#or is it a standalone oneshot?

[running2reanimation]

Interview

Knowledge is power.

Aqua leaned against the counter, bored out of her mind. Never a good sign when, three hours into an 8 hour shift, one has nothing left to do.

Other than wait on the late night customers, of which there was… one.

That Purple guy who’s been coming in with Mr. King. The one who would be about Gold’s age if Gold hadn’t…

When had he come in? And it was interesting that he was alone for once. That was a first.

He approached the counter with a bag of chips and a bottle of one of those fancy lemonades.

“Good evening, thank you for shopping at Wants, did you find everything you were looking for tonight?” She put on her customer service voice and bright smile.

“Not quite.”

Oh please, oh please don’t hit on me…

“I wanted to know a little bit more about King, if you had the time.”

She narrowed her eyes, “What did you want to know?”

“Just… stuff, I guess. He doesn’t talk much about himself, or his life before he met me and I guess I’m just curious as to why.”

“And why are you asking me?”

“You are literally the only other person he really mentions or talks about from before. Does he not have other friends?”

“I mean, he might’ve had some work friends, but Mr. King’s always been a loner.”

“So is King his last name then?”

“He doesn’t have a last name, I don’t think. Gold didn’t have one so I assume Mr. King probably doesn’t either.”

“So what’s with the formality?” He opened up his chips as he leaned against the opposite side of the counter.

“I’ve known him since I was in diapers, but I guess it started when I went to grade school and I thought Mr, Ms and Mx were how all kids referred to adults that weren’t their parents, I guess it just stuck,” She sighed as she realized he’d gotten her talking against her better judgement.

“Was there ever any Ms, Mx or Mr King the second?”

“Haha, he’s been single for as long as I’ve known him.”

“So then where did Gold come from?”

“He had a partner before I was born, apparently she died giving birth to him. I’m not surprised he wouldn’t really mention that, technically I only know it because my mom told me.”

“…” Purple’s expression went dark for a moment before he opened up his lemonade, “You were one of Gold’s friends, right? What was he like?”

“I was his best friend. He was… funny and charming, everyone at school loved him. He was always helping people and was always willing to go the extra mile for someone. But he was also very… reckless and impulsive. I had to talk him out of a lot of dangerous things growing up.”

“When’s his birthday?”

“King’s or Gold’s?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Uh, Mr. King’s birthday is April 3rd, and Gold’s was… December 3rd.”

“Huh, both on the third of the month, what a coincidence.”

“Yeah, I probably wouldn’t have remembered Mr. King’s if it weren’t for that. I don’t think he ever really celebrated it.”

“…And the anniversary of Gold’s accident?”

“Oh, that’s coming right up, on the 21st.”

“Ah, that explains that then,” Purple said cryptically, crumpling up the empty chip bag and straightening up to go.

“Wait! It’s my turn to ask you a few questions.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Purple shrugged, draining the last of his lemonade and tossing the bottle in the bin.

“…How did you meet Mr. King?”

Purple looked at her thoughtfully as he held the door open, debating what to say, if he should even say anything at all. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and he couldn’t quite read her expression beyond that.

“Not to go into too much detail, we met when we were both in some really bad places in our lives. And we both helped pull each other out of it. Now we’re just trying to figure out our new normal, y’know?”

Aqua nodded, “I guess I get it. I was just worried you were… using him, I guess.”

Purple couldn’t help but chuckle at that. It had really been the other way around, but he wasn’t gonna tell her that, “If I was using him, I sure wouldn’t have admitted it just because you asked. It’s nice that you’re worried about him though.”

“Just… be good to him. I’m sure he’s done some awful things while he was grieving, but he’s a decent man.”

“I know. Thanks for the answers, Aqua. See you later,” He stepped out the door and into the night, leaving Aqua tangled in her memories for the night.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

How You Turn My World; Chapter 4

You finally find your way into the labyrinth, coming across some new and old faces; both friendly and malicious.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, reader is getting tired of being stuck here and smelling like a bog

Content Warnings; Swearing, some talk of death, reader passes out

Word Count; 2.2 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

As per usual, don't put my work into AI.

You were finally making some decent progress, what, with not being stuck in some bog and knowing somewhat of where you were going. A vast improvement really! Well, it would be, but unfortunately, you still reeked of rotten eggs and skunk — apparently the bog stench only got worse the longer it stayed on.

“Why did it have to dump me into the swamp,” you huffed, rounding yet another corner. “Like, it could have dumped me beside the water, but, no, no, let’s dump the magicless human right into the putrid bog water! A good guffaw, don’t you think? Ha ha ha HA!”

At least your au de Bog of Eternal Stench kept any would-be assailants away since you hadn’t run into anything (besides a rose bush, ouch) since you started making your way through the labyrinth. So maybe it wasn’t all that bad… damn, maybe your sense of smell was just used to it… hey, if stink helps you not die, then you would gladly stay stinky! Well, bitterly stay stinky is more like it.

“Assholes,” you muttered, rounding another corner. 

But it wasn’t a corner; it was a crossroad. Three paths merged off of the one you were on.

… aren’t labyrinths just one long line? THIS IS A FUCKING MAZE?! You groaned, looking at your possible options which all looked exactly the same.

Decisions, decisions, decisions. Of course nothing is easy here, no no no! Gotta make things difficult now.

The hedge behind you rustled, and you whipped around, getting into a stance where you could either land a pretty good sucker punch to the hedge-stalker or make a mad dash away. But out of the hedge crawled out a small, fuzzy, caterpillar. And back at home you would have thought it was cute, but you learned your lesson from the doors; don’t trust it, or anyone for that matter.

You looked down at the caterpillar, and the caterpillar looked up at you, blinking slowly. 

What are the chances… 

“Do you know a way out,” you asked the caterpillar, crouching down so that you didn’t tower over it.

The caterpillar blinked at you again (apparently caterpillars in the Underground have eyelids, which isn’t the weirdest thing considering everything). “No,” it chirped and continued crawling on its merry way, wherever that may be. “But you’ll find the way.” And it disappeared into the growth of the maze, humming a little tune to itself.

You sighed, and pushed yourself back up, straightening out your shoulders and looking up to the sky. “I’ll find a way,” you breathed, looking up at the cloudless sky which was starting to turn a brilliant amber with the setting sun. “I might want to find a way is more like it.”

You looked back down to the ground, looking at the three paths in front of you. They all look the same, save for the ground making up paths themselves, with the middle and right paths looking well worn with travel. And while they may be well worn, there was a voice at the back of your head that was whispering caution. The left-most path was not as well travelled, with dead vines covering parts of it.

“Hopefully you’re right, little buddy since I could use all the luck I can get.” And you made your way down the path, hoping that it was the correct one and didn’t lead you to your death or some other unpleasant thing.

…

…

Lilia was at the entrance of the labyrinth, in front of the two doors.

“Have you seen a human, about this tall, a bit of a temper, and smelling foul,” he asked the doors.

The doors looked at each other before looking at Lilia. “And what’s it to you,” they said in unison.

Lilia smiled, but it was one of mild annoyance, not joy or amusement. “Royal orders I fear. You wouldn’t want the mistress finding out about you both tampering with a royal matter, would you?” The smile turned cat-like since Lilia had backed them into a corner.

The doors paled, with the blue door speaking up. “No no, sir! We would never dream of such a thing!!! Yes, there was a human, a wretched one at that, horribly rude!”

Lilia hummed, cocking a brow at the door. “I do think wretched is a bit of an overstatement now,” he whispered to himself. “Well, tell me where about they are then. The sooner I can collect them, the better for you lot.”

The red door sighed, “Near the heart of it, they took the left path.”

Left path? Why the left path leads to… Shit. Lilia mentally groaned, knowing that regardless of the path you took, you would end up having to deal with them eventually. “Your cooperation has been noted,” is what he said though, giving the doors both a nod before turning into a bat and flying over the labyrinth, trying to find you before you ran into whoever them was.

“Please be clever enough not to die,” he whispered to no one, hoping that he didn’t have to deliver your body to the Queen.

…

…

The left path brought you to what looked like a forest; with old-growth trees, ferns and moss covering the ground, and a list mist hanging in the air. It was peaceful and beautiful, with the setting sun illuminating the mist without burning it away.

But that would not last, night was fast approaching and you had nothing to protect you this time; no rowan tree to haul your ass up, and no sort of weapon to protect yourself besides the oh-so-lovely smell of the bog to deter something from eating you. You were pretty sure it would also keep away anything that wanted to otherwise snatch you up.

“AH!” Something jumped out from a tree, and you couldn’t fully register what it was since you were also screeching, much like the creature was at you; you with fright, the creature with amusement and joy.

Two other creatures jumped out from behind the trees and startled cackling, jumping, and clapping. Together, they surrounded you, with no way to really escape them without fighting through.

… you really should have read about fae species, since you didn’t know what they exactly were, or how dangerous they were either. 

One pulled you near a pit and lit a fire, cackling in glee and dancing, trying to get you to join them. “Ah come on, human, have some fun! DANCE BABEY!!!!”

But you stayed still as more creatures came out of the shadows, dancing around the fire, giggling, cackling, and pulling a bit at your clothes to prompt you to join them. You didn’t know, cementing your feet down, your eyes watching their movements with caution.

‘Should you dance with the fae, you shall not stop dancing until you exhaust yourself. And once you wake up, you will continue dancing. This cycle will repeat itself until you dance to death.’ 

At least that was what the book said, and so you stayed still, regardless of how much the creatures pulled at you. While it looked like a grand old time, you remained where you were.

“I don’t have time for dancing,” you answered coldly, flinching from pinching fingers. You were also a bit shocked that Eau de Bog of Eternal Stench wasn’t keeping them away. Either, they couldn’t smell, or, they didn’t care that you smelled downright awful. “So this ‘baby’ won’t dance.”

And should I be offended by you calling me ‘baby’ or am I reading too much into it?

The main creature just shrugged and spun its dancing partner around. “Your loss human! More fun for us then! YIPPEE!!!” And it threw something in the fire to where you could feel the heat on your face.

What now? You were just standing there awkwardly as the creatures danced about, singing something that you couldn’t really make out. All you knew was that the heat, noise, and the dizzying dance of them was making your head pound, and throat scream in thirst. You hadn’t drank anything for over a day(?) — no, bog water did not count — and the heat from the fire made the thirst only worse. Shit.

“Ah, you don’t look too… hot there human,” one of the creatures snickered at its own joke at your expense. “Maybe if you dance with us, loosen up and have a bit of fun, then you can have a drink? Hmm? Dancing won’t kill you!” But its failed attempts at covering up its own malicious giggles were more than enough to stand your ground… which was coming at you quite fast since you practically collapsed.

Was it the thirst? The pounding migraine that wanted nothing more than to crawl into some dark hole and hide? Or your exhaustion from making that tiring trek, crawling yourself out of the bog and making the trek again, or the hours you had spent wandering around the maze with no real idea of where you were going? All you really knew was that you were now on the ground with the creatures poking at you to see if you were still alive.

“Aw, man! Are they already dead? That’s no fun!” One of the creatures pouted, raising up your arm, and you let it plop back to the ground. “Come on human! Get up! You’re not a party pooper are you?”

Scre you buddy! Can’t you read the situation?!

You were trying your best to stay quiet, which wasn’t all that hard, since all of your energy was gone. 

“They best not be,” a familiar voice called out.

From your position, you couldn’t see who it was, but you could make out the creatures jumping away from you like you were the hot fire instead of the fire pit. But someone else was approaching until you could make out a pair of shoes in front of your face.

They crouched down beside you, placing their fingers gently at the base of your throat; taking your pulse. “Hmph, playing dead, are we, Beastie?”

That irritating chuckle. The annoying nickname. Those mischievous magenta eyes that now looked at you with curiosity and amusement.

It was him — Mr. Sparkles.

And he had just blown your act of playing possum (well, not really, since you had actually collapsed).

But you didn’t say anything, instead favouring to give him a dirty look. Yet he just shook his head in jest, and proceeded to pick you up and wrap you around his shoulders and neck like some sort of bizarre ermine pelt; better than being carried like a sack of potatoes or the bridal carry you supposed.

“Her majesty sends her regards for not turning or killing her guest,” Lilia offered the creatures. It would be such a waste and pity to see such an entertaining Beastie leave us too soon now. “But do know she won’t take to their condition lightly.”

My condition? I’m not some Victorian child with some unknown illness wreaking havoc on their body you know?! But all that you did was groan and cough. You couldn’t even cough in Mr. Sparkles’ (Lilia’s) face, since you had a lovely view of the moss-covered ground and the fae’s shoes.

He patted the back of your calves, and you would have kicked him if you had more energy, but you didn’t. “Now, we really should be off, since Beastie has… an hour to get out of this maze before they turn into some sort of worm, or a hedge; never know what this old labyrinth will decide on really.” Lilia chuckled at the thought (was it merriment, or was he happy that you weren’t joining the caterpillar you met earlier?).

“No,” you wheezed. “WoRm!”

“See! They said it themself! No worm! How lovely that we are on a similar wavelength, Beastie! Marvellous even!” Lilia exclaimed, and the both of you started levitating off of the ground. “Now, do enjoy your party, Fireys!”

The creatures (Fireys apparently) groaned but got back to their party, dancing around the fire like they didn’t just try to lure you to your death mere minutes before.

“Tsk tsk, Beastie,” Lilia’s tutting brought your attention back to him and you grumbled. “You owe me two favours now, you know. Lucky that I found you… although that part wasn’t hard. I thought you learned your lesson the first time you decided to take a dip into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”

You lightly kicked him, letting your irritation be known, but Lilia just hummed. “Now now, no need to be like that! Do you want to smell like a bog when you meet the mistress? She wouldn’t take kindly to your… unique aroma.”

You hissed out a breath since he decided to pinch at your ear rather harshly — prompting for you to answer. “No,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Also, do read up on that book, since you will want to know about the government and fae species etiquette!”

From a smelly bog and fumbling around a maze for hours on end, to finding yourself being taken to fae high society… was it too late to become some worm in the maze? I think being a worm actually has a better chance of me living.

But sadly, you were saved from an eternity of being a worm. Hopefully, Mr. Sparkles (Lilia) would cover for your blunders a little for when you found yourself in front of ‘the mistress’.

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To be continued!

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Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @cheezy-moon @eynnwwyjth @identity-theft-101 @ithseem @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

Link to Masterlist

[loquaciousquark]

From @maybethings and @blackestnight: wallflower

From @compels and anonymous: daffodil-flavored spider flower

Wallflower: fidelity in misfortune or adversity

Daffodil: new beginnings

Spider flower: elope with me

And you thought the last fill was indulgent. Have some utterly unrelenting sap, and then an argument, and then more sap. 5800 words.

--

Gradually, over the course of several minutes, Tav became aware of the fact that she was happy.

Only a handful of times in her memory had she recognized the contentment as it happened. Mostly the realization had come only with idle retrospection—tendays, months, years later—and with a bitter nostalgia that it had all slipped by so easily, without her noticing.

Not this time, though. This time, with Astarion’s cool arms twined around her shoulders, her head tucked firmly against his chest, and their limbs tangled up in both luxurious satin sheets and afterglow, Tav was happy and she knew it.

Gods. Lliira herself would struggle to match this joy, surely. Tav trailed her fingers idly up Astarion’s arm, then cupped his cheek as she kissed the underside of his chin. He gave a drowsy, questioning hum, tightened his arms around her, and buried his nose in her hair with a frank fondness that nearly finished her off altogether.

Tav grappled with her own instinct to succumb, to lay her head back down against his chest and let his shallow, steady breathing carry her off to sleep. The question won, but barely. “Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

Even his voice was relaxed. She felt like she’d chucked a rock at a window to watch it shatter. “Never mind. I’ll go to sleep.”

Astarion’s laugh was a quiet rumble in his throat. “It’s rude to tease if you don’t mean to follow through, darling. Out with it.”

“Oh, hells.”

Tav sat up beside him. The loss of contact was almost painful, but the curiosity was stronger still, and he didn’t seem to mind when she ran her fingers through his hair and tucked a curl behind his ear, only hummed and leaned into the touch. Such a simple affection. Such an honest, simple—

“I enjoyed today,” she said instead, ruthlessly crushing the sentiment. “From start to finish. I had a wonderful time with you.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. I wasn’t sure this morning, when—well, you know—”

“When the door to the bath gave way?” His red eyes flashed with amusement, and Tav groaned. Even now heat rushed to her throat at the memory. A perfectly innocent morning tryst in their room’s private adjoining bath, dawnlight spilling over them both amid the smell of cardamom and jasmine—and the room’s very locked door yielding to a housemaid’s key, followed immediately by the housemaid herself with a stack of laundered towels. Tav didn’t know which of them had been more shocked, though the fact that Tav had nearly drowned herself out of humiliation put the betting odds firmly in her corner. Astarion, of course, had found the whole thing hilarious, even sitting naked in a soapy copper tub.

“Yes, you bastard,” Tav said, covering his eyes with her fingers. “You horrible man. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’ll laugh at you whenever I like,” Astarion said archly, pulling her hand from his eyes, but his mouth as he kissed her fingertips was gentle. “Besides, you had your little revenge, didn’t you? Your own private prayer to Helm, right in the middle of that lovely expensive market.”

“Hoar, you blaspheming tosser.”

“I don’t care in the slightest.” He pushed up on one elbow to kiss her, very brief and very light, just as her own fingers had been as they’d dipped into his pockets that morning, exchanging every gem and jewel he’d lifted from the shop’s cases for pebbles and bits of broken shell. His face as they’d left the shop—preening pride replaced in an instant with utter indignance—had made her laugh hard enough she’d cried. “I’ll have my own revenge, you know,” he purred. “Try and stop me.”

“Never,” she said against his mouth. He laughed again, then flopped back to the tasseled pillow, one arm thrown carelessly above his head.

Gods, how beautiful he was like this. Happy, sated, boneless as a sack of meal. She could drink in the sight of him for a thousand years and still be thirsty at the end of it.

“You’re staring, darling.”

“I love you,” she said, as if in explanation, and felt him give the little shiver he always did when she said she loved him and meant it. “You were the most handsome man in the room tonight, you know. Not that you need me to tell you.”

“I think I’d like you to tell me anyway.”

The words were breezy, but she could hear the faint, tremulous thread of uncertainty beneath. Even Sune’s woven sash couldn’t contain how much she loved him. She wanted to curl over him like a bird, wings spread wide as she could to keep him from all harm. Not that he’d tolerate that sort of glossy protection; he’d just as soon take a hissing, clawed swipe at her himself if she tried. Instead Tav kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose, and pushed up from the bed.

His voice was outraged. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Just give me a minute, would you?” Tav stretched, took brief advantage of the silver ewer on the bedside table to clean herself off, and strode over to the quietly crackling hearth.

The fireplace was beautiful, the mantle ornate and elegant, as was the rest of their rented room. The finest suite of the finest lodging-house in the glittering city of Athkatla, decked crown to baseboard in brass and cloth-of-gold and carved oak polished to a mirror shine. Three servants had spirited away their belongings into drawers and wardrobes within minutes of their arrival; two more waited below-stairs, ready for the whim of the bellpull beside the bed. The great window on the west wall, heavy curtains drawn now with night, overlooked the shining bay, which had teemed in the sun this afternoon with merchant-ships flying flags dyed rich as gemstones.

And here, thrown with thoughtless grace over the back of the damask armchair set before the fire, was Astarion’s suit from their evening gala. It was one of her favorites: black worsted wool with gold peacocks stitched over the breast and back, gold piping on the sleeves and belt, more black and gold stitchwork accenting the long, lean cut of his trousers. He’d worn the sapphires she’d given him at his throat and on his fingers, alongside the ring from Avernus which he never removed, and when she’d seen him come from the bathing room fully dressed, idly adjusting a cufflink just so, her mouth had gone dry as the Skyfire Wastes.

Gods, she was flushing now at the memory alone. Tav plucked the trousers from the chair and folded them, along with the starched, ruffled white shirt he’d worn beneath the coat, and set them both atop the gilt table nearby. The jacket itself she slipped over her own shoulders in a moment of fancy. The sleeves were long enough to drown her hands past the fingertips; the hem landed halfway down her thighs. The brass toggles glanced coolly against her bare chest and stomach, like stones skipping down a stream. She turned to Astarion, arms spread. “I don’t think it has the same effect, do you?”

“No, my sweet,” Astarion said slowly, but his eyes had sharpened to a piercing, avid stare, dangerous and hungry as a blade. “I can’t say it’s the same at all.”

Her stomach lurched wonderfully, and a frisson of that same desire from only an hour ago began to coil again in her blood. But she had a point, gods damn, and instead Tav scooped up her own forgotten dress from the floor beside the chair, busying herself with brushing away the dust from the deep cerulean silk, straightening the beautiful lace netting at the wide collar, at the cuffs of the long sleeves. A thousand pearl buttons down the back, and Astarion’s elegant fingers trembling, trembling, as he feverishly worked them open before the fireplace…

“The silk’s already crushed, darling. No need to maim it further.”

Tav laughed, the reverie broken, and eased her grip on the gown. “I told you I didn’t know how to care for such expensive things. I should have hung it up right away.”

The fire in his eyes had tempered, the lust banked to something more patient and smoldering. He propped his head on his hand as he watched her. “And deprive the laundresses of their sole joy and purpose? No, pet, I think your time was much better spent.” He licked his lips lasciviously. “Perhaps I could remind you again. Right now.”

“Do you remember that woman from the party?” Tav said instead, returning the dress to its padded hanger, shutting it away in a wardrobe carved with foxes and hunting dogs. “The one with the silver feathers in her hair, and the necklace made of ropes of rubies?”

His look flickered with surprise, but he only raised a brow. “I suppose she left a vague impression. Painted nails, a very tacky sort of fur stole. A general air of grasping desperation. This is whom you’ve been pondering so acutely all evening?”

“Yes. No. Not all evening.” Tav rolled up her too-long sleeves and went to the sideboard. She poured herself a glass of burgundy wine from a crystal decanter, took a sip, and leaned against the back of the armchair. “She was the richest woman in the room. Did you know that? She could buy every gem in the Diamond Dragon twice over without denting her fortune in the slightest. She practically holds court at the Shadowgates House, even though her mother was only a minor marchioness from the Lathkule family.”

“How suddenly you’ve acquired all this information.”

“The duke from Tarm was very drunk and very eager to share.” She took another sip of wine, considering him. “She fell in love with you the moment you walked through the door.”

“Did she?” Ah, there was the badly hidden triumph. He ran his fingers through his curls with absent flair. “Well! Perhaps her taste isn’t beyond redemption.”

“You didn’t notice? She stared at you all night, along with her little flock of gauzy geese. They might have had fishing lines hooked to their noses for how they followed you the whole evening.”

“No, my dear, I can’t say I did.” His expression was at once gloating and aggrieved. “This delightful little tidbit came to you from your Tarmian duke as well, I suppose?”

“No.” Tav was now hiding behind her wineglass like a coward, and she knew it. “She told me that part herself. Right before she offered me fifteen thousand gold danters to leave you and never show my face in Athkatla again.”

All the mirth drained from his expression like she’d opened a tap. He fell carefully, precisely still; his tone went sharp as flint. “Oh? Is that so?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“And what did you say, my love?”

“I said that I’d sooner drink from a Luskan gutter than consider something so despicable. I said if she ever spoke to either of us again I’d have her face plastered on every public placard from here to the Gate with her direct address and a golden promise to the first person to pinch her jewel-case.” Tav gave a crooked smile. “I wanted to tell her that she was now banned from our duchy, only I couldn’t remember where we’d said we were from.”

“Selgaunt, darling. Sembia.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “And then?”

“And then I stole two of her ruby chains and hid them in the pudding, and I slit the lacings of her gown so that it would all come loose the next time she danced.”

“That explains the flurry of organza during the second gavotte. I did wonder. Come here.”

Her heart in her throat, Tav set down the wineglass and went. Astarion pushed aside the satin sheets and sat up on the edge of the bed as she approached, and as soon as she was within reach he grasped the collar of her borrowed jacket and pulled her down into a kiss.

It was a searching kiss, a question she didn’t know quite how to answer. She tried anyway, cupping his face in both hands, curling her shoulders into him, lingering as long as she could in every touch. His hands gentled on her collar, then slid beneath it to twine around the back of her neck.

Eventually, slowly, he pulled away. Tav blinked dazedly, trying to force the world back into focus, and when she found Astarion’s face again she was surprised to see only a thoughtful appraisal there. His thumb stroked up the line of her throat, bumping over the small divots left among her freckles from many quiet evenings, then down again.

“Astarion? What is it?”

“Fifteen thousand gold danters,” he said slowly, that eyebrow rising once more.

“By all the pride of Memnor,” she sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be smug.”

“Oh? Shouldn’t I be?” He laughed and slid his hands down to loop around her waist beneath the jacket. “To think, the greediest little wretch I’ve ever known still manages to prize my heart above enough coin to buy a small nation. Darling, it’s gratifying, truly.”

“Oh,” she said, momentarily disarmed. She’d expected him to be pleased the woman had offered the sum in the first place, not that Tav had loved him enough to reject it. “Astarion, did you—you can’t have thought for a single moment I’d have taken the money.”

“Of course not. I’m worth at least twice that.”

By all the living gods. He was lying.

Her vision went white, and she yanked away from him like he’d burst into flame. “You bastard. You utter wanker. How dare you think I’d have considered fifteen thousand—thirty thousand—a million gold danters! She could have offered me the keys to all the vaults of Evereska and I would have laughed in her face.”

“For suggesting you needed keys, I’d have laughed right along with you.”

“Shut up. How dare you think there might ever be a price to be put on what we—what we’ve managed, against all odds—” Tav whirled away, arms crossed tight over her chest, gaze darting blindly over the settee, the crystal decanter, the plush hand-dyed rug. She ran out of things to look at and spun back to Astarion, livid. “You bloody—horrible man. Oh, you awful—not even she made me this angry when she asked. I wanted to laugh when she said it. Because the moment she did I looked over at you, and you smiled at me, and I could tell just from looking that you were—that you were happy to see me—really, honestly happy, and I thought—”

“Tavish—”

“Don’t speak. Don’t you dare say a word.” He looked seriously alarmed now, half-risen from the bed, but Tav was too angry to stop. “She asked me how much it would take for me to leave my husband. And in all the confusion of what she wanted I didn’t even question it—didn’t even consider it wasn’t really true. I forgot how much was the party mask and how much was real. She didn’t know the marriage was pretense and for a few minutes, neither did I.”

“Tav, darling—”

“And then when I did realize—when I remembered it was all a farce and that you weren’t really—” She raked her fingers through her hair, dislodging the knot she’d tied, and wound it back up in a frenzy. “Today was so wonderful, Astarion. All of it. The stupid incident in the bath and walking with you through the market district and stealing your lifts and every single second of that awful party. Not because of what we did—but because it was all with you. She asked me to leave my husband and my first thought wasn’t ‘I haven’t got one,’ it was ‘nothing could make me leave him.’ And then when I remembered it wasn’t real, I was shocked by how much I felt—how much I wanted—”

Ilmater’s rack, what she wouldn’t give for the ceiling to crash down around her. Astarion was watching her with wide eyes, lips parted enough she could see the tips of his fangs; his hands were clenched in the sheets. Oh, gods, what a fool she was making of herself, but the words refused to be still. “I love you, you stupid berk. I love you. Every moment I spend with you makes me happy. Even right now, when I’d like to throw you right out the window into the bay—there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be. Not for any number of danters, not for every diamond in Amn. I don’t want to be your wife as a lie to get into a ball; I want to be your wife so that the next time someone tries to buy you away from me, I can introduce his teeth to the back of his skull.”

Astarion gave a sudden, hollow sigh. She’d heard it before. It was the sound he made in battle when someone struck the air from his lungs without warning, when he’d failed to anticipate a blow.

Damn and damn and damn. What was she doing? Astarion stared at her as if she’d lost every last part of her mind, his shoulders stone-stiff against her wrath, blank shock painted across his features. His eyebrows had climbed so high they’d nearly disappeared behind the white curls.

Tav’s courage failed like a withered spell. She went back to the sideboard and refilled her wineglass with shaking hands—for the price they were charging a nonexistent duchess, she supposed it had to be excellent—and threw it back in two gulps. Perhaps she had lost her mind. She’d certainly lost her tongue, a lifetime of professional silence capsizing wholesale against some hurt feelings and a little annoyance.

At last she heard him rise, then a whispering shift of silk as he pulled on the ornate dressing gown the servants had laid out for him. She filled her wineglass a third time, but his pale, graceful fingers plucked it from her hand before she could drink. She didn’t fight the theft, but neither was she strong enough to face him; she took a few aimless steps towards the fire instead, her toes sinking into the rich carpet, and wrapped Astarion’s jacket more tightly around her.

The sound of the water lapping against the seawall below them roared like thunder; the fire in the hearth snapped like a whip. She clenched her jaw, trying desperately to keep the waver from her voice. “Astarion. Do you really think I’m that craven?”

“Oh? Is the penitent finally permitted to address the bench?”

He was closer than she’d thought. “You’ve never been penitent in your life.”

“It’s exhausting to always be right. One occasionally must try something new.” He came around the chair to stand between her and the fire, the dressing gown’s quilted lapels pulled snug to his throat, his face carefully blank. His shoulders were thrown back, Tav realized, as if steeling himself for a fight. “I don’t think it’s unfair to suggest you have a particular relationship with the common coin. An avaricious one, I mean, and one that occasionally borders on gluttony.”

She wanted to drink something very badly, but he was still holding her wineglass. “Ouch.”

“Don’t misunderstand me; it’s part of your charm. I’m certainly familiar with insatiable appetites, and if nothing else, it makes holiday shopping for you quite simple.” He hesitated. “But to suggest you would permit your—hunger, shall we say—to overpower the affection I know you hold for me—well. It was an unworthy thought. Unkind of me, and certainly unfair to you.”

“More than affection,” Tav mumbled. She pressed her lips together until the prickling behind her eyes faded. “Astarion, I would never.”

“I know,” he said, and if she didn’t know better she would think he was flustered. “But the doubt does creep in every now and then, even for someone this magnificent. So you can imagine that when a perfectly straightforward scolding transfigures itself into one’s lover suggesting a very unexpected—a rather—not necessarily unwelcome—ah.”

He was flustered. And tongue-tied as a schoolboy, that awful impassive mask fracturing under the weight of consternation.

She swallowed. “You think I’m mad.”

“Only in some ways.”

“I suppose it does sound insane when I say it out loud. I don’t know if you—I mean, I’d never once thought about it before—before you. Ever. It always seemed like a thing that only happened to people who owned houses and went out to work every morning and complained about the cost of bread always going up. But then you came along and changed everything about what I thought could be real—” A humiliated laugh slipped out. “Listen, just—just forget the whole thing, all right? I won’t bring it up again. I won’t—”

He took a quick, irritated step forward. “My love, would you kindly shut up? I don’t have marriage proposed to me every day. I’d like to seriously consider it.”

He’d like to—oh.

Oh.

Tav took a stunned, shaky breath. “Well, think out loud then. I don’t propose it very often myself.”

“One hopes not.” He drained the wineglass and set it aside. His voice was pensive, unsteady; he hadn’t fed in almost a day, but his high cheekbones were flushed pink. “I do wonder, though—why now?”

Heart of the Firehair, he meant it. He wasn’t shutting her out; he wasn’t taking flight into the nearest alley. The words tumbled out like a dam had shattered. “Because—gods! Because that awful woman came after you tonight and I wanted to throttle her for trying, no matter how much money she had or how many nobles were watching. Because we’ve been traveling together for months at this point, and if I haven’t stopped loving you by now, I never will. You complain incessantly. You steal my scents. You take all the bedcovers every night and I have to fight you to get them back. You don’t even sleep.”

“Darling, I had no idea you held me in such esteem.”

She batted away his sarcasm. “I wouldn’t change a moment of it, Astarion. Not a single moment. Every gripe, every time I wake up with cold feet, every time I have to steal back something of mine from your pack—it’s all—they’re like jewels to me. Every one of them. I keep—I’ve been hoarding them up like treasures, and it’s not enough, it’s never—I only ever want more. More of the memories. More of you, no matter how much I have already. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.”

Astarion had gone very still. The firelight caught in his red eyes and flickered there; she thought he had stopped breathing. Hesitantly, she closed the distance and took his hands, and she was relieved when his grip instantly tightened.

“Every time I think I’ve begun to understand you,” Astarion started, then trailed off. He looked down, and Tav watched him run his thumb over the ring she had brought him from Avernus, the ring that shielded him from the blinding sun. “My dear, you amaze me. And you tolerate the worst of me, which is rather more impressive.”

“Your worst is still miles better than some people’s best.”

“Let’s not exaggerate for the sake of adoration,” he said, but there was a warmth there that sparked a painful, fragile hope. “You know, I never considered holy matrimony for myself. Not seriously. Oh, I had it offered a few times over the decades, and I suggested it myself here and there as part of a lure, but it only takes a few dozen lovers disappearing into Cazador’s dungeons for the idea to become simply part of the stage dressing.”

Her instinct was to deflect, to retract the idea altogether, but his expression—curious, thoughtful, no fear at all—silenced her. “I’m afraid to admit, darling, that was true even for you. My first friend in two centuries; the first lover in my memory I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying more than once. It simply never crossed my mind.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. His eyes softened considerably, and she realized he was breathing again. “I’m beginning to believe that may have been a mistake on my part,” he continued. “In fact, the lapse may have been unforgiveable.”

A thrill jolted through her. “Astarion…”

“It’s only very recently that I’ve permitted myself to imagine a future, you know. Any future at all, much less one with you in it.” His fingers slid along her wrist beneath the jacket’s overlong sleeves, and she realized he was searching for the old, faded marks of his own teeth. “But now that you’ve raised the possibility, I must confess the thought of a little formal acknowledgement of our arrangement—well, it might not be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Her hands were shaking. She felt like she was about to race into some great battle, her pulse thundering beneath her skin. “Oh, hells. Just say it straight out, would you?”

Astarion laughed. “I’m already terribly fond of the world knowing you’re mine,” he said, and then he smiled. It was a sweet, sincere smile, without any artifice at all, and his voice grew husky and tender. “And frankly, my love, when it comes down to it, I think I quite like the idea of being yours.”

The entire room seemed to dip underwater. All sound grew abruptly muffled—the hearth, the bay, even Astarion’s voice—and she clung to his cool hands as the only real thing in the world. Gradually, her own heartbeat began to thud again in her ears—very fast, very loud—and from the growing satisfaction on his face, Astarion could hear it too.

Tav forced herself to clear her throat. “You—you don’t have to decide right away. You could take some time, think it over.”

“My dear, I’m the first to admit I’m guilty of a great many things, but excessive planning is not one of them.” He draped her hands over his own shoulders, and Tav leaned into the embrace with a shudder of relief. The quilted lapels of his dressing gown were silky as sin against her cheek. “After two centuries of slavery, I hadn’t thought there were any surprises in the world left for me. I knew exactly what eternity looked like, and I couldn’t say I was excited at the prospect.”

His chin came to rest atop her head. “But you changed all that. You came and shattered every lock holding me down, even when the doors had been rusted shut so long I’d forgotten they were there. You didn’t just show me the possibility of a new world, you walked right into it beside me, and you refused to let me bring any of my chains with me on the way.”

Goldheart’s grace. He held her lightly, but Tav felt weightless as a bird, as if one strong breeze might carry her wholly off her feet. Her voice hardly sounded like her own. “You’re giving me a lot of credit for things you did yourself.”

“Don’t interrupt. You told me once that I was part of every future you could dream up for yourself. I’m trying to say that for some months now, I’ve had precisely the same notion about you.” He pulled back to look her in the eyes, and Tav realized with a shock that he was nervous. “You’re it, my darling. For better or worse.”

“Astarion,” Tav sighed, dizzy with joy, and she traced her thumbs over his beautiful cheekbones. “I love you so much more than fifteen thousand gold danters.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh, you louse. I wouldn’t give you up if Selûne herself spread the heavens at my feet.”

He laughed, but his arms tightened around her. “I rather like hearing that.”

“I mean it. If you ever again think for a single second that I’d simply trade you away, I’ll shave off every pomaded hair on your head. Eyebrows included.”

He made a noise of disgust, but when she twined her arms back around his neck, his smile squeezed Tav’s heart like a vise. She’d done that. She’d made him so happy he couldn’t hide it, had put that look of unvarnished, shining elation in his eyes. And if she had her way—if Tymora could spare them a single scrap of luck—she’d put it there again, and again and again, beyond counting, for the rest of her life.

His voice was low, rich. “Kiss me, darling.”

“Yes,” Tav gasped, and she surged up to his mouth.

Of course. Of course. Now she understood what he’d been searching for earlier, what her heart had fumbled to say. I’m here for good. Forever, for as long as you’ll have me. I’d have thrown her in the punchbowl if I’d thought we could get away after.

The kiss grew hot, her urgency flooding through every touch. He cradled her face like he was afraid to break her, but his fangs were sharp and pricking carelessly, and she didn’t care, she didn’t care. She loved his fangs and his temper and his complaints and every part of his bruised, scarred heart. He’d let her take it from him despite the pain, let her cup it in the cage of her fingers and hold it close, let her learn to keep it safe from all the world.

It will always be you. I will always, always, always choose you.

Astarion broke away, breathing hard. His palm rested along her throat, pressed to the hammer of her heartbeat. Tav laid her hand over his and couldn’t tell who trembled more.

“How lucky I am. The handsomest man I’ve ever seen, the most beautiful person in the room.” She hesitated, then blazed forward. “Mine for good.”

“For good, for bad, and for all the fun parts between.” He rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes. “My lovely, foolish, perfect idiot. Impossible fortune may have finally found one of us, but I promise it wasn’t you.”

Her heart brimmed full enough to burst. She kissed him again instead, as tender as she knew how to make it. He made a soft, fervent, wanting noise as he pressed eagerly back against her, and she felt the moment settle itself like stained glass, beautiful and enduring, in the deepest part of her heart.

Yes. She’d make sure this moment stayed. This one would never slip away.

“I don’t have a ring yet,” she said at last against his mouth. “I’ll get one soon. Perhaps I’ll even pay for it.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Between your Reithwin scavenging and your little field trip to Avernus, it is decidedly my turn. Besides,” he added with faint uncertainty, “I think I’d rather like to do this properly. To have something made for you—only for you. Something that’s as beautiful as you are.”

“Astarion!”

“Oh, I quite mean it. If I failed to notice that covetous harpy at the gala tonight, it was because my attention was wholly absorbed by you. You were as brilliant as the sun, my dear, and lovelier than a waterfall of roses. I could hardly bear to look away.”

“Sune’s holy laurels,” Tav gasped, and she clutched at her chest. “You can’t just say things like that. You’ll kill me stone dead.”

His smile was smug and perfect. “You’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid. You have a lifetime to try. And if you’re still not acclimated by the end of it—well! You’ll simply have to live forever.”

Tav brushed a wayward curl from his eyes. He let her, and she lingered, running her fingers through his velvet-soft hair. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“And I ought not have doubted. I sincerely apologize.” He turned his head and kissed her fingertips. “There. Such a sturdy foundation for our future laid already.”

“You idiot,” Tav sighed, but his hands were playing now at the hem of her borrowed jacket, and his crimson eyes had taken on an unmistakable glint. All the ornate luxury of their suite seemed to vanish at once, save the enormous crown-canopy bed and its tousled satin sheets. His hands climbed further, his mouth dipping to her throat, and she gave a breathless laugh. “We’ll have to watch the time.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I overheard the house staff after dinner tonight. They’re bringing the bill first thing in the morning.”

“Darling, I can’t say I care in the slightest.” His fangs scraped over her pulse-point, and she shuddered. “Perhaps we’ll sneak out before they arrive. Perhaps we won’t. Perhaps you’ll talk them down with that silver tongue of yours—or perhaps we’ll simply pay what they ask, hm? It might be a novel experience.”

The happiness was so bright she could hardly speak. How stupid that she had thought the day wonderful before, when it had only been the palest candle. His voice was fiercely warm, blatantly affectionate, and his hands sliding the black jacket from her shoulders were gentle enough to give her goosebumps.

Astarion, who could kill a man with a knife at sixty paces and complain about a chipped nail after; Astarion, who’d fought with her and for her from the moment they’d met, who loved her and would make a ring for her and marry her. Who trusted her, enough to kill the doubt for good.

She took his face in her hands. “I’ll never pay full price,” she breathed.

He laughed, delighted, and kissed her. His strong, graceful fingers slid between hers, taking her hand as surely as he’d stolen her heart, as surely as he’d given her his own in its place: the most perfect treasure she could imagine, no matter its cold stillness. Like a dream, the question that had started all this—the question she’d never actually asked—floated back through her mind. I had a wonderful time with you today. And you, Astarion? Did you, with me?

He tugged her down to the bed in a cloud of satin sheets. The answer burst through every stroke of his fingers, every careful brush of his lips. Yes, he said, yes, yes, and she gave herself up to the joy.

—

end.

[dcawritings]

*throws this snippet of a oneshot I’m working on for The Color of Your Eyes fic at everyone*

WOE, INTIMATE SUN AND ROBOT!READER BE UPON YE

For context since the main fic hasn’t been written or posted: the reader has recently learned that they are actually a highly-advanced prototype animatronic made by Fazco and they haven’t taken the news all that well. Sun, hoping to offer them some comfort, wants to show them that they can still feel loved

“What new secret part are you about to reveal to me…?” you say, tone a mix of humor and exhaustion as Sun gently manhandles your wrist. “Because I’m surprised a knife hasn’t popped out at this point. Or a laser. A laser would be a little cool though…”

The animatronic doesn’t say anything in an immediate reply, instead simply taking your hand in his and turning it over so he can touch a single fingertip to the center of your inner wrist. For a few moments it looks as if he’s trying to take your pulse, but that is quickly corrected when the seam of a square hatch reveals itself and opens with a soft *click*.

Ah. Yet another access panel you didn’t know about. Lovely.

Despite not tilting his faceplate up, you know that Sun’s eyes are trained on you again. Gentle. He’s waiting for you to pull your hand away, to see if you’ll let him continue.

Your heart — or the part of your code or hardware that simulates one — is beating rapidly. You feel… nervous? But in a way you recognize; in a way that is so wonderfully *human*.

“I figured you had one o’ these somewhere,” Sun murmurs, tone so soft and subdued in a stark contrast to the static grin of his faceplate. He traces a fingertip around the open panel, dipping into the space. You can see wires, thin and thick, multicolored in ways you assume are important. Do they control your fingers? Are they like muscles?

The animatronic continues in a soft near-whisper as his finger gently presses against the bundle of wires, “The folks in Parts n’ Service call this a ‘universal access port’. Everybody’s got one, starlight— even me n’ Moonie, ‘cept ours are out of the central processors behind our faceplate.”

You watch as he seems to find whatever he’s looking for; a cord half-hidden amongst the rest, one that seems clipped into place and with a blunt-looking end that kinda reminds you of an old analogue audio jack, except it’s a bit wider and with the golden protrusion on one side. There’s a hole on the other side, as if it’s meant to have a complimentary part connected.

It… takes a few seconds of Sun watching you, waiting for some sort of response before the realization finally hits.

“Are you… able to… connect yours with…. mine?”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Sun murmurs, a gentle flicker of the lights in his eyes assuring you of his honesty. “It won’t be nearly as overwhelmin’ as what I was doing before. When we connect with this, we’ll have access to each other’s systems.” A moment passes, and he makes a soft noise akin to a human clearing their throat. ”This is actually how most of the others here… well… how they…”

Sun tries and fails to finish the sentence, but it doesn’t take a scientist to know where he’s going with it. His gentle fumbling for words in the middle of the moment is a comfort, a warmth that embraces your thoughts like a beloved old blanket.

“You mean to tell me,” you say, words little more than an amused huff. “That *this* is how y’all fuck?”

Sun’s rays immediately retract almost entirely into his faceplate at the sound of the word. His voice glitches for a moment as he babbles out some kind of answer, “I— No! I mean— yes! But— Language!”

[weasleys-wizard-writes]

Beautiful Ruiner, Damn My Ashes

George Weasley x Reader Smut 18+

A standalone fic from the We Stood In the Sun (Before It Exploded) series.

Genre: Smut, Angst(?)

Content Warnings:

NSFW

Grief

Word Count: 1,296

He panted heavily, his chest heaving as he groaned out in both anguish and pleasure, the feeling of your nails raking down his back somehow splintering him and bringing him to life all at once.

God, you were ruinous.

The way you looked up at him when he touched you like this, filled you like this, it was addictive, life altering, something he could not live with nor without.

You would be the end of him,

And oh what a cruel and beautiful fate that would be.

The crescents of your nails stamped permanently into his skin, your voice the last thing to play before his ears, and your body beneath his the final thing his eyes would ever see,

How could he dare to argue with such a lecherous end to his life? Such a fruitful lust, as long as it culminated in him seeing the stars that played behind your eyelids when you finally came undone for him.

So beautiful,

So heartbreaking,

So necessary,

So incredibly ruinous in Every. Single. Way.

The end of all ends,

The beginning of all beginnings,

Your body, your pleasure, you.

He felt guilt begin to build in his chest as he watched you, brushed the hair out of your face and behind your ear as you whimpered pitifully beneath his body, helpless to his never ending barrage of fulfilling thrusts as he penetrated you to the hilt

over and

over

and

over

again.

He growled harshly at his own uncontrollable thoughts,

His own uncontrollable needs,

And quickly took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, watching as you opened your eyes to meet his familiar, cold gaze.

But he was so struck at what he saw within those eyes that his hip-bruising voracity waned, and his own orbs widened in surprise,

There was hope there, pride, joy, and something else he could not put his finger on,

Or rather, something that he did not want to put his finger on,

But, no matter,

They were rather occupied at the moment anyhow.

But those eyes,

So beautiful, so shiny even in the dimmed light of his bedroom, where only the dying bulb of his bedside lamp and the moon could light his path to salvation,

(to you).

He was awestruck.

There was silence in his mind for a few moments, as he stared down at your body, at the place where the two of you were connected as one, despite everything he had done, and everything that he had not.

But then, noting his slowed thrusts and sudden lack of urgency, you mewled for him in a way that made his mind race, those claws of yours moving from his back to his hips to pull and scratch at them, causing them to stutter before speeding up once more.

Surely you would kill him like this, oh beautiful ruiner, damn far more than his soul, but even his ashes to Hell for the thoughts you caused him to have.

He was ruined for anyone save for this woman who laid before him, that was for certain.

And all of his feelings for you, the hatred, the annoyance, the fondness, the admiration, and that one other thing he had seen in your eyes...

They made it so hard to focus, so hard to forget, and he couldn’t help but wonder what else he was doing this for if not that.

Why was he buried within you, gasping for air, pressing his sweaty forehead against your own and almost smiling, if not to forget?

He could not bring himself to answer the question, but he could bring himself to push it away, and drown himself in you,

And so he did.

George began to thrust his hips into yours even harder, his finger tips digging into your ass and hips with a bruising force as he lifted you towards him for better access, desperate to be connected, and desperate to be whole again.

You gave him all that he could ask for and more, and he hissed when he felt you press closer, your ankles locking around his hips as you squeezed your thighs tighter to his body, your head falling back in what he prayed was bliss.

You were a perfect sight to behold, such beautiful damnation, as if you were made solely for his eyes to see.

Suddenly,

Cursing, gasping, growling, George came deep inside of you, his hands shaky as he lowered you to the bed completely, slowly severing the connection between your bodies.

It was cold all alone, so cold when he couldn’t feel you, that he had half a mind to bury himself inside your heat once more, and just forget about the outside world.

But before he could, you spoke, confusion in your voice as you raised your hand to his face to brush some of his over-grown ginger locks away from his eyes.

“George?”

You asked softly, and your voice made him shiver far more than the coldness of this lonely world outside of you ever could.

“Yes?”

He replied quietly, as if afraid he would frighten you away if he spoke too loudly.

“Why wont you kiss me again?”

George felt his eyes widen at your words, and they swept over your form slowly as his mouth began to form a response,

“I can’t, it wasn’t fair when I did before. It wasn’t real, it was just hungry, and cruel, and I won’t do that to you again. I’m not a monster, Y/n. I’m not.”

His words were spoken more to reassure himself than you, and he knew that, but even so he looked towards you once more to see your reaction, and the sorrow and everything else, unchanged from before, that could be found within your eyes was very nearly too much for him to bear.

Especially that unnamed emotion, the one that made his stomach clench in fear.

You raised your fingers, adept and nimble, familiar and haunting, to his face once more, this time framing his cheek and stroking it gently with your thumb as you spoke, sympathy so evident within your tone that it should’ve made George angry,

But this time it only hurt.

“Oh but George,”

You murmured, and he panicked as your familiarity started to fade, and that emotion he could not, would not, name, began to bleed away from your gaze,

“If that’s true, then why are you here?”

Ice cold fear clutched at George’s chest as your body beneath him vanished, your warmth replaced with an oh so familiar nothingness that made him want to weep for not just what he had lost, but for what he had never even had the opportunity to lose in the first place.

He was so lost in the darkness, with nothing and no one there, and he called out your name for what felt like hours with absolutely no response but his own voice echoing back at him, reminding him of his sins, and his atrocities born from grief.

He awoke in his bed gasping for air, his heart pounding in his chest as he sat up quickly, looking around for someone in his darkened bedroom, the only light being that of the moon, which poured in past his open curtains.

Fred was not there,

You were not there,

He was completely alone, and the world was cold again, outside of you.

And there was nothing to do now but lay awake and remember your warmth while ignoring that feeling of guilt as it grew stronger and stronger inside of him, because he knew

He would never find that emotion in your eyes anywhere outside of his dreams,

And you were not his to dream of in the first place.

“Beautiful ruiner, what have you done to me?”

masterlist

Here is where I keep my tag lists, whether they’re permanent or just for a specific series or character. If you would like to be added to my taglist let me know and I’ll add you :)

[ingo-ingoing-ingone]

Emmet could measure his life in ‘befores’ and ‘afters’ both large and small. From moment to moment, things changed. When he was younger, he’d learned how to adapt and live with his fears, but that was before.

Sometimes, the little things get to be too much. This time, though, he’s not alone.

It's Blue back with the random unplanned submas oneshots! With math and/or science titles!

This one is sort of a successor to Outliers Together, down to the mathematical titles. It's also based on some of my own experiences. A little bit of hurt/comfort, heavy on the comfort :)

[machine-elf-writes]

Hi here's all the smut I've written

Listen, I don't just write well thought out plots and intrigue, sometimes I write pure shameless filth, too. I'll add these to my pinned post but here they are on their own :o)

You First - Shadowheart x m!Tav x Astarion MMF threesome, light d/s (d/d/s?), some dp, Shadowheart just gets it

Another Urge - m!Durge x Astarion post-game Durge breeding kink. yknow, the other thing bhaalspawn wanna do

Lessons in the Culture and Customs of Menzoberranzan - f!Tav x Minthara d/s, bondage, straps, butt stuff, tav's first foray into kink with minthy as a gentle but firm guiding domme 😇

[deityoftherain]

fidelity - Zombiewood Oneshot

Rating: Mature

Relationship: Other

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 3,257

Summary: Martyn hadn’t ever considered himself to be a super loyal person by any means, but for Cleo, he would make an exception a thousand times over.

Please interact here or on AO3 if you enjoy the fic! Full fic under the cut.

Martyn never considered himself to be the most loyal of people growing up. Living out on the streets when he was young before eventually bouncing around foster home to foster home taught him a whole lot about selfishness and fighting for numero uno. Working only for his own self-interest was just what he had to do to survive. Other people only damaged his chances, so they typically weren’t worth his time or effort.

It wasn’t like he didn’t care for people; he had healthy (subjective and debatable) human empathy. Apathy was a learned skill he fine-tuned to protect himself, guarding him from grieving when those around him were hurting or becoming self-sacrificial enough to do something about it. Those walls didn’t only function to keep people out, to keep people at an arm’s length, but they also helped hold him in and keep him together.

It wasn’t exactly… good for him, and it had taken a good few years in therapy to work out his lingering issues from childhood. Hell, he was still in therapy, working on bettering himself, and deconstructing the barriers he convinced himself that he had to build and maintain. It was a lot of work, but Martyn believed it was worth it.

He believed it was worth it for himself, sure, but he had only gotten to that point because of them.

Back when Martyn was still legally required to go to school, he got assigned a lab partner in science class, and that lab partner was now his domestic partner, Cleo. Now Cleo hadn’t really liked him all too much at first, and Martyn couldn’t blame them. Martyn could admit that he deserved it, and he did! He was an insolent little shit, and he still was, though he liked to think his tomfoolery now was much more endearing than irritating.

Despite being a lone wolf orphan bastard, Martyn felt drawn to Cleo, bugging her much more than he usually bothered with people, continuing to hang out with her even after the semester ended. He suddenly found his priorities shifting from only caring about himself to also caring about this jaw-droppingly handsome redhead with a lion’s mane of curls and curves Martyn was itching to explore.

…

It was safe to say that Martyn has had his fair share of wet dreams with Cleo as the focal point.

Anyway, it wasn’t just Cleo’s beauty that drew him in, no. It was their everything. Martyn was drawn in by the way she smiled coyly after making a witty comment, the way she laughed when he managed to amuse her with one of his jokes, the way she didn’t bother conforming to societal pressures, going off the beat of her own drum… 

Cleo was everything Martyn could ever want in a friend, a companion, so it was no wonder he attached himself to their hip!

Martyn knew from the moment he met her that she was a force to be reckoned with. That was not to say that Cleo was mean or stuck-up, just that there was a certain energy to her that was ever-present and hard to deny. It didn’t help that her sometimes-dry sarcasm and blunt truthfulness (of which they hadn’t fully managed to keep in check just yet) often scared people off, but Martyn liked the honesty and humor of it all. Martyn liked Cleo.

The same couldn’t be said the other way around. At least, not at first. 

Cleo had admitted to him years down the line that they were a little annoyed by his presence back when they were only lab partners, but she continued to explain that she had quickly grown fond of him to the point that they couldn’t imagine her life without him not in it. Their friendship only developed further as they got to know each other and became more comfortable existing in the same space.

If he hadn’t made it obvious by now, Martyn fell for her, literally! Whenever Cleo would bring up the tale among their friends, Martyn couldn’t get himself to look any of them in the eyes. Martyn had literally been head over heels for her, meaning he tripped and fell back on his ass when she startled him by accident. 

Martyn had attempted to save face with a joke, wiggling his eyebrows and saying, “I guess you could say that I’m really falling for you.”

They snorted, hand flying to cover their mouth as laugh lines creased by their eyes. “Okay, even for you, that was cheesy.”

“Oi!” Martyn remembered protesting, though not with any bite to his words. “What’s wrong with cheesy?” 

More seriously though, Martyn asked Cleo to be his partner a few weeks before graduation. Martyn hadn’t wanted to miss his chance before Cleo possibly moved on and left him behind. He hadn’t wanted to be left behind… not again.

For better or for worse, Cleo declined. 

“I’m sorry, Martyn.” To their credit, they looked genuinely apologetic. “I love you, but–” “You better not say ‘but you’re like a brother to me’,” Martyn cut in with hopes to save himself that heartache. He could take rejection, but that was a step beyond friendzoning he didn’t want to get anywhere near entering.

“Fuck, no, definitely not.” Cleo looked mildly amused at his introjection, though they then averted their gaze with one hand cradling their other arm. “I’m just… not in the right spot to start a relationship. You know my ambitions, and achieving those goals is going to take a lot of time and effort. Even having dual enrolled, I’ll still have to complete the rest of my academic courses, collect certifications, pass exams and such to get licensed��� all while working part time or whatever other side gigs I can manage so I can afford to live! Luckily, I’ve already secured some scholarships, which should cover most of the tuition. But then, even after all of that, I will likely have to get a job at the nearby hospital while attempting to start up my own clinic like I’ve always dreamed…”

Martyn had heard this all before, but that didn’t make it sting any less. Still, he couldn’t help but smile weakly at just how much passion and dedication was infused into her words. He always admired her for having a dream, and for being strong enough to chase after it. Martyn didn’t have anything like that. Hell, he hadn’t even planned to live this long! He had no idea what waas next for him, and the change terrified him.

“Anyway, I just won’t have time,” Cleo tried to conclude, though their brow creased with worry. He hated to see them so fragile. “This won’t ruin our friendship though, right? I still care about you a lot, you know.” “Of course it doesn’t.” Martyn put on a brave face even as his heart wept, but he meant what he said. He stayed by their side as a friend, not letting his own romantic feelings ruin a good thing.

So, yeah, Martyn hadn’t ever considered himself to be a super loyal person by any means, but for Cleo, he would make an exception a thousand times over.

As soon as Martyn turned eighteen and had a diploma under his belt, he got himself a job through a local security guard company, Fortland Security. It made pretty good money, all things considered, and he was surprisingly good at it. Martyn supposed all those years being paranoid and having to keep an eye out worked out for him.

Fortland Security didn’t have a specific home of operations where all their employees worked. Instead, the company functioned more like a rent-a-guard type thing. They ensured capable guards, all with the proper training, and coordinated contracts to anyone who had enough money to pay, typically big businesses, museums, construction sites, and other companies. Martyn liked the diversity of settings the various contracts put him in, making his job a bit more interesting than if he was just guarding the same doorway day in and day out.

With Cleo busy studying and whatever else those in school to become nurse practitioners do, Martyn found himself with a fuckton of freetime. He goofed off, and did some other irresponsible young adult bullshit, but he ultimately ended up picking up more shifts. Martyn figured that, if he was going to be bored anyway, he may as well be productive, earn some overtime, and beef up his savings.

“Wow,” Martyn remembered blinking at his best friend– particularly the deep bags under their eyes– in disbelief, “you look like shit.” “Thanks,” Cleo grinned at him with false sweetness as she gave him the finger, “you too, bitch.” “No, no, I mean,” Martyn scrambled for something less blunt, “you look dead. Dead-tired, that is. What–?” Cleo raised an eyebrow at him before rolling her eyes and shaking her head, though Martyn knew her well enough to recognize the expression as positive. Or, uh, positive towards him, at the very least. “Uni has me living up to my last name.”

Zombi, Martyn recalled, still finding the surname a lot more badass than Littlewood. What was it trying to say? That he had a little wood? Ha! Martyn would like to make it clear that his wood was not little, thank you very much!

Cleo had swatted at him for that comment before– clearly not finding it as funny as he did– but Martyn only smirked cheekily as he tried to commit the way their face flushed a light pink to memory.

“I knew it was going to be difficult,” Cleo continued, resting their chin on their hands, “but I don’t know if I can continue at my current pace. Not unless I somehow win the lottery and can quit my job, which is unlikely since I’m not dumb enough to waste funds on lottery tickets. Maybe some distant rich relative I don’t know about will die and leave me their vast fortune. That sounds much more realistic, yeah?”

“You should move in with me,” Martyn offered before he even fully knew what he was saying. Cleo blinked at him, as if in surprise, and Martyn blinked right back. Before Cleo could decline out of some sense of responsibility or desire to be entirely self-sufficient, Martyn went on, “Before you decline, Cleo, just think about it! We get along great– have been for years– so being roommates shouldn’t be all too big of a deal, and I have a space bedroom at my apartment! It is rather small, all cards on the table, and I’ve been using it as an office space, but I can clear it out for you, no problem. This way, I get some company, and you can quit your job.” Cleo pressed their lips in a thin line as they considered what Martyn was saying. “Even if we roomed together, I would still need to work to buy food.”

Martyn scoffed, waving his hand like he was brushing away the comment. “I’ll pay for food and anything else you need, don’t worry about it.” “I can’t ask you to do that,” Cleo tried to deny, shaking their head, “that’s too much.”

“You can, actually,” Martyn corrected, blue eyes gleaming playfully. “I’m even asking you to.”

“Martyn…” Cleo began, only to trail off.

“If it makes you feel better, think of this as me investing in you,” Martyn reached out to take their hands in his, gently guiding their thumb back and forth against their unfairly smooth hands. “I pay for you now, and you can help with chores around the place. Maybe even pay me back in a few several years once your clinic for the underprivileged breaks even, if that helps you accept. We can even draft up a contract, make it official, though that’s not necessary.”

Cleo took a long pause as they considered Martyn’s offer, and Martyn could only hope they would say yes. It felt like years passed before Cleo opened their mouth to speak again, “What is in this for you? Besides the help with chores. What do you get out of this?”

“You,” Martyn replied simply, but it was the truth. “Um, yeah, but, in all honesty, I just miss seeing you around. I love ya, ya know? It would be nice seeing you more often, even if it’s just me making sure you eat when you’re mid study sesh, or throwing a blanket over you when you pass out with flashcards in your hand, or even pulling you away from your textbooks to come have fun with me, just so you don’t get too burnt out. Even with how busy you are, you need to take breaks from time to time, live your life a little bit, ya know? I can help with that, don’t you worry, and– what’s that look for?”

That look was one of utter adoration and appreciation, one Martyn wasn’t used to being shot his way. He knew better than to expect it, and, yet, he found himself wishing on his lucky star that she would look in his direction like that again.

Instead of words, Cleo yanked Martyn by his collar, pulling him toward them. She was not a small guy by any means, and she knew how to shift her weight just right to work for her, giving Cleo more strength than one would assume at first glance. Martyn didn’t fight the movement, however, mostly because it caught him off guard.

A distant part of him was embarrassed at how warm his cheeks became, but Martyn couldn’t find it in himself to care when his lips were mere centimeters away from Cleo’s. Martyn rested his hands on their hips just for someplace to put them, though it was clear they were the one in control.

Martyn wanted nothing more than to close the gap and kiss her, but first, he had to ask “What are you doing?” “Living my life,” Cleo breathed out, a knowing shine in her stunning green eyes. “Just like you said.”

Martyn was only given a heartbeat to recognize this was her taking his advice before her lips were on his. He had daydreamed about kissing them for years, but nothing could compare to the actual moment. Admittedly, Martyn had never actually kissed someone for longer than a millisecond, let alone made out with them. 

Again though, Martyn wasn’t exactly someone who let people in easily. At least, he wasn’t like that before Cleo. Somehow, someway, Cleo became his lifeline. Cleo was the person he always came back to, the one he stayed around for, the reason he pushed forward and found the will to keep living, even when he couldn’t find it in himself to continue forward for himself.

Cleo dominated their giving and take, and Martyn willingly let her, obediently following her lead. He had always been good at reading her, and at picking up on what she wanted from him. It made them a good team, but it made for an even better make out session. 

Whatever Cleo was doing to him, it was hot. So hot that Martyn felt drunk on her lips, addicted to everything she was willing to give. And that was just kissing! 

I wonder if it would be this fantastic in bed, Martyn thought hungrily, ignoring the way his pants seemed to shrink, becoming a tad snugger than they had a moment ago.

He knew he was a goner when it came to Cleo long ago, but this only confirmed it. He directed his attention away from the what-ifs and back to the present, allowing himself to get lost in the sensations. His skin tingled pleasantly wherever Cleo’s fingertips brushed as his hands explored those beautiful curves of theirs. 

She bit his lower lip, prompting him to involuntarily moan into her mouth. Cleo must have taken the noise as encouragement for she scraped her teeth back and forth against his lower lip, sucking his lip into her mouth before pushing it back out. Martyn never wanted them to stop, nor did he want this to end.

Eventually, much to Martyn’s dismay, Cleo broke off the kiss, leaving them both panting heavily. Martyn slouched forward, resting his forehead against Cleo’s shoulder for support as Cleo scratched their nails partly in his hair and partly against the back of his neck.

“Does this–” Martyn started as he lifted his head, only to find his lungs without enough air to continue. He took a handful of rapid gasps to return enough oxygen to his lungs so he could finish his question without leaving too large of a pause, “Does this mean you accept my offer? And– and are we dating now?” Cleo threw their head back in a laugh, a laugh so loud and genuine their body shook with the effort. Pride swelled within Martyn for being able to drag such a lovely sound out of her. 

“Oh, Martyn, you’re lucky you’re so endearing,” Cleo cooed like he was a lost puppy, patting the top of his head. The teasing soon dissipated as they leaned forward and lowered their tone to whisper into his ear, “Martyn, you should know by now that I don’t just kiss anyone like that.” A shiver shot down Martyn’s spine as she traced the outline of his ear with her tongue before pulling back. The ends of her lips twitched into a self-satisfied smirk. “Yes, Martyn. We’re dating, is what I’m saying.” 

“I’ll be the best boyfriend ever,” Martyn promised, beaming from ear to ear, not fully confident he wasn’t dreaming, but too wrapped up in everything to dwell on the concern for very long. “You won’t regret it. I’ll make you the happiest person on Earth.”

He scooped Cleo up into his arms as best as he could and plopped them down in his lap. A surprised squeal escaped from Cleo, not used to being caught off guard like that, but they took mercy on him and let him continue without reprimand.

“You already make me the happiest person on Earth.” Cleo gripped one shoulder for stability as they used their other hand to twirl a lock of his blonde hair around their finger, the words coming so easy to them that Martyn almost didn’t register them all the way. 

He found himself speechless, which was unusual for someone like him. Martyn tended to be quick on his feet, always with something to say even if it was foolish fumbling or an ill-mannered quip that just landed him in even more trouble.

Instead of words, Martyn simply held them close as he mentally recalled the fireworks and rush of endorphins that came from his and Cleo’s first kiss. It dawned on him as he attempted to commit each blissful second to memory that he was truly, unapologetically happy. Martyn grew up believing that his life would ultimately amount to nothing, and that he would never experience joy, but he somehow managed to defy all the odds stacked up against him. 

It was rather impressive, if he thought about it long enough. Martyn somehow began with extremely crummy starting stats, and now he was mentally and financially stable with a fantastic partner and a bright future ahead of him. Martyn of the past would be discontent with the moment, just wanting to get on with it already, but Martyn now disagreed. He was content simply existing right here right now for he knew, as long as Cleo was by his side and he was by theirs, everything would be okay.

[lovinggreeniehours]

i went overboard with this drabble chat 😭

[ludicleaf]

WHEWWWWW

[chackyxyooj]

It Wasn’t Just a Dream

Spoiler Warning: Attack on Titan’s second part of season 4

Jean storms away from the campfire, his fists bloodied from beating Reiner’s face to a pulp. Of all the people to come looking for him, of course it was (Y/n) - one of the four Warriors who’d betrayed Paradis. What better time to have a heart-to-heart talk with your enemy than when the world is about to end?

__________________________________________________

What does it mean to be brave?

The definition of bravery is someone who’s ready to face and endure danger or pain; it’s defined as a show of courage. That is the most common perception of bravery, but is that all it means to be brave? Of course this definition is sufficient, but one can’t help but wonder if they really are brave. One can’t help but ask if they truly display bravery.

Someone who sleeps with the lights on might consider someone who sleeps with them off, brave. People who are afraid of spiders take someone who can kill a spider as brave, but people who keep spiders as pets are deemed crazy. Where is the line between the two?

What is the difference between being perceived as brave and being perceived as a fool?

This question was a familiar one for Jean. Back in his youth, he often wondered what bravery was. He believed he knew what it meant to be a coward, but that didn’t necessarily mean he knew what it meant to be brave.

There was once a time where Jean equated honesty with bravery. To speak your mind bluntly without being scared of another person’s judgement had certainly seemed brave to the young soldier - especially since he was someone who wasn’t afraid to say what he wanted.

In his youth, Jean considered himself brave because he wasn’t afraid to admit when something seemed ridiculous or outlandish. Everyone in the 104th Cadet Corps knew of Jean. He was the one who ‘courageously’ declared that he would be joining the Military Police as soon as he graduated. Unlike the people who were set on joining the Survey Corps, Jean was working hard to earn a life of luxury. He believed that being scared of death didn’t make him a coward, it made me smart. Maybe the praise from his peers went to his head, but for a while Jean really considered himself as brave.

An honest person can certainly be brave, but being honest didn’t always imply bravery.

After seeing Titans with his very own eyes, Jean once again began to question what it really meant to be brave. Honest words weren’t going to drive away the Titans. He wondered if being brave was putting your life on the line for others, but risking your life so someone else could live had seemed stupid. Why would anyone risk their own well being for someone else? It hadn’t made any sense to the young and naive Jean.

Maybe in the eyes of others, risking their life was a way to prove something - to prove that they were above others enough to put their lives on the line. Yet in Jean’s opinion, it only felt like they were brave enough to do something as stupid as die for nothing.

Putting your life on the line is certainly brave, but it’s really only perceived as brave when it’s your life for the many.

In both of these cases, and for a majority of his life, Jean considered bravery to be someone who goes out of their comfort zone. It wasn’t always something as extreme as sprinting into battle to pull a comrade out of the line of fire, but it was something new. Doing something that you wouldn’t have done before or that he himself could not do was what he thought bravery was.

When Jean was someone who hid behind the goals of joining the Military Police, he considered himself as brave. When he was stranded in the middle of Titan infested streets and only Mikasa stepped up to fight them, he considered her brave.

So what about now? What does it mean to be brave?

Jean’s eyes traced the outline of the fire. It cracked as it crumbled under his gaze. He sighed before taking another log and quickly dropping it across the surface of his fire. It was the last of what he’d gathered before. He knew he’d have to go and gather some more eventually, but right now, all he wanted to do was rest. He didn’t want to have to think about… anything really.

Tonight was a particularly cold night. A cold night for a regular human like him, anyway. He’d heard from Armin that Titan Shifters have a higher body temperature than regular people. It was strange though. For some reason, he felt like he knew this even before Armin told him.

The memory was more like… a dream.

That night had been a cold one too. Jean couldn’t recall what his room looked like, or how the moon had looked, or even what time it had been, but he remembered that it had been the day before Annie’s capture. Is that why he remembered it?

Was he remembering a night like this because of the similarities it had to this one? What a joke. He knew for a fact that he was remembering because of her. It was always her.

“Kirstein? Are you still awake?”

Speak of the devil and thou shall appear.

Jean leaned against a tree for a while. He hoped that (Y/n) would make a decision on her own accord, but she didn’t. She didn’t attempt to leave nor sit. She didn’t even try to check whether or not Jean was sleeping. If Jean waited long enough, she might leave. Then again, she might stand there all night. But alas, Jean was the one to break first.

With a deep sigh, Jean replied. “If I say no, would you leave me alone?”

“Wouldn’t it be cruel for me to leave you while you’re lonely?”

“I’m not lonely.”

“But you are alone.” (Y/n) placed a small pile of dry wood beside Jean before sitting down beside it. Both of them were quiet for a while. (Y/n) was content with this, but Jean was not as content as her.

To say Jean felt conflicted about working alongside the Warriors would be an understatement. Even before he knew that basically all of the Warriors were responsible for Marco’s death, teaming up with the Warriors wasn’t something he would’ve imagined. They were the reason for so much death. It wasn’t even limited to Paradis! It was everywhere. He’d seen it with his own eyes.

How could she sit beside him right now? How had she ever sat beside him knowing all of the things that she had done? How could Jean let himself sit beside her now, knowing the things that he had done?

(Y/n) picked up one of the small kindling she had brought and slowly placed it across the fire. Steam rose from the girl’s hand as she pulled it away, but her face showed no signs of discomfort.

“Didn’t that hurt?” Jean wondered.

“I’ve gotten used to the pain. We all have.” replied the Crystal Shifter. She held her hand up for Jean to see, and he watched as the steaming parts of her hand turned from red back to their natural hue. “You know, the punches you threw at Reiner were pretty ruthless. If you had used that kind of force with anyone other than a Titan Shifter, they likely would’ve died.”

Jean turned away. He didn’t feel like taking a lecture from anyone right now. Especially not from (Y/n). “Why are you here, (Y/n)?”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“To make sure I’m not contacting Floch or something? I don’t know.”

“That is a valid reason, but no. I have no reason to suspect you of working alongside Floch. Even if I did, I have no right to tell you what is and isn’t right.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Which was?”

Jean leaned back and gave (Y/n) a look as if to say ‘really?’

The girl chuckled to herself before meeting Jean’s gaze. “I came out here to make sure you were okay. Do you see me as such a manipulative person that you assume I have ulterior motives for checking up on one of my comrades?”

“A comrade, huh?” Jean teased. “Not even a friend anymore?”

“Did you want me to consider you a friend, Kristien?”

“Not really, but it’s… complicated. I’m definitely not the same kind of comrade the Warriors are to you, but I’m also not the same as Armin or Connie.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Well for starters, you’ve already gone back to calling Armin and Connie by their first names, but not me. As a matter of fact, I’m the only person who you refer to by last name. Did I do something to you to deserve this?”

(Y/n) pursed her lips, her gaze back on the fire instead of Jean. How frustrating. But it’s always been that way with (Y/n), hasn’t it?

Before anyone knew about traitors or Titan Shifters, life had been simpler. Jean had been a boy who was constantly vying for the (h/c)ette’s attention just like everyone else. Unfortunately for him, his best friend was Marco. Now, Marco was as good of a friend as anyone would hope to have. Sometimes Jean considered himself lucky for having someone like Marco be his friend in the first place, but things weren’t very cut and dry.

Marco and Jean had been infatuated with (Y/n). (Y/n) had been drawn towards Marco. There was no room for Jean in that scenario. It was just him, watching someone he liked show interest in his best friend. It was almost pitiful how each time he’d manage to steal (Y/n)’s attention, Marco would inevitably take center stage.

Marco wasn’t a malicious guy, and Jean knew that well, but every time it happened Jean could only be frustrated with himself. It’s probably why (Y/n) had been drawn towards the freckled boy in the first place. Both of them were people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. Jean was someone who kept his heart under lock and key. Jean had never stopped liking (Y/n), but he was smart enough to know when to back off.

Sometime between Marco’s death and (Y/n)’s betrayal, everything changed. Obviously (Y/n) had lost people who she had been close to, but she always had a distant look in her eyes. She was always searching for something that no one else could see.

That was really the worst part of it all - falling in love with someone who wasn’t really there.

Something that was a cross between a laugh and a sigh suddenly escaped from Jean. He couldn’t even tell what he had wanted it to be, either. “Doesn’t tonight remind you of back when we were cadets? Or, I guess back then we were rookie Scouts.”

“I don’t really know what you’re getting at.”

“The night before we captured Annie. How I joked about you sleeping in the same bed as me, and then you did. It feels so long ago, you know?”

(Y/n) glanced at Jean, letting him catch the curious expression which rested on her features. It was curiosity and nothing more - not even a hint of familiarity.

“What about that other time?” questioned Jean. “It was around the time we were preparing to head to Shiganshina. I was throwing up in the bathroom at night, but then you showed up and we talked. You remember that, don’t you?”

“Well…”

“And what about tonight?”

“What about it?”

“Are you going to forget tonight like all of those other nights before it?” Jean sighed. He knew he was just taking shots in the dark, but he wanted it to be true. “You know, everyone I tell those things to say that I was probably mistaken - even you told me I was crazy at one point, but I really do remember it happening.”

“I’m not saying that I remember any of those things happening with clarity, but I won’t say whether or not they’ve actually occurred. I have so many different memories swimming around in this head of mine that I might mistake one of my predecessor’s memories for my own, but I also don’t think you’d lie. You’re not that kind of person.” (Y/n)’s expression seemed softer in the light of the fire. Perhaps at this moment her expression was softer, but Jean wasn’t sure.

“So then… what kind of person am I?”

“You’re honest, and empathetic. Kind with an almost naive outlook on life. And don’t get me started on how you wear your heart on your sleeve.” (Y/n) picked up another piece of wood and placed it in the fire. When she finished, she looked at Jean with a soft smile. “And you’re brave.”

“Brave?” repeated Jean. “I don’t think I’m a very brave person.”

“And what do you consider ‘bravery’ to be?”

“Being brave is being able to endure pain and having courage in general.”

“And that’s what you believe bravery is?”

“Well… not entirely.” Jean pulls on the sleeves of his jacket as he meets the (h/c)ette’s gaze. “I’ve actually never known what bravery is. I mean, I know what it is in general, but it’s never meant anything significantly different from what anyone else believes it is.”

“I see.” (Y/n) turns away from Jean, and the boy can feel his shoulders relax. “I believe that bravery is a combination of a lot of things, but two things specifically come to mind. Since the most obvious opposite of bravery is fear, I believe that part of being brave is to act in spite of fear. Don’t get me wrong, fear is a natural survival instinct so just acting out instead of being scared is not what I consider brave. It’s more like… stepping up to a challenge, even if you don’t think you can do it. Kind of like when you chose to join the Survey Corps instead of the Military Police.”

“And the other thing?”

“The other fundamental core I associate with bravery is having the strength to do what is necessary. Obviously my views have been skewed from growing up in a world that wanted me to be a perfect tool, but my views of bravery are far from what they taught was brave. Gabi, Falco and Emanon are naive and maybe a bit stupid at times, but I also believe that they’re brave. Becoming a Warrior is depicted as a selfless act because you’re dedicating yourself to Marley, but protecting others is what actually makes it a selfless act. I guess I’d call it necessary justice. Though, it’s taken me a long time to understand what ‘necessary’ is.”

“And what’s necessary to you?”

(Y/n) suddenly grinned, catching Jean off guard. “I didn’t realise you were so eager to learn about this kind of thing. I thought I was talking your ear off.”

“Not really. I’ve always wondered what it means to be brave, so knowing what you consider brave is… refreshing? I don’t even know what I’m saying.” Jean looked up at the sky through the gaps in the branches and leaves. “I feel like I’m having an out of body experience.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I feel like I’m experiencing deja vu. Here I am, after four years of hating you, talking to you like we’ve been friends all this time! It doesn’t feel right.”

“And what would feel right?”

“I don’t know. Fighting with you? Hating you again? It just feels unfair for me to be sitting here with you while Eren is… about to crush the world for us.”

“Why do you think Eren is crushing the world for you guys?”

“You do realise that we’re talking about the guy who, at age 15, was going to kill every single Titan with his own two hands. Now he’s using Titans to crush the whole world. It’s such a messed up turn of events.”

“Isn’t that why we’re going to stop him? Because it’s messed up and unfair?”

“Why are you doing that? Why do you keep answering my questions with more questions?” Jean ran his fingers through his hair impatiently. It seemed his body wanted to know the answer more than his mind, and the only way to speed up the process was to keep moving. He knew it wouldn’t, but boy, what he would’ve done to get a straight answer right now.

The Crystal Shifter tilted her head, “would you prefer I answer your questions a different way?”

“Of course.”

“And how would you like me to answer instead?”

Jean scoffed, “with answers, obviously.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

Of course it was obvious. Questions were supposed to be answered with answers. Heck, answers were so important that even unanswered questions, like rhetorical questions, were questions with implied responses. At this point, continuing with the conversation seemed redundant.

Jean knew better than anyone that the person sitting beside him was no longer who he had once known. But oh, how her eyes shone with the same warmth he’d always known them to have. She no longer hid her eyes behind the cold blue of her Crystals. Now they were back to what they had once been. After four years of being perceived as a monster, she was here as the human she’d once been.

Or maybe she’d always been human, but Jean had convinced himself otherwise.

How cruel of him.

Jean was back to tracing the fire with his eyes. He was back to thinking about anything and everything. He wondered if he would’ve been better off telling (Y/n) to leave him alone, or if coming out here was the right thing to do at all.

“Sometimes I wonder what life would’ve been like for me if I had stayed in Paradis instead of going back to Marley.” Confessed (Y/n). “I wonder what would’ve changed if I’d been able to save Mina, or if I hadn’t helped the other Warriors kill Marco. I really don’t think I was strong enough to make a difference, but still… people like us can’t help but wonder.”

“What do you mean ‘people like us?’”

“I’m not lumping you in with the rest of us Warriors, if that’s what you’re asking. Rather, people like us are people who have the strength to cause change. I know for a fact that not everyone agrees with the idea of Eren crushing the world; there are even people in Paradis who are against the idea, but those people cannot change anything. It’s not their fault that they don’t have the fundamentals required, but that also doesn’t mean that they can’t change things. It’s just… different.”

“I hate to admit it, but for a while I was genuinely considering siding with Floch and living a luxurious life within the walls. I guess old habits die hard.”

“To be fair, no one really wants to be the villain. As someone who has been forced to fight dozens of battles, I’m sure that many people have depicted me and the other Warriors as villains. I guess the craziest thing about it all is that at the end of the day, Warriors are deemed heroes because Marley is the nation that gets the final say in things.”

“Isn’t that just the kind of world we live in? The world is a place where winners are the ones who get to tell the story, not the losers.” Once again, Jean found himself leaning back and gazing at (Y/n). He didn’t like how he kept looking back at her. “Hey, I’m sorry for hurting Emanon.”

“It’s nice that you’re apologising, but you really should apologise to her and not me.”

“I know, and I will. It’s just that the two of you are really close so…”

(Y/n) hummed, acknowledging Jean as his sentence trailed away. “I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to save Marco. I knew he was your best friend but still couldn’t-”

“No, I get it. It was Marco or the Warriors. There really wasn’t much competition, was there?”

“Not when the Warriors tried so hard to get me to remember them, no. Every single one of them has been there for me. It wouldn’t be fair for me to just toss them aside and let them fend for themselves.”

“What was it like to grow up with them in…?”

“The Warrior Program?” (Y/n) sighed to herself for a moment. “It wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine, that’s for sure. It was like going through the Cadet Corps training but three times harder while also being three times younger. Kids like us grew up training and fighting. It was a twisted relationship where we were friends, comrades and rivals all at the same time. But that was our way of life. It was all we’d ever known.”

“You guys seem alright. I mean, that newest generation of Warriors isn’t half bad.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t half good either. Our generation and their generation has always been referred to as adequate. Our individual skills are all there, but none of us are really ‘leader’ material. It’s probably the main reason why our mission to Paradis fell apart so quickly. We were tools. We weren’t able to think for ourselves or make proper decisions. We were just… kids.”

The Crystal Shifter picked up a piece of kindling and picked at it. “Annie and Pieck have always followed orders. Bertholdt was too timid to really step up and lead the group which was what made him such a perfect vessel for Titan powers in the first place. Porco was a good fighter, but he was always comparing himself to his older brother - the one who was supposed to lead our mission on Paradis. Zeke is… well, you already know what Zeke’s done.”

“What about you and Reiner?”

“I’ve always cared for Reiner. When he was a kid he was pretty soft spoken. He has always wanted to do what he thinks is best. Unfortunately for him, he grew a proper conscience; as a matter of fact, we all did. It was different for all of us, but one day the things we were doing caught up to us. We knew the things we were doing weren’t the right things to do, but we also didn’t have a choice in the matter. We simply had to keep moving forward with our lives because, well, why else would we be living?”

“You saying that kind of reminds me of Eren.”

“Well yeah. I probably inadvertently picked it up from him. I understand where he’s coming from and why he feels like crushing the world is the only way forward, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s right. I’m not trying to become a martyr or a hero by opposing him, either. I’m just trying to live.” (Y/n) stood up and dusted off her pants.

“You’re going now?” asked Jean.

“I want to make sure Emanon is okay. She’s been through a lot in the past few days, so I want to be there for her.”

“And Reiner?”

“What about Reiner?”

“Do you care for him, too?”

(Y/n) smiled at Jean, placing the kindling she’d been picking at in the boy’s hands. “I always end up saying way more than I mean to when I talk to you. Did you know that?”

“Not enough, apparently.” Jean mumbled, earning a short laugh from the girl.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“How do you know I’ll come back?”

(Y/n) shot one last glance at Jean over her shoulder. “Because you’re someone who’ll do what he thinks is right.”

Jean listened to the Shifter’s footsteps as she disappeared into the night. A part of him wanted to go back to the others right now, but he knew better than to return in his current state of mind. Once again, he was reduced to tracing the outline of the fire on his own.

The wood (Y/n) had handed Jean was warmer than his own hands. Despite how the Crystal Shifter had been feeding the fire, its glow was rather dim.

How could she be so certain about him? How could (Y/n) be so sure that he would return tomorrow when even he wasn’t sure about returning? Was he simply that predictable? Jean liked to think that he’s significantly changed in the past four years, but his conversation with (Y/n) felt like any other conversation he might have had with her before. But was that really a bad thing?

Jean held the wood overtop of the flames. Even if some vindictive part of himself wanted to prove the Crystal Shifter wrong, he knew that there would be no merit in it - not that he was doing things for the merit. If he was going to go back, he was going back because it was the right thing to do.

In that moment, as embers from the fire landed on the piece of wood in his hands, Jean once again wondered what it meant to be brave.

Was it honesty? Going outside of your comfort zone, or acting in spite of fear? Or was it, perhaps, something as simple as having the strength to do what was necessary? Jean didn’t think he could say which of these it might be, let alone what else might contribute to bravery, but he did know that it was okay to be unsure.

Jean dropped the piece of wood he held into the fire. It was a pretty cold night, and he didn’t want to catch a cold before tomorrow.

[on-leatheredwings]

society if someone could simply just write for me

[butternuggets-blog]

Please repost to get a bigger data pool.

[autumnoakes]

hi. so i had some uhhh. thoughts that i needed to write out.

basis for this uh. one shot is a headcanon i have for how the fierce deity's mask works. basically, if a wearer can withstand the deity's power, their soul starts to become intertwined with the deity's, until the two are indistinguishable from one another. in other words, the wearer becomes a vessel for the fierce deity.

(i tend to headcanon fd as morally grey/true neutral. they tend to work for themself and in their own best interest)

(um. sorry if this makes no sense? i kind of just wanted to write about this specific thing)

(tw for mentioned death and war, as well as talk of dissociation/losing time)

The mask seemed to call to Link as he held it in his hand, weighing his options.

At first, the mask had been nothing more than an aid. Emergencies only, he told himself after Majora was gone, trapped back inside their mask. The power of the Fierce Deity’s mask scared Link, back then. He wanted nothing more to do with it than what had already come to pass.

But, it would not stay that way. Emergencies came, and went, and Link found himself loosening his definition of an “emergency.” He ate less, slept less, and yet he felt stronger than ever. He used the Deity’s power more and more, just to make things easier on himself. It wasn’t lost on him that the marks that had begun to fade had etched themselves back onto his face, brighter than ever before. As of late, Link no longer recognized the man staring at him when he looked in his own reflection.

The blank eyes of the Fierce Deity’s mask looked up at Link, taunting him. If he kept wearing the mask, how much longer would it be before he lost himself in the Deity’s power? Would he keep living, a vessel for this forgotten god, or would he drop dead in the middle of Hyrule Field, for all to see?

Ganondorf’s war raged around him. Countless dead and dismembered lie across the grass, their blood turning verdant green to vibrant, vicious red. He could turn the tides of this war in an instant. Emboldened by the deity’s power, he could fight his way to Ganondorf and stop him where he stood, once and for all. But Link hesitated.

The Deity is dangerous. He’d known it ever since he first laid eyes on the mask and held it in his hands. He swore, after losing a month with the Deity last time, that there would be no more. The Deity is harmless inside of its mask. If Link kept it safe, it wouldn’t hurt anyone else. Besides, who would be able to stop them if his soul merged with the Deity’s once and for all? Would they even need to be stopped? The Deity is a war god after all, but not cruel. It was never cruel.

The sound of a horn across the field snapped Link to attention. It was foolish, he knew, to waste so much time lost in thought on the battlefield. He had run out. Ganondorf was here.

Link took a deep breath, his decision made.

He raised the mask to his face, one last time

[gemharvest]

Thought abt writing but I got that dentist appt and I kinda. Don't wanna try and get into a groove only to be interrupted cuz I have to go to a stupid dentist appt. So I'm gonna sketch instead.

[kavvueh]

also sidenote, but... i'm thinking of a 3-6 chapter sequel to Where Words Fail but.... it's chongyun/xingqiu... Xiao (and Venti, but mostly Xiao) would be mentor to chongyun, who wants to learn Dihua to surprise Xingqiu before they graduate high school.................

what do we think, y'all?