch me,” Yato pouted. That got a small giggle out of Hiyori which might have quirked the tip of Yato’s lip just a little. Kofuku and Daikoku hummed and shared a look. Eventually, Yato downed the rest of his drink before getting up.

“Hiiro is out back. Needs a bath,” Yato said.

“Pay for your beer.” Daikoku answered.

“Put it on my tab,” Yato knocked on the bar.

“Like hell-”

“Okie dokie, Yatty! See you at dinner!” Kofuku waved. Yato pointed at her with a finger gun, clicking as his thumb mimicked the hammer. He grabbed both gunstraps and lazily swung the weapons over one shoulder. Taking two steps, Yato looked over his shoulder, one blue eye meeting hers from under his hat.

“You comin?” Yato tilted his head. Despite the looks their friends gave her, a large smile grew on Hiyori’s face and she happily hopped off the stool.

“Yeah!” She followed the cowboy in grungy clothes out the bar and into the Inn. Since it was still late afternoon, the place was just about empty. The wooden rooms and wool sheets too hot on a summer day. Hiyori took a deep breath, feeling free from the stares of others in town with nothing to do but spread rumors. Still, she was very aware of the man standing behind her, always a bit too close, and she turned to face him. Hiyori would have to wait until later tonight to hear his tales. Yato was too good at telling stories and always insisted on drawing to go with it. Once Yukine finishes reading and goes to bed, Yato and the rest of the town congregate at The Lucky Lady for drinking, dancing, and music. It was then that Hiyori- and sometimes her teasing friends- would get Yato to herself.

“How are the folks?” Yato broke the silence.

“They’re okay. Since the water’s been going, my father’s been trying to find ways to give strong medicine that uses less water.”

“What a coincidence,” Yato hummed, “every lead I tried to follow on your brother ended up being about the water crisis.”

“You think he’s following the drought?” Hiyori asked, urgently.

“Couldn’t say. He’s never struck me as the heroic type, to go galavanting off and save the world; but it is suspicious. Unfortunately, once I got deep in the drought debacle his name would vanish,” Yato shrugged, “it’s all anyone’s talkin about.” At some point Yato’s shoulders slumped and Hiyori sighed. This was the fifth time Yato came back with dead ends. It wasn’t his fault. Not only was he right- in that her brother was known to ride by the seat of his pants- but the job required him to stay away for long periods of time. Tracking someone like that kept him away from Yukine and other people who missed him. Still, disappointment hung her head.

“I’m so sorry, Hiyori. I promise I’m going to keep looking.” Yato put a hand on her shoulder and Hiyori took it in both of hers.

“What about Yukine?”

“I don’t know. I’m gonna to take him this time around but- I just don’t know where this leads. And you know how he is. You’ve seen him loiter around the school house in the past. I just don’t think it’s good for him to be growin up on the run.” Yato mumbled. He twinded their fingers together and the box inside her jolted again, but settled when he did nothing more.

“Daikoku’s right, you know, every day it becomes more and more his decision.” Hiyori offered him a small smile. He blinked at her before the cocky smile Yato was known for grew across his lips. He brought their hands up and pressed a light kiss to the back of her glove.

“I’ve missed you, darlin’,” he said. The box inside her was getting harder to keep closed, memories of his previous visits flashing across Hiyori’s eyes. Really, she wondered if Daikoku knew she failed to heed his warning. It was no wonder people caught her staring at that horizon and sighing with longing.

“Yato,” Hiyori tried, pulling her hand slightly but not letting go. A look of hurt flashed across Yato’s face- so familiar to her own when she watched him leave and come back with new scars- and Hiyori almost wanted to hit him. But instead his eyes quickly darkened and he squeezed her hand.

“Don’t tell me you’re not a filly anymore? That gun smith with the cheap products gotcha or are your parents makin you drag your rope?”

“None of that!” Hiyori huffed. She took her hand back and turned around, arms crossed.

“Not that it has anything to do with anything! Since I hired you to find my brother while-”

“While you stay here and take his place and care for the family business and not go off with Kouto because that would be leaving ‘em behind,” Yato repeated, “come off it, Hiyori. Your parents are adults and you have your own life. Just admit you want to have your own adventure.”

“And where do you suppose I go? Just to wander around by myself? Or were you planning on taking me and not Yukine?” Hiyori whirled on him, tired of this do-si-do of a conversation.

“It’s too dangerous with me,” Yato said through grit teeth, hat tilted to cover his knitted brows.

“So what then? You’ll drop us off in random towns while you go back and forth?” Hiyori threw out without much of a bite. There was a moment of Yato staring at the floor and Hiyori rolled her eyes. Of course the fool of a man would think that was a good idea. She stepped back in front of him and reached under his hat to pinch his cheek.

“Ow!” Yato flinched away. He rubbed his cheek like some little kid who got a light smack and Hiyori snorted. How did she once fear him? His pout was back but not for long, blue eyes softening at her laughter.

“I just want you to be happy. You only get one life you know,” Yato said, hand dropping from his cheek.

“And I’ll decide what I want to do with it. Just like Yukine.” Hiyori’s reminder quieted the cowboy down.

“I just don’t want to drag him into another one of my mistakes. He deserves better.” Yato said. Hiyori frowned, reminded of Yukine’s earlier comment.

“He doesn’t blame you.” She offered. About ten years ago, when Yato traveled with a group of bandits who’s name struck fear into the hearts of all who heard it, they rode into Yukine’s place of birth. Hiyori had met Yukine, seeing Yato in passing now and again, she came to understand Yukine’s memory of that night was hazy at best. That was until a year ago, Yato first took off to find Hiyori’s brother, and the boy’s memories resurfaced. He confronted Yato, learning the fate of his birth town.

“I know he doesn’t blame me but you saw how he was. How he gets when I pull the trigger. I worry he’ll grow to resent me.” Yato sighed, “you know, I remember that night like it was yesterday. I was young and he was so tiny, the town was burnin down all around us, his loved ones were bloody behind ‘im. Just as I turned Hiiro around to run, he ran after me with his little arms up. I scooped Yukine up without thinkin and took off in the opposite direction of the group.

“I don’t know how but Hiiro and I managed to run for an entire night and I didn’t put him down for one second. It wasn’t until Hiiro finally bucked us off that I realized he hadn’t moved. I- haha- I actually thought he was dead and I had been carryin’ ‘round a corpse. But when I looked down, his head buried in my chest, he peaked up at me with big doe eyes. No tears, no fear. We passed out right there in the dirt. I thought he’d be okay but he didn’t speak at all. I was gonna drop him off at the next town but I just-. He wouldn’t talk- barely looked at me- but was stuck to my side like he was made of molasse or somethin’.” Yato was staring off into the distance, not realizing he was still talking. Hiyori watched and listened quietly, as she often did. Something must have happened in the underworld and she wanted to let him cope. Twelve people was twelve too many for a kind man like him.

“The little bastard grew on me. Starin at me while I babbled, sleepin on my tummy, clutchin my coat and tuggin to sit up front. Honestly, when I stretched, he stretched, I pissed, he pissed, I cleaned my guns, he’d use a stick, when I held onto the reins, he’d grabbed ‘em too,” Yato sighed again, voice wavering, “But he was so nervous around me, jumpy. Always looked at me to make sure he could move even an inch- wouldn’t even eat until I told him to. He deserved better. I figured Kofuku and Daikoku would want him to raise as their own. When I got here and I thought he was comfortable enough, I mounted to get ready to go but he came running out crying. Sobbing even. His arms up at me. That was- that was the first time I heard him speak. He said ‘don’t leave!’ And I just couldn’t. Sure I stayed for a year or so but I couldn’t keep out of work that long. And he used to be okay- happy even- when I’d give ‘im my ascot or hat to keep safe till I came back.” Yato’s eyes were covered but his lip trembled before he bit it, trying to control his breathing.

Yukine’s recent confrontation about that day- the accusations and disappointment Yukine regretted saying- scratched every wound of guilt Yato felt. It was hard to smile for a child that looked up to you while you blamed yourself for his circumstances. It was even harder to keep leaving. They did make up, as they always did, but it had been a painful experience that Yato still hasn’t forgiven himself for; no matter how much Yukine reassured him.

“Yukine remembers everything and still choose you. He looks up to you, Yato, and loves you just as much. Yukine’s not going to suddenly regret everything and leave,” Hiyori put a hand on his chest, “and neither will I.”

“I don’t know about the ‘look up to’ part but uh,” Yato swallowed thickly around a wobbling smile.

“It’s true, I can tell,” Hiyori leaned in to whisper, “you know he calls you his dad when he talks about you.”

“He does not!” Yato gasped.

“We promised not to say anything.”

“Uh-huh,” Yato looked down quickly then back, “and what do you call me when I’m gone.”

“Saddle Bum,” Hiyori stated.

“Yeah,” Yato sighed, “you got me there.” He huffed out a laugh which only got stronger the more they looked at each other.

“We should probably get Yukine,” Hiyori suggested.

“You’re right,” Yato said, “as usual. Bested again by Miss Iki. Just can’t argue with you, the lush oasis saving me from my weary travels.” They made their way up the stairs and down the hall of bedrooms.

“That’s right, you can’t. So stop trying.” Hiyor playfully huffed.

“Yes ma’am,” Yato swooned. Turns out Yukine wasn’t in their room and instead was around the back of the saloon to tend to Hiiro. By the time the two moseyed around the two buildings, Yukine had washed down the horse- the mare really loved water- and was cleaning her hooves. Hiiro was a short, exceedingly loyal, black horse who hated when her mane got too long and had the most fickle personality even with people she liked. Her ears twitched as her rider walked towards them, shifting back and forth, as Yukine leaned against her hindquarters and scrapped at her back hoof.

“You were right, you really do have the hang of that,” Yato whistled. Running his hand along her clean hair. She snapped at Yato but nickered when Hiyori patted her pink nose.

“She doesn't like it when you do it,” Yukine shot after a couple beats.

“Of course she does,” Yato said, skirting around the horse. Hiyori chose to stay by Hiiro’s front, watching Yukine give Yato a quick glare over his shoulder.

“So, when are you leaving?” Yukine growled. Hiyori tried not to suck in air too loudly as Yato’s wide eyes flickered to hers then back.

“N-not for a while. Gotta go over the clues and make a more solid plan,” Yato’s boot kicked the dirt, “I’m gonna need your help with that. Like always,” he tried. Yukine was not impressed, hardly sparing Yato a scoff.

“Why bother? It’s clear you don’t trust me to watch your back.” The blonde muttered. Finally, Yato’s hands fell out of his pockets and his attitude grew into something more serious.

“What gave you that idea?” Yato followed the kid around to the other hoof, brows knitted. This time, Yato was ignored and the cowboy tapped the kid with his boot.

“Yato,” Hiyori warned under her breath.

“Hey,” Yato tapped Yukine’s side again, “would I have given you twin pistols if I didn’t trust you with them behind my back?” The tip of his boot nudged one of the revolvers at Yukine’s hip, silver twins just like Yato’s, named “Blessed” and “Burial.” That got the teen to look up at Yato, frown still in place.

“No,” Yukine mumbled.

“And you know why? Cause you only give-”

“Cause you only give weapons to those who have your back and disarm those who don’t, I know,” Yukine parroted.

“I need to get more phrases,” Yato muttered as he scratched his head.

“But giving weapons is not the same! I want to be with you! I want to do all the same things you do, by your side! I mean I’m supposed to be your-!” Yukine bit his lip and quickly refocused on Hiiro’s hoove. Yato’s eye brows rose to his hat for a moment before a grim expression took root.

“I killed twelve people in the last four months,” Yato stated. There was a beat of silence as the wind pushed a tumbleweed across the ground. Yukine tried to hide the shock- the horror- that shot across his face, but Yato caught every inch of it.

“So what?” Yukine spat weakly, “you act like I’ve never seen someone die.”

“I don’t want you to see anymore.”

“Well that isn’t your choice is it? Or do you not want me to be like you that badly? I was there too, you know.” Yukine finally snapped, whipping around to glare at Yato. There were tears in his eyes, boiling with frustration, but no one commented on it. Yato couldn’t think of anything to say and Hiyori clenched Hiiro’s reins. The mare was getting restless with her rider’s change in attitude.

“I know you were there and I’m sorry,” Yato confessed, “I’m not anyone you should strive to be. You don’t have to be anything for me, you don’t owe me nutin.” He kicked at the ground again and Hiyori wanted to roll her eyes. Honestly, such a fool of a man.

“I know that,” Yukine muttered too, now just as embarrassed, “I’m not trying to owe you. I just think-” the boy’s face rose in temperature and neither man could look at each other or address their feelings. Eventually Yato let out a huge sigh mixed with a groan.

“Well, everyone’s telling me what a man you are now and that I gotta let you make your own decisions. Can’t keep you caged forever or that won’t protect you in the long run,” Yato finally relented.

“So I can come? With you?” Yukine sprang to his feet, “and you’ll stop dropping me off here? I can be with you for every job?” Fists balled Yukine stood on the tips of his matching boots to stare wide eyed at Yato. The man blinked again, something fragile crossing his eyes before he smiled.

“Suppose so. Unless you want to come back, which you can any time,” Yato said.

“Yes!” Yukine suddenly remembered he was supposed to be an adult and straightened out, “and you promise this time? No tricks? No lies? No gimmicks?” He pointed up at Yato who finally snorted out a laugh.

“Nothin of the sort, o partner o’ mine,” Yato held up a hand, “honest.”

“Both hands,” Yukine narrowed his eyes. With a scoff Yato held up both hands like he was at gunpoint.

“I swear it,” Yato vowed, “on my only son.”  Finally the dam broke and Yukine went back to his beaming smile.

“Yes!” Yukine pulled at his own ascot, “I won’t let you down! I promise!” The boy crouched to gather his materials only for Yato to crouch with him.

“I know you won’t, you’re my kid after all,” Yato took off his hat and put it on Yukine’s head, smushing it down with a laugh, “and I’m mighty proud of ya.” The two boys shared a laugh and Hiyori finally turned and gave them their space.

“But chu-know, we gotta get you your own hat. The tips of my ears are all crusty,” Yato gripped.

“Just get a different hat!”

“It’s my hat!”

“Then don’t leave for so long!”

“I don’t understand why you can’t just get your own hat.”

“I had one! Before you made me drop it in the river!”

“Oh I made you, yeah okay, and who made you that hat in the first place?”

“Well you should-” Yukine continued to argue, back with his old spunk. Hopefully they would get to spend some time together before she watched the two of them leave this place behind. That painful tug in her chest was getting harder to ignore.

Until a gunshot sounded across the desert and embedded itself in the dirt. Hiiro reared into the air, letting out a cry of alarm as Yato and Yukine readied their arms. Hiyori immediately ran to the back of the buildings and hid behind a small pile of crates. While shoot outs didn’t happen as often as they did in other towns, they were enough for her to know what to do. A tall figure stepped gracefully off of a blonde, raggedy stallion, high heel boots crusting the dirt beneath. Another couple figures in matching law uniforms dismounted but didn’t ready their weapons. Instead they eyed the standoff with wariness and annoyance. Hiyori sighed and stepped out from her hiding spot but stayed several feet away. Bent at Yato’s side, Yukine stood but kept one gun pointed, sharing a nod to the deputy sheriff across the way, who did the same. Meanwhile, Yato’s smile shifted to a dangerous grin which was replied with a snarl.

“Skank.” Yato greeted Sheriff Bishamon.

“Vermin.” The blonde growled in return. Deputy Kazuma tried to calm her, reminding her that Yato’s previous transgressions have been pardoned and he has yet to cause another. But his pleas went unheard. The two took slow steps forward, guns steadily aimed right between the eyes.

“You got nerve showin’ your face in my town,” Bishamon said.

“Why’s that? Don’t tell me it’s not big enough?” Yato joked. This didn’t go over well, the woman took a shot in front of Yato’s feet. The man yelled some sort of curse as he stumbled back, pushing Yukine behind him despite the kid’s protests. Yato’s gun remained pointed, trained by experience. Though the cowboy was clearly at a disadvantage, the sheriff having two bands of bullets criss-crossing over her chest.

“Come on, I’m just here for some good drinks, a fun time at Kofuku’s,” Yato said, “besides, shouldn’t you be on vacation? Aren’t you back a little early?” The man took another step. Hiyori’s fists tightened as she saw the hand signals Yato was giving Yukine from behind his back.

“That deviersion you had Miss Kofuku do? To have me run to her uncle while you tried to sneak around in my town? Not a chance.” Her eyes hardened but Deputy Kazuma already had a hand on her gun. It wasn’t until Yato’s eyes slid to meet Hiyori’s- the question clear in his expression- that the box from deep within shook and burst open. The confirmation she gave was with the tiniest of nods and their eye contact was over just as fast as it started. In an instant the situation changed; Yukine had mounted Hiiro who rose to her hindlegs with a loud cry and soon Yato was up too, shooting at the law’s horses to scare them. While Bishamon was distracted, Yato took the reins from Yukine and drove Hiiro towards the young lady.

“Wha-? What are you doing? You idiot!” Yukine was already turned around, guns pointed behind them, watching Yato’s back. The kid went ignored, Yato had his eyes trained on Hiyori’s, intense stare eclipsing his grin.

“Come on!” Yato held out his hand. Hiyori moved without another thought, grabbing his hand and letting herself be yanked on the thundering black stead. Her body fell roughly across the blackened cowboy.

“Wait!” Hiyori cried as they dashed around the corner and down the main road, “what about our-? My things?” Her concerns were covered by wisps of her hair and Hiyori had to brush them aside to see Yato throw his head back and laugh.

“Relax! We’re just taking a stroll until the armadillo-woman cools off,” Yato looked down at her and winked, “we haven’t danced at Kofuku’s yet right?”

“Gross! Stop being such a creepy old man! You’re lucky Daikoku even lets you back into that bar!” Yukine yelled at them. Yato’s laughter was contagious and soon it spread to Hiyori, the young woman clinging to the cowboy as he took her on an adventure.

[toxic-lucky]

Little Winter Stroll

Warnings: Hypothermia, Abuse, Implied abuse, let me know if there’s anything else!

Summary: How Fred met Taylen

He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing outside at this time of night, at this time of year. His recollection swam and swirled in his head similar to a washing machine. Fred’s face felt warm, and the snowflakes felt as if they were leaving burns against his face. His hands and feet felt as if they were filled with white and blue spikes as he shuffled down the street. Nothing seemed to make sense by now, as the warm glow of the street lights ran cold. The snow flitted by the spotlights quickly, and the wind howled angrily. Fred flinched at the loud whistle, continuing to trudge alone. He wasn’t adverse to being alone though, it was comforting— the silence, that was— even if it was regularly disrupted by the wind and the buzz of dying lights. He could recall loud voices, though he wasn’t sure how long ago that was. Everything in his head was overlapping at this point. Yelling, screaming, crying, arguing, and apologies all seemed to play at once in his head, encased behind a thin fragile crystal case. Ready to break at any moment, the case was. The squabbles within was already cracking it, and Fred wasn’t sure what would happen if the metaphor shattered. Perhaps blood from the shards? For it to be unleashed? Forgotten? He trudged along.

He remembered peeking through a doorway, far too late for a child to be awake but he didn’t care. People thought he should care, but he simply didn’t know how. Nothing clicked. Like there was another crystal case over the term “care” and “love” and “empathy” blocking them permanently from his reach. He figured “guilt” would also belong in the case as well as a hum left him. It was the living room and he hid in the shadows, listening carefully. There was a soft conversation at first— nothing above a whisper or murmur as two figures huddled together on a couch close. Love, Fred remembered being told, makes people do crazy things. He figured that’s what happened as the conversation slowly started gaining anger and volume. He didn’t find himself feeling anything strong, watching it similar to how people would watch birds. With interest, no emotional attachment to the creatures viewed. He watched as his mother picked up a vase and threw it at his father, screaming all the while. Eyeliner, mascara, and tears smudged down her cheeks. It seemed muted to Fred, he couldn’t remember the words spoken or the tones that slipped off their tongues. Frank stumbled, closing his eyes and taking a breath of cold air that burned his lungs. He knew the tone was a bad one, just from the context of the scene sloshing around in his head. He remembered the vase smashing right by his head at the doorway, glass shards bouncing off of him. The glare his mother casted his way in that moment was burned in his brain, just as cold as the rest of him, and he left the room. It rushed away like autumn leaves falling down into a fast paced river, being torn up by sharp rocks and the current, spiralling deeper and deeper until it was out of view or unrecognizable. He felt his arm hit something, or maybe it just went numb. He didn’t know exactly what he hit for when he opened his eyes everything has gotten many shades darker and a bit blurry. He probably should have worn contacts or his glasses at least, but he figured he shouldn’t be regretting that by now. 

Fred figured the strange feeling in his limbs was him adjusting to the cold finally and not, instead, his skin going numb. He felt warm though, oddly enough, tottering down the street in a similar manner a drunkard would. His brain gave him memories of kneeling over a toilet, people watching what he was doing— he recalled the intense feeling of hatred curl up along his gut, how those worthless creatures thought they had a right to watch him work. He didn’t know where the idea he was superiour stemmed from, but he knew he was. The idea that perfection was just out of reach, he just had to jump higher. His fogged breath escaped his mouth, shaking. He wandered under a golden spotlight, wondering why the light didn’t give him the warmth it looked like it should. He felt as if his body was filled with sand. He felt like a sandbag. The snow dripping into his shoes not fitted for this weather was no longer felt as he left the comforting light and ventured further into the storm. He forget where he was going, but he figured he should keeping going the direction he was starting to walk in. The winds picked up and he felt himself stumble along with it, as if he was being picked up by it similar to the manner a puppet gets picked up by it’s strings. He closed his eyes again, not understand his eyelid’s weight. He figured they should be light due to them being thin layers of skin but instead they felt heavy like his arms. He continued to shuffle along, stifling a yawn. He was vaguely aware of a voice, though he couldn’t understood what was being said as he stumbled and tripped over his feet. Luckily the snow managed to break his fall, so his body didn’t feel much pain as his brain happily slipped into the black abyss of unconsciousness.

He wasn’t awake, not by any means, but his dreams felt like a distorted reality and he was inclined to believe it as his reality. The face of his mother, something always absent in her eyes. A mirror of his own, really. He’s seen his eyes before. In mirrors, in reflections, in hers. They were the same. The same colour, the same shade, the same absence of something everyone else seemed to have naturally. It made him mad, jealous even. He knew he had the same thing, whatever the thing was. Fred and his mother were just so similar, something Fred couldn’t break away from. Same eyes, same hair, same mannerism, same emptiness. Unlike his mother, though, Fred knew that being violent would not bring about what he needed— nor what he wanted. So he adapted. He made friends even if he felt nothing towards any of them. He was polite even if his brain wanted to exert his power. He obeyed even if he wished to lead. He was not like his mother even if his brain screamed at him that he was. 

Then he was the one holding the vase, screaming at his cowering father whose face was tainted with the purples of bruises that should have long faded away. Hair grey with stress, and eyes full of something Fred longed to know what. He didn’t know what was going on, his body being guided by some unseen force. The vase shattered on the floor by him, glass hitting his face despite the fact that it was laying all on the floor. Then he was on the floor, a shadow over him. He couldn’t recognize the silhouette but his eyes closed again with the feeling of arms around him. As quick as it came, it left, and he was now wandering down an alley. It was as if the alley was being filled with black fog, and the bricks of the walls opened up occasionally and blinked at him, bright yellow eyes following his every movement. There was a girl there at the end who seemed out of place in this dark and dreary dream with a brightly coloured tie dye shirt.

“You’ve been sleeping for a while…” she yawned, approaching Fred who was confused. He was awake, wasn’t he?

“I think it’s best you wakeup soon. This isn’t quite my domain, and I don’t think you want to get a deity in trouble, do you?”

Fred merely gave the girl a strange look, “what do you mean? I- I’m not-”

“Don’t make me loose my wager, Mr. Kendrick.” She shook her head and waving a finger in his face, a playful smile on her face before she walked up to him and pulled him down by his shirt collar for a kiss on one of his eyelids. “Consider this my parting gift.”

He startled awake with a gasp, his entire body in sharp pain as he tried to sit up, heart beating rapidly as his recollection of his dream quickly drained from his head. As disoriented as he was, taking a quick look around he knew he wasn’t home. Looking down, he figured out he wasn’t in his clothes either, but clothes that were a few sizes too big. He was warmer than he last remembered, but a chill still remained in his bones as he started to relax into the bundle of blankets he was in. Yawning, he laid down, not all that concerned about all the unknown variables in how he got into this house that was not his. The door to the room creaked open, and in walked someone with yellow and blue hair. Fred mentally wondered who wanted both colours in their hair at once, and why they would do it in such a bad dye job. Clearly he hadn’t noticed the yellow and blue facial hair and eyebrows marking it as their natural colour. It seemed as if they had yet to notice that his eyes were open and watching him as he walked into the room quietly, setting down a mug of something. It was soup, for those who were wondering. A spoon was set in it and it was steaming. They went to fix the blankets around him and Fred let out a whine, causing the stranger to jump.

“O-oh! You’re awake, that’s good,” they mumbled softly and it was hard for Fred to hear them, “how are you feeling?”

“…Cold,” he admitted, “and tired.”

They nodded, a small smile on their face. “You did faceplant in the snow… I’ll sit you up. Think you can try to eat some soup?”

He squinted as the person did as they said and shuffled him around until he was in a sitting position. “Uh… Yeah. I can try.” 

“That’s good to hear.” They nodded, grabbing the mug of soup and offering him a spoonful of the beige liquid. “I’m Taylen by the way.”

Fred hummed as if to show them that he heard, reluctantly accepting his fate of being fed soup like a baby. It was humiliating, but he put up with it. It wasn’t like there was another option since his hands still tingled with cold needles.

“‘M Fred…” He grumbled, hating how weak and slurred his voice was. Now he didn’t know the symptoms of hypothermia but he was pretty sure nothing he was feeling was any good. 

Taylen nodded, putting the mug down when Fred shook his head at a spoon. “I’ll go tell Mam you’re awake.”

Fred gave them a confused look though they offered no clarification as they left the room. Well okay. Fred was back alone with his thoughts, enjoying the quiet in the room as he stifled a yawn. The dream from mere moments ago had slipped away into the unknown, and Fred didn’t bother trying to grasp at the fading images. He also couldn’t quite recall what he was doing last night besides leaving work without a jacket because it wasn’t even snowing. Yet he was told he faceplanted in the snow? The dots weren’t connecting for him as he pulled the blankets tighter around himself as a shiver tore through him. Right, cold. He was cold. At least he could vaguely feel his extremities this time, that was always a relief. He could hear a muffled conversation from outside of the room, though unable to make out any words from it. There was silence, then a tall woman entered the room. She had her hair done up in a bun, some coils escaping and framing her face in hues of dark blue and white. She had an air of authority flowing around her despite a gentle smile on her face.

“Hey, how’re you feeling sweetheart?” The lady asked softly, sitting on the edge of the bed as she faced Fred. The boy whined as if that was an appropriate answer that everyone understood, and she nodded as if she did. “You gave us quite a scare, we’re all thankful Taylen decided to take a walk and managed to find you. May I know your name?”

“…Fred Kendrick.” Fred nodded, so it was that strange kid that found him. Okay. He hated the fact he know had someone to pin this on, now he owed them something in return. How do you repay someone basically saving your dumb ass from death? Fred wasn’t sure he wanted an answer.

“Do you have anyone we should call?” She asked gently, “a guardian, a friend?”

“Dad…” Fred mumbled, internally cursing for not having thought of him prior. “He’s probably worried.”

She nodded, taking out her phone, “are you alright to handle him or should I just tell him where you are?”

“I can… I’ll talk to him.” Fred reached for the phone the lady was holding out, typing in the number with only a few mistakes. She only nodded, watching him silently.

Then the phone was ringing, and he held it by his ear waiting for it to be picked up. The dull tone continued a few more times before a voice broke the momentary silence.

“Chester Kendrick speaking, who is this?” The voice was strained, as if worry had taken over the body of Chester and inhibited other emotions from coming through. Soft though, as if wherever he was would be shattered from a loud enough volume.

“Dad?” He smiled faintly at the familiar voice, “hi, I- uh- I’m sorry I didn’t come back last night, I got caught in the snow. I stayed with a…” he paused, taking another look at the woman. She had a calm smile and he could tell that her eyes were obscuring whatever thoughts she was having. Windows to the soul, much? He knew he wouldn’t be able to tell what she was thinking.

“I stayed with a friend and my phone went dead. Sorry.” He finished the lie quietly, noting no change in the woman’s expression. He didn’t feel sorry, though that wasn’t unusual. He just hoped the woman couldn’t tell, her expression wasn’t giving anything away to him and it was unnerving.

“Oh thank god!” His father replied quickly, sounding relieved. “I was so worried! You should have called earlier! Where are you? I’ll come pick you up. Have you told me about this friend before? Have we met? You could have called me after work, I would have come-” he continued to prattle on, occasionally asking questions but never giving the silence needed to answer before continuing on. Fred let him, figuring he needed the space to ramble and get out all his anxious feelings. So the child sat, silent, feeling the urge to go back to sleep slowly grow.

After a few more minutes of his dad’s ramblings, the woman motioned for him to give her the phone. Fred complied, laying back down in the bed. He fell back asleep to their conversation, not comprehending the words spoken between the two adults in the slightest. He doubted it would be important for him to know anyways, it wasn’t like he could do anything of importance currently either.

He could vaguely recall being woken up again and walked down to his father, passing flower decorated walls adorned with scratches. His father cried when he laid eyes on Fred, and kid didn’t know why. He was asleep the entire car ride home, and woke up in his bed.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Two Worlds Apart (A Solavellan Fic)

A/N: So this fic is on my AO3 but I haven’t started posting any fics there since I created this blog so there’s nothing new or interesting there yet. Also, I felt like this was well written and emotional and like I just wanted to repost it! My Solavellan heart still bleeds.

Words: 2178

Warnings: ANGST!

I was inspired by this slowed down version of Lost Elf made by the amazing @emmavakarian-theirin to repost this fic! Like I cried when I listened to the slowed down version. Beautiful!!

(Photo is a screenshot from when I played Trespasser)

PROLOGUE:

Scout Armala entered the study with the intention of delivering a missive from the spies in Tevinter to her commander. Yet, upon entering and noticing the derelict nature befallen to the large library, she decided to place the scroll on his desk instead. The beautifully carved piece of wood was covered in stains from ink, paint, candle wax and a few scorch marks. It was filled with clutter from poorly kept stationary and crumpled up reports.

One piece of parchment, in particular, stood out from the rest, garnering the scout's full attention. A drawing of great detail of a spellbinding elf woman.

Her face was utterly captivating. Her lips upturned in a smile that reminded Armala of the sun; warm and bright. Her dark hair pencilled in delicate and clean with charcoal. It flowed in waves, rebellious and free, reminiscent of the sea. Her eyes were what struck out the most; soulful and young yet clouded with the slightest glimmer of sadness that made her look wise beyond her years. It may have simply been a drawing but it seemed to possess a life all its own. Intrigued, Armala decided to study the portrait further.

The parchment it was drawn on was handled with great care. There were no charcoal smudge marks or inward folded corners despite looking fairly well aged. Aged yet still preserved, perhaps is had been protected from the hardships of time by magic.

The scout dared not touch it, no matter how much she yearned to, for fear the parchment would turn to ash in her hands. There was something oddly familiar about the woman in the portrait. After looking over the image with great intensity, she knew of whom this face belonged to. Armala felt embarrassed about her obvious oversight for nearly all Thedas knew of her. She was Dalish, like Armala, with a notable absence of a vallaslin. This was the face of the Dalish Inquisitor, Ilaan Revas of Clan Lavellan.

Armala tried to conceal her shock as she muttered an old Dalish curse into the night.

‘Had the rumours been true?’ She wondered.

And before she could stop herself from muttering that name, there was a sudden change in the weather. A flurry of defiant wind agitated the flame of a candle behind her, casting playful silhouettes around the room. To Armala's utter disbelief, the portrait disappeared.

In the corner of her eye, she saw the outline of a man bathed in shadow. In recognition of whom the man was, fear shot up her spine. Frantically, Armala placed the missive on the desk. She took a bow and left the confines of the library. The library that grew colder and darker with each passing day under the current residence of the Great Wolf from legend.

CHAPTER ONE: TRESPASSER Inquisitor Ilaan Revas stepped through the eluvian in hast. White hot light flashed bright, blinding her temporarily. The familiar pull of magic encompassed her whole body, its tendrils snaking around her body ushering her forward. She was transported instantly to a new location, she knew not where.

Her muscles were sore from battle and her body weak from the anchor, the residual force of the eluvian caused her more discomfort than she wanted to admit. The suddenness of the action left her in a daze, losing her footing for the slightest second causing her to turn swift on her heel. She stared back at the eluvian she just crossed through, it seemed none of her companions had followed after her. Revas had no time to ponder the reasons why, she had to stay focused.

When she turned around she was not prepared for what she saw. Shock took over her facial features; her vibrant green eyes looked on in pity, mouth left slightly agape.

Dozens upon dozens of the Qunari hoard led by the Viddasala stood frozen, encased in stone; lifeless. Many held their battle axes up high about to strike a killing blow from above, they looked strong and fierce but their eyes, their eyes were filled with terror.

Each and every face was petrified in stone as they all came to the realisation they would be lost to time, cursed forever to reside within the crossroads, between the mortal plane and the fade.

Revas had never witnessed such raw power, not since Adamant. Fear shot up her spine as the blood drained from her cheeks.

She began towards the furthermost eluvian beyond the steps, she could not let this fearsome display of power deter her from her goal. Revas needed to find Solas, if not to warn him then at least to gain the answers to the many burning questions that pestered her sleepless nights.

Cautious and slow were her motions as she manoeuvred around the lifeless statues, mindful not to disturb them... not that it mattered.

From a distance, Revas heard a familiar calm and silvery voice speak in Qunlat: "Ebasit kata, itwa ost."

Eyes wide, her heart picked up its pace. It beat thunderously against her breastplate as she looked on to the voices place of origin: beyond the steps. Revas knew that voice.

How could she ever forget such a bewildering voice filled with wisdom and wonder?

The voice she would fall asleep listening to. The voice she had craved to hear for the past three years.

The voice of the one elf who had ever had the pleasure of stealing her heart.

The voice that called her vhenan in confidence.

Her steps quickened into a strained run.

"Maraas kata!" the Viddasala shouted in disgust.

More words were exchanged but they were much harder to make out this time around.

When Revas finally reached the top of the steps she could see the Viddasala, she let out an angered grunt vehemently as she raised her spear, prepared to hurl it towards the back turned elf in front of her.

That elf was Solas, striding slow and unnerved by the show of force behind him or the presence of his Vhenan.

‘Can he not feel me near?‘ Revas lamented to herself

Before she could dwell on the thought, Revas attempted to pool whatever remained of her severely depleted mana reserves to try and conjure up any magic in an effort to stop the Viddasala.

What are you doing? her inner voice chastised, You barely have enough energy to stand, let alone cast any impactful spells.

Ignoring her own voice, Revas decided to act on pure instinct alone, but before she could cast any spells or even offer a shout in warning, powerful magic rippled through the air, invisible.

The fierce female Qunari had befallen the same fate as the rest of her brethren. The Viddasala had turned to stone, she too condemned to be forgotten in this ever growing cemetery.

Revas let out a breath in relief and made her way to the retreating figure of her former love.

"Solas," Revas called out when she was within earshot causing him to stop dead in his tracks. He turned slowly at the behest of her call.

Without warning the anchor flared up in a powerful outburst of magic. Revas cried out in pain as the sensation drove her to her knees. The mark flashing violently in its brilliant green hue.

Solas walked towards her looking as magnificent and proud as he ever was, if not more. His armour gleamed in the light, accents of gold shoning brightly. A wolf pelt slung over one shoulder and fastened in place with a leather strap, it was designed to intimidate more than anything else.

Revas noticed how much he resembled Abelas in this moment, only his face had a much deeper sadness to it than the protector of the Well of Sorrows.

Solas' eyes turned from their normal violet circled blue to an intense silvery-blue that shimmered like polished diamonds for the briefest moment. If Revas had suffered through a more intense pain she would have assumed she had hallucinated it.

Suddenly, the striking pain in Revas arm subsided. With the pain gone she could now hold the weight of her own body in her sore limbs again.

"That should give us more time," Solas spoke, he wore a gentle smile and his eyebrows were upturned with the slight hint of worry, "I suspect you have questions."

Revas tucked one of her short auburn locks behind her ear, an old nervous reaction when she felt anxious. She had barely been in his presence a couple of minutes and already she felt as naive and young as the first days of the Inquisition.

She steeled her resolve and looked deep into his eyes, they still had a way of drawing her close. Even now when she was moments away from accusing the elf who had her heart of being the Dread Wolf from legend, she still felt drawn to him, to his strength and wisdom and gentleness. To his heart.

Revas held back the tears of mixed emotions and held her head high a she accused the one closest to her of being the Dread Wolf the Dalish reveared so much.

Solas, not bothering to conceal his identity any further, revealed all to her. Who he was. The hand he played in giving his orb to Corypheus. The Evanuris. The death of Mythal. His plan to restore Arlathan. He told her everything.

As they spoke, Revas had suffered through various paroxysms of emotions: fear, anger, sadness, betrayal. Her left arm occasionally causing her discomfort as time went by.

When the issue of the anchor came up Revas was knocked off her feet by a violent pulse of energy. It flared erratically and much more strongly this time. Yet again she was forced to cry out in pain.

Solas had confirmed her suspicions: the mark was killing her. Solas had looked upon her glowing arm with despondent eyes. It made her heart ache to see him in such pain.

Knowing that time was short and the moment was fleeting, and in the wake of having to face her mortality, Revas decided to speak from the heart. She feared she would not get a second chance if she stayed passive. She prayed he would hear her pleas, prayed the next words she uttered could change his mind.

"Solas, var lath vir suledin," she proclaimed, true and honest to the world.

"I wish it could Vhenan," he said solenmly.

Vhenan, how could he claim her to be his heart when he could so easily leave her behind for a second time.

Solas' head bent down in submission, his pride no longer strong enough to ward off the obvious hurt her words cultivated. It was as though he had been stripped of his armour and left vulnerable. His brow dropped and creased together, his ears drooping slightly too and his eyes appeared more sorrowful than before.

Revas had seen this look before. It was the same look he gave her in Crestwood. The same look he wore after the battle with Corypheus. It was the look of pure despair.

There was a war raging inside him and for all her attempts Revas could do nothing to quell that fight.

She wanted to reach for him and hold him protectively against her breast. To whisper words of comfort and warmth into his ear and feel his body relax against hers.

But then again, Revas seldom got what she wanted and when she did it would always turn for the worse.

Always.

Tears threatened to let loose, blurring her vision. Pain still ran through her arm unabated.

Another cry left her lips.

Solas bent down carefully, as though he were afraid of her current fragility.

"My love..." he whispered like a prayer, his breath warm against her cheek. He kissed her then deep and passionate.

His soft, full lips brushed against hers, caressing her mouth with his tongue, ebbing away the pain in her arm.

He placed a hand on her cheek and interlinked his free hand with her fingers. The kiss was filled with passion and hunger. Revas closed her eyes in an attempt to savour every aspect of their embrace, tears finally set free as they ran down her face and filled the kiss with the taste of salt.

His scent filled the air between them and it made her wish for simpler times. She had almost forgotten what he smelled like. Like earth and herbs and painting oils.

Her mind completely overcome by Solas' touch, Revas could feel nothing but numbness in her left arm.

Sooner than Revas would like, Solas pulled back and broke their contact. He let his forehead touch hers for a few moments longer before he stood up and away from her.

Revas tried to hold him close, keep him next to her but her arms were like jelly against him.

"I will never forget you."

Those words were his last solemn promise to her as he walked away, disappearing through the eluvian, leaving her heartbroken for the second time.

Revas was left to live out the rest of her arduous life alone.

MASTERPOST | For Tumblr App

Note: This fic isn’t dead. It’s just on hiatus until I play my Inky Elf for the bazillionth time and Romance the egg head and get all emotional when he eventually dumps my ass again! Just posting this here because recently someone posted a slowed down version of Lost Elf and like I got all weepy. I’ll find it and link it!

[kiryuva]

May I request some Reaper angst? Like... reader has been mourning his death and is completely falling apart with crippling depression, locking herself away from everyone and Gabe has been watching her gradually get worse. And perhaps he shows up comforting her? Or maybe he stays away because he has to? You can decide that!

Withdrawn

Note: This drabble is a bit longer, as I absolutely fell in love with the prompt and found myself writing so much. I’m tempted to write more for this and even more stories based on this prompt alone. This features a high degree of angst and darker themes, so please be cautious before reading! I hope you like it!

Your knees were brought up to your chest as you hid underneath your covers, enshrouded by the comfort of darkness. Your eyes were open, but it wasn’t like you could see anything anyway. They burned from how much your tears came from them, and twitched in irritation as you stared further into the void. Your body hurt, your eyes hurt, and you didn’t want to come from the comfort zone you created. You were fine in the dark, fine in your own company, fine away from it all.

The darkness had always been your comfort ever since the tragic event that happened, and it calmed you, as strange as it was. Some nights were cooler than others, but always in some way you felt it kept you safe. When you were more mobile, there were many times where the shadows appeared darker than other parts of your house, but you dismissed it as you in your distressed state seeing things.

A sudden knock at your door caused you to release an irritated sigh, and you tightened holding your knees even more.

But the knocking wouldn’t stop. Every few minutes, the knocking would return again. You had no interest in answering, felt no reason to talk to anyone, and just preferred to be alone. It hurt too much to be around others, and you struggled wanting to socialize. All the while, the knocking persisting, irritating you further, causing an agitated you to remove yourself from the blanketed darkness and towards your living room door. You were in your pajamas, hair disheveled, but your appearance was the least of your concerns.

The knocking became louder the closer to the door you became, the pounding ringing through your ears as you lazily rubbed the sleep from your eyes. A growl escaped you, and you squinted at the object in front of you. You hesitated opening the door, hovering your hand above the knob while carefully listening to the sounds of the hallway. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d heard relentless knocking, but often you would ignore it, creating a successful piece of mind for you. This wouldn’t be one of those times.Shaking your head in defeat, you opened the door, blinking as you saw a familiar brunette and redhead. You looked away, shamefully so, and left the door for them to answer as they stood in the hallway. You didn’t make eye contact, and instead remain quieted as you made your way to the arm chair. Your silence confused them, and they looked at you with concerned expressions, causing you to speak, “You can come in.”

“You sure, love?”

“Yes, Lena.”Lena looked relieved, stepping in with flowers in her hands as she carefully entered your apartment complex, Emily closing the door behind them. There were signs of clutter in a few areas, but for the most part, your home was clean. It moreso was a result of you not wanting to bother moving or changing anything from your previous relationship, and the girls before you were aware of it. You again, regained your position of bringing your knees to your chest as you sat in the arm chair, hiding your tear-stained face.“Hey, [Y/N]. Thank you for letting us in. We won’t stay long if you don’t want us to,” the brunette studied your movement and body language, glancing to a worried Emily as she sat next to her girlfriend. “It’s just been so long and, we all are so worried about you—”She stopped herself when she saw you raise your face to look at her, the redness and swollen nature of your eyes taking her back. You looked exhausted, and seconds away from crying again. Emily glanced from Lena back to you, steadying her posture as the depressed you directed your attention to the floor. “We’re so worried about you,” Lena began, breaking the silence, “it’s been months since we’ve been able to see you, and weeks since we last had contact with you. I was worried, I wanted to make sure that—” she stopped herself, feeling herself get worked up a bit, “—I wanted to make sure that you were OK. If you don’t want to talk, I understand, I just, I just wanted to see you. You’re one of my best friends, and I hate to see you like this.”Though you knew Lena had it in her best interests to uplift you, her words stung a bit more than she would ever imagine. You weren’t trying to purposely ignore phone calls and drop forms of communication, but everything fell suit when you lost you lost your team. You didn’t want to be around anyone. You struggled eating, leaving your apartment. Even eating became spotty, and the nightmares that occupied your mind wouldn’t stop. It weighed heavy on your heart the truth and reality of the situation; that this remained ever-present, and no amount of wishing would ever bring them back.

To bring him back.

“Lena,” her name was the only thing you could say, and weakly so, before you wilted in the arm chair and felt the tears roll down your cheek. Your cries struck Emily and Lena so strongly, and Emily gripped Lena’s hand as they watched you break down. Lena found herself tearing up, standing up and walking to you and kneeling at the chair as she watched you. A heartbreaking scream came from you as she stood up to hug you, again, the weight only making you wail more. You felt as you couldn’t breathe with how much you let pour from you, your body trembling from the tears that burst forth like a dam.

The red-haired young woman brought her hand to her chest, feeling her eyes becoming glossy as she watched Lena comfort you. Her heart ached, and she lowered her attention to the flowers at her side. “I’m sorry, [Y/N],” she whispered, observing on as you came apart.

Minutes of sobbing were only broken by shortened recovery breaths as you held tightly onto Lena. She rocked you gently, your howls of misery worsening with every second as she held you close. You collapsed into her, spotting her chest with tears, the waves of grief overwhelming you as your heavy eyes fluttered shut. You sobbed unceasingly, clutching the time-traveler’s jacket as tight as you could. You just wanted the team back, your life back, your family back; him back.

Why did it have to end like this?

—

Exhaling deeply, you waved the couple good-bye from your apartment as you parted ways. You had stopped crying during some conversation with them, and it felt good for you, to be in the comfort of those who cared. It still felt odd, seeing people after for so long, but you were grateful that some of the sadness that you held in silence was finally released. Looking down to the purple nightshade in your hand, as well the others that rested in their vase across from you in the living area, you attempted to clear your mind. 

It was late evening now, and you decided to close the curtains in multiple spaces in your home. Lena had encouraged you to have a bit more sunshine in your apartment, something the three of you found humorous. Though, with it being so late, it was only appropriate to do so. As you went to reach for the curtain, you felt a wave of uncertainty hit you, making you hesitate. You peered around the room, as if you felt it was wrong to do, or if something was burning into you. You shook your head, laughing to yourself at the silly reasoning even crossed your mind.Darkness soon covered your living space area, and you made your way back to your room. You sucked in your teeth, feeling a cold waft of air hit you and making you shiver. You weren’t sure what caused this, but perhaps it was a result of being so emotionally fragile the entire day with Emily and Lena. That had to be the reason, otherwise, you felt you weren’t in the right state of mind. The pitter patter of your bare feet was the only sound in your apartment as you opened your door, looking to the shadow on the wall that was casted from the hallway lighting. 

You furrowed your brows at your shadow before stepping forward, only to jerk as you saw a much larger, taller silhouette looming over yours. It made you jump.

What in the world was that?

Quickly your nystagmic eyes looked to the area around you, turning on the lights instinctively. You turned around, a cold sweat hitting sending shivers down your spine. No one was behind you. You flicked on the lights on and off as a precaution, then stopped, realizing how foolish you’d seem. After seconds of nothing and stillness, you sighed again. Holding onto your arm and making sure your vision was in tact, you kept blinking, seeing only your shadow this time. You were seeing things, you had to be. Yes, you were withdrawn, your depression had been terrible, but you didn’t think you would be seeing things. 

The strangest thing was that no one really knew you lived here. The only people who knew of this location were Lena, Emily, Winston, and your long-since passed lover. You let your hair down, sitting on the side of your bed before whispering, “I love you, Gabriel. And I… I miss you.” You don’t know what prompted you to speak out loud, but your heart calmed once your sudden fear left you. You glanced to the picture of the both of you together on your nightstand, at your favourite location, and smiled timidly. You didn’t feel the tear that rolled down your cheek as you laid down, lowering your eyelids.You swore, you thought you heard a familiar voice say your name within the darkness as you submitted to slumber.

Your mind had to be playing tricks on you.

[falkberg]

The Bluejacket III - Landfall

Tales Beyond the Veil X

The fist of God had struck down the Invincible, pushed her decks beneath the sea and released her only seconds after when the falling tower sank to the bottom of the sea from whence it came. Blackness enveloped the stern of the royal battle cruiser, rushing upward, back to the surface. The ship spewed water, steam, and air from all hatches and shook, whilst the frontal batteries were still firing on their own accord. Their flags had been ripped apart and the Heliograph had been extinguished. Aboard the Inflexible, the fires on the sister ship could be seen, but not for long, before the rest of the falling tower hit the water and churned waves so high, that a wall of water was in between the two proud ships. Salvos from the accompanying cruisers had ceased, as their target was now falling and they were busy fleeing the waves, that had been sent outward by the initial crash. They also steered clear of the Invincible, fearing an explosion of her magazine. But the ship stood defiantly, not sinking, not moving back into line. “They are going to tow her.” I do not recall who said it, the words could have been my own or those of a mate by my side. We were all thinking it, knowing, that the officers would not leave an admiral behind, not aboard a ship such as the Invincible. While gas and steam were still bursting from deep below where the tower had fallen, our ship pursued at full steam ahead. The vessel plowed through waves with such force, that the hull was shaking and creaking in protest. Tension within the bulk of the ship let the skeleton sing and crepitate under pressure. We paid it no mind, focusing on our task at hand. Another spot in the clouds was too dark and a single shot confirmed resistance from there. After all, this had been victory, as we had done damage to whatever hunted ships at sea. Where our explosives found a target, they would tear it apart. It was not much of a hope when faced with the natural extend of a storm and fire on our deck, but it was more than fate had granted as before. Laughing at the top of our lungs, we sent another round into the fogs gaping maw and watched more of the riveting black mass being washed away when breakers crashed onto the deck. Chains and smoldering wood broke apart, where the black mass sagged away under a deck, but the crew had not yet given up on the vessel. Further back, massive winches and cables were prepared. Sparked by the image of the sister ship's strife, the crew mobilized a new reserve and all hands were on deck for this operation. All the while, the Inflexible gained on the Invincible's course, approaching the vessel from the rear, where the damage became ever more visible. At least, so our hope, the crew had not fired a final flare-up yet. They were not sinking yet and their guns fired without hesitation.

The Inflexible's engines changed gears with a deep rumble, letting the decks shake once again. On deck, row upon row of crewmen and officers had gathered, ropes and cables, hooks and weapons in force a connection between both ships. Flares and signals were exchanged to coordinate their effort. It was a dangerous, daring maneuver when the helmsman passed the Inflexible as close as he could. Like a shadowy castle on a cold winter morning, the Invincible emerged from fog and clouds, enveloped in smoke and few flames. There too was crew standing at the edge of their decks, raising their arms and shouting in surprise. Their surprise briefly turned into panic, when both ships were raised by a wave and pushed closer together. From my position, I could briefly see the main batteries of our allied ship. Merely a few dozen feet away, another gun crew was firing just the same, and both sides felt the dark, rigorous shudder as the two hulls were pushed into each other. Almost gently, the Inflexible's stern skimmed the outer armor of Invincible and remained just long enough, for shouts and steel cables to be exchanged. Whirring winches and screaming voices underlined the urgent maneuver, where both ships faltered against increasing waves and the fog, that had come close to swallowing them by now. Of the chaos on the aftermost decks, I saw nothing and heard little. But the ship's engines soon resumed their duty, pushing forward and pulling the damaged vessel behind.

…

Two vessels, bound by steel and iron rigging, fled the encroaching gray mist under full steam. Their connection was straining in the midst of surging waves, billowing smoke and occasional flames, where black mass fell from the sky and exploded on broken lanterns. The fires in Inflexible's turbines sent sparks through the smokestacks. Deep below deck, tireless men worked the boilers and shoveled coal, ensuring the continued push of both ships against all odds. The lights on her deck glowed in somber orange, where they were not extinguished by seawater or suffocated in smoke. Many of the crew had fled to the inside and closed all portholes. Others moved about, gas masks on their faces and touched the steaming metal merely with gloves and hooks. But they moved forward, still fighting the black mass and the elements of a sea that had united against them. Our spotter, chained to his outlook post high above, had long given up on providing targets to our batteries. We fired blindly and hit things here and there. But the greater priority had a way out of the mist, back to the line of vessels where Germans and the royal navy had joint forces against the dark. Their salvos and explosive shells still flew overhead, but the shots had been growing increasingly irregular and the spotters had trouble making silhouettes out on the horizon. It should have been impossible, the two battlecruisers had not moved this far from the rest of the formation. Not by their own account, at least. Nevertheless, the other ships and land were nowhere to be seen.

I checked the chronometer overhead my seat, but the delicate mechanical device had stopped. It was as though time itself had given up on this twisted storm. And so, I could only count the salvos we fired every minute or so. Forty times, the cannons bellowed into the dark, before a sign of life reached us from above. The clamor of two vessels running through the waves had been growing ever since their gentle collision and towing maneuvers. Once in motion bot vessels made their way relentlessly forward, against breakers and heavy seas, firing and pushing their engines to the best of their ability. How much of the Invincible's power or crew was left, none could say. The vessel lay silent behind us, a darker shadow, limping towards the safety of closer formations. The waterline was dangerously high on our sister vessel, so I was told by the spotter. The man on the masts had refrained from telling anything more, but his voice was anxious and brittle. Most of the crow on deck had left by now or was washed away by angry waves. Efforts to free our front deck from black pitch had been ceased and pumps were constantly removing the water washing in. One of the anchors had been lost, the foremast was crooked and halfway molten. Despite all this, some hope was to be seen through my tiny leaded window. Lights, high above, on a mountain of waves and spraying water. Searchlights in the dark foretold the line of lighter cruisers, that had formed just straight ahead.

It was the Canopus that first found us, focusing searchlights and flares in our direction. They were probably close to shooting the unknown shadow down, that emerged from the encroaching fog, closely tied to another, identical silhouette close behind. Only a quick flaring of our Heliographs prevented a salvo on our bow. The waves beneath were roiling more than ever, but the heavy sea was the least of its strangeness by now. Something was sending light from underneath. Beams of green and blue jumped between the hulls of our ships. I could barely see the reflections, but they were unmistakably unnatural. Blueish sheen glowed on the Canopus and outlined her hull black against the surging waves. Where the beams of light came from, I could not see. I stared in disbelief at the toiling ship that was surrounded by light, so much so, that it seemed like a ghostly phenomenon rather than a physical thing. It seemed almost to float above the waterfront, and it's accompanying vessels just the same. Nevertheless, our hearts made a jump when we heard the spotter call out to these ships, announcing full of relief that we had found our way out of the mist. But the tendrils were following, slowly but surely keeping close. There was no pause to be had, no victory to be celebrated. Perhaps, only perhaps we would make it to our harbor, with little plans on what was to follow.

The crew was cheering just to see light once more. Their enthusiasm was heard throughout all compartments. Even greater, in contrast, was the shock we felt when behind the Canopus rugged cliffs came into view. The  British ship faltered, suddenly struck by its stern, where the first banks of rough sand and stone tore into its hull. A front of waves crashed into the land, lifting the Canopus up and over the initial waterline, leaving it beached on a reef of broken stones that crumbled under the weight of the heavy vessel. A foghorn sounded from the shore, like a scream when the ship of the line crashed. Even the storm could overpower the noise of tearing metal and escaping steam. Aboard the Inflexible the crew was frozen in place, shocked at the sight of a stranded ship. Officers jumped on deck shouting orders violently pulled the crew away from the railing. They shoved them forward, toward the foremost deck, all the while screaming for the anchors to be cast. One of them knocked hard on our hatch, shouting orders to leave the turret at once. The slow artillery would be longer of use, not if the ship ran ashore. On deck, hands were needed now.  Already were the engines roaring, reversing all thrust and fighting the storm, that pushed towards the land with an unnatural force. Wave upon wave crashed into the ship, washing over decks and crew with such vigor, that the officers were covering against the railing, waiting for the ocean spray to subside. We left the turret quickly, leaving the hot interior behind in favor of the muddy deck. All around, the British cruiser line reeled against the wind. Suddenly realizing how far off course they had been pushed, the captains turned their ships away from the land and against the ocean. It was impossible to make out how many of them were already lost to the cliffs and how many had been swallowed whole by the sea. Squinting through burning salt and sharp blasts of wind, I saw the dark shape of what I assume was the Kent, struggling to stay on course. Behind us, halfway obscured by the superstructure, the Invincible was moving with the waves, bound to our ship with countless ropes and cables. The officer that had brought us out quickly led us towards the forward deck. A dozen or so sailors had already been gathered and given hooks and blanks to make their way through black residue and ashes, where once the forecastle had been. Their task was to release the anchor and secure the chains and we were to ensure their survival. Shouts and orders were exchanged, but the wind stole all words from our lips. Communicating in gestures, the officers finally convinced a few shipmates to make their way to the forward hull. We stood back, pushing planks and material forwards to the brave men that made their way on the volatile deck. On the horizon, I was searching for the lights of Port Stanley. But the city was either dark or had been covered in so much smoke that no lights went through. It was similarly hopeless to look out for the lighthouse. The guiding flames were no longer there. All that was left was dark, rough stone and ridges, waiting to rip apart an armored hull.

A silty mass had been brought by the water. The salty residue, rich in mud and sand, covered all decks and blanks. It stuck to our boots and uniforms and burned where it touched raw skin. Sailors in oilskins were still shoveling black sleech into the sea, but each wave seemed to leave more and more of the horrid material behind. All stairs and ladders were slippery, the railings dark and bent out of shape. In the terrible twilight of this storm, it was as if I looked onto a wreckage rather than a proud and mighty ship. Half blind, half deaf, we moved forward, towards the burning black mass and the anchor's winches. On the utmost bow, the flagpole was still intact and bore a red signal flag that lashed out in the wind. While walking through broken planks and coals, my mind was focused on that simple goal. Whenever harsh waves came, we all hunkered down and grabbed onto anything close by. Each time, the waves threatened to pull my body way, lifting me with the force of Neptune's wrath. At this point, I had no doubt that the ocean itself had risen against us and I did no longer question fate. There was only one reason to go on: To not sink without a fight. The massive anchor irons had been secured on the foremost deck, a place that was now a chaotic mess of broken wood and steel rods, just waiting for a man to be impaled. Nevertheless, brave crewmen went out, secured by lines and swimming vests, to assess the state of the chains. Behind us, the waves were howling. For so long, we had fought against them and now, they were pushing us forward, eager for us to crash helplessly on the wreckage of the Canopus. The steaming hulk of the stranded ship was still firing cannons over our heads in exemplary defiance of the sea. Most of the secondary guns aboard our ship added to this fire, but the shots were irregular and few seemed to hit anything but the waves. It was dangerous too, not to hit a friendly vessel on the chaotic, heavy seas. The shouts of the first sailor were fruitless, so he finally pulled on my uniform and dragged me closer in. “This one is good!”, he screamed out of the top of his lungs and struck the massive metal peace, that was halfway broken through the deck. Heat, unimaginable heat just recently washed away by the wave, had bent the metal out of shape and now the anchor, tons of massive steel, moved dangerously freely forward, then back, with every wave that crashed into the ship. A crew of ten men already operated and fixed up the winches. But now, the anchor had to get into the water.

Armed with crowbars and metal rods, all who made to the bow began throwing their weight against the mass of steel to drop anchor. Quickly, we learned to move with the waves, as to not be crushed under the weight of its head. On the other side of the forecastle, men were turning winches to tighten the loose anchor chain. Once we had found our rhythm, it was like a song, shouting against wind and waves again and again whilst the shore came ever closer. Three times, four times, ten times – at the eleventh, it was finally enough to push the weight over the edge. Immediately, we stumbled backward, away from the gouge where chain links bit into the deck with all their weight. The anchor was falling free and reached the water with a powerful splash. From then on, the chain began to sing, rattle and crack. On the port side, a second anchor dropped, with just as much vigor. The howling winches whirred dangerously and threw debris and dirt into the air. The studs holding them onto the deck vibrated violently and soon sparks rose from the massive mechanism. The sailors pulled back, fleeing over the damaged deck back to the safety of the armored hull. Many expected the turn to come and held on for their dear life. Seconds after they had fallen, the anchors struck the ground and dug into whatever was below. But the chains did not stop. They gave way more chain, link after link in a howling chaotic frenzy. Next to the winches, a bell was struck every ten links by a rod. It sang loudly and came close to burst when suddenly, both chains came to an end. A violent jolt shuddered through the ship and I could feel our curse changing with the current. The waves were now crashing directly at out bow, spraying over the deck and cooling the chains. Unholy sounds of creaking and grinding came from the mechanism, but the chains held strong, not giving way to the forces at hand. However, their strength was not yet being truly tested. A new cacophony from the back soon announced that the Invincible was swinging around.

[merrinpippy]

Tagged by the fantastic @hollyjinx!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (or however many you have altogether). See if there are any patterns. Then, tag your favorite authors.

Anyone I would have tagged has already been tagged (I’m pretty sure) so if you want to do this fine but otherwise I’m not tagging anyone. Except @royalvciens ily. 

1. The Search Party - Harry Potter; Harrymort

It was a black and misty Forbidden Forest that they entered in search for Harry.

Voldemort’s corporeal patronus- they hadn’t even believed he could cast one before now- had burst into the Great Hall only a short time ago, and they didn’t have to hear his message to understand that something was wrong, for the patronus itself… was a stag.

2. Untitled (WIP) - Harry Potter; Mortal Immortals

Tom and Sanguini were arguing again. And while this wasn’t new, it was extremely annoying.

More annoying than usual, actually. Harry frowned. He looked around at his surroundings- the library, currently, but he’d moved twice already to avoid his two lovers- and noticed that everything seemed… darker, faded. His depth perception was off, and it felt like it was raining in his head despite the weather outside being sunny.

3. Valour (WIP) - Harry Potter; Harrymort

The dream came every night, and it was always the same.

Lying in a coffin, expensive, fit for someone more deserving. Inside the coffin, blood. Filling. Overflowing. Hands clutching a lily. The lily floating to the top but the hands remaining still. Cold. Dead.

A name.

4. The Teaching Assistant (WIP) - Harry Potter; Tomarry

Third year had started off, well, pretty horrible to say the least. So far Harry had blown up his Aunt, ran away, found out that the notorious serial killer and former servant of Voldemort, Sirius Black, was after him, and he’d also managed to faint on the train after being drained of happiness by a dementor.

Not a good start by any means.

So it really shouldn’t have surprised Harry to find that, upon entering the Great Hall, things could get worse.

5. Kings of Flowers and Skulls - Harry Potter; Tomarry

The King of Flowers ruled in the Garden. His rule was peaceful, for his subjects were every variation of every plant in his vast, beautiful garden. Many paths wound their way through tree-lined arches and bridges of vines over the rivers where the water hyacinth grew, but the only path that lead to the King’s throne was the one lined with poppies.

His throne was elevated in an atrium of fountains and sunflowers, with lilies wrapping around his plinth and resting against his feet. Those who whispered about him and his garden, for he was known as a cautionary tale that only few believed, knew him as the King of Flowers. But his plants knew him as Harry Potter.

6. Did You Find Your Bitch in Me (WIP) - Harry Potter; Tomarry

One could argue that Alpha, Beta, and Omega status was somewhat important in the society Harry was used to- the so-called muggle society as he’d learned to call it. Naturally, it became just another thing the Dursleys could punish him for.

7. Untitled (WIP) - Harry Potter; Tomarry/Harrymort

Harry thought, from what the Dursleys said, that it would be dark and dingy. Dungeons, hanging chains, no respite from the cold and damp.

Well, so far he was partly right. As he stepped out of the car, he was drenched immediately in the cold evening air. Little Hangleton, and most importantly, Riddle Manor.

Little Hangleton had once been a quiet twin village to Great Hangleton, Harry knew, but since Voldemort had risen to power the two had merged into a large, bustling city that rivalled even London. As the day was darkening, the night lights were switching on to reveal glamorous skyscrapers some distance away from the manor that they were parked by. Harry could even make out the silhouettes of the three biggest pagodas in the city.

He shuddered.

8. Everything’s Fine in the Beast Division - Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts; Tomarry

It was raining outside when Harry took the lift up to Level 4 of the Ministry of Magic, except it wasn’t technically actually raining and ‘outside’ meant in the fake windows of each of the ministry’s department levels.

9. You Know Me - Harry Potter; Tomarry

“Ron.”

“Not now, Harry, I’m-”

“Ron.”

“Give it a minute-”

“Ron.”

“Honestly Harry, stop hitting me-! Fine, what is it?”

10. To Be Set Free - Harry Potter; Tomarry

The day started, as days usually do, with breakfast. If Harry Potter’s parents hadn’t died in a carriage crash when he was a baby, he might have been eating said breakfast, but Lily and James Potter had died, and so Harry was making breakfast for the Dursleys instead. As he always did, he accidentally made a little bit too much so that he could eat the leftovers later, seeing as the Dursleys hadn’t let him eat with them since he was very young. The Dursleys knew about this, but didn’t stop him as long as he finished every other chore they gave him first.

11. I Could Have Been With Him Forever - Harry Potter; Tomarry/Harrymort

It was not drawn out, nor was it peaceful and accepting, but by this point Tom was used to Harry defying all of his expectations.

Harry’s hands clutched futilely at the bunch of cloth over his wound, trying to keep the blood from pouring out to no avail. His eyes were wide and panicked, and this almost gave Tom hope, for Harry wanted to live and he was not one to lose battles like these so easily.

But Harry wasn’t quite fighting anymore.

12. Untitled (WIP) - Harry Potter; Tomarry

Harry noticed the mysterious, handsome man lurking around the village before it started. ‘It’ being the snakes, of course.

He had seen snatches of the man here and there, just enough to recognise him every time Harry caught a glimpse of him. It wasn’t often. Weeks went by without Harry seeing him, and then on a dewy morning on his way to the shops there would be a flicker in the shadows, and for a second Harry would gaze into those dark eyes before they disappeared again.

13. Thank You Shakespeare - Harry Potter; Tomarry

Harry looked up from his comfortable position in his armchair to find Tom staring at him once again, an indecipherable look on his face.

They spent a lot of their evenings in the Room of Requirement, as neither could enter the other’s common room. The Room itself had subsequently morphed itself into a cosy mixture of the two dorms. Harry felt mildly guilty for not spending quite as much time with Ron and Hermione, but he saw them every day and they insisted they understood, though neither were truly comfortable with Tom yet. Privately he thought they could use the time without him to finally come to terms with their less-than-platonic feelings for one another. When Harry mentioned this to Tom, Tom snorted and then tripped Hermione into Ron’s arms the first opportunity he got. It was endlessly amusing to Harry, but unfortunately (and not so surprisingly) the flushes on his friends’ faces weren’t enough to clue each other in, so they were still dancing around each other.

So yes. Evenings in the Room of Requirement. With Tom. Who Harry certainly wasn’t harbouring deeper feelings for.

14. All Because of an Orange Sky (WIP) - Harry Potter; Tomarry

It began mid-day, as far as anyone could tell. It started with the sky turning orange.

“An illusion,” some said. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

It was not gone by tomorrow.

The three villages- that is to say Little Hangleton, Little Whinging, and Godric’s Hollow- did not panic yet. A small superstitious few lay flowers and other tributes at the shrine in the centre of the three villages, but most remained adamant that the bewitchment would pass. This time, the deadline was the end of the week.

At the end of the week, the sky remained orange.

15. Just a Normal Tuesday Night - Teen Wolf; Stallison

“What time is it?” Allison groans, stretching out and knocking into Stiles, who’d arranged himself into a sitting position next to her. Her neck aches a little but she’s still in the hazy bubble of sleep and doesn’t open her eyes, instead reaching out for Stiles’ hand.

Stiles turns his head, if the sound of his head moving against the stone wall tells her correctly, and Allison still doesn’t open her eyes. “It’s half past twelve. Probably a.m.”

It’s not Stiles’ words that break through to her, nor the oddness of his action, but rather the tired and slightly miserable way that he spoke, and only a few seconds after does it occur to Allison why. She opens her eyes and bolts straight up as her memories return to her.

16. Songs of the Day and Night - Professor Layton; Descolay

They’d been expecting the invasion from the neighbouring kingdom for a while now. King Descole’s army had started to overrun King Bronev’s after months of fighting and Hershel just wanted it to be over. Despite what the servants had to say about it, Leon made him stay in the palace. None dared argue with their cruel King, and he pointed out that since Hershel was his son, the prince, he had an obligation to stay.

And so the invasion grew closer. Leon became more frantic, often even absent, and Hershel became quieter in his presence. He often slipped away in the dead of night to visit the lower, poorer regions of his city while he still could. It was hard to imagine that this was better than most of the rest of the kingdom. He’d heard rumours that King Descole was ruthless and unmatched in battle, but from what Hershel had seen, Descole’s growing kingdom fared much better than his own.

17. The Only One - Supernatural; Samifer

Sam had a dilemma on his hands.

It had been a few months since Lucifer had broken out of the cage again, bringing Michael and Adam with him. It appeared that they had come to an understanding of sorts, as Michael just nodded to them both and Sam before fluttering off, presumably to heaven, leaving Adam staring wistfully at the empty space he’d left.

18. Untitled (WIP) - Merlin; Merthur

It’s been around two minutes since Merlin got on the bus. It’s also been, Merlin believes, around 1,000 years since Arthur died. He’s not quite sure at this point the exact amount of years- he stopped counting his age after he reached 300. No-one would believe him if he told them his real age now anyway. He’s also not sure of how long he’s been on the bus, as he’s broken his watch. He’s not very happy about it.

19. Give Me Back My Body - Captain America; Stucky

Bucky had broken a record by bringing Steve from the Potomac River.

It seemed he was gaining his ability to think again, and he’d gone to the Smithsonian to take back a sense of self. He stayed away for a few weeks, checking in on Steve in the hospital when he was still there (not going in, just in case). He tested himself, made sure that he was safe around civilians by going about a ‘normal’ life, observing them and exposing himself to as many possible triggers as he could.

Nothing triggered him at all, and he was physically doing fine.

20. Come Sweet Death - Captain America; Stucky

The first time Steve Rogers tries to commit suicide is in the winter of 1931, when he’s 13 years old. It’s when Bucky finally finds out about his partial deafness, and his…different version of colour blindness. It’s not much of a big deal to Bucky- he takes it surprisingly well, and is so supportive it makes Steve feel like crying.

Which he does. A lot.

It’s when he’s so sick, literally and figuratively, of his many afflictions, that he’s had enough.

Patterns I’ve found: I’m really melodramatic and I take a long time to get to the point, which is why a lot of these first lines seem like an imperfect cadence. Also I have a lot of unfinished documents.