#or watching the sun rise after the longest night of your life . . a breath of something new yet tinges on nostalgia

[tetzoro]

writing + listening to cigarettes after sex always hits

[aphroditelovesu]

Winter Solstice | Yan!HOTD

❝ 🐉 — lady l: Merry Christmas, my dear readers! I wish you a great day and a prosperous New Year! I hope you enjoy this Christmas special with our yandere family from HOTD! Good reading, forgive me for any mistakes and once again, have a great holiday to you ❤️🎄.

❝warnings: yandere themes, mention of death and obsessive and possessive behavior.

❝🐉word count: 1,941.

A long, long time ago, when the Earth was young and the days were short, people looked up to the sky with wonder and awe. They watched the Sun rise and fall over the horizon, its heat bringing life to the earth and its dark nights bringing a deep sleep to the world.

In the ancient realm of the seasons, each cycle marked the eternal dance between light and dark. As winter approached, a whisper spread through nature. Leaves fell from the trees, animals sought shelter and the nights extended, enveloping the world in a blanket of darkness and cold.

It was the time of the Winter Solstice, a magical moment when the Earth seemed suspended between extremes. People gathered around campfires, telling stories of times gone by, sharing warmth and hope amid the impending darkness.

On the eve of the longest night of the year, eyes turned to the sky, waiting for the miracle. Slowly, the Sun began its journey towards the horizon, fighting the darkness with its golden light. The stars twinkled above, bearing witness to the celestial spectacle.

And then, in the most sublime moment, the Sun began to rise, rising majestically into the sky. The colors of dawn painted the landscape, and people celebrated the rebirth of the Sun, knowing that light and warmth would return to the world. It was a symbol of renewal, hope and the continuous cycle of life.

On the Winter Solstice, people came together to celebrate the courage of the light that faces the darkness, remembering that even in the darkest moments, there is always the promise of rebirth and the light that returns to warm the hearts and illuminate the souls ways.

It had always been your favorite time of year, you loved how the snow fell from the sky and painted everything white, the food, the exchange of gifts and most importantly, it was when your whole family was together. You appreciated more than anything the few moments of peace that your family spent during that date, all happy and together. Like a big, loving family.

Having them all together was what you loved most as you grew up. All the disputes, the fights seemed to disappear during this time of year. Your heart and mind were at peace.

The green of the forest and the fiery red of love and passion. Its fabric was as soft as a spring breeze, a harmonious blend of silk and cotton that moved like leaves dancing in the wind. The predominant green was reminiscent of treetops, its hue varying from a lush emerald green to softer nuances, like newborn buds. The waist was accentuated by a deep red belt, as if it were the blush of the petals of a passionate rose. The intense tone stood out, creating a magnificent contrast with the lush greenery, and a decorative bow added a touch of elegance.

Something beautiful and elegant, with both of your family colors. Of the Targaryens and the Hightowers. There was some small, discreet blue embroidery that symbolized the Velaryon, subtle but standing out in its own way.

You turned to your maid who was looking at you with affection, you smiled at her, ''What do you think, Diane?''

She smiled widely, ''You looked incredible, my princess/prince. A suitable choice for a dinner with your family.'' There was a hint of worry in her tone, but you just held her hands and squeezed them gently.

''Don't worry, Diane. Everything will be fine.''

She nodded, ''Yes... Do you want me to accompany you to where the banquet will be held?''

You politely denied, ''No, but thank you.''

A hint of disappointment flashed in her brown eyes, but she just smiled and after a simple bow, she left the room. You took a deep breath and looked at the ring that adorned your finger, a gift from your grandfather, Viserys. He was sick and you swore to yourself that you would do everything to make this dinner enjoyable for him. He deserved it.

Just as you expected, everything was impeccable and your family was already waiting for you. A majestic dining room, adorned with golden chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting soft light on long solid wood tables.

The walls were covered with richly embroidered tapestries, depicting scenes from Targaryen history and grand festivities. The polished stone floor gleamed in the light of the torches that adorned the walls, reflecting the grandeur of the space.

In the center of the room, a long table stretched out, covered in an immaculate linen tablecloth and decorated with wildflower arrangements and heraldry of noble families. Silver candelabras exuded a soft glow, while golden goblets glittered in the dancing light of the flames.

Music filled the atmosphere as skilled musicians played lutes, flutes and harps, entertaining guests with happy melodies and lively dances.

''(Y/N)!'' Your mother's excited voice called out to you and you smiled at Rhaenyra, who quickly hugged you, placing her head against the crook of your neck, ''You look great, sweetheart.''

''Thanks, mom. You look great too.'' And indeed, she did. Rhaenyra wore a dark red dress decorated with gold that fit her perfectly. She pulled back a little and smiled at you.

''(Y/N)! We're here.'' On one side of the table, your younger brothers sat. You looked at Jacaerys, Lucerys, and little Joffrey, who were smiling at you. You kissed Rhaenyra's cheek and went to sit next to your brothers. Or you tried, for that matter.

For you were quickly pulled to the side as Aegon grabbed you and pulled you closer to him, Aemond, and Helaena. You smiled at your aunt and uncles and greeted them.

''Sit with us.'' Aegon asked and pointed to an empty chair next to Helaena who was smiling sweetly at you. You looked nervously at your brothers, who were staring at Aegon with disdain.

Aemond frowned and placed a hand over your shoulder, ''Come, stay with us.'' His tone said there was no room for argument.

Luckily for you, the doors opened and revealed Viserys along with Alicent, both smiling when they saw you. You apologized to your aunt and uncles and quickly walked over to your grandparents, helping Viserys sit down.

''Ah, (Y/N)... You look great!'' Viserys praised you, as soon as he sat down. You smiled at him and kissed his cheek in thanks.

Alicent pulled you into a tight hug, ''My husband is right, you look great. This shade of green suits you very well.'' She murmured and walked away hesitantly, adjusting your clothes. You kissed your face.

''Thanks. You look amazing too.'' She smiled in response and held your hands, squeezing them gently.

After a few minutes of talking to your grandparents, you walked over to your father and uncle, who were sitting next to each other. Laenor smiled widely and pulled you into a tight hug, not wanting to let go. He only let go when Daemon cleared his throat, irritated.

Laenor rolled his eyes and let go of you, staring at Daemon with an iron gaze. Daemon returned the same look and you acted quickly before they fought.

''Happy Solstice to you both.'' You said, twiddling your fingers nervously. Daemon smiled and patted you on the shoulder twice, pulling you into a hug. You hugged him back.

''Happy Solstice, my child.'' Laenor said after you and Daemon parted ways.

''Happy Solstice, (Y/N).'' Daemon said, looking at you softly. You thanked them and apologized as you left them, wanting to greet your other family members. You spotted Baela and Rhaena sitting near your brothers and quickly walked over to them.

''Finally. I thought you would never come and talk to us.'' Baela complained and got up from the chair and hugged you tightly, ''I missed you, cousin.''

You returned the hug tightly, smiling at her words, ''I missed you too, cousin.''

Rhaena cleared her throat and stood up, hugging you as you and Baela separated.

You smiled at the squeeze and said, ''I missed you too, Rhaena.''

Joffrey got out of his chair and jumped into your arms, laughing loudly when you caught him in a tight hug.

''You're getting too big for me to keep doing this.'' You laughed and rolled him over, placing him on the floor. Russing his dark hair, you smiled when he laughed. You hugged Luke, who seemed especially clingy today. Jace also hugged you tightly and wished you a Happy Solstice.

After talking for a while with your brothers and cousins, you went to greet your paternal grandparents. Rhaenys and Corlys were sitting next to Otto, oddly enough, and the three of them looked at you with affection.

''Grandmother.'' You kissed Rhaenys's cheek who kissed yours back.

''Grandpa.'' You hugged Corlys and he hugged you back and complimented the blue details on your outfit.

''Otto.'' You greeted your great-grandfather, who smiled warmly at you. He seemed relaxed and calm, more so than he normally was.

''Shall we have dinner in honor of this happy day?'' Viserys's loud voice sounded in the room and everyone focused on the King. There was a bit of tension about where you should sit, but you chose next to Viserys and Rhaenyra, who shook your hand under the table.

Servants brought silver trays loaded with delicious delicacies. Large roasts of meat browned on skewers, exuding a tantalizing aroma of exotic spices. Tables were adorned with fresh fruit, from crimson apples to juicy grapes, and freshly baked bread that looked like it had come straight from the oven.

Plenty of wine circulated among everyone and soon everyone was laughing and talking. Your heart felt lighter when you saw your entire family happy, getting along for the first time in a long time.

After the banquet, you all went to one of the rooms of the castle, where the gifts were. The exchange went well, you received gifts from everyone individually and you presented them with what you carefully chose. Ser Criston was present and you gave him a gift too, under the watchful eye of your family, a pure Valyrian steel sword. He smiled in thanks and said he would give you a gift later.

When it seemed like the exchange of gifts was over, Otto said, ''We have a special gift for you, (Y/N). From all of us.'' He gestured to your entire family, who looked on expectantly. You took the gift from his hand, a wooden box with gold details, which was well packaged.

As soon as you opened it, all the color in your face disappeared. It was a head, a human head. You felt like you were going to throw up when you recognized the head. Diane, your servant.

''W-What is this?!'' You groaned, the words stuck in your throat as you held the box, your legs shaking as terror invaded your body. Everyone seemed calm, even Viserys.

''This is our gift to you, my child.'' Rhaenyra said and approached you, placing a hand on your shoulder, ''To remind you not to approach anyone.''

''They can't be trusted,'' Alicent began to say, ''Diane couldn't be trusted. Criston was the one who cut off her head and Rhaenyra, Helaena and I cradled her. The choice of the box was Daemon's.''

They looked at you expectantly, as if they hoped you really liked the gift. Your hands were shaking so much that the box fell to the floor, Diane's severed head falling to the floor.

A perfect ending to a loving Winter Solstice with your family, from their perspective.

[gripefroot]

Sleepy Law?

For once, he doesn’t wake when the sun hits his face. 

For all his pretending and blustering and attitude, he’d been tired. Of course. The more he protested something, the more it was true. Something about a man that saw danger around every corner if he lowered his guard for even a moment, even with you. 

There was something comedic about the juxtaposition. His barking from the afternoon before: “No, I’m not tired! I’m fine!” compared to the sun rising long past dawn after he’d been out cold for nearly fourteen hours. But it was less amusing when the dark lines beneath his eyes were so visible, when the bright sun cleared his face into something almost boyish. 

He pushes himself too hard. He always did. 

The sun warms the bed, too, making it too hot for this time of year. But rather than get up and disturb Law’s rare rest, you stick a foot out of the blankets for some coolness and move closer to him. 

Every moment is precious. Every stolen evening, every late morning pried from the clutches of fate and time. “I’ll be back in three days,” or “I’ll try to be back by summer solstice.” Sometimes he made it, sometimes he didn’t. When he was late, the nights he should have been there were spent at the window, watching weather roll across the sea. Each blot was his ship returning - until it wasn’t. Anger and resentment broiled like hurricanes, then, but by the time he eventually came, gratitude that he was alive and safe and present overwhelmed everything else. Besides, greeting him by throwing a pot at his head wouldn’t guarantee he’d ever come again. 

This parting had been the longest yet. A year at sea, with only two headlines months apart to prove he had drowned or been killed or wasted away from some disease. No, he was whole, relatively healthy (if thinner than before) and walking up the crooked steps to your house, he’d even smiled. 

“I was worried you’d moved away,” he’d said. His sword balanced on his shoulder, which was unusual. Before, he’d left it on his ship.

“How would you find me then?” you’d teased back. Clay dried on your hands from a half-finished project, but it could be completed later. Law could only be greeted now. 

“I’d follow the dead greenery.” He nodded at the yard; yellow patches now outnumbered green, the first victim in dumping leftover glaze that didn’t fire the right color or scraps of impure clay. He hoisted the sword from his shoulder to set by the doorframe, where you stood, and that was when he’d smiled. 

It was fortunate he’d never minded mud on his clothes. 

He smelled of brine and fresh air. Not the most pleasant, but beneath it was him, and difficult to pull away. 

“Mind if I stay over?” he’d asked between kisses. Your foot had caught on the lip of the door, stumbling backwards, but his arms had kept you upright and squashed against his chest. 

“Have I ever?” The words came out strained. His kisses stole breath as much as they stole sanity. Rugged as his worn coat, harsh as the tattoos long-memorized. 

“There’s a first for everything.” 

“Well, not today.” Your hands on his chest, feeling him like you would mounds of fresh clay. Something he’d joked about before: his lips twisted, ready to joke again. “Do you want to wash up first?” 

“Yes. Then I have a present for you.”

Surely not the sword. What use would you have for a sword? Spending days and nights with clay, turning pots and glazing and firing them in the tiny hut nearby wasn’t the life of a warrior, and living alone in a rickety cottage on a bluff above a port town so small it could scarcely be called a port not the prime target of pirates. 

Law had ducked his head beneath the water pump in the yard, not even waiting for you to fetch a bar of soap, and yelped at how freezing cold the water was. 

He had, miraculously, survived. 

But no present came. Dinner had been eaten early between yawns and crabby remarks about how he wasn’t tired. Then he’d gone straight to your bed, knocking into tables on his way, and halfway through what had sounded like a salacious invitation he’d started snoring. Pants still on and everything. 

So you’d smiled and washed up quietly before crawling into bed next to him. It was easier to sleep when he was there…

He clutches a worn pillow to his face, stretched out on his belly with his torso bare. Lingering flakes from a sunburn grace his shoulders, and a new scar stretched over his ribs. Your fingers want to trace it, but you don’t, hovering in the air above the graceful shape. You’ll learn it better soon enough. 

“Were you going to say anything or just keep staring?” 

Oops. His even breathing had ceased. Lifting your head, you see his eyes slitted open, glinting beneath his long lashes. 

“You have a new one,” you say. 

“Of course you noticed.” His voice is a rumble, fresh from slumber. 

“Of course I noticed,” you repeat, cheeks warming with embarrassment. But the corners of his mouth lift in a lazy smile. “It’s huge.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Can I?” A vague request, but he understands. Law responds with a grunt. His kind of affirmation. 

The new skin is smooth beneath your practiced fingertips, but where new meets old a thick, calloused rope of skin rivers around his ribs. Like a snake of clay to be shaped into a handle or a spigot. A handsome scar, to add to his others. Your fingers trace back up around his waist and to his back, to the very end of the scar. His skin breaks out in goosebumps, his ragged inhale breaking your concentration. 

Immediately you pull your hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” He rolls onto his side, taking the interest of the scar away to face you. His eyes are more open now, but not by much, his hair sticking out every which way. Law props his head on his hand, surveying you with just as much scrutiny as you had him. But why? You have no scars, no discernable differences to clock from last year. 

The bed is small, not really built for two, but it has never bothered you or him. He can never be outside of arm’s reach. Instinctively your hand traces over his chest, finding comfort in the pattern of him. Patterns that find their way onto cups and mugs and bowls whenever missing him hurts too much. Most sold, some kept. You stop over his heart. 

He’s smiling again. 

“How long can you stay?” you ask. 

His smile disappears. It takes your contentment with it. 

“I have time,” Law says. 

Time. The only thing that could give you enough of him, and the only thing he couldn’t give. He gave his attention, his company, his loyalty, and his affection. Your hand rises to his face, stroking over old whiskers on his cheek with your thumb. He catches your wrist, holding it to nuzzle your palm with his nose, and then his lips. 

“You smell the same,” Law mutters, eyes closed. “Like the earth.” 

“You smell the same,” you whisper back. The effect of his nuzzle is the same as you touching his scar: goosebumps race up your arm and down your back. “Like freedom.” 

His eyes open. Dark and assuring, and always a little sad. “C’mere,” he grunts, and reaches for you. 

It was like he’d never been away. Nothing forgotten, nothing misremembered. His mouth finds the right places on your throat, your shoulders; skillfully he thumbs away the sleeves of your shirt to bare more skin to him. If anything proves his absence, it's how quickly the heat between your bodies becomes unbearable, how your blood pulses almost painfully. With a whimper of a sigh, your fingers hook into the waistband of his pants, his hair tickling your chin. 

“All in good time,” he promises your breasts, hand coming up to cup one. If you weren’t already so dizzy from the prelude, you’d tease him for addressing them rather than you. It had been an excellent joke for so long…

Soon the only noises are your soft pants, his quiet groans as the reacquaintion became clumsy. Clothes hit the floor, blankets pushed away, the awkward patters of skin-on-skin. No matter how bright the morning light through the window, there is no time to feel shamefully naked: only wonderfully so, and perfectly worshipped. His hair is thick between your fingers, his mouth hot on your sternum, and then your belly button. 

“But,” you lick your lips, wishing your throat wasn’t so dry and creaky. “But, we just - ”

“Just what?” Law kisses the inside of your thigh, eyes darting up to your face with a quirk of his brow. “Don’t want me to?” 

“I do, it’s only - ”

“Only what?” He prompts when words fail you. His hands cradle your hips, lifting and straightening them before him like a treasure map. 

“I want you,” you manage to whisper. The sun makes his black hair red at the edges, a trick of the light. 

“You’re getting me,” Law says. “And I’m getting you. Let’s start slow, huh?” 

As if you could refuse him when you aren’t a puddle on the bed. Slow is the last thing you want, but he made it sound like a dream. It is a dream; fast or slow or hurried or lazy. Always enough to make the little time you have sweeter. And never enough. Always and never, always and never. 

“Let me know,” his voice is as jagged as his scar, his hands shaking until he digs his fingers into your thighs. “Let me know…if you want me to stop.” 

He doesn't look like a man who could stop. And the pounding, the rushing - you couldn’t have asked him to stop for anything. 

His knees hit the floor with a thunk. Yours go over his shoulder as he sucked in a trembling breath, his shoulders twitching enough to make the dark lines look like they were convulsing. 

“Oh…” is all he says, and it’s the same noise you make when his lips touch yours, his tongue barely a hint of a caress. Your spine arches, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. He takes the hint, delving in with less ‘slow’ and more ‘I-haven’t-seen-you-in-a-year.’ He remembers. He remembers; every bit that makes your head spin and he does it like a conqueror, until the sheets are fisted in your hands and your breathing has gone frantic. 

“Law.” Your head twists to the side, air growing scarce and body feeling out of control. Wild and frenzied like an animal, jumping at every stroke of his tongue. “Please, oh - ”

He knows. He knows, he remembers. With a reverberating grunt that you can feel through your legs and belly, his fingers grip your thighs. It doesn’t feel possible, but the intensity swells and grows like the waves of the sea. 

“Stop biting your lip.” Law’s pause is enough to bring you down enough to comprehend his words. “Stop that. I wanna hear you. Here.” 

One of your fists is unclenched from the sheets, to weave your fingers between his, instead. A grip on reality, an anchor while sensation crashes through you. It’s only a moment later the wave hits: the force of pleasure battering through your body again and again. He doesn’t stop. He never does, not while each of your cries echo to the roof and back down again. 

When it becomes too much you gasp, and he stops. 

He knows. 

Law lifts his head, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed and wiping his mouth on his discarded shirt. He smirks. “If nothing else,” he says casually, as if he hadn’t just made you climax with more fervor than a hurricane, “that makes me want to take you with me.”

Take you? With him? Where? Not on his ship, surely. 

Your expression must betray your bafflement, because he gives a rough laugh, tossing his shirt back down. 

“Oh, come on,” he says. “Surely you’ve thought of it yourself.” 

You hadn’t. 

His head tilts to the side, smirk fading. 

“You don’t want to come with me,” Law says. 

“No!” you blurt. “I mean - yes! I mean…that’s not what I’m saying. I’ve just never thought of it before. I hadn’t thought it was…possible.”

“And if it is?” 

Your heart hammers, from the aftershocks of orgasm and his question. “Possible?”

“Yeah. If I asked you to come with me.” He climbs over the bed on all fours. Normally you admire him; his tattoos and sculpted muscles. But your eyes are riveted on his face, on the strange sincerity shining in his eyes. 

“What would I do?” you ask. 

Law stops, hovering above you. You’re effectively trapped, but rather than confining, it’s comforting. Boundaries to bump up against, walls to keep you safe. His hair flops over his forehead, shadowing his features from the sun.

“Let me lick you anytime I want,” he jokes. 

So maybe it wasn’t sincerity after all. But you laugh, anyway, because laughing with him is always delicious, despite the heavy disappointment in your stomach. Reading into his joke would only hurt more. So you wind your arms around his neck, bringing him down for a languid, salty kiss. The weight of his body resting on yours transcends everything else, the craving for him lighting through your veins like popping fireworks. 

“How do you want me?” he asks before his teeth sink into the side of your neck. With his erection jabbing into your leg, the idea of options is surprising. 

“Like this,” you say. “Just like this.” 

Law releases your neck, his hips tucking between yours with familiarity. When his forehead rests against yours, his eyes are deep and bottomless for a moment before he closes them. 

“I mean it,” he murmurs. His hands unwrap your arms from his neck, bringing them down to the pillow to pin in place. “I’ll take you with me. You don’t have to do anything.” 

Does he mean that? Would he take you to sea just to…to what? Is he tired of coming back to this small island? Are you no longer worth it? 

Where is this going? A question flung into the stars, night after night, when Law is there and when he isn’t. Hope is difficult to cultivate year after year, but it blooms all the same at times like this. 

Where will you take me? 

A few thrusts gets him inside, enough to keep going. A few more have you moaning, tense in his grip as you move your hips to take him further. He groans, the further he gets, adding his own noises to yours. If this is where time stopped, if this could be forever, this is what you’d choose. Time and time again you’d choose. The sense of fullness, of complete joining - nothing has ever, ever, compared.

Law stops when he’s fully sheathed, panting for breath as his grip loosens on your wrists. Then his eyes open again; a mix of fierceness and tenderness that makes your heart want to explode. 

“Hey,” you say softly, wriggling your arms free to cup his face. He blinks several times. 

“Hey,” he says back, uncertain.  

“Thank you for coming back.” 

He huffs a laugh, a hint of a smile bringing more brightness than the sun. Resting his elbow by your head, he dips his to kiss your mouth. “I can’t stay away,” he says between that kiss and the next. 

His thrusts start slow, almost teasing. But they build fast, soon stroking a speed that breaks free as his kisses turn biting and his fingers find your hair. However he did it, each touch is a thousand starbursts at once, deepening the sensation in your core to spread across every limb, every muscle, every cell. Each stroke brings a small gasp from your lips to spill between his. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg at a higher-pitch than normal. Fingernails dig into his shoulders, hanging on for purchase as the legs of the bed scrape across the floor. Not the first time he’s done that, but it makes you want to laugh, all the same. 

“I’m not gonna!” His tongue is heavy against yours, his taste filling your senses. Touch, smell, all of it. With a shudder the bed hits the wall, and your shriek of unconstrained laughter has Law dragging himself away from you with a glare. But who wants to glare in the middle of sex? With another laugh you pull his head back down, lifting your hips against his for an angle that turns that kiss into a careening gasp. 

He knows. He knows, and remembers. He doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t slow. Your climax springs without warning, unable to continue the kissing in this condition. He doesn’t seem to mind, his head lowering to rest by yours as his groans start with a rumble. 

He continues long enough after the end of your orgasm for the delicious sensation to begin again before he jerks to a stop. A few more thrusts break his voice into a shivering bleat. 

The battering against the wall stops. And aren’t you so glad you have no neighbors? 

Your fingers run up and down his damp back, noting every rise and fall of muscle as he catches his breath. Even now, his weight isn’t uncomfortable. Because it’s him. It’s him and he’ll never be too much or too heavy. Blissfully your eyes drift shut, blocking out the morning light the tufts of black hair trying to cover it up. 

Law litters kisses along your hairline. Behind your ear, above it, and to your forehead, which must be as sweaty as his back. It doesn’t stop him. 

Then he kisses your eyes; first one, then the other. 

“Look at me?” A soft-spoken request. 

Look at him. And see what you don’t want. 

Your eyes open, hating that time brought this back. 

But Law smiles. He smiles as he gently smooths down your hair, his eyes skating over your face as if to memorize every pore. “Do you love me?” he asks. 

Now that is a question! Tempting you laugh, but you don’t. 

“Do the stars love one another?” you ask back, not quite hiding the bitterness in your voice. “Tracing and chasing their paths across the sky, never to touch except in dreams?” 

Law says nothing to that, but waits. 

“I love you,” you say. 

“That’s all I need,” he says. 

“What about what I need?” 

His face untwists from his smile into something confused, something a little belligerent. “I asked if you want to sail with me,” he says. “But I…”

“Didn’t mean it,” you finish. These conversations were like walking on broken glass. Delicate. Tentative. Someone was always bound to be hurt if rushed through. “The sea isn’t for me,” you tell him, hoping it will prevent a shard from breaking skin. 

But it seems to, anyway. Law frowns. “I wish it was,” he says.

So do I. But more than that, I wish you were for me. Not just sometimes, but always. 

He peels away at last, though if you had your way, he’d be in your bed forever. But he doesn’t go far: striding to the side of the bed where his pants had been tossed irreverently, scooping them up to rifle through the pockets. He pulled out something glinting, concealing it in his fist as he grins, returning to bed. Curious, you prop yourself onto an elbow. 

“Hold out your hand,” Law says. 

Dubiously you look for deception in his face, and see none. You put out your hand. 

Something cool and clinking drops into it. When he moves his hand away you see gold. Gold coins, strung together on a gold chain. A small one. 

“I can’t wear bracelets,” you say, bubbling into laughter. “Law! It’ll get covered in clay in ten seconds!” 

“It’s not a bracelet, you menace.” Law laughs, too, seizing your hand to pull your arm straight. He takes the bracelet-not-a-bracelet back. Evidently you’ve been judged too nonsensical to appreciate the gift yourself: he loops the chain around your upper arm, securing it with warm fingers. 

Oh. Not a bracelet. 

“I’m not stupid enough to get you a bracelet,” he says, quirking a brow in your direction. “Or a necklace. You’ve complained about those hanging into your work too. This won’t fall or dangle, so I thought it was the best option.” 

“You know what else doesn’t dangle?” Your fingers trace the gold coins. They’re hammered for texture; thin and delicate, reflecting the sunlight beautifully. “A crown. Next time, I want a crown.” 

Law’s laugh breaks into a bellow, filling every corner of the room with his mirth. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard that noise coming from him, and it prickles your skin with pleasure. 

“Fine,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Next time, a crown.” 

“Thank you,” you tell him. “For the gift. I mean it. I’m sorry for teasing.” 

“Don’t be. I love it.” 

“Do you love me?” The question blurts out without thinking. He jolts in surprise, eyes widening. “It’s only fair,” you say, trying to soften the abruptness of it. “You asked me. I get to ask you.” 

But his answer doesn’t come. Not right away. 

“Well, I’m not bringing jewelry for every woman in town,” Law says at last. 

“I hope you’re not licking them, either.”

He glares. You smirk. 

“I’ll answer your question,” he says. “But not today.” 

“When?” 

“When I return.” 

“Is there a reason you’re delaying?” you ask. “Do you need to break a prior engagement first? Let down any other lovers?” 

“No,” Law says. “None of that.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip. Something your teeth would like to do. He runs his fingers through his hair, sticking it on end. “If I tell you I love you,” he starts. Pauses. Takes a deep breath. “If I tell you I love you then I can’t leave. I wouldn’t.” Another pause, one that sinks his words past dread and into misery. “And I can’t…I can’t stay. Not yet.” 

“So,” you say. Your voice cracks a little. “You get to know I love you, but I have to wait in suspense for however?” 

His smile returns like the dawn. He leans over to kiss your forehead, wafting his manly scent over you. Inhaling deeply, the scent brands itself on your lungs. Never enough. “Luckily I know you like surprises. Besides, I thought you’d figure it out by now.”

Figure what out? Could he be any more vague? It was like searching for answers from a squirrel. A handsome, generous squirrel, but a squirrel all the same. 

“Oh, stop pouting,” Law laughs, attempting to smooth out your frown with a thumb. “Does the stream out back still have fish in it? I’ll catch breakfast.” He rises before you can answer, grabbing his pants once more. This time to pull them on. 

Ugh. Pants are the worst. 

“I’ll cook them too, if you want,” he says, buttoning the waistband with nimble fingers. You drag your eyes from his navel up to his face, with a very intelligent, 

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He smiles. “You have clay beneath your fingernails.” 

Law disappears out the door before you can retort, and the view of his backside in his tight pants erases all thoughts from your head.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🝊 Curse in Two Bodies: Yule Special 🝊

Masterlist | Summary: With the curse evenly split between them, Adelais and Ninlen struggle through their respective holiday celebrations while pretending they both just have colds. But Adelais isn't doing too well.

Note that there has been a time skip! This is a month or two after we left off. Adelais and Ninlen have learned how to split the curse partially between them, and have started to work together to some extent.

Oh Ievenar, God of Justice, who holds the scales:

Today I come to you with gratitude. For these few hours, I lost myself in the joy of the season, sitting in an easy chair to watch flames consume the yule tree piece by piece in our hearth. What’s a little pain in my body anyway? At an approximately fifty-fifty split, the curse feels, for each of us, like one of the worst sore throats we’ve ever had, but it’s bearable. And it wouldn't work any other way, with the palace festivities happening at the same time as my family's party. I think it was a pretty clever solution. The flannel buttoned up to my chin hides what lacerations there still are, wrapped twice in gauze to prevent visible bleeding. And I am with the people I love, at the little cabin in the valley outside Korsaivar City, where the smoke rises against a golden sky while the sun slowly plunges into the longest night of the year. Home sits on good land, over a humble but deep mana well. I can feel the familiar, energetic strength radiating both from the people around me and from the soil below.

I do love these people, in spite of everything. We aren’t a peaceful family. We claw at one another in our desperation to rise above the circumstances we were born into. I am, at times, tired of being their meal ticket. But they’ve been doting on me all day. They think I have a cold, as an excuse for my raspy voice and my pain on swallowing. It has meant that I can’t hold my newborn niece, Esmerelda, but still, she waves to me across the room in a conversation of curious glances. They’ve wrapped me in quilts, and given me cup after cup of steaming hot chocolate and tea. I feel so cared for… Rarely have I felt so comfortable in every part of my body except the neck. It doesn’t stop me from drawing deep inhales of cedar smoke. Every burning breath is a reminder of how possible it is to be happy even in pain. I am happy, Ievenar.

But I don’t come to you for myself. I come to you, as usual, for Adelais.

It was about three o’clock when he appeared on the television in the corner, tuned to the news broadcast of the royal celebration and national address. Immaculate, as usual, in a pure white military uniform adorned in thin lines of gold, he stood on the balcony overlooking the south courtyard, flanked by his mother and father. Neither of them looked at him even once.

He, too, had made illness his excuse for the way his voice would sound when he spoke his piece on the state of the kingdom and the decrees for the upcoming year. I doubt anyone will question it. He looked positively ashen.

He rested on the cold granite of the railing sometimes, to stop himself from swaying. Those months spent on life support are still haunting his atrophied frame. He’s dizzy, and he’s in at least as much pain as me. Even now, I swallow, and feel that knife-like jab in response, and it makes me uneasy for him.

I don’t want him to suffer so much, Ievenar. It’s as simple as that, what I have to say to you today.

I texted him, because I couldn’t contain myself. “I can see you on TV.”

He was sitting by that point, mercifully, at some kind of long, marble table set up on the balcony. The feed kept cutting to close-ups of his father, who droned on about war bonds, and in those stretches, he was able to reply, “Lovely. /s” His eyes darted across the crowd from one news team to another.

“I’m seeing the feed on your left, from KNZ Daily. And sometimes the one across from you, centered.”

He looked down at his phone, then right at the camera, his face expressionless. “Do I look as bad as I feel?”

Should I have lied? I didn’t. “It’s definitely believable that you’re sick. I don’t know why they have you up there on live news.”

“Neither do I. It’s a PR disaster waiting to happen.”

“You’re doing well so far.” A small shake of the head, and he abandoned his phone pointedly enough that I didn’t bother texting again.

He managed to get to his feet to speak. I couldn’t hear him much over the sounds of the card game going on in my own home. I redirected my attention again and again to the cards on the table and the gingerbread cookies, away from the thready, stumbling rasp of his voice, underpinned with misery even as he forced himself to smile. The warmth and laughter surrounding me seemed to mock him. Just because I was born here, and he was born there, we suffer differently. Where is the justice in that, Ievenar? If it were me, working long hours in the fields, everyone would see the injustice. But because his suffering is the suffering of guilt, no one sees it.

I looked down at my phone again when the card game was over, and at the television. He was seated once more by that time, and the sun painted pink and gold across his bloodless face. A chill wind ruffled the platinum blond fluff under his crown, and he rubbed at his temple. “Ninlen,” he had texted me (some ten minutes prior), “I think I’m actually coming down with something.”

A strange, protective jolt went through my heart. I felt the unmistakable, intoxicating uprush of my body drawing power involuntarily. “Did you feel that?” my mother asked. “Ripple in the mana.”

“Weird,” I lied, and discharged it quietly, flexing my wrists and letting the veins glow under my sleeves until I didn’t feel like I’d explode anymore.

Under control again, I managed to type, “It’s cold out there. You’ll feel better when you’re inside.”

“No. My throat hurts worse and worse. I’m getting congested. And I feel so faint.” He was visibly frowning and sniffling. Did you see him, Ievenar? Were you looking at him? You made him so miserable. Why punish him now, when he’s already in pain? He’s sick. Just lift the curse for a little while, just…

I know that’s not how it works. But it’s how it should work. I’ll say it. That’s what I see. If his throat hurts anyway, why double it?

“Come back tonight. Please. I won’t be able to sleep like this.” The please, from him…that’s really something.

“I can’t. I’ve rightfully taken my paid leave, and I promised my family. I’m so sorry. But I’ll be there first thing in the morning.” He sniffed again and left me on read.

The press conference wore on. Outside the thick lattice of my window, snowflakes started to tumble out of the sky. Heavy and thick, good for a snowman tomorrow. It had started up at the palace too. Despite the overhang above the balcony, a dusting had started to settle on Adelais’ hair and his almost bluish lips. He was shivering too violently to conceal.

“Will they let you go inside, now that your speaking part is over? If you tell them you’re sick?”

“There’s not much chance of that.” But he leaned towards his mother while the mics were cut to focus on the choir performance in the courtyard below. He whispered something to her, and she shook her head. A moment later, she whispered back, turning her whole body for it, lips drawn tight and speaking forcefully. Adelais looked away. His eyes went…a bit dead. A scolding looks the same even in the royal family.

“I’m sorry,” I texted. “This is awful.” He stared down at his lap, at my reply, his face trembling dangerously.

“It’s fine. I deserve it.” It’s lucky I was glued to my phone in a near frenzy of nerves, because the message was deleted a moment later. I looked back up and watched him take deep breath after deep breath, fighting not to cry.

When I tell you I almost drew the entire mana well into my body, Ievenar… God, such a desperation came over me, to intervene. But we were setting the table for dinner, laying out the candles and the sprigs of holly.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I texted Steward Quincy. “The Prince is genuinely sick. Get him inside if you can. If you can’t, get him a coat or a blanket or something warm.”

“In the middle of the Yule broadcast? I don’t even have the authority to do that.”

“Do you want him to pass out on live television?” It was a bit of an exaggeration, but so be it.

A minute later, a member of the PR team stepped up behind him, speaking briefly to him and setting a thick overcoat around his shoulders. I have very been grateful today, Ievenar. But I was most grateful at that moment.

Another wave of emotion seemed to go through him, by the heavy way he was breathing, but he fought it down. He looked right into the camera then, and smiled weakly at me. At me, I’m certain, because a moment later he texted, “thank you.” But I’m also certain that the whole portion of the kingdom who happened to be watching at that moment found themselves thoroughly dazzled by the fondness there.

I’m laying in my childhood bed now, and I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s trying to sleep now and probably can’t. He told me afterwards, in his formal, matter-of-fact way, “It seems I have a fever. Everything hurts. Don’t be late tomorrow morning.”

And I won’t be late. But I also won’t be early enough. So please. Nature is hurting him enough tonight, Ievenar. Can’t you just give him a break, just this once? Before I go mad with protectiveness and draw every spark of power from here to Montagleo, leave him alone.

[miabrown007]

seven is my lucky number — ch. 8.

“Dating you, platonically, and moving in with you, platonically, that’s definitely optimal! No problem at all!” Chat Noir said to Ladybug, and realistically, it should have been true. He was having a crush on Marinette for the longest time.

***

aka post-reveal pre-relationship roommates. but is it really pre-relationship if they are fake-dating?

seven is my lucky number (23,018 words, 8/14 chapters, Teen)

Even if Adrien didn’t always feel like he had everything in the bag regarding his new life — much like that was the case with the whole contract fiasco — he was decidedly against his father hearing about these things. They were not that kind of blue-blooded family.

Gabriel would only have gotten worked up over it and who was to tell if he was going to take it out on the university or Adrien. He wasn’t impressed by his son’s choice of major to begin with, and would have much prefered if Adrien worked for the company full-time. There was no need to give him more reason to think Adrien was incapable of handling his own affairs.

But when Adrien’s phone rang while he was getting dressed for the night, what else was he to do other than accept Nathalie’s call? And then explain, as tactfully as he was able to, why scheduling a last-minute photo shoot for the day after was absolutely off the table.

She didn’t sound pleased with the development. However, after taking note of which office to contact tomorrow to check whether Adrien had been successful, she generously offered another appointment for the fall collection’s shooting.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do Saturday, either,” Adrien said, his throat raspy from saying no so many times in quick succession. He bit his lip as he waited for Nathalie’s response from the other side of the ominously silent line.

“You’re pretty busy lately,” she said finally. Adrien heard the thin-lipped reprimand in her voice.

“I’m— I have had plans for Saturday for a long time now.” He fidgeted with his collar some, making a fruitless effort to button his shirt with one hand, before adding, “It’s my birthday.”

“I know.”

Adrien’s stomach dropped in a pond of burning lava.

The sound of disinterestedly turning calendar pages could be heard from the other side. “What about Friday? The photographer won’t be happy, but we can make it work.”

“Yes, that’s perfect! Friday’s perfect. Thank you, Nathalie!” he said, smiling at his sour reflection.

“I’m going to add it to your Google Calendar. Don’t be late!” she said before hanging up.

Adrien dragged his hand down his face. The other fell next to his side, clutching the phone. He wanted to get rid of it, to bury it outside in the community garden. He wanted his father to be on the line as he threw a new spadeful of dirt on it. And while he did, Adrien wanted to go into excruciating detail about why and since when he wanted to quit being golden boy Adrien Agreste.

He didn’t.

He never did.

Instead, he took a big breath, finished buttoning his shirt and stepped out of his bedroom. He found Marinette spinning around in the corridor. She watched in the full-body mirror how the skirt of her dress flew after her.

When she noticed him, she stopped, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How do I look?”

How did she look?

She looked like a fire only getting started, but ready to burn empires to the ground if poked right. The rim of her dress dangling around her knees, the flames waiting to run wild; the satin bow in her hair a spark in the smoulder, ready to ignite.

She looked like the sun rising over a sea of infinite opportunities, casting a playful wink at the sailors longing for home.

She looked like the sunset that promised the wind of change.

“Red really is your colour,” was all Adrien said.

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself,” she returned with a warm smile.

She turned back to the mirror, and undid the bow in her hair to tie it again around a few locks at the back of her head. All the while, her gaze stayed intertwined with his.

Forgetting his stare on her relaxed shoulders, on the gentle curve of her lips, Adrien had never been so grateful for the Bourgeois' weekend house in Loire Valley. He liked Luka and Zoé plenty, but he wanted them nowhere near Marinette on a night she was supposed to be having fun. The constant compulsion to pretend she wasn’t head over heels for the love of her life surely would have made that difficult; even if she was doing surprisingly well so far on their brief meeting with Luka.

Besides, who knew what silly situation she would get herself into when alcohol and the guy she was crushing on since middle school was involved. Adrien decided it was safer not to find out. Marinette deserved a night with her friends when she didn’t need to worry about such things.

Good thing it was just Adrien at the party.

[read the whole chapter on AO3]

@mlbigbang @miraculousfanworks @discoveringmiraculouswriters

[flightlessangelwings]

Keep You Safe

Frankie Morales x gn!reader (no y/n)

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: fluff, pining, mild angst, a shitty ex, a break in, brief panic attack (not overly detailed), protective!Frankie, bed sharing, happy ending

Notes: This sat drafted for weeks cause I just kept picking at it and I think I’m finally happy with it so I hope y’all enjoy it! Thanks to my wonderful partner @we-can-be-himbos​ for beta reading for me!

~

The little dive bar was full of noise and life. You stood around a high top with your brother, Santiago, and your shared friends Will, Benny, and Frankie. Technically Santi was your step brother; your parents married when you both were young, but you two grew up together and he never treated you like anything other than a sibling. He was always very protective of you and always looked after you even well into adulthood. The two of you even lived together in a shared little house since he was away a lot for his job.

You all gathered together because it was Santiago’s last night before he left for his deployment. It was always tradition before any of the guys left to have a night out as a send off, and you loved when you and the boys all got together. You were fond of the Miller brothers, but you had a special place in your heart for Frankie Morales. 

Frankie captivated you ever since the day you first met all those years ago. You hid it as best you could, but you couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on him for just a moment too long or the way your heart flipped in your chest whenever he laughed. And whenever you weren’t looking, Frankie’s eyes trailed down your figure as he shifted in his boots. He always smirked at your effortless charm that drew him in from the get-go.

There was an undeniable attraction between you and Frankie, and the rest of the guys could definitely sense it. Yet, no one said anything. Perhaps no one wanted to be the one to tell Santiago that you were interested in his best friend. Or maybe they wanted you and Frankie to come together on your own without more than a gentle nudge from the rest of the group. 

But what no one knew was that you and Frankie did hook up once. It was a couple of months ago after a night out at the bar, much like this one, and Frankie had offered to take you home. Santi had already left with a random person he had been making eyes at all night and trusted your safety with Frankie. One thing led to another and you ended up naked in his bed after several orgasms. The two of you agreed to never mention that night again, although it was always on your mind.

You had no idea that it was always on Frankie’s mind as well.

Glasses clinked as you and the boys all cheered to Santiago’s health and wished him luck on his mission. He would be gone for several months: the longest he would be away. You all chattered and laughed as you shared memories of good times. Benny let out a loud cackle and rested his hand on your shoulder as you told an embarrassing story about Santiago from your childhood and Frankie couldn’t help the way he frowned slightly. He wasn’t a jealous person, but he wished that he could be so casual in his touches with you as the others were.

“Hey Fish,” Santiago’s voice shook Frankie from his thoughts, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Frankie nodded as he finished his beer before he followed Santi to a quiet corner of the bar.

You watched the two men walk away with furrowed brows, “What's that about?” you asked as you took a sip of your drink.

“I bet he’s telling Fish to make sure Benny keeps his hands off of you,” Will joked, which made you burst into laughter as Benny gave him an exaggerated pout.

Santi and Frankie looked to be deep in conversation and they both had serious looks on their faces. You didn’t bother to try to eavesdrop, since the bar was too loud and you settled for just watching their interaction from a distance. But you were soon distracted when you felt another pair of eyes on you. A chill ran down your spine as you casually leaned back and tried to find the source.

On the other end of the bar you swore you saw Casey, your ex. His face disappeared into the crowd before you could be sure, but even just the thought made you uneasy. Things did not end well with Casey; he was very overbearing and made you uncomfortable with how possessive he was. Even after you ended your relationship with him, you found that he would pop up sometimes whenever you were out like he was following you. 

You shuffled closer to Will and Benny as you rejoined the conversation and tried to put your ex’s face out of your mind. The boys didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary and you convinced yourself that it was just your imagination as you put a soft smile back on your face.

The other two came back to the table within a few minutes, and you and Santi left the bar shortly after that. His flight was early the next morning and you wanted to get some sleep before you drove him to the airport. Even as you left with your brother, you still felt those ice cold eyes on you, but you didn’t say anything to Santiago.

Your little one story house you shared with your brother was cute and cozy, and was just enough for the two of you. You each had your own bedrooms and separate bathrooms, which was a must when you were house hunting. The car was quiet as he drove the two of you home, and though Santi usually pressed you about what was on your mind, he chose to stay quiet this time. 

“What time do we need to leave, Santi?” you asked though the wall as you got ready for bed.

“Six,” he shouted back.

Fuck, that was so early. But you always liked to be the one to take him to the airport whenever he left for assignments, so you sucked it up for one morning. You could always come right back home and go back to bed anyway. After you said your goodnights, you slipped into bed where you fell asleep quicker than you expected to with how full your head was.

But you didn’t stay asleep.

A loud bang at the front door jolted you awake and you scrambled out of bed to duck down onto the floor like your brother had taught you to. The noise must have woken Santiago up as well because you heard him shout your name as he told you to stay in your room. You heard an argument and you recognized the other voice anywhere: Casey. You gasped as you realized that was actually him at the bar and he must have followed you home.

You cracked your door open just enough to see into the living room where Santiago was locked in a heated argument with your ex. Panic raced through your veins as you fell back onto the floor. You didn’t even register that Santiago came back and was right in front of you. His hands were on your shoulders as he shook you gently to get you out of your head. It wasn’t until the third time he said your name that you came back to the present.

“Hey, hey,” Santi used as calming a voice as he could, “He’s gone.” He was just as frightened as you were, and he was ready to defend and protect you. Santi watched you in your relationship with him and he didn’t like the way the guy treated you at all. You were the only family he had left, and he would do anything for you, “You ok?”

You swallowed hard as you nodded weakly, “I’m ok,” you took in a big breath to steady yourself, “It was Casey wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he grit his teeth, clearly annoyed, “But you’re ok,” he pulled you in for a hug, “We’re ok,” Santi repeated.

You trembled but your brother’s embrace was calming, and the two of you stayed like that for several minutes, “I don’t think I can go back to sleep now.”

He let out a short laugh, “Me either,” he broke away to take a look at your face, “How about some coffee?”

“I don’t wanna stay here…” your voice was weak.

Santi nodded in understanding, “There’s a 24 hour diner, how about we load up the car and go there?”

Instead of leaving at six in the morning, you and your brother walked out of the door around 4:30. Santi tossed his bags in the backseat and offered to drive, but you insisted you could. You needed something to focus your mind. The two of you were the only ones at the diner save for the couple of workers, and you sat at the booth in silence for some time with a pot of coffee on the table between you.

“Go to Frankie’s,” Santi finally broke the silence. He desperately wanted to do something to help you, but he had no idea what.

“What?” you barely heard his voice, too lost in your thoughts.

“I don’t want you home alone after I leave,” he explained, “Go to Frankie’s for now and tell him what happened.”

You winced, you didn’t want to have to relive what happened in your head as you told the story to someone else. Even if it was Frankie. “Alright…”

“Hey,” he laid a hand on top of where yours laid on the table to get you to meet his gaze, “You know I’d stay if I could.”

“I know,” you sighed. You were quiet again for a moment before you changed the subject with a question that had been on your mind, “What did you say to Frankie at the bar last night?”

Santi grinned, “I asked him to take care of you while I’m gone. Because I know he will.” Frankie was the person that he trusted the most, and Santi could tell how much he cared about you. Frankie even confided in him how much he didn’t like Casey and how much he worried for you. If anyone would do anything to protect his family while he was gone, it was Frankie. 

You frowned, “He told you we slept together didn’t he?”

“Nope,” the shit-eating grin that came across Santi’s face was priceless as he leaned back in the booth, “But you just did.”

You sighed dramatically as you buried your face in your hands and collapsed onto the table, “Dammit Santi…” but you also couldn’t help but giggle when you heard his laughter. 

As the sun started to rise on the horizon, the two of you decided to leave for the airport. The talk with your brother and the several pots of coffee helped to ease your nerves, but you still fell quiet again as you drove. Usually, the car ride to the airport was full of chatter, but not today. And Santi hated that he had to leave right after something like this happened, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Santiago bid you goodbye with a tight embrace as you dropped him off at the terminal, and he made you promise to go to Frankie’s. You assured him that you would go straight there, even if it was still ungodly early in the morning. As you watched him walk through the doors and disappear into the small crowd, your heart fluttered as you thought about your next destination. 

It wasn’t that you meant to avoid Frankie since the night you slept with him. You just didn’t know what to do from there, so you only hung out with him in a group with the guys. Of course, you ended up spending most of your time talking to him anyway. There was just something about Frankie that you could not stay away from, no matter how hard you tried.

The sun shone brightly in the sky for how early it was as you drove over to Frankie’s house. You held your breath as you knocked at his door and hoped that he wouldn’t be mad that you woke him up. But, your breath caught in your throat when he answered the door in nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hung how on his hips. You had seen him naked before, but the sight before you literally knocked the wind out of you.

You temporarily forgot about everything that had plagued your mind for the past couple hours as you stood awestruck at Frankie’s front door. It took you several moments to even notice the grimace on his face as you obviously had woken him up.

But Frankie wasn’t mad; he could never be mad at you. He said your name to snap you out of your thoughts, and he couldn’t help the small chuckle at the way you looked at him. If he was honest with himself, Frankie would have liked to ask you out on an actual date after you two hooked up. But, you came up with the arrangement to keep your relationship under wraps for now before he could. 

“What are you doing here so early?” he asked in a groggy voice, “Everything alright?”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s early,” a heavy sigh escaped your lips as the memories of earlier this morning flooded back, “Can… Can I come in?”

Frankie stepped aside and extended an arm to lead you in, “Of course,” he couldn’t hide the concern in his voice. Obviously something was wrong, and he immediately worried about you. “Did something happen? Everything good with Pope?”

You bit your lip and nodded, “Yeah, he’s on his flight. He’s good,” you sat down on Frankie’s couch and you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes as he gently sat down next to you.

His eyes bore into your figure as he asked the silent question in concern for you. Frankie carefully placed a hand on your thigh and gave it a soft squeeze to get you to look at him. The way he looked at you made you melt, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Casey came by early this morning,” you blurted out, “And he and Santi got into it.”

“What?!” Frankie immediately went on high alert as questions poured from his mouth and he wrapped his arms around you without a second thought.

“I’m ok, I’m ok,” you reassured him as you leaned into his embrace, “Santi told him off.” You felt Frankie tighten his grip on you and you swore you heard a growl from deep in his throat, “I just… I don’t know what to do now.” Frankie was the one person you confided to about how nervous Casey made you, and how you thought you had seen him pop up whenever you were out.

“You can stay here,” he said without hesitation, “As long as you want.”

You let out a deep breath. Frankie only had one bedroom, so that either meant you would share a bed with him or you would be just a few feet away on the couch. Either way, you knew what staying the night with him would most likely lead to, and though you wanted that more than anything else in the world, you were hesitant. You weren’t even sure why you were; obviously your brother was more than ok with the idea of you and Frankie together. Maybe you were too afraid to face your own feelings for him.

“I don’t want to impose,” you finally said, “Besides, I hate feeling like I’m scared out of my own house.”

Frankie was quiet for several moments. You were stronger than you gave yourself credit for, and you were stubborn to boot. Then, he had an idea, “How about this,” he started, “I’ll take you to get a new security system and an extra deadbolt for your door,” he stared at your for a moment before he told you the last part of his plan, “And I’ll stay over with you tonight.”

You didn’t need much time before you agreed to his plan, and you spent the entire day with Frankie. He packed himself an overnight bag and followed you in his car to your house to drop it off before he drove you to the store. He could tell that you were still uneasy, so he made a fun day of it and treated you to lunch as well.

The stresses of earlier in the morning melted away the longer you were with Frankie, and you were happy that you went to him. You had always felt comfortable with Frankie, even from the day you first met. And Frankie felt a connection and attraction to you right away as well. He would do anything to protect you, and he cared about you more than he could express with words. 

By the evening, Frankie had installed the new security system and extra locks and you had cooked him a big dinner as a thank you. As the two of you talked for hours, you felt more and more relaxed and the events of earlier this morning were pushed to the back of your mind. That was, until it came time to head to sleep.

“I’ll take the couch,” Frankie offered.

You stood in the living room as you fiddled with your fingers nervously. You didn’t want him to have to sleep on the couch, and you spoke before your mind caught up to your mouth, “Stay with me.”

Frankie stood dumbfounded as he stared at you, “What?”

“You… You can stay in my room. With me,” the last two words were just a whisper as you dropped your gaze down to the floor, “Please?”

A soft grin came across Frankie’s face; he couldn’t say no to you, especially when you asked like that, “Ok,” his voice was just as hushed as yours. 

The tension could be cut with a knife as the two of you settled into your bed. Luckily, it was big enough to fit you both, and as you laid on your side with your back to him, you found that you wanted nothing more than to turn over and nuzzle into his arms. And Frankie had to wrap his arms around his torso to keep from reaching out to you.

You didn’t know how long you laid next to Frankie, but you were sure he wasn’t asleep yet. Without a word, you gave in to your feelings and you rolled over and wrapped your arms around his waist and nuzzled into his back. You heard him gasp softly as he tensed for a moment before he also turned over so he could wrap his arms around you. Frankie pulled you in as close as he could and held you tightly and you smiled into his skin as you rested your head on his chest.

Everything felt right like this, and you would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for the way his heart pounded in his chest. You shifted so that you could look up at him, and the movement made him open his eyes. The two of you stared into each other’s eyes for several long moments before you hauled yourself up slowly and inched closer and closer to his face.

Frankie’s eyes never left yours, except to glance down at your lips once for a brief moment. He breathed your name as he gripped onto you tighter, as if he was afraid to let you go. Your eyes darted down to his own lips for a second before you closed the rest of the gap and placed a tender, soft kiss. He sighed into the kiss and held you as tightly as he possibly could.

He was about to deepen the kiss when a loud crash made both of you jump in surprise. There was a rattle and pounding at your front door, and you immediately panicked. Frankie, however, was quick to jump into action.

“You're ok, You’re ok,” he cupped your face and softened his expression for a moment, “Stay here. Lock your door,” he ordered before he grabbed something from his overnight bag and darted out of your bedroom.

Your hands shook as you did as you were told and quickly locked your door and scrambled back to the floor next to your bed. The sounds were muffled, but you could hear a fight just outside the door. Tears filled your eyes as you hoped that Frankie was ok, and your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you thought about how he did not hesitate for a second to jump in and protect you.

Then, everything got quiet and all you could hear was the sound of footsteps running away. You strained to listen and crawled over halfway to your door. You heard the sound of footsteps followed by running water from the sink before Frankie’s voice rang through the door.

“Baby, it’s me. It’s ok,” his voice was surprisingly calm and soothing, and you immediately jumped up and ran to unlock your bedroom door.

Frankie met you on the other side and you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly. Your shoulders shook as you sobbed into his chest, and you let out a deep breath when he hugged you back just as tightly.

“Shhh, it’s ok. You’re ok,” he stroked your back in a soothing manner as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, “I got you. You’re safe.”

“Frankie…” you breathed as you pulled back enough to look at his face, “Are you ok?” you cupped his cheek with one hand as you clung to his shirt with the other.

He smiled at you, “I’m fine,” he paused as he just gazed into your eyes, “He tried to get away, but your neighbor heard us fight and came out to keep him down,” Frankie kept a tight grip on you as he spoke, “Casey won’t bother you ever again. I promise.”

“Thank you, Frankie,” your voice was so quiet that you weren’t sure if he heard you as you dropped the hand that cupped his cheek down to his chest. You were silent again as you stayed securely in his arms, “Frankie I…”

He cut you off with a chaste kiss. Unlike when you kissed him in your bed, this one was more intense and full of passion. It was a desperate kiss, as if he used it to make sure you were actually here and ok. Frankie did not regret beating your ex up for you; he’d do anything to keep you safe. He kissed you for what felt like hours before he finally broke away for air.

“I know baby,” he murmured against your lips, “Me too,” he kissed you again, much more slowly this time. You weren’t going anywhere this time, and he had all the time in the world now to be with you. 

“Pope gonna be ok with this?” he asked with a laugh when he broke away again.

“I’ll handle my brother,” you joined in his laughter, “But he’s ok with it, trust me.”

Frankie gave you a look that said you had explaining to do later, but for now he just wanted to enjoy and relish the time with you and keep you safe in his arms.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVIII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader and Zemo try to figure out what’s next.

Note: I actually think we’re closer to an end then the beginning. My goal is to finish this before moving onto anything else but that might be my original stuff so I might take a little break after this series to figure that out! Your patience and following along has meant the world to me. <3

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

In the coming days, trunks were opened and stuffed with clothes, blankets, and miscellany. The servants did much of the work as when you were asked what to bring, you chose three plain dresses for you and several more outfits for Elina. Zemo tutted and ordered his staff to fill the chests.

There was no distinct urgency however as the horses were to be re-shoed before you set off and the baron seemed content to enjoy the summer sun with your daughter. He would sit with the two of you under the tree or take her on a walk of his sprawling green or dangle some ornament before her to reach for.

Your mind didn’t retreat from the prospect of your departure. He said a fortnight at longest, you had to leave before that. You worried about Elina and how she’d miss him and how she’d fare on the road. She was a healthy child but you couldn’t help but think of all that could go wrong.

The third day after the announcement of your looming trek, you sat on the balcony as Elina chewed on berries and Zemo sat with a book. The air was thick and damp from the heat but the sun was tamped out behind the gathering clouds. He wore his shirt untied at the top so that the fur of his chest peeked out and you wore a sleeveless cotton gown in a pale blue.

“Do you intend on negotiating? Truly?” you asked as your mind wandered.

He looked over the book and reached over to scoop up a slice of strawberry from Elina’s shirt and flicked it into the saucer, “what do you mean?”

“Are you going to try to seal the alliance they want or is it all a ruse?”

“My liege has given me leave to approach their proposal however I wish. If they present some benefits for us then yes, I should like to have peace but… they’ve not offered anything before that we couldn’t find elsewhere,” he shrugged and lowered the book, “are you concerned for them? The people who let you suffer as such?”

“It is still my homeland but that is not what I’m worried for. I wonder how long your patience can wear on,” you said.

“We have spoke on this, we both know--”

“Yes, I know, but… how long should I have left with my daughter?” you hissed.

“You think I mean to take you from her? Perhaps march you to your death?” he scowled.

“I know however this turns out, my place in it is perilous,” you retorted, “do not mock my fears.”

“I do not--” he took a breath and his sneer softened. He chuckled as he leaned forward, “you are stronger than before, you know that? You snap like a lioness. I thought you underestimated me but I see you only misjudge yourself.”

“You are vague with me so how can I trust--”

“I have seen you through your recovery, through a labour, and a life beyond that,” he said, “I only ask a little more for all that I’ve done.”

You sat back and cupped your chin. You looked at Elina, dark juices smeared around her lips. She was entirely undisturbed by the bickering of adults. You reached over and took her tiny, sticky hand. 

You thought of Lord Barnes and if you should face him again. The idea made your blood run cold. Would he hate you? Would he still want you? You did not doubt he would have some cruelty left for you but as you were, scarred and hobbled, would it be different? And if he discovered your daughter, what then?

“He can never know about her,” you said softly and cautiously looked at the baron, “please, he can’t--”

“If he ever sees her, he will only know her to be mine but I have no intent upon my daughter being near that brute in her lifetime,” he growled. No little baroness but ‘my daughter’. You smiled at Elina and she squeezed your finger.

“I am grateful for all you’ve done for her. I know you didn’t have to--” your eyes strayed beyond the railing as some distant movement flurried beneath the sun. You squinted and leaned on the arm of your chair as you tried to see the specks along the horizon.

Zemo followed your gaze and stood. He went to the golden scope he kept on the balcony and put his eye to it as he adjusted the sights. He tilted it and stood stalk straight as if he’d been struck. The scope bobbled and he steadied it.

“Get her to your rooms,” he said, “lock the door and don’t make a sound.”

“What? What is it?”

“They are early,” he hit his open hand with a fist, “the letter… it could not be. The king must’ve assumed and sent the party prematurely.” He went to Elina and lifted her. He kissed her cheek and waved you up to your feet, “go on, take her. Keep her quiet as you can. I will house them on a lower floor but they cannot suspect you, understood?”

“How do you--”

“The banner, it is all I can make out,” he said as he grabbed your cane and rushed you back through his cool chambers, “you will lock the door and I will have Ulrich keep watch over the corridor.”

“You didn’t see who it was?” you asked as he opened the door and thrust you out into the hallway.

“You will know when I know,” he assured, “keep your candles unlit and draw the curtains.”

“My lord--”

“I did not plan for this,” he said as he marched you down the hall. You tried not to stumble as he still had your cane and you only had him to keep you from falling, “my lady, I do fear you will not make it to the Creek as we planned.”

He stopped at your door and you hugged Elina as you leaned against the wall. She was entirely untroubled by the sudden upheaval, ever a happy baby. “My cane,” you pointed to his hand as he gripped the silver topper, “please?”

“Oh, I-- Yes,” he handed it to you then reached to open your door, “keep that close…” he said, “just in case.”

“We’ll be as quiet as we can,” you assured him as you held Elina against your hip and limped with your can into the dim chamber.

“I will have Tess secret up some food before their arrival but you do not come out for anyone but me. I will knock,” he tapped a pattern on the door, “like so.”

“Yes, my lord,” you squeezed Elina as the nerves stormed inside of you.

He sighed and gripped the door as he leaned on it, “I only have a few hours to hide the evidence of you and all we’ve done to see you off. Even so, they will not suspect anything unless they are fed crumbs, yes?”

“I understand, my lord,” you stiffened and forced back the panic, “we will see what comes and do as we must,” you swayed Elina as she began to fuss, “for her.”

“For her,” he repeated, “now I must go.”

He closed the door and you set Elina down on the rug with the mouse Tess had sewn for her. You went to the door and twisted the latch into place. You turned back to watch your daughter as she tossed the toy and giggled. She pushed herself up to her feet, more certain everytime she stood. The time was passing much too quick.

🏰

You tried to distract yourself by playing with Elina and keeping her quiet. You worried however, the few times she made noise, that you would blow it all. When Tess brought the food, it was easier as your daughter grew hungry and restless. Once she had a proper meal in her, she was ready to lay down. She dozed beside you on the bed as you listened to the activity below.

First, you heard the horses through the window and the rattling carts and carriages. The voices were too distant to discern above a muffle and you weren’t so foolish as to peek out, even from so high up. You calmed yourself by watching Elina sleep but you knew you would not rest that night.

The sun sunk further behind the clouds and the evening approached with a dullness which forewarned of storms. You flinched at every noise, even floors below, and waited and waited and waited.

You had faith in Zemo, he was a great pretender. It was that very quality which kept you wary of him for so long. 

When Elina stirred again, you quieted her cries with your tit but she wasn’t taking to your nipple as eagerly as before. It calmed her for a while but she was soon awake again. You let her explore the chamber but not far from you and kept her away from the clacking wooden blocks gifted her by the baron.

And then the knock came as the sky blackened and grey clouds rumbled above. The rhythm drew you to the latch and Zemo slipped through the door. He was quick to lock it again as you ambled without your cane, afraid to tap the floor too hard with it. Elina greeted him with a shrill cry but it was blanketed by the bluster of the rising chaos in the heavens.

“The storm will frighten her but it should also help hide her,” Zemo said plaintively, “I hope.”

“They are here and settled?” you asked.

“Yes, so they are,” he confirmed as he picked up Elina, “They are too concerned with themselves to worry about any dead women hidden above.”

He sat in the armchair as the girl played with his beard as she liked to do. He smiled and let her, poking out his tongue until she did the same. He bounced her on his lap and she gibbered noisily.

“They are floors down, you should be safe to exist but if she cries, you will have to be quick to quiet her,” he girded.

“Anyone we know?” you asked as you sat on the foot of the bed and rubbed your hip.

He was silent and kept his attention on Elina. He raised his hand and let her bend his fingers to her will. She grabbed onto his ring and twisted it around his knuckle.

“My lord, is there--”

“Yes,” he huffed at last. He kissed the child’s forehead and set her down to crawl across the carpet, though she didn’t go far before she was distracted by her stuffed mouse.

“Who is it?” you asked as you folded your hands.

He rubbed his forehead then pushed his head back, “it isn’t him,” he assured, “if they were callous enough to send him or he was fool enough to come, well, we wouldn’t be having this placid conversation.”

“Who?” you asked again.

“His dog, Lord Rogers,” Zemo spat, “I don’t know which is worse. The man was watching Melinda as a wolf would watch a deer. I don’t even know the girl has flowered yet and he would be sniffing at her skirts. Despicable.”

“Rogers?” you breathed and your chest knotted. 

A roll of thunder boomed at that very moment and made you gasp. Elina stopped playing and her lip began to quiver. You slid off the bed to your knees and went to her and gathered her up. You cooed and hushed her and she clung to the collar of your dress. You watched her face as the fear retreated and she turned to watch the window flash. The terror turned to curiosity in an instant.

“Ha, look how brave she is,” he snickered.

You nodded, speechless still. Your nose tingled and your eyes burned. You were so overcome at the idea of that man being so close. You recalled that day in the forest, your singular mistake, then the scene in the carriage, and that on the staircase when Zemo himself had kept you from his perversions.

“My lady?” he said, “you look unsettled.”

“Take her,” you murmured then cleared your throat, “please, take Elina.”

He got up and took her from your arms. You pulled yourself up by the bedpost and leaned against it, your grip tightened around the carved wood. Your chest pattered in time with the downpour against the castle walls. You shook as you felt the scar along your face and those that led down beneath your dress. It hadn’t just been Barnes.

“Lady?” Zemo got closer as Elina babbled.

“I… can’t breathe,” you said and turned to fall back onto your rear, the mattress dipping beneath you as your fingers clung to the post, “I can’t…”

‘A bird, a bird, high above the cloud…’ he began to sing as much to Elina as you, a tune in his own tongue, ‘a wing, a wing, flaps without a sound…’ he rocked the girl but kept his eyes on you, ‘an angel, an angel, looking down on me. A blessing, a blessing, cast upon the lea…’

He reached with one hand and drew you up to your feet. He let you lean against him as he embraced you against your daughter and kept swaying in time to his voice and the sudden onslaught of the storm, ‘a lady, a lady, spinning at her wheel. A mother, a mother, her will as strong as steel…”

You clung to his sleeve and buried your face against the thin cotton. He kept singing until Elina was quiet and the rattling of your bones stilled. You were embarrassed at the sudden emotion which overcame you and the dampness on your cheeks. He carefully sat you back down and shushed.

The rain continued but the thunder passed. He moved carefully to lay Elina in her cot and stood as you hid your face behind your hand.

“I’m…” you uttered.

“No, that man. I remember that day,” he sat beside you and gripped his knees, “I know what he would’ve done and I am wise enough to know it was not the first he’d touched you.”

“It was long ago,” you said, “I shouldn’t be so… frail.”

“You are...strong. You must stay strong for her,” he sniffed and touched your elbow, “but you feel it now.”

“Feel what?” you blinked at him.

“The longing… for vengeance?”

You stared into his dark eyes and your chest continued to twist. Your spine went rigid and your jaw clenched. “I do,” you nodded and looked over at your daughter, “I feel it so very deeply.”

[thedeathdeelers]

red flannel

It had been the longest day of Luke's (after)life, or at least it had felt like it.

The boys had spent all day preparing for Julie's Sweet 16, all three working hard alongside Ray and Carlos to make sure this was going to be the best birthday Julie could possibly have.

With Flynn keeping her busy in her bedroom and around the house (the studio was strictly off-limits), all five of them had accomplished what they had set out to do in record time, the studio looking better than it had ever had.

Once they were done, Ray and Carlos had head back into the house for the night, sending Flynn straight home after dinner.

Soon after, Alex had poofed out to meet up with Willie, while Reggie made his way over to the old TV in the studio declaring that Mario Kart had been calling his name all day.

Fully aware that it was already too late for Julie to still be awake, Luke tries to settle in for a writing session, bringing his journal and a couple of pens with him as he collapses onto his couch. But try as he might, every time Luke's eyes wandered around the studio looking for inspiration, they would always end up in the direction of Julie's bedroom window.

Maybe she was still awake? Her nightlight was still on, and he hadn't seen her all day...

Luke's mind refuses to focus as he sits on the couch with his journal forgotten, his leg bouncing up and down relentlessly while the thought of just popping up to check on her continues to swirl around his mind.

Just a peak, something to ease his mind until he could wish her a proper happy birthday in the morning.

With his mind made up and eager to get to her, Luke quickly poofs out of the studio, his journal falling onto the couch with a quiet thud. He lands softly on Julie's window terrace, his fingers automatically latching onto her windowsill as he pulls himself closer to the glass. He tells himself he's only going to check on her, that if she's asleep he will poof right back to the studio, but the second his eyes land on her sleeping form on the bed, all hopes of leaving her evaporate into thin air.

Because right there, sleeping peacefully right in the centre of her bed, lay Julie fully wrapped up in his flannel. He stands there frozen as he takes in the sight before him, his mind empty of any and all thoughts.

She was curled in on herself, her knees tucked up close to her chest as his much larger flannel covered her from head to toe.

His gaze lingers on the mass of curls out on display, fanning over the red material, a contrast of colours that keeps pulling his attention to it.

Finally he lets his eyes tick up towards her face, finding a peaceful expression adorning her features. He watches, entranced, as she takes in slow regular breaths, the tip of his flannel's collar moving ever so slightly with each exhale, the soft material brushing against her cheek.

A slight movement brings him out of his daze, his eyes shifting once again as they zero in on her hands. Her fingers, already wrapped around his flannel, tighten their grip on it as she pulls the material closer to her body, as if to ward off a cool chill in the air.

Without thinking, Luke find himself poofing into Julie's bedroom as he pulls off the spare blanket from the bean bag and makes his way towards her bed.

He stops in his tracks when he sees her stirring slightly in her sleep, not wanting to make any noise that might wake up. He watches with baited breath as she burrows her face deeper into the material, taking in a deep breath near the collar, a small smile taking shape on her lips as she exhales.

He imagines his heart would be stuttering in its place at the sight before him as warmth floods his chest. Allowing himself a few more seconds to commit this moment to memory, Luke slowly resumes his movements, walking up to the edge of the bed as he very carefully drapes the blanket over Julie's sleeping form.

He watches her as she warms up under the blanket, her grip on his flannel relaxing, while the smile on her face remains unchanged.

As if by reflex, Luke's hand stretches out over the bed, his finger coming to rest on the apple of her cheek as it lightly traces down the line of her jaw, keeping a featherlight touch. He lingers near the corner of her smile, unable to look or move away from his favourite Julie Molina feature. Even in the dim light of her nightlight, Julie was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

With great reluctance and the repetitive sound of her voice repeatedly chanting "boundaries" at him in his head, Luke retracts his hand, only to be stopped by warm fingers wrapping themselves around his. His gaze flies up to Julie's eyes to find them half-open and trained on his face.

"Go back to sleep, Jules," he whispers to her, his hand still in her grasp.

"Luke." His name on her tongue, a sound so simple, yet so powerful. He can already feel himself being pulled back in towards her.

"Sorry I woke you, you just looked a little cold so I brought you a blanket. You can go back to sleep now, I was just about to leave." He keeps his voice low, a murmur, in hopes that the sound would lull her back to sleep. He tries to gently tug his hand out of her grip, only for her to hold on tighter.

Her reply is too quiet for him to hear, forcing him to lean down closer to her level.

"What'd you say Jules? I didn't catch that."

"Stay," she says, this time just a little louder, her voice raspy from sleep.

He struggles to get the words out, fighting himself to do the right thing and let her sleep.

"Julie you need to sleep, I'll come back in the morning," he reassures her.

"No, stay now." At her words, she tugs on his hand still in her grip, taking him off-guard as he nearly topples over her. He catches himself at the last second, his knee coming up to rest on the edge of the mattress.

"Juuules, I promised your dad I'd leave you alone - he said you needed your rest for your exam tomorrow." His sentence comes out as a whine as he watches Julie pull his hand up to her lips.

"Please...I missed you today," she mumbles against his fingers.

Any resolve he had left disappears the seconds those words leave her mouth. With a sigh, Luke slowly toes off his shoes before sliding in next to her on the bed, his hand still clutched tightly in hers.

He scoots closer to her, slipping in under the blanket as he wraps his arm around her flannel covered body, pulling her closer to his chest.

His heart nearly bursts at the sound of her sigh as she cuddles in closer to him, letting go of his hand to clutch onto his t-shirt and burrow her face into his chest.

"Better," he hears her say, her lips brushing against the spot right above his heart. "Don' need flannel 'n'more, got the real thing right here."

And before he can ask her to elaborate, he feels her relax against him, her breathing slow and steady once more.

Luke spends the rest of the night surrounded by Julie as the melodies he had been chasing all night finally start settling in his mind. By the time the sun started to rise, he had a fully formed song about a girl and an old red flannel ready to be transcribed onto his journal.

When the girl in question starts stirring in his arms, he brings his lips up to her ear, grazing against the soft skin to whisper,

"Happy birthday, Jules."

fin im so done

[diaryofadaringwitch]

Tips for Solar Witches/Sun Worshippers During the Winter

If you're like me, in the Northern Hemisphere and dealing with winter- you might be finding it hard to be consistent with your witchy practice, especially if you're a green/nature witch.

Of course, magic is always present in nature but it can be harder to feel connected when everything is dormant, depending on your particular environment. Where I live, there are very few animals that stay active throughout the colder months and the plant life here thrives in our hot and humid summers.

I've always had difficulty with my nature practices in the winter, but this winter I'm facing a new obstacle- worshipping a deity associated with the sun. And yes, Apollo has many other domains like music and poetry, but the sun is still one of the most recognizable of His symbols.

So what's a witch to do?

Well, I've collected a few ideas that I've begun incoporating into my practice that I hope will be useful to you. While I am a devotee of Apollo, these ideas can be applied to any deity associated with the sun or just used as an aspect of secular witchcraft if your craft revolves around solar or green magic. 

1. Spend time outside

This one is obvious, but important to mention anyway. I am a big believer in the magical powers of sunlight, since Vitamin D is a main component of multiple compounds that keep our brains happy. Go for a walk, enjoy your morning coffee on the front porch, or even linger a bit after you take out the trash. Look up at the sky and take a deep breath, allowing the light to wash over you and fill you with its life-giving energy.

This is also a great opportunity to practice earthing. I don't practice this very often in the winter (no thanks, frostbite) but if the day is warmer than normal, it's a great way to connect with the energy in the Earth, even if it's dormant. Just make sure to be safe and keep an eye out for any hazards.

2. Saying thanks at meals

Being raised Catholic, prayer at mealtimes feels very natural to me and since I'm home for the holiday break, it's an easy form of discreet practice. Sunlight is ultimately responsible for every bit of food we eat, so giving thanks before I eat is a great way to show my appreciation for the abundance of energy and life the sun provides. This doesn't have to be elaborate or a singular prayer you say every time. Try pausing for ten seconds to focus on your meal, how it will fuel your body, and how you are grateful for it.

3. Using alternatives to artificial light

As we approach the solstice, the days become shorter and shorter, leaving less and less daylight for us to enjoy. A great way to honor the sun during these limited hours is to find alternatives to artificial/electric light sources. Use candles, fireplaces, or oil lamps to add light where you need it. The flame from a candle is a minature sun, fueling and warming our lives. 

If you want to challenge yourself, make light an offering. Try to spend a day without turning on any electric lights in your home, or limiting your source of light to only one or two key lamps. During the day, you can open your blinds and let the natural light in, appreciating it for every moment that it shines on the world.

4. Music/Devotional Playlists

This one is slightly more specific to Apollo, but I highly encourage you to make a devotional playlist to your deities or to the sun and play it throughout your day. Listen to one of my favorite playlists here.

You can get super creative with this. Think about what songs you associate with a bright, sunny day and add those. If you have a strong connection with the beach & sunlight, try listening to ocean sounds or ambience during a meditation session or just when you're going about your day.

5. Embrace the cold and darkness

Like it or not, winter teaches an important lesson. There is no light without shadow, abundance without hardship, summer without winter. Winter is not the enemy of the sun, but a natural complement, just as death is the natural complement to life. As hard as it is, take some time to think about what has left your life or what you need to let go of before you can move on to the season of spring renewal and growth. Take time to mourn that which you have lost, to fully acknowledge regrets and what you could have done better.

This is not to make you feel bad about yourself or about the tragedies of this particular year, but to face them as they are, not avoid them or diminish them. I truly believe that we cannot ignore the darker parts of our lives or our world if we are to truly grow and move on from them. This isn't easy, so please take care of yourself and don't push yourself beyond what you are mentally and emotionally prepared for. When in doubt, go talk to a professional.

6.  Plan a celebration and ritual for the Winter Solstice

If you're in the northern hemisphere, you still have plenty of time to prepare something special for the winter solstice on Monday, December 21st. The longest night of the year is a great chance to do any of the aforementioned ideas, or create your own ritual to honor wintertime. It's the first day of Yule, so I know that many of you will already have celebrations or traditions planned, but the solstice is one of my absolute favorite days.

At the end of the longest night- the sun rises with a bright and shining glow as winter will begin to recede. If you can, you can stay awake for the longest night until the sun rises or I always make sure I wake up early enough to watch the sunrise and welcome the start of the Yule season. (I'll be sharing a list of virtual Yule ideas soon, so keep an eye out for that.)

I hope this helps you feel more connected to our amazing sun during this colder season. Feel free to add your own tips and rituals below, including your deity associations if that's a part of your practice.

If you're a witch and your practice is especially connected to the winter months, I would love love love to talk with you and learn more. I've been working on embracing the winter season as part of my practice and I would love to learn from you.

Have a wonderful day, fellow witches. Stay safe, mask up, and be blessed!

-Kate

[tales-unique]

FAULTS OF THE HEART

Chapter 1

The woods were always a sacred place for you. When you entered their depths you felt a sense of serenity and safety that had no comparison in the civilized world. The sounds of the wind rustling through the leaves, flowing streams, and the sounds of the birds and the rabbits and the deer — all the sounds of Life. So, it felt only natural for you to go to them when running for your life. Even under the light of the full moon, dappled on the ground through dense tree cover, you knew how to navigate the trails in the undergrowth. “She’s heading into the trees!” The call echoes and forces you to push harder, to run faster, so you might live to see the sun rise.

Neither you or the others in your small village knew of the now occupied reach and how the surrounding lands had been claimed until it was too late. They waited until someone unwittingly stumbled onto the land so they could make an example of them in a show of power. He called himself The Baron. He was an asshole. In taking what had been free land for himself he had doomed your village to a slow, painful death of starvation unless they bowed to his will. There was no other alternative for the village, lest they lose everything. It was his brutish thugs that pursued you, all because you strayed too far trying to feed the people you cared for. “I can’t see her! Where’d she go?” “I don’t know! Just keep looking!” You stop, sliding down an embankment to seek cover.  Hunkering down further as you hear your pursuers coming ever closer, you force yourself tighter between the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. Mud and mulch cling to your cloak and soak your back and legs but you know that if you move now you will die. Holding your breath you freeze as one of the men stalks by where you’re hiding, narrowly missing your head when he strays too close to the edge. It feels like hours, lying there in the cold, wet earth, before you hear their voices and their steps recede until there’s only the sounds of the forest left. Even then you wait a moment longer before slowly rising to your feet, brushing yourself down with shaking hands. The Baron won’t stop pursuing you if he knows you’re nearby, so it’s with a heavy heart that you know you can’t return to the village. Your possessions, though meager and few, are lost to you. Your small home left to fall into ruin. The friends you had made will become distant memories. Bitterness settles deep within your stomach and you weep, out of anger, out of sadness, that one mistake was your undoing. It’s difficult to stop the torrent once it’s unleashed, but you know you can’t linger any longer. You should already be running far away from this place. Sniffling, you wipe frantically at your eyes and nose on tattered sleeves, continuing your escape.

The soft, building light of the rising dawn brings with it a sense of melancholic relief. You wander wearily through the trees, their figures no longer familiar now that you’re so far from home, the waking songs of birds sounding triumphantly in the air. They have survived the night, and so have you. Almost. The sharp, searing pain that erupts abruptly in your left shoulder blindsides you and you stop, the world suddenly going still. For the longest moment you forget how to breathe and your mind goes blank. A choked gasp escapes you as all at once the harsh reality of what has happened comes crashing over you like a tidal wave. At first you can’t tell exactly what is lodged in your flesh, your mind a garble rush of adrenaline, only that the pain is pointed in a single location. An apprehensive glance to your shoulder sends a chill down your spine. With a whimper you reach up with your uninjured arm to feel the sharp iron tip poking through ripped flesh, warm, fresh blood coating your fingertips, then behind to gingerly finger a long, slender body of wood. An arrow, lodged so deep in your flesh it came out the other side. Your nose crinkles as the metallic tinge in the air finally hits you, gagging from the rush of dizzying sickness that sends your stomach into freefall. Pain radiates from it, rippling outwards, rending your arm useless. The shrieks of panicked birds in the canopy overhead snaps your attention to the archer hiding among the trees, the rushing footfalls thudding against the ground betraying their path; one small mercy. You force yourself to move, crying out with the effort as you hold your arm still with a firm grip. It’s the only way to limit the damage the arrow can cause while moving, but it does nothing to stop the excruciating pain it leaves in its wake. Blood leaks between your fingers but you don’t stop, can’t stop, or else you will die at the hands of this assassin. Another arrow narrowly misses your head as you veer sharply to the side, towards the sound of running water. If you can make it to the water and lose them you might just make it. That is, if the exhaustion and blood loss don’t take you out first. Several more join the hunting party, to your dismay. You pant, your head spinning and your mind beginning to fog, but at least you don’t fall. The sight of clear water fills your vision and, to your shock, a man. He startles as you rush into view, arm veined with bright scarlet, bringing with you a band of armed men. It looks as though he’s in the middle of fishing, but that’s quickly forgotten when he sees your injury and the company that are after you. “Please!” You plead, falling to your knees before him in the dewy grass, “please don’t let them kill me!” Sharp gold eyes watch you for a moment in shocked silence before he turns to eye each man as they surround you both. They’re all pointing their weapons at him, swords and bows and arrows alike, shouting for him to leave them to their business. One of them separates to train his bow on you, likely the same man who shot you in the first place, as you clutch desperately at your bleeding wound to stem the flow. “We said be on your way, stranger!” Another one snarls to the man, “this bitch is ours.” It all happens in the blink of an eye. You barely have time to comprehend the situation before it’s already over. The man stands before you, a hovering sword at his side, and only then do you realize that he has killed them all in a single sweep without so much as raising a hand. You hazard a look at the carnage around you and instantly regret it; each man dead with his throat cut, shock petrified on their faces. Quickly you look back to the man, watching him with wide eyes as he descends upon you. He speaks not a word as he looks over your shoulder, still bleeding despite your grip on it. “P-please help me,” you beg feebly, your body feeling heavy under its own weight. The blood loss was starting to take its toll on you and, though the feeling felt oddly muted and detached, you were terrified.

The sequence of events that follows next are mostly lost to you, but not for a lack of trying. You remember fragments, haphazardly pieced together. Blurred scenery. White hot pain. The scent of burning flesh. A tightness around your shoulder. Muffled talking. You try to sit up, the edges of your vision tainted black, but a firm yet gentle hand on your chest pushes you back down into soft sheets. “Where—” Your voice quickly dies in your throat as searing pain shoots through your shoulder and down your arm, a sharp cry escaping you. It takes you a moment to recover but when you finally open your eyes you gawk at your surroundings.Your mysterious savior has brought you to a musty room filled with shelves upon shelves of books, a low, crackling fire catching your attention in the dusty fireplace. Looking down at yourself you see that you’ve been set upon an old chaise lounger, a lumpy pillow beneath your head. It smells of dust, as do the sheets, but there’s an odd sense of comfort that they, and the room as a whole, offers. “I removed the arrow,” he finally speaks, golden eyes observing you as you struggle to sit up, “you should rest, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” He moves to stand, collecting up the bloodied rags and tossing them into a bowl filled with water dyed crimson as he walks to the door to leave you in peace. It’s only as he’s leaving that you realize that he’s cleaned and bandaged your wound, no doubt saving you from infection and blood loss and the slow, painful death they would have brought you. “Wait!” You call, voice hoarse. He stops, remaining with his back to you. “I,” you swallow, breathing laboured from the effort of your outburst, “I wanted to thank you, for helping me,” you grind out, an aching throb pulsing from your shoulder down your arm. For a moment he is quiet and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake in speaking to him, but that thought soon vanishes when he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You wait in anticipation for his reply, clutching the sheets weakly. “Get some rest,” he says, softer this time, but he quickly steels himself and leaves the room without any further comment. The door is left slightly ajar so you listen to the sound of his receding footsteps before sinking back slowly into the sheets. The makeshift bed is nothing like your own but it’s more than you could have expected from a stranger so you’re thankful, heaving a sigh of relief. Then you frown, because you don’t even know his name.

[fruitcoops]

hey! idk if you've seen that cut video about how couples sleep together but i just cant stop thinking about the team doing it. It would be SO cute with your amazing writing :))

Thank you! I absolutely adore this video and I’ve watched it probably twenty times--each couple is just so cute! Quick disclaimer: while this may seem a little odd, since the Lions are basically celebrities, I think the channel wanted to do it to show the diversity of the team and emphasize love above everything else. Hope you enjoy!

“Hey, Lions!” Marlene says cheerfully, waving to the camera. She stands alone in the studio for once. “We have something a little different for you today. Four of the couples on the team agreed to let us record them sleeping for a night, which we’ve combined with short interviews from each of them. Hope you enjoy!”

The video cuts and a title card appears, reading Couple Number One: James and Lily Potter.

Their bedroom is moderately sized, with a crib at the foot of the bed and a fluffy red comforter that accents their walls. James is partially visible as he brushes his teeth, but Lily is fully in frame in her oversized t-shirt and flannel pajama pants while she climbs into bed with Harry in her arms.

“How long have you been together?” Marlene asks in a voiceover.

“We’ve been married for just over six months,” James’ voice says; on the screen, he walks out of the bathroom and tucks his legs up to kiss the tops of Lily and Harry’s heads. “But we dated for several years before that.”

“What time do you normally go to bed?”

“Maybe eight? Eight-thirty?” Lily says. Sure enough, the clock on their nightstand reads 8:07. “We stay up after the baby’s gone to sleep, though.”

“What story are we doing tonight, kiddo?” James asks, pressing a raspberry kiss to Harry’s belly until baby giggles fill the bedroom. “How about…Make Way For Ducklings?”

“Ducky!” Harry squeals, reaching for his glasses.

“Alright, baby love.” Lily smiles as she takes a book of the nightstand and opens it up.

“Would you say you sleep well?” Marlene asks.

“Oh, that’s a tough question,” James says—in the bedroom, he and Lily take turns reading pages to Harry as he sits between them and points to the ducks. “It’s better now that he can sleep through the night. I’d say we get a solid seven hours each night, maybe more.”

“I wake up pretty often because I worry,” Lily adds.

“Do either of you talk in your sleep?”

She laughs. “No, thankfully. Once we’re out, we’re out until morning.”

“What’s your body language like?”

“I’m cuddly,” James says with a light laugh. In the video, he wraps an arm around Lily’s shoulders and traces the picture book with one finger, kissing Harry’s chubby baby hand. “She likes to starfish.”

“We’re both big cuddlers,” Lily agrees. The video skips forward in time, showing Lily lowering Harry into his crib while James grabs his phone off the nightstand and squints at it.

They curl up together while the clock continues to tick, and an hour or so later they put their phones away and snuggle under the covers. The night goes on and, slowly, Lily begins to splay out on the mattress, her hair in every direction as James keeps one arm securely around her waist. During a brief pause, their snoring harmonizes.

Harry wakes up just past four with a sniffle and babbles for a moment until James stands up, taking him out of his crib and humming softly as he bounces him; Lily barely flinches. “Baba,” Harry mumbles while he holds on to the edge of James’ shirt. “Baba, baba, baba.”

“Shh, buddy.” James touches their forehead together before setting him back down in the crib. “Sweet dreams. I love you.”

Marlene’s voiceover comes on again as the sun rises outside their window. “What time do you usually wake up?”

“James gets up earlier than I do for practice,” Lily says. A soft alarm jingles on the nightstand and James clumsily turns it off, scrubbing at his eyes for a second before digging his glasses out of the nightstand and sitting up—he leans over to kiss Lily’s forehead before getting up for real.

“Around seven, seven-thirty usually,” James confirms. “I don’t actually know what time you get up most weekdays.”

“Oh, probably eight-thirty or nine? Once Harry’s up, I’m up.”

Marlene hums. “How important is your bedroom to you? What about your bed?”

“Both are so important.” James doesn’t hesitate. “Evenings and nights are the longest period of time we spend together because of my job.”

“It’s a very safe space,” Lily says. “Life is so hectic, but once we’re in bed we don’t have to go anywhere else.”

The bedroom disappears—Lily and James sit in chairs in the Lion Pride studio with Marlene across from them. “Thanks so much for joining us today, you guys!” she says with a smile. “I’m really looking forward to filming this video.”

 Couple Number Two: Kasey Winter and Natalie Darcy

Their bedroom is smaller than the Potters’ and painted light blue with large windows. Outside, night has fallen and the light of the city shines through their blinds as Kasey closes them; Natalie is already in bed, reading a paperback with her legs crossed on top of the blankets.

Kasey turns the light off and climbs in next to her, resting his head on her thigh as he dozes off and she continues to read by her bedside lamp. “Goodnight,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Natalie smiles and runs her fingers through his hair.

“How long have you been together?” Marlene asks.

“We’ve been dating for four years now,” Kasey’s voice says. In their bedroom, the video speeds up until eleven thirty, when Natalie puts her book down and settles into Kasey’s arms.

“Do you go to bed early or late? It’s just the two of you, right?”

“Right. Kase likes going to bed before me because he has to get up earlier, but I’m a night owl.”

“Does that make it hard for you to sleep well?”

“Not at all,” Kasey says. “She sleeps like a log and I’m always careful not to wake her up on workdays. We like to sleep in on days off.”

Marlene hums in agreement. “Do either of you talk in your sleep?”

“Nope. I’m a light sleeper, so it’s nice that neither of us do it.”

The video continues through the night and sure enough, the only sound is their soft breathing; Natalie presses against Kasey’s chest with an arm over his shoulders. “What’s your body language like when you sleep? Are you cuddlers?”

“I love cuddles!” Kasey says with an almost-audible smile. Sure enough, he snuggles into Natalie with a soft sigh as the clock on their wall turns to 4 am.

“How many hours of sleep do you get every night?” Marlene asks.

They take a moment to think, and the sun begins to shine through their bedroom window. “Ten to six am is…about eight hours? I can get by on six, though.”

“I need a solid eight, eight and a half to function,” Natalie says. “Though sometimes I’ll get up and do something before going back to bed until nine.”

“How important is your bedroom to you?”

“That’s a good question.” Kasey hums in thought. “I value it a lot because it’s a place to be close to her, and that’s hard to get when we’re both so busy.”

“I agree.”

On screen, Kasey’s alarm begins to ring and he stretches, gently detaching Natalie’s hold and kissing her shoulder as he pulls the blankets up to her chin and slides out of bed. “Have a good day, baby,” she mumbles sleepily.

“Love you,” he whispers back as he brushes her hair out of her eyes.

The video cuts; Kasey and Natalie have taken James and Lily’s places. “Thanks for agreeing to do this, guys!” Marlene says.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Natalie says with a slight smile.

 Couple Number 3: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin

The third bedroom is cluttered and neat at the same time. Knickknacks line the dresser and various items are scattered on the nightstand, but the floor is clean and the dark blue bedspread is tidy as Remus reads against the headboard. On the other side of the room, Sirius stops midway through brushing his teeth to change into a sleep shirt and Remus laughs at his muffled grumbling.

“How long have you been together?” Marlene asks again in her voiceover.

“We’ve been dating for over a year now,” Remus says.

“What time do you go to bed?”

“Oh, maybe ten pm? Eleven?” Sirius guesses. “Whenever we’re tired.”

The clock reads ten forty-five as Sirius gets under the covers and wraps his arms around Remus’ torso, cuddling against his waist and leg while Remus strokes his hair. Ten minutes pass until he puts the book down and turns off the light before scooting back against Sirius’ chest to be the little spoon. “Love you,” he says quietly.

Sirius kisses behind his ear. “Je t’aime.”

“What’s your body language like when you sleep?” Marlene asks. “Cap, everyone knows about your famous cuddles.”

He snorts. “Usually we spoon, but sometimes it changes up.”

“We kind of have to spoon,” Remus laughs. “You’d wake up on the floor otherwise.”

“I would not!” Sirius protests. In the video, an hour has passed, and he unconsciously tries to roll over Remus, who reaches up and pushes his shoulder back without opening his eyes. He shifts a few more times before settling down.

“Do you talk in your sleep as well?” Marlene continues.

Remus sighs. “No, that would be me.”

“It’s cute and awful at the same time,” Sirius says. “On one hand, it wakes me up, but on the other, we have the best conversations.”

At 2:12 am, Remus scrunches his nose up in his sleep. “Hey. Hey.”

Sirius huffs and cracks an eye open. “Quoi?”

“Go away.”

There’s a pause and Sirius sits up, clearly still half-asleep. “Huh?”

“The cat’s in the garden, dumbass. That cat—the cat is in the garden.”

With a heavy sigh, Sirius gets under the covers again and wraps his arms around Remus. “Okay, mon coeur.”

“Blueberry milkshake.”

“That doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Shut up, Pots, nobody asked you.” Remus says playfully, then hums and pulls Sirius closer. “Bonjour, honey. Je t’aime.”

In the voiceover, Marlene laughs. “What do you two talk about?”

“Oh, everything,” Sirius replies.

An hour and a half passes in fast motion on screen; they move around a little bit, but overall stay cuddled up and comfortable. “The tea. Honey, the tea. Tea’s burning.”

Sirius reaches over and puts his hand over Remus’ mouth gently. “Shhh.”

“Tea’s burning,” Remus repeats, though his voice is muffled until he bats Sirius’ hand away. “Hugs and kisses, hugs and kisses.”

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s the meaning of life?”

Remus is quiet for a beat. “Pun’kin pie.”

“Why do you talk in your sleep?”

“I love you.”

“How could we have done better in our last game?” Sirius is grinning now and rubbing slow circles over Remus’ back. “I was a little worried about our defense.”

“Hmm. Apples.” Remus turns over and nuzzles against Sirius. “See you later, alligator.”

Sirius shakes with suppressed laughter for a moment until the voiceover starts again. “What time do you wake up in the morning?” Marlene asks. “Practice starts pretty early.”

“Sirius wakes up earlier than I do, but we don’t get out of bed until seven-ish,” Remus says, sounding far more awake than he did in the video. “We try to aim for eight hours of sleep, but that doesn’t always happen.”

“How important is your bedroom?”

Sunlight streams through the cracks in the blinds at six am, lighting up Remus’ face on one side as Sirius starts to wake up. He pauses with a smile and runs his thumb along Remus’ cheek before kissing his forehead and settling onto his back.

“Our bedroom is really important,” Sirius answers. “It’s a safe space where there’s no pressure to do anything and we can just be ourselves.”

Remus smacks his alarm at six-thirty and starts sitting up, only for Sirius to wrap all four limbs around him and drag him back down for more cuddles; Remus laughs, but happily obliges. The camera cuts out just as they start getting out of bed half an hour later.

“Thanks for answering my questions,” Marlene says with a grin. “I gotta say, I’m looking forward to the sleep talking.”

“It’s so funny,” Sirius snickers.

Remus rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Yeah, yeah, alright. Exploit me in my most vulnerable state, why don’t you?”

 Couple Number 4: Pascal and Celeste Dumais

“We have been married for fifteen years,” Dumo says as the video begins.

Celeste is already out cold in the bed while he tiptoes around their bedroom, sliding in next to her as quietly as possible; she smiles in her sleep and scoots over to lay her head on his shoulder. It’s clearly a comfortable place for them—the walls are a warm beige and a colorful quilt lays heavy across the sheets.

“Do you sleep well?”

“Sometimes,” Celeste says. “We sleep better now that the kids are older, but I wake up a lot in the middle of the night because I still worry about them.”

“How many hours of sleep do you think you get?”

“Oh, probably seven? I go to bed early, though.”

“I get a steady six to eight,” Dumo says.

“Do you sleepwalk or talk?”

Celeste laughs as Dumo groans. “He used to sleepwalk, but after the kids were born there wasn’t enough consistent sleep to do it anymore.”

In the dark of their bedroom, Dumo moves around quite a lot—he rolls onto his back, then his side, then curls around Celeste, then lays a little bit sideways before she quietly shushes him just past 3 am and puts her hand on his chest. He sighs and leans his head against hers with a drowsy half-smile.

“Do you cuddle?” Marlene asks.

“Sometimes,” Dumo says. “Though we’ve been together for so long that we don’t really have to. I always know where she is.”

“That’s adorable,” Marlene says at the same time Celeste makes a soft sound of affection. “What time do you wake up?”

There is one window in their bedroom, high on the western wall, that shows the slowly-lightening sky. When the clock strikes six, both of them stretch and roll onto their backs, though they stay close enough to share body heat as Dumo combs his fingers through Celeste’s long hair.

“Around six. It’s easier to get up early now that we’re older,” Dumo says. “Besides, the kids don’t get up until later, so we finally get some time to ourselves.”

“Bonjour, mon amour,” Celeste murmurs in the video with a sleepy smile, pressing kisses to Dumo’s cheek. “Hmm, je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime, ma jolie chérie.”

The video returns to the studio after that; Dumo and Celeste hold hands while they talk, and Marlene puts away her notecards with a smile. “Thank you for agreeing to do this, it means a lot. We tried to get a variety of different couples for this and I’m sure the video will turn out great.”

“Ne rien. Good luck with filming!”

A final title card appears. Thanks for watching, Lions! Be sure to like and subscribe for more content.

[fanmoose12]

at the coastline of memories

For the longest time, Hange had been lost. 

(or a fic about amnesiac!hange, based on that one ask i’ve received ages ago)

Hange wakes up, and the world is still dark. She blindly reaches to the bedside table, lights up the gas lamp on, grabs her glasses and puts them on. The world comes into focus and Hange glances at the opposite wall, checking the time. 

4:32

She curls her lips in a slight smile. She woke up just in time. 

She swings her legs of the bed and yawns, stretching her limbs. She gets up and heads to the kitchen, putting a kettle on a stove and firing it up.

While the kettle heats up, she moves to the bathroom, grabbing a soothing balm on her way. 

Once there, Hange takes off her glasses and starts applying the balm, carefully smearing it all over her face. 

The burns don't hurt anymore, at least not as much as they did in the beginning. Hange learned how to live with it just as she learned how to live with not knowing how she had received these burns or how she got there - to the middle of nowhere, on a coastline next to a ruined structure that she could only guess was once a port. 

Finished with her face, Hange moves to her hands, applying the balm to the inside of her fingers and the backside of her palm. The balm cools her still tender wounds and Hange softly signs, relishing in the pleasant feeling. 

The whistle of a kettle shakes her up and Hange whirls around, hurrying to turn it off. She gives another look at the clock, worrying her lip between teeth as she sees that it's past quarter to five. It's only the beginning of spring and the sun doesn't raise up that early at this time of year, but Hange feels a pressing need to hurry. She can't be late, not today, not after she spent weeks, chasing the mysterious man.

The man that had been visiting Hange's cabin for as long as she was living there. He brings her food, medicine, clothes and other supplies. Sometimes he even goes as far as to bring her little gifts - books, flowers and sweets. 

He never shows his face, though. He never approaches Hange, never talks with her. Whenever she attempts to catch him, he disappears without a trace. She has only ever seen him from far, in the rare moments when she was lucky enough to catch him leaving her cabin. Frustratingly so, he does his best to remain hidden. 

Hange doesn't understand it. The man - for whatever reason - obviously cares about her. Then why is he so dead set on staying away? Why doesn't he let her express her gratitude at least?

She thinks every night about it. She curses her mind for forgetting. 

Her previous life exists only in the flashes of sound and images. They're bright, loud, blurry and swift. Hange can't make sense of them no matter how hard she tries. It frustrates her to no end, makes her want to tear out what little hair is left out on her scalp, but nothing comes back to her. 

She's sure that the man is important, she's almost sure that he was a part of her old life. What reason does he have to help her now after all?

But the man doesn't want to see her, and Hange needs to see him, so she resorts to different methods. He won't be running away from her anymore, she is going to make sure of that. 

With that in mind, Hange pours hot water in two cups, adding tea leaves to it. She throws some sugar in her cup, but hesitates to do the same with the cup she's preparing for that man. She doesn't know why, but it feels wrong.

Your sugary shit destroys the true essence of tea, she suddenly remembers. For the life of her, she can't recall who has said that to her. Or when. Or why.

Deciding to tackle this issue some other time, Hange goes back into the room, wraps a blanket around her shoulders and then takes the cups with steaming tea.

Pushing the front door open with her leg, she comes out on a porch and breathes in deeply, savoring the fresh, crisp air. She puts the cups down on a small table and settles down in a rocking chair, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. Hange shivers slightly, the morning chill freezing her fingers and toes.

She hides them inside the warm cocoon of a thick fabric and turns her eyes to the horizon. The stars slowly disappear, showing a narrow strip of golden light. It paints the sea below it in a gentle purple color. 

A smile pulls on her lips as she continues to watch the sunrise. Hange sits back in a chair, rocking slightly. She glances to one side, then to another. Confirming that the coast is clear, she allows herself to close her eyes for just a second.

Just a second, and the world around her is dark again.

***

Hange groans, shielding her eyes from a light shining right at her. She looks up and nearly jumps. The sun is high in the sky. She was going to rest just for a bit. For how long that bit had lasted?

She swirls her head from side to side. The coastline is clear. Already clear. There is no one there, and she is alone. 

She looks down then and sees a small package by the door. She glances at the table with teacups on it. One of them is empty.

Despite her failed attempt at catching the mysterious and annoying, but extremely nice man, Hange smiles.

"Have you enjoyed the tea at least?" she asks, hoping that he listens.

*** 

Hange spends the next couple of mornings, watching the sunset and anxiously waiting for the man to show up. She slaps her face and pinches the skin of her arm, stopping herself from falling asleep. It bears no result, however, because the man doesn't show up.

It is only when Hange finally gives up, returning inside her cabin that the man returns. She disappears for just a moment, going inside to make another cup of tea. When she comes back, a package with fresh fish, a journal and a few quills is already awaiting her. Hange sighs, annoyed at the man, despite his gifts. She needs another plan, it seems.

  ***

She has more than enough time to think about it. Hange’s life is dull and uneventful to a point of making her feel weird. She doesn’t know what life she led before she was found on the coastline near the port, with severe burns and wounds and before she stumbled into abandoned, old cabin, but this— this peace and quiet that defies her every living moment now, it’s— it’s not unwelcome. But it seems wrong. There is a need, a desperation set deep in her bones. It torments her at night, nudging her to do something, anything. It always keeps her on edge, pushing her in the unfamiliar direction.

That direction feels a dead-end.

  ***

Not every part of her life is lost. There are some memories that persistently linger in the depth of her mind. She still remembers her childhood - the bright, sunny days, filled with carelessness and wonder. The way wind blew through her hair, the way sunlight danced on her skin and kissed her cheeks, these memories don’t fade. On the contrary, there is more life in them than in Hange herself.

She knows the gentle touch of her mother and remembers the strict face of her father. She can close her eyes and see her puppy, running towards her every time she came home from the never-ending adventures, greeting her with loud, happy barking and wiggling tail.

Her school, a grand beautiful building with big windows and polished floors, still lives in her memory. And the image of the school’s library – the favorite place in the whole world for little Hange, where she spent countless afternoons – fills her with happiness and content even after all these years. She remembers the displeasure and annoyance she felt in the moments when she couldn’t reach the higher shelves. She jumped and stretched out her hand and balanced on the balls of her feet, huffed and scoffed, but nothing ever worked out, until she let go of her pride and went to fetch a chair. She still recalls the wonder and excitement every book evoked inside her. Her fingertips, although scarred and burned, didn’t forget the feeling of yellowed pages. The voice of her teacher, scolding her for reading without proper lighting, still echoes in her ears.

However, everything after that, past the playgrounds and school yards, is nothing more than a blur.

She remembers the cold, dark nights, spent by a fire, surrounded by merry laughter. She remembers the feeling of adrenaline, of excitement and agitation, yet can’t recall what exactly had caused these emotions. She remembers the parchment and a quill, remembers that she used to write, write, write. Not a single written word comes back to her, though. She remembers a bright, imposing figure right ahead, a reassuring, calming presence just behind her shoulder, and someone standing right next to her, their hands almost touching.

These people were important, Hange knows that. She wants to remember them so desperately.

But no matter how much she tries— she can’t.

  ***

Whatever life she used to have, it most certainly couldn’t have been easy. It was not a life of leisure and prosperity, because her body, despite its weak and injured state, still isn’t used to lazing around.

The spring only just began, and the earth is too cold yet for gardening. As long as the cool weather holds, Hange has nothing to occupy herself with. There are no seeds to plant, no weeds to pull out, no crops to look after. She has all the time in the world.

She can sleep as much as she wants, yet every morning she wakes up at the very break of dawn. Still exhausted and weary, she forces herself to sleep for a little bit more, but she can’t.

So she walks out on a porch, a cup of tea in her hands, and watches the sun slowly rise up over the sea. The sight is mesmerizing, Hange watches it every morning and yet she’s not bored of it in the slightest. She feels like she will never get bored of it, she drinks it more eagerly than the hot tea.

Watching the world growing from black to light, cold blue, before settling into palette of bright yellow, orange and pink never fails in making Hange sigh in wonder. The crush of waves across the shore, the sun beams illuminating the dark green water, the white foam swirling around evoke a warm, tender feeling inside her. It’s a confusing bundle of excitement, pride and happiness.

It makes her think – maybe, it was all worth it.

It makes her think – maybe, we can finally be free.

*** There is nothing much for her to do, so Hange concentrates on getting her memories back. It’s not an easy task, and it proves to be even harder, when Hange comes to conclusion that she has but a single clue, nothing more than a thin, uneven string that connects her past and present life.

That man.

So she thinks long and hard about her next course of action, writes one plan after another in her recently received journal. The process is oddly familiar, it brings her a sort of nostalgia, although Hange doesn't know the source of it. Still, it's comforting and she spends long mornings, days and nights, sitting at her porch under the light of sun, gas lamp and stars, thinking how to get closer to that kind, but irritatingly distant man.

In the end, she can't come up with a decent enough plan, and so Hange resorts to leaving a note to him. She wants to show her gratitude, and if she can't do it face-to-face, if he wishes to continue hiding from her, then so be it, she'll play by his rules. 

It frustrates her, she can't deny it, but she needs to do something, and it’s the very least she can do after all the kindness this man has bestowed upon her. 

***

The next time, when a package is delivered to her doorstep, it contains fresh apples and seeds. With a smile on her face, Hange brings it all inside and sets out to work.

She washes her hands, puts the apples on the counter and fires up the oven. Next she takes a bag of flour and pours it into a bowl. She adds water and sugar and mixes it all up. She opens the oven, places the bottom crust and spills the contents of the bowl there. Then Hange moves to the basket, delivered by a man. She grabs a few apples, washes them thoroughly and starts cutting them.

It takes her a while to finish, and so Hange starts humming under her breath, losing herself in the routine of gripping one side of apple with the fingers of her left hand and then slicing it with a knife she's holding in her right one.

The quick chop-chop-chop sets a tune to the melody she's humming and Hange smiles, enjoying the mundenity of it all.

At least, nothing will explode this time...

The thought is so bizarre, it appears completely out of blue. Hange freezes for a second, ruining the rhythm of her work. She looks up to the celling and repeats that thought, muttering it under her breath.

Explosion, explosion...

What could it possibly mean? Why does it fill her with anxiety? And what is that another feeling? Fear?

Tree branch hits the window in that exact moment, and Hange jumps. The sudden sound rings unusually loud in the silence of her little cabin.

It sounds almost like a gunshot.

This thought leaves Hange feeling even more shaken that she was before.

She exhales nervously, gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles go white. She feels dizzy out of sudden. Like there isn't enough air in the room.

Like she's swimming underwater and struggling to take a breath.

Why does that feeling seem familiar?

Hange shakes her head, wipes her forehead with the backside of her palm, hoping that it would help get rid of those ridiculous thoughts.

"I should spend more time outside," she mumbles, her voice still trembling. With unsteady hands she returns to the apples.

She quickly finishes chopping them and then puts it all in the oven.

Now all she has is to wait, and so Hange heads into the bedroom to get a paper and quill from there. After all, the pie is worth nothing, if she doesn’t write a note.

*** 

 When the pie is ready, Hange puts it on the best plate she possesses. She covers it with the only napkin she has and then she takes it outside, setting it on a table at the porch. She brews a cup of tea and puts it next to the plate. Then she lays down a note.

Since you don't let me thank you any other way, it reads. Hange hopes it won’t go unanswered. 

*** 

Next morning she wakes up and immediately dashes out of the house, stopping only to put her glasses on and get her warm robe. She forgets about her morning balm applying ritual, too excited to see the results of her little experiment.

Just as she hoped, the pie and tea are gone. Her note is gone too and another one lies instead.

Grinning from ear to ear, Hange eagerly snatches it in her arms, grips it tightly with her fingers and squints slightly, quickly reading it.

Work on your cooking skills, four-eyes. The pie was awful. Try adding less sugar next time. I think just a piece of this shitty pie could give someone cavities. Tea was good, though.

Hange rereads the note a few times, struggling to understand. She can't quite decide if she should be angry or amused. She settles on a mix of something in between.

Her experiment produced an unexpected results, it seems. It helped her realize that her assumption about that man was a bit wrong. He's kind, yes. Caring too. But he's not nice. Quite the contrary. He's a little piece of shit, Hange decides with a gleeful smile.

How curious, she thinks and lets out a happy snicker.

***  

Hange's shirt rips at the seams a few days later. It's not her only shirt - the mysterious man has made sure of that - but it's her favorite one. So Hange searches the house, turning it upside down to find a needle and a thread.

Her hands tremble as she tries to fit the thread into the needle and Hange curses, as she misses the small aperture once again. She pushes the glasses up on her forehead and squints, struggling to get the thread inside.

After a few failed attempts and more than a few colorful words, Hange succeeds. She celebrates it with a wide grin and grabs the shirt, starting to stitch the torn parts together.

The stitch is even and neat, Hange wonders if she has been taught that. As far as she remembers, her mother tried numerous times to teach her how to do embroidery, but little Hange always refused, running away and hiding in the library. Evidently, she changed a lot since then.

I managed to stitch his face just as perfectly.

Hange blinks as that thought appears. She closes her eyes and instead of a shirt, she sees a bloody mess of ripped skin, muscles and tendons.

She blinks again and that vision is gone. Hange closes her eyes, tries to recreate the image, but she's drawing a blank this time. She is greeted with nothing but darkness.

She growls in frustration and throws the goddamn shirt away.

She was so close to remembering something, to getting back a part of her life. But, as before, it had ended in a failure.

The feeling is strangely familiar to her.

  ***

She spends the next week, writing little notes to the man. Sometimes he answers, granting her with more of his crude and sarcastic comments. Other times, when she attempts to ask a personal question, when she begs him to tell her his name or when she laments about wanting to get to know him, the messages go unanswered and her note stays exactly where she laid it, fluttering in the wind.

The frustration gets to her after a while and Hange starts to feel bored. The routine is pressing onto her and so she packs what little provision she has, grabs one of her warmer sweaters, puts on a patch to hide her missing eye and decides to go exploring.

There is a town near enough that it takes only a couple of hours to get there. Hange visited it once, before the winter came and the snow made the trip impossible. The town isn’t big – truthfully, it’s hard to even call it a town – the place stands in ruins with only a few houses rebuild and ready to let people in.

Now, as Hange enters the town after three long months, she sees that it’s changed. Not much, but enough to attract attention, enough to make Hange marvel at the additional buildings and appreciate the hard labor done by the townspeople.

She walks through the town slowly, gawking at everything and everyone. Despite the chilly weather, the people are working hard, rebuilding what was once lost.

When she came to this town for the first time, she asked about the cause of this ruin, thinking that it could be linked to her own wounds, and, consequently, to her old life.

The answers she received, though, didn’t satisfy her. The tales of giant people, destroying everything in their path sounded familiar, almost similar to the stories her mother used to tell her. It reminded her of the tales about titans Hange read in the school’s library. She was scared of them back then, and at the same time excited too. She always wanted to see one up close, and so she felt something close to regret when the townspeople informed her that there are no titans anymore.

“Those island devils got rid of them, thank gods,” one woman said to Hange back then. “Everyone now calls them heroes, but do you wish to know what I think? We should have destroyed them all along with their damned island.”

Hateful words left a bile taste in Hange’s mouth. They made her angry for a reason she couldn’t even understand. She left quickly after, her mind even a bigger mess than usual.

Now, as she strolls through the narrow streets, Hange thinks back to that conversation. Is it true that those islanders are to blame? Could it be that they’re the reason for the burns on her body? For the memories she lost? Maybe, Hange should hate them too?

It’s easy to hate someone when you don’t know them, she remembers words from one of her teachers at school. Hange finds it hard to agree with that statement. She thinks the contrary is true – it’s impossible and irrational to hate someone, when you don’t even know them.

She banishes these thoughts as she turns a corner and sees a man struggling to carry a large wooden pole. Hange isn’t that strong herself, the wounds taking its toll on her, but she rushes over to him, ready to help. She grips the pole with her hands and lifts it up, putting it on her shoulder to support it.

The man slightly turns his head, probably with intent of thanking her. Their eyes meet and he drops the pole almost instantly.

“You!” he gasps, his eyes wide. “It’s you!”

Hange puts the pole down and frowns. She wants to ask the man so many questions. What does he mean? Does he know her? Did they meet before? When? Who is he? Who is she?

Before she can at least open her mouth, the man grips her shoulders and stares at her face, his eyes running up and down frantically, as a wide smile pulls on his lips.

“It really is you,” he concludes happily. “Captain— he was right! He didn’t imagine it all, oh god, it’s a miracle!”

“I’m sorry,” Hange says slowly. “But who are you?”

“Oh.” The man lets her go immediately.  He takes a step back and fixes his shirt. His eyes fill with sadness.

“So he was right about this as well,” he whispers more to himself than to Hange. “Forgive me, please,” he adds, and he does look apologetic, but Hange suspects it’s for entirely different reason. “I mistook you for a good friend.”

“Onyankopon!” someone calls from inside the house. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Sorry,” he repeats, flashing her a painfully forced smile. “I need to go.”

He leaves before Hange can reply and ask him to stay and explain.

“Onyankopon.” Hange mutters, pronouncing each syllable.

The name doesn’t seem familiar. But it spreads a wave of warmth through her chest.

  ***

She keeps muttering that name under her breath on her way home. It results in absolutely nothing, but Hange is nothing if not persistent. When she comes back home, she finds a few hyacinths planted in a pot that stands at the table at her porch.

Hange’s heart swells at the sight of it. The flowers are purple, and it’s her favorite color. She wonders if the man knows that little bit of trivia about her and if the choice of color was purposeful. She writes a quick note, asking him exactly that.

At the bottom of a page, she asks if the man knows a guy, named Onyankopon.

As always happens with that kind of questions, she doesn’t receive an answer.

  ***

Too soon, life returns to the world. The trees become greener, the sun shines brighter, and the water in the ocean gets warm enough for Hange to dip her toes in it.

The birds return back to the coastline too, the seagulls filling Hange’s quiet life with cheerful squeaking. When she isn't busy with crops and flowers in her little garden, Hange walks out on a beach and spends her days, watching the little things fly around. The sight is strangely calming, soothing her weary soul.

It’s during one of those perfect, peaceful days that it happens. There is not a cloud in the sky and a soft breeze moves through the air, entangling in her hair and moving through a thin cotton shirt she’s wearing. She curls her lips in a smile, squinting against the bright sun.

In that moment, Hange feels blissfully content.

It happens faster that she can react. She looks up, shifting her eyes from the sea to the flock of seagulls, flying high enough that Hange needs to raise her head.

There are eight of them – two bigger ones are on the front, leading the others, while the rest is flying behind, keeping close to each other.

Hange’s smile widens at the sight of the small family.

And it slips from her face, as she sees that one of birds, the one of two at the front, starts falling. Hange watches it as though in slow motion, staring at the sudden descent with wide shocked eyes.

The seagull’s body hits the ground with a soft sound that isn’t loud enough to be heard over the ocean’s hissing or the beating of Hange’s heart.

The other birds halt their movement but don’t dive in the sand. They hover above the body on the ground, silently mourning one of their kind, before continuing their flight.

Looking at it hurts.

Hange stares at it for another long moment, and then scrambles onto her feet, gathering the little bird into her trembling hands. She can feel the faint heartbeat beneath her fingers and Hange rushes back to her cabin, desperate to help the injured creature.

  ***

She spends the whole day, nursing little one back to health. After all of her efforts, it lives and breathes, but it’s too weak to fly or even move yet. Hange prepares a makeshift nest for a bird and leaves it there, watching closely.

She falls asleep right at the table, where she left the seagull, using her own elbow as a pillow.

It’s there, where, later that night, Hange has a nightmare.

She had dreams before, always blurry, filled with silhouettes and shadows, always disappearing from her mind with first rays of sunshine.

This one is different. This one is terrifying as it is vivid. It still isn't concrete enough, but it evokes something inside her— something that hurts.

The dream – it was full of desperation. It was full of confusing feelings, of ‘there is no one, but me, who can do this’ and ‘I don’t want to go, not right now, not from him’. The thing that feels the most real, the thing that makes her heart ache is a feeling of a hand on her chest. It’s warm, so warm that it burns. It gets through a few layers of clothing, marking her skin, before finally reaching her heart.

And before she can enjoy it, before she can savor this sweet torture, the hand is gone. The hand is gone, and she’s still burning, but this— this fire that spreads through her veins is different. It kisses her skin, but not gently, not like a lover. It kisses her with dispassionate hatred, with apathy that is set to destroy her. It kisses her, sucking all the air out of her lungs.

And then— then Hange is falling.

  ***

She wakes up before her body hits the ground. A loud, annoying noise stirs her sleep. She lifts her head and the sound doesn’t stop.

Hange groggily looks around, confused and disoriented. It takes her another few seconds to locate the source of the commotion.

It’s the window at the far side of her cabin. Someone is knocking on it. A sound between a gasp and laughter bubbles out of Hange’s throat as she takes a good look at the intruder.

It’s a seagull.

She slowly rises to her feet and approaches the window, opening it. The bird instantly flies inside, and Hange isn’t at all surprised to see that it stops in front of the nest she made for her winged patient.

From across the room, Hange watches the birds interact. The newly arrived seagull approaches its friend cautiously, slowly. When it reaches to wounded seagull, it opens his beak and puts a small fish down, so the other bird could reach it.

Hange almost coos at the sight.

The caring seagull doesn’t stay for long. It waits until the wounded one finishes the fish, and then it flies away, leaving Hange’s cabin through the still opened window.

“I’ll call you Sawney,” she whispers, as the bird flies past her. “And you will be Bean,” she grins, approaching the wounded bird.

As she checks the state of the bird, the strange dream continues to linger at the back of Hange’s mind.

Is that what had happened to her? Did she almost burn alive? Whose hand was on her chest? Who was the person she didn’t want to leave? Where are they now?

Why just thinking about it hurts so much?

She’s desperate to get her answers, and she knows a person, who most certainly has them.

In a last, almost definitely futile attempt to find the truth, Hange sits down and writes a letter. She writes about her dream, about lost memories and torn connections. She writes, asking, begging the man to let her know who she was. Who she is.

The next day, she receives her answer. It’s a disappointingly short one.

Forgive me. It’s better this way.

  ***

After that, Hange tries to forget about her forgotten life. She lost her memories. She’s still alive and able to make new ones.

The life goes on, and so does Hange.

The summer rolls around and suddenly she's constantly busy, tending to her crops and garden.

She continues to look after the injured Bean. The progress is slow, but Hange's patient. The bird's family is patient too, and they frequently fly inside Hange's cabin to bring more food or simply to visit. Suddenly, it’s not just Sawney and Bean. It’s a whole flock of seagulls.

When the mess inside gets too much even for Hange, she moves the nest outside and the rest of the flock starts living there, caring about the injured bird in little ways they can.

The birds can be loud, but Hange doesn't mind. They provide a company in her quiet life, they help keeping the loneliness at bay.

Birdwatching becomes one of her favorite past times. There is a certain appeal in studying the winged creatures. Hange notes different kinds of movements and habits each bird exhibits. She watches them hunt and eat, watches them interact with each other. Sometimes she even brings out a journal, cataloging everything she finds peculiar about her small test subjects.

It’s comforting in some way. It almost fills the void inside her chest.

  ***

One day, she receives a bag of sweets. On top of it lays a note that says:

Are your hobbies so boring that watching the birds is somehow fun for you?

Hange giggles, as she reads it, and quickly writes a reply.

It's much more fun than you think!

  ***

Something changes after that small exchange.

The man starts leaving her messages more frequently, and Hange, now that she let go of her attempts to get her memories back, answers each and one of them.

Her mysterious friend is actually funny, Hange realizes after his secrecy stops annoying her. He’s sarcastic and crude, and has quite a foul mouth.

Hange enjoys that aspect of him more that she probably should.

She enjoys their little conversation too, even though they’re not particularly lengthy. The man doesn’t visit her every day, but when he does, he always leaves a small note, asking how is she doing and what does she need him to bring. Hange answers him with more varied questions. She asks about his favorite color, his favorite season and if he sleeps on his back or on his side. She etches every answer into her mind, collecting bits of trivia about him like it’s the most valuable treasure.

Despite never seeing his face, Hange likes him. A lot.

His notes always bring a smile to her lips. Hange starts to miss him when he doesn’t show up for a few days. And after a while she realizes – she starts caring about this man. Not as an acquaintance from her past life, not as a means to get her memories back. He becomes something more to her.

He becomes a friend.

  ***

It all happens in almost unbelievably mundane way.

A vicious storm catches Hange unaware. The weather was sunny and warm one moment, and in the next – the wind picks up, throwing sand in her eyes. The rain starts a mere seconds after, drenching her clothes in a record time. The seagulls she was watching don’t waste a single moment and soar into the air, hurriedly leaving to seek a shelter.

Hange needs to find a hiding place too. She gets to her feet and starts walking. Her steps aren't swift or hasty, she slowly strolls back to the cabin. Despite the harsh rain and wet clothes, she doesn’t shiver.

The rain turns into a downpour, but Hange enjoys it nevertheless. The droplets that persistently hit her face feel warm. They soothe the burns that still ache. They elevate the pain that hides deep in her bones.

The lightning strikes, the sudden booming sound ringing over the empty beach. It startles Hange, but she doesn’t cry out – she laughs, louder than rain and thunder. She spins around, yelling in pure joy.

In that moment, Hange is happy. In that moment, she is free.

It’s with laughter still bubbling out of her throat that she sees him. His hand shielding his head from a downpour, he descends from the porch. His eyes are cast down, watching his step.

Hange freezes in her spot, watching him.

He lifts his face, their eyes meet, and— and everything makes sense now. Everything comes back, the memories return as though she never lost them.

“Levi,” the name stumbles from her lips unprompted, unplanned. “Levi.” She repeats it again, because she likes the sound of it. Without realizing it, she missed saying his name, she missed him. So she calls his name again. And again.

Levi watches her, clenching and unclenching his fist. He takes a deep breath, shakes his head and then asks. “So your memories returned?”

“They did,” Hange nods.

“When?”

She shrugs. “Just now.”

“And you…” he clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another. His eyes don’t leave her face. “You aren’t freaked out by this?”

She shrugs again. “I guess I’m still processing. Would you like to… help me with it?”

And before he can answer, Hange adds. “I know I’ve talked about living in the forest but… will the coastline be good enough for you?”

“You’re more than enough,” he says and takes a step closer. Hange takes a step too.

They meet in the middle.

[ddarker-dreams]

Aspiration Part 2. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

click here for part one! 

“You’ll hurt your neck if you keep craning your head down like that.” 

What good it does to chastise you on an insignificant action like this is beyond you. There isn’t much else to do until you land in this “unknown” destination that he’s spoken of earlier, yet the thought of entertaining conversation with him doesn’t feel appealing either. Being kidnapped will have that effect on you, he shouldn’t expect otherwise but seems to. 

“Nothing a few painkillers won’t solve.” you respond with forced disinterest, flipping to the next page of the magazine Chrollo gave you earlier. It feels like a minor loss to entertain him with a response, your cold shoulder treatment temporarily lifting. 

You’ve read this magazine at least three times by now, hoping that giving your mind something to focus on will steady you in reality. The lackluster stories about summer sales, latest keto recipes, and what celebrities have been up to lately offer none to little substance. Yet your eyes continue scanning them dutifully as if it’s a sacred text recovered by a forgotten civilization.

Letting out a small yawn, you continue to read until you get to the familiar final page once again. Fully intending on completing the cycle of rereading it, Chrollo interrupts this by plucking it from your grasp before you get the chance. All you can offer in return is a halfhearted glare and grimace. 

“Hey! I was reading that.” you protest with a frown, feeling vulnerable without anything to hold onto. 

He ignores your agitated exclamation, placing the magazine out of your reach by his side. “I don’t believe you’re missing out on anything of importance, seeing as you’ve read it multiple times already.” 

Huffing but not humoring him with a response, you cross your arms and stare out the window. The clouds below you are an enticing sight, still not enough to maintain your attention for the remaining thirty or so minutes of this flight. When traveling, it’s always the last amount of time before reaching your destination that feels like the longest.

Chrollo lets out a disapproving sigh at your actions, then pulls back his sleeve to check the time. “It won’t be much longer. I’ll attribute your current behavior to being hungry.”

“Well, yeah, there’s that,” you finally look over at him, lips pursing indignantly. “And there’s the fact that I’ve been kidnapped by an A bounty criminal and am currently heading to god knows where at four in the morning.” 

“You’re by all means welcome to rest.” 

How he can calmly rebuke all your thinly veiled sarcasm is a special talent, like water off a duck’s back. You don’t want to admit it, however, you’re grateful he isn’t hotheaded and offended by your boorish remarks. Watching your tongue would be how any sane person would deal with a threat like this… then there’s you. Making poor decisions and winging it. A life motto, really. 

An invitation to rest your weary eyes isn’t easily declined, an alluring proposal. His presence makes it a challenge to feel comfortable enough to fall asleep, that state leaving you entirely vulnerable. When you’re awake you have some tandem of control, even if it isn’t much. 

“Where exactly would I do that? I don’t see any beds in here.” You emphasize your rebuttal by glancing around the room you two occupy, as if one would materialize at your words. Now that would be a useful nen ability, if he happened to have it. 

Chrollo smiles, in a way that doesn’t sit well with you. “Why not rest on my shoulder?” 

“W-whatever happened to your previous care over the well being of my neck? That’ll just hurt it after five or so minutes.” you stutter back, face flushing as his lips quirk further upwards. Amusement is dancing within his dark eyes, drawing out further discomfort from you. He seems to like exchanges like this, flustering you with the same ease as breathing.

“Painkillers. You said it yourself,” Chrollo throws your previous statement before you, challenging you with a raised eyebrow. “I’d be happy to get them, if that’s the only reservation you have about sleeping on me.” 

Inhaling sharply at his teasing assault, you close your eyes to prevent yourself from doing anything foolish. Gritting your teeth and balling your fists by your side, you remember why you were giving him the cold shoulder earlier. Talking to Chrollo is exasperating, all of his composed words like needles in your skin. Not wanting to swat at the wasp nest any further, your mind starts drifting, in a last ditch effort to distract yourself. 

It’s been an eventful night. The most memorable night of your life, if you’re being honest. You had always acknowledged and accepted the risks of looking into the Phantom Troupe. The stories of their unabashed cruelty served as an appropriate warning. Playing it close to the chest usually entailed fear of death, so never in your wildest dreams were you expecting… whatever this is. 

At least it beats dying? So you’ve got that going for you.

There isn’t anything you can do now, is what you’ve been telling yourself. Playing along with his whims is all you can think to do. It isn’t the ideal situation, but your only option now is to wait for an opening for escape. Even though Chrollo has more strength than you, he is still human. The thought offers a glimmer of encouragement, knowing that people aren’t infallible. You’ll take advantage of any weaknesses you can find. 

Getting more information out of him is a path worth pursuing for the time being. 

“I hope we’re not camping,” you murmur, shuddering at the horrific thought. “Bugs eat me like I’m the last supper.” 

“We won’t be camping. And despite the name, the last supper isn’t actually the last time the disciples ate.” There’s something extremely ironic about a murderer correcting you on this. 

“Please forgive me for not being up to date on biblical theology. I’ll be sure to correct that before the next test,” you deadpan before a realization hits you. “Wait, so what exactly are we doing? How am I even allowed to be on this blimp without my passport? God, none of this makes any sense…” 

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever ask. To answer your questions, we’ll be staying at a hotel for a few weeks. I know some people in the area who are interested in purchasing what was stolen earlier.” Chrollo explains with a casual air, smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt. 

It all hits you again. This is really happening to you. An inescapable reality where you’re at the complete mercy of this man, who despite showing no interest in harming you, is fully capable of doing so. Your contempt style of speaking until now has been a pitiful defense mechanism to help you cope with the extremity of this situation, not doing anything aside from momentarily distracting you. Running a hand through your hair, you feel your heart pounding within once more.

Chrollo takes note of how you shift in your seat, and tilts his head. “I understand this has been quite a lot to process. I meant what I said earlier -- about having no intention to harm you -- unless you do something that forces my hand.” 

He smiles, the warm action not matching up to the dark implications of his words. It makes your blood run cold, how a monster can wear the skin of a human. There isn’t any benefit of getting yourself further worked up, so you continue rambling on. Life is all about testing the boundaries of what you can and can’t get away with. 

“I still… don’t really get it. I know I was looking into information about you guys, but in that case, why not just,” you gulp, fearful that saying it will solidify the possibility. “Kill me? Even more so now that I know more.” 

For the first time all night, Chrollo doesn’t offer an immediate quip in response. He carefully considers your words, in a way that leads you to believe he doesn’t entirely know the answer himself. It’s not that you have a death wish, yet your curiosity is overwhelming. Whenever he does decide to grace you with an answer, maybe you’ll find out something that’ll prove useful to escaping in the future.

“There’s no simple reason that’ll satisfy you. You piqued my interest, and that’s a dangerous thing to do with a thief,” he leans over, clearly assessing you as you back away in response. “I confirmed my suspicions when we spoke earlier in the car. So for the time being… I want to observe you.” 

He was right when he said the answer won’t be satisfactory. His response leaves more questions than answers, some of which you don’t want to delve into. Backing down from this befuddling conversation, you focus on something else.

The soothing night sky outside elicits butterflies in your stomach. Darkness allows for the city lights beneath to stand out, little twinkling dots of light growing closer as the blimp descends. You can’t help but feel a sense of relief knowing that you’ll be on the ground soon, a sense of claustrophobia constricting you in this room with no escape. His suffocating presence doesn’t help on that front. 

Chrollo is finally considerate enough to leave you to your thoughts. Within a few more minutes you’ve made your landing, leaving through a private terminal with what has to be forged ID. A black car rental car is waiting for you outside the airport, Chrollo opening the door to the passenger seat for you. The gentleman-like act almost causes you to roll your eyes, but you’re far too exhausted to do anything other than sitting down obediently. You’ll save the cheek for a later time. 

He shuts some luggage into the trunk, then starts the car with a low hum, driving off to where you presume the hotel he mentioned earlier is. Looking out the window, you squint as the sun begins to rise into the sky. Your eyelids grow heavier by the second, in spite of how desperately you cling to consciousness. Eventually, the world around you grows distant, and you’re lulled into a deep slumber.

Dreamless rest is stolen from you, Chrollo gingerly shaking your shoulders and bringing you back to cruel reality. Letting out a low groan at the unwelcome interruption, you feel like swatting his hands away. “What… oh, it’s you.” 

“Good morning to you too,” If he’s bothered by your unenthusiastic greeting, he doesn’t show it. Taking out the keys from the car, the vehicle ceases making noise. “We’re here now. You did mention wanting to sleep on a bed earlier, didn’t you?”

Craning your neck to look out the window, you see only about half an hour has passed since you first fell asleep. Outside is a grandiose looking building that must be your hotel. As much as you hate to admit it, you find yourself staring at what has to be the very expensive venue. Much more than anything you could ever hope to afford. While you’re appreciating the sight before you, Chrollo gets out to get his luggage. 

That’s right. What are you supposed to do for clothes anyways? All of it’s stuck back at your apartment, and you don’t think Chrollo was generous enough to pack for you. At least a hotel will have toiletries, so that won’t be a concern. 

‘Oh well. I guess we’ll cross that bridge once we get to it.’

“Do you need me to carry you?” Chrollo calls over from the curb, two large suitcases in hand. You realize only one of them has a lock on it.

Not even humoring him with a response, you get out of the car, keeping your distance from him. To your understanding, attempting to flee or signal down anyone will earn “unwanted consequences”, or at least that’s how he put it. It’s one thing to endanger yourself in a daring escape, but you can’t justify putting other’s lives on the line. 

Morning chill prompts you to wrap your arms around yourself, warding off the cold. Following Chrollo’s lead, you head through revolving doors into a breathtaking lobby. Warm, yellow light from a glass chandelier basks the room in an ethereal glow, accenting the white marble flooring. He walks up to one of the employees behind a desk, checking in and getting a key to the room. 

In the liberating few minutes away from Chrollo, your eyes sweep the surroundings for any openings. Is it possible to make a run for it for one of the cars outside? He’s fast -- you’ve seen it for yourself -- undoubtedly more than you. Such an obvious attempt at escape will only be met with failure. The lobby is wide open, no possibilities for hiding evident. 

‘There goes that idea.’

Your insistent glancing around the area must’ve given you away, Chrollo placing a warning hand on your shoulder, and giving a firm squeeze. “Let’s head to our room. You must be exhausted by now.” 

Once again offering no signs of protest, you head to an elevator together. Chrollo hits the button with the highest number on it. Ascending upwards, you watch the lights around the rims of the buttons with interest until it reaches level thirty. The elevator adds to your dizziness, a fuzzy feeling budding in your head. 

With a ding, the door opens to reveal a long hallway. Chrollo checks the number on his key once more, before navigating to a room.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he opens the door to your shared suite. The lobby clued you in earlier that this is no cheap hotel, the suite confirming that. Since it’s at the top of the building, the entire city is visible to you. It’s a breathtaking sight, one that keeps you entranced as Chrollo shuts the door behind you. Looking out the window, you see more signs of life as the morning progresses.

The glass opens up to a balcony, the handle locked and cold to the touch. It’s probably not a good idea to walk out without permission, not sure of the act could be interpreted in a negative way. 

Chrollo takes a place by your side, a little too close for your liking. Amidst the beauty before him, he’s more interested in looking at you. “I take it you like the view?” 

“I’ve never been in a place like this,” you tell him, eyes wide and mouth agape at the breathtaking scenery. “If I had known we’d be staying here, I would’ve let you kidnap me sooner.”

“That’s a joke, by the way.” 

He chuckles lowly at your rushed cover up, thinking little of it. “Are you hungry?” 

Now that gets your attention. You can only imagine how wonderful the food here is, and you haven’t had anything to eat since your dinner last night. Having gone so long without food you’re surprised you aren’t ravenous, the kidnapping likely stunting your appetite. Still, you won’t be turning down the offer. 

You nod your head to confirm his words. Chrollo walks over to a phone in the room to place an order for room service, quietly listing off a variety of breakfast foods. While he’s occupied doing this, you look around what will be your residence for the next few weeks. He must not take any issue in your wondering about, seeing as he’s covering the only possible exit. How considerate of him. 

While he’s busy placing an order, you wonder off to take in your surroundings. From the door that leads to the hallway is a small closet on the left, and an expansive kitchen in the middle of the room. To the right of which is a living room, all surrounded by glass windows. That leaves your sleeping arrangement. 

Saving the bedroom for last, your fears are confirmed. You realize that even in such an expansive suite, there’s only a single bedroom, with a king sized bed. Luck doesn’t seem to be on your side. Well, it’s not like you can’t sleep on the floor or couch if the opportunity presents itself. A nagging voice in the back of your mind tells you Chrollo won’t allow for that, unfortunately. 

Plopping yourself down on the right side of the bed, you could almost melt into the comfortable mattress. Tempting as it is to fall asleep, you don’t trust Chrollo enough to give that a shot. Frowning at your fancy evening wear from the previous night, your previous concern about not having any clothes to change into returns. The bathroom did have a fluffy, white robe in it. 

‘That feels too vulnerable... I’ll take my chances with the dress.’

Getting up before you fall asleep, you look around for anything that might be useful. The phone in the living room might be an idea, if you could somehow call and alert the staff of your predicament. Something tells you Chrollo has already taken that into account, and you write off the idea as soon as it appears.

Speaking of Chrollo, he enters the bedroom with an inviting cart of food in front of him. Everything from hashed browns, scrambled eggs, pastries, pancakes, bacon and waffles sit atop silver plates. 

“I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got everything. Help yourself.” 

Not needing to be told twice, you grab a plate and go to town. Chrollo grabs a steaming cup of tea, taking a sip and sitting down next to you. The bed creaks underneath his added weight, you too occupied with eating to care about the implications of his action.

He raises the glass to his lips. “Is there anything else you want to ask me, [First]?” 

Swallowing your previous bite, you give his question some thought. There is plenty on your mind that you’d love to know. A better, more conclusive answer for why he kidnapped you at the top of that list. You recall how he looked detached from reality when you asked him about it on the blimp, leading you to believe that asking again will earn a similar result.

‘It’d be best to play it safe for now.’

“Yes, actually,” you take a bite of a blueberry muffin, wiping your mouth before continuing. “Am I supposed to wear this damned dress for the remainder of this... arrangement?” 

"As lovely as you look in it, no. One of the suitcases has clothes for you, among other things.” 

Blinking at this new information, you wonder if he ever intended on telling you this. In your short time of being acquainted with Chrollo, you’ve picked up on how he rewards you for conversation. Humiliating as it is to play along with his tune, you’ll have to do just that. 

“Other things...?” you repeat back in a faint murmur, showcasing your confusion by tilting your head. Chrollo nods his head in affirmation to this, setting his now empty tea cup on a nightstand with a faint click. 

“You strike me as the type to want something to do, so I went through the trouble of procuring a few of your belongings. A few books, and the like.” 

‘Ah. How terribly considerate of him.’ 

It’s not much, but knowing you have some of your personal possessions is comforting. Anything is better than being stuck alone with him, or your thoughts. The worst possible case scenarios. 

Your meal now finished, you get up and place your dirty plates back onto the tray. Chrollo continues relaxing, eyes still following your every moment. How is he not exhausted? The only thing keeping you awake is your fear of what could happen when you’re asleep, and even that is beginning to wane. Maybe some caffeine will help with that. 

“I’m gonna get my stuff.” you call over, holding your breath in anticipation of a response. 

At his lack of protest, you assume this action is approved of. Helping yourself to the suitcase without a lock on it, you unzip it to find it’s just as he said. Some of your clothes from home, your switch, books, a few offline games, your favorite perfume, shampoo and body wash. 

It’s creepy to know someone went into your residence and took your stuff, but that’s the least of your problems right now. While grabbing a change of clothes, a thought hits you. Looking up towards the phone Chrollo used to call room service earlier, your hand twitches by your side. It’s a temptation, taunting you over the possibility of freedom. 

‘He’s in the other room relaxing. Maybe, just maybe I have enough time...’

Cautiously, as not to alert him of your scheme, you begin to silently tiptoe over to the phone. Time feels like it goes slower, not even trusting yourself to breathe in fear of him hearing it. Hand hovering over your possible saving grace, your fingers grow closer to pressing 9. 

That’s when he appears in the corner of your eye, leading you to hurriedly bring back your hand and straighten your back. 

“I already cut the wires. It was a good idea though.” he calls over from the doorway, leaning against it and smiling in a way that makes your stomach curl. Not a single detail has gone overlooked, but what were you expecting from a mastermind criminal who has managed to go this long without being caught? 

Checking to see if his words hold any merit, you find it’s just as he said. Wires cut in a single clean motion, biting your lip as your hopes evaporate in front of you. 

It reminds you of Tantalus. Who was cursed to be hungry and thirsty forever, in the taunting reach of food and water that’d recede whenever he went to partake in it. An eternal punishment you’re now being subjected to. 

‘I should’ve known it wouldn’t have been so easy. Still, how could he have not made a single sound? I didn’t even hear the bed creak.’ 

Laughing nervously at being caught, you step back as to avoid further consequence, cheeks flushing at being caught in your measly attempt. “Just... checking to make sure all is in order, aha...” 

Walking away from it, you look to change the subject. Chrollo doesn’t seem bothered by your defiant actions, having clearly already anticipated your idea. He rolls out the cart from before, leading you to stiffen when he walks past you. Heart pounding away in your chest, you silently observe him opening the door to place it outside. 

He looks back at your anxious form after shutting the door. “I’d rather not have to constantly monitor you. Whether or not I do will be determined by how you act.” 

There’s a thick pressure in the room from his words, one that pushes down on you like a heavy weight. Unable to maintain eye contact with him any longer, you look to the side, clutching your clothes to your person. Chrollo doesn’t have to resort to infuriated threats or physical violence, his presence commanding enough on its own.

To ease the tension in the air, Chrollo speaks up. “If I happened to leave out anything you need, let me know.” 

Grateful for the change in subject, you nod your head in a daze. From now on you’ll have to be more discreet. Mentally slapping yourself for not giving your earlier actions more consideration, you move on at Chrollo’s lack of reprimanding. 

“Is it alright if I get changed?” you speak up, voice meek enough to remind you of a mouse. Chrollo considers you before nodding his head. You jump at the opportunity to be alone, borderline running to the master bathroom and shutting the door behind you.

Looking in the mirror, you see your frowning reflection staring back. Placing a hand to your face, you inspect the bags forming underneath your eyes. Peeling off the dress feels heavenly, using a wet rag on the sink to quickly clean your body. Showering with a murderer in the other room isn’t a tempting proposition.

Putting on your clothes, you feel like a new person. Straightening up your hair and splashing your face with cold water, you place your hands onto the cool marble counter top. 

‘I’m going to get out of this. It’ll be okay, [First]. Stay calm.’

Finishing your mini pep talk, you fold your previous outfit and place it on the floor. Will Chrollo even allow someone into your room to clean it? Not that it matters, seeing as you spotted a washer and dryer earlier. 

He’s sitting up in bed when you open the door, a book now in hand. At your presence, he looks up to acknowledge you. Chrollo’s dark hair frames his face, and you flush at his admittedly handsome appearance. How are you supposed to remain composed in his company? 

“I can close the blinds if you intend to sleep.” he offers before turning to the next page of his book. 

Oh, that’s right. Now that you’re wearing pajamas he must assume you want to sleep. The next hurdle of this headache inducing dilemma, Chrollo having the expectation of you resting next to him. Eyelids feeling heavier by the second, you wonder how much coffee would be necessary to keep you awake.

That’d still be delaying the inevitable. Coffee or not you won’t be able to stay conscious forever. Earlier, when you fell asleep in the car, he didn’t do anything weird... right? Nothing that you can account for. 

He looks up at you, noting your lack of response. Unfreezing from your prior stiff position, you make the decision to sit down next to the bed. Chrollo most likely wants you where he can see you after your previous stunt, and sleeping on the floor isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Aside from the back pains. 

Making yourself comfortable, you fully intend to fall asleep on the floor. Chrollo closes his book at your antics, coming over to your side of the bed and frowning. “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to sleep.” 

“... On the floor?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” 

Unreadable grey eyes pierce through your being, sending chills down your spine. From your previous interactions with him, you thought a measly sign of resistance such as this one wouldn’t matter. Your initial assessment must be incorrect, as he sends you a disapproving look.

“There’s no reed for that.” he reasons with you, leaving little room for argument. Not wanting to give in, you remain planted in your spot. Without wasting anymore time, he gets up and crouches next to you. You wonder if he’s going to chastise you further for your childish actions. 

He instead lifts you up in a single, fluid motion. A small noise of shock leaves your lips at the sensation of being hoisted up, scrambling to clutch onto him in fear of falling. It doesn’t last long, as he places you down onto the bed with gentleness that you didn’t expect him to have.

Arms receding back to his side, Chrollo returns to his previous position as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. You feel your face burning, a bright red glow coupled with it. The scent of his cologne lingers, memory of his touch flustering you further. 

Clearing your throat to play off the events, you still can’t manage to look at him. “I was planning on sleeping here, actually. Was just testing the floor out.” 

He opens his book back up to its previous page, lips quirking into an amused smile. “I’m sure you were.” 

Having no other options, you lay on your side facing the wall. Muscles taut and incapable of relaxing in his presence, you squeeze your eyes shut to no avail. All you hear is the gentle hum of the air conditioner on the wall, and the occasional page flip from him. 

More time passes, at a snails pace. An hour ago you would’ve entered slumber easily, now it taunts and eludes you. Huffing at your inability to rest, you adjust yourself against the soft mattress. 

Sighing quietly in defeat, you attempt to make conversation to pass the time. “Do you not ever need to sleep?” 

“I’ll be fine for a while longer. Are you concerned for my well being?” You can imagine the smug visage on his face, clear as day. It’s tempting to want to bite back with no, you’re not very worried about his health. You bite your tongue and instead ignore the teasing.

Sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest, you look over at him. His guard is still on high alert even while he’s reading. There’s an immeasurably gap in strength between you two, accented by his casual demeanor. 

“That makes two of us. I don’t feel tired now,” you narrow your eyes in his direction, wanting desperately to know what it is he’s thinking. “Something tells me we’re not going to be sitting here all day.” 

“For a majority of it. I’ll consider taking you out for dinner if you continue acting agreeable.” 

Tempting you with food, huh? It’s a most valiant effort, one that almost threatens to win you over. Especially since cities always have a variety of nice restaurants to choose from. Giving his proposition some thought, you realize there might be a catch. There always is with these kinds of ordeals. 

“What is your definition of... agreeable?” 

Disliking the way the word feels on your tongue, you purse your lips. Dehumanizing is how you’d describe it, knowing that your actions are being analyzed and studied. If Chrollo notices the bitterness in your voice, he doesn’t feel a need to mention it.

“I don’t care much for labels, but I’d equate it to wanting to date you. I told you earlier that I had taken an interest in you, that’s what I meant.” Chrollo explains to you with ease that tells you how much thought he’s given it.

When he had told you he was interested in you earlier, you thought he meant it in an entirely different way. Like how you find a certain movie interesting or entertaining. Now you’re unsure what to think. Mind swarming with thoughts ranging from maybe it’s a good thing, to what do you do now? 

Finally, you deliver your eloquent and delicately woven response, having put every level of care into it. 

“Oh.” 

Glancing over at your dumbfounded expression, he can’t help but laugh airily at your mortified look. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

[wastelandnarry]

Georgia - hes

summary: He never should of told her, never should’ve let her see inside at what was troubling his mind. Now he’s singing Georgia on his mind. 

author’s notes: inspired by Georgia - Vance Joy. I have wanted to write something with this song for the longest time and I thought it matched a Harry scenario perfectly! I hope you guys enjoy!

warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of food, breakup, angst. 

masterlist || request ||  join my taglist

Harry watched her from the window as she walked through the crowd. His eyes had caught hers once or twice during the night already and he was convinced that he'd lose his mind if it happened again. The party had been a distraction for him, a way to get his mind off of the stress of his upcoming film and maybe even just to let loose for the first time in months. He'd been nursing the drink in his hand, the soft pink liquid in the glass swirling with whatever edible glitter that had been added in. If he was being honest, he'd only grabbed the drink after having watched her grab one for herself and smile to herself when she took a sip. She was electric, the people around her hanging onto every word that left her, something Harry watched from a distance, hoping that eventually the courage would kick in and he'd be able to walk over to her.

She was, after all, his ex-girlfriend. 

Georgia had come into Harry's life all at once and he wasn't too sure how he'd managed to convince her to date him. She was kind and bold, always knowing when to reassure him on the days when his confidence was low. She was giving and had a laugh that Harry could listen to on repeat if it was ever possible. Georgia was something to behold and Harry had somehow managed to be loved by her. Their whirlwind of a relationship had started one night after they'd run into each other for the fifth time at the coffee shop near Harry's studio. He'd been up for an ungodly amount of hours and needed a caffeine kick. He was convinced that he looked more like a mummy than an actual human and just his luck, Georgia had been sitting in her usual seat. 

She'd been typing away on her laptop with the steaming mug of a vanilla latte, the one Harry learned she always got, cooling off next to her. Her eyes had been focused on the screen in front of her, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as Harry thanked his luck that she hadn't spotted how out of it he looked that day. That was until the barista called his name out and her eyes shot up, meeting his in the loud and bustling shop. Her kind smile, the one that Harry would remember long after their occasional run-in, had left Harry breathless as he rushed over to grab his drink. 

"Early morning?" her voice, which Harry decided was the best thing he'd heard all morning, said as she walked past him when she walked past him to throw away the banana peel she'd been holding onto, "You don't usually pop in until much later."

"Oh, so you've noticed me?" Harry asked and chuckled, trying his best to mask his embarrassment as he pulled down the hoodie that had been covering the unruly curls on his head. 

"Hard not to, considering everyone in this place goes quiet the second you walk in here. Which I should thank you for, gives me a moment of peace and clarity," she nodded and chuckled, "Georgia, it's nice to meet you,"

"Harry,"

"Yeah, I assumed."

Waking up most days, the sun was barely peeking out behind the clouds and Harry had always felt the pull his bed gave him. If he didn't rub his eyes and stretched out his back, he could almost hear the mattress whispering, "come back to bed, Harry," which was all he wanted to do. But he was an adult and his latest movie project had called for some very early morning call times. So there Harry was, waking up before the sun even made it's presence known to the world, sliding on some comfy joggers and his favorite hoodie to shield him from the morning cold. 

"Bub," Georgia's tired voice whined out from his bed, "Too early, don't go."

"I'm sorry, bug, I've got to head out soon, shooting early today and tomorrow," Harry sighed, looking over at the lump in the blankets that was his girlfriend, "Go back to bed, yeah?"

"Wanna kiss," she yawned and peeked out from the blankets, her tired eyes meeting Harry's in the dim-lit room. 

Harry smiled, his feet padding against the wood floors as he made his way over to her side of the bed. Harry had asked her if she'd wanted to move in a few weeks before, which had resulted in Harry's place being filled with pieces of her and him mixed in with one another. His hand found a spot on her hip, rubbing a pattern onto the exposed skin as he leaned down to press a kiss onto her lips. He knew it was dangerous. The kisses shared between the two of them usually ended with moans and whimpers being let out into the room and Harry really couldn't afford to be late to filming. But Georgia's soft lips on his pulled him closer into her, and the bed, and he found himself with that same pulling feeling his mattress would give him back when he was alone. 

"Have fun today, yeah?" Georgia breathed out, her forehead resting against Harry's as they both took in one last moment together. 

The drive to the set, which was usually when Harry drove in silence and tried to get into character, was filled with soft music. Harry's fingers tapped against the steering wheel as he hummed along to the playlist his phone had been playing for the past couple of weeks, a mix of his favorites, Georgia's favorites, and songs that reminded them of one another. Harry had been stopped at a red light when a song he'd picked for the playlist started playing, his smile growing as he heard the opening strums of the guitar. 

"...I could easily lose my mind, the way you kiss me will work each time, calling me to come back to bed singing Georgia on my mind..."

Walking back through the front door, something Harry had done more times than he could count, after his tiring day at the studio, he hadn't expected to be met with Georgia dancing around the living room. Music floated through the house; one of Georgia's favorite things about his place, which she'd told him late one night in bed, was how great the acoustics were and how the music just sounded better. Harry watched as her she danced along to the beat of her favorite song, one which had been on repeat for the past two weeks. His heart swelled and his tired body seemed to spring to life as he watched Georgia turn and face him, her eyes wide and filled with innocence at behind caught lost in a moment.

“Harry!” she said excitedly and rushed over to pull him into a tight hug, one that Harry happily returned, “How was it?”

“Was okay, darling, not as entertaining as that dance though,” he teased, his lips finding her forehead, “What a nice show to walk into.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” she mumbled and rolled her eyes, “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

Dinner has been filling, the wine shared between Harry and Georgia making them both warm and fuzzy. They’d cleaned up, humming along to the song that was playing from the living room, and before they knew it they were both laying on the couch taking one another in. Harry had found comfort between Georgia’s thighs, his body slotting in between hers as if they were made to be, his lips exploring the softness of her own. Harry could’ve kissed her for the rest of his life if he tried, he might’ve already been doing that. He always seemed to lose track of time whenever Georgia was in his arms and her lips were on his. The wine certainly hadn’t helped, their movements clumsy and slow as the took each other in and explored their bodies together. It wasn’t until he felt Georgia’s hips push up against his, both of them letting out a groan, that he slowly pulled away. His eyes opened to find a view that had been so heavenly to him in the past couple of months since their relationship had started.

“What is it…?” Georgia asked, her chest rising and falling with the panty breathes she was taking.

“You just…you’re breathtaking,” he whispered, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face, “I don’t deserve your love,” he mumbled.

Underneath him, Georgia was the definition of breathtaking. Her eyes were wide and her pupils dilated, taking over him and leaving Harry with goosebumps on his skin, almost as if she was touching him all over and yet not at all. Her lips, which Harry has been attacking not too long ago, were plush and pink, a sheen of their shared spit still covering them. Her hair had been tousled and no longer framed her face while she laid on the couch, it was poking out in different directions and she might’ve called it horrendous at that angle but Harry loved it. He loved everything about Georgia, she was the one who could make him lose his mind.

“Oh please,” Georgia laughed and shook her head, turning to press a soft kiss into Harry’s palm, “I could never and would never want to love anyone else, Harry.”

“Yeah?” he whispered, fear flashing across his face for just a second before it was gone without a trace at the feel of Georgia’s lips on his again, “I love you, bug.”

“I love you more.”

Georgia was leaving. Her business trip would take her away for almost a week, leaving Harry with a pain in his chest that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he’d try to push it. He walked her through the train station, holding her bag tightly in his hand as they strolled hand in hand towards the platform. Harry’s heart raced as he felt her lips on his for the last time in a while, his throat aching as he watched her board the train and walked out of view until she found a seat near the window where she could wave goodbye. He wasn’t used to this, being the one who would wave off their lover, he was always the one who was leaving. But as the train screeched and sped off, leaving Harry alone on the platform staring at the brick wall ahead of him, he couldn’t believe Georgia had done this for him countless times.

He’s gone back home alone, the passenger seat next to him feeling cold and he found himself pouting when his hand was met with the feel of leather instead of the softness of Georgia’s thigh. He’d stayed by the phone most of the evening, watching for any updates that she might send on her journey to a city far away from Harry. He had no idea how she did this every time Harry had to leave for a tour or for a movie project, she’d only been gone for a few hours and he’d found himself walking aimlessly around the house, waiting for a sign that she was okay. It was horrible, the waiting and the anxiousness that came with it all.

By the fourth day, Harry had realized just how much he’d taken Georgia for granted. He missed her like crazy. He missed the way she always curled up next to him in bed, how her hand always found his in the middle of the night and gave it a squeeze to show him she was still there beside him. He missed her soft voice and how it sounded while she was on a work call and Harry was in his office or reading through a script. He missed the way her arms would wrap around him and how she would hide her face in his chest, leaving kisses on his skin until he laughed and peppered her skin with kisses. By the fourth day of Georgia being gone, he realized just how hard it must’ve been to be with him.

On the fifth day, Harry had called her after one too many drinks and told her how he felt. His slurred voice rambled on about how he never realized how unfair he has been to her and how she deserved a better relationship. He told her all about how he’d felt since she been gone and how he couldn’t imagine feeling like this every other month. He’d rambled on for minutes on end, his drunken truths interrupted only by the sniffles he’d get caught up in before returning to his original point. The one that Georgia had been trying to figure out for the past hours since he’s hung up the phone. The one that had left her in her hotel room, wiping away the tears Harry had brought on.

“I’m not good enough for you,” he’d choked out, “I leave and disappear for weeks on end and you just…you just wait for me to get back. Do you wait with the same hole in your chest that I have? Because I’d never wish this on anyone, bug, it’s horrendous.”

It had all happened too fast, the rambling and the tears and hit Georgia’s ears before she even had time to think of a response. It felt like seconds had passed since she’s answered the call, excited to tell Harry all about her advent ours day in a city she’d never been to, only to have her heartbroken. Then, as if some cruel joke was being played on her, time slowed down. Every ring to Harry’s dragged on and on until his voicemail message was heard and the line went dead. She’d spent the rest of her night listening to the droning sound, hoping that eventually Harry would answer and she could calm him down, show him the truth, and tell him that she loved him. But the phone was never picked up and the pit in Georgia’s stomach was filled with anxiety.

Arriving back at the platform where she had last seen Harry, her eyes searched the massive crowd of people, her nerves rose as she walked out of the station alone. Her cab ride back home had been silent, her fingers playing with the necklace around her neck nervously as she watched the familiar streets pass by her window, hoping that when she got home she’d be met with the sight of her lover. It had been two days since the call with Harry. Two days since she’d heard from him or even got a text back from him. She was used to the silence, it was something that happened sometimes when Harry’s job became bust and chaotic and he lost himself in it all. But this time around things were different and Harry had been promised at least a couple of weeks off to relax and regain who he was. He was meant to be at home with the people he loved.

Georgia was met with an empty house, the sound of her bag hitting the floor echoing throughout the large rooms. She’d walked through the whole place, calling our Harry’s name only to be met with more silence. It wasn’t until she walked into the bedroom and saw the small card on her pillow that the fear in her truly rose. She must’ve sat on the bed and read through the damn note a thousand times, her body too in shock to move and too anxious to accept that he was gone.

“It’s better this way, bug. You deserve someone who can truly love you the way you are meant to be loved. All I do is cause you pain, I’m barely here for you and I couldn’t even handle less than a week without you. I’m sorry, I wish things could’ve ended differently. I will always have you on my mind, Georgia. Love Always, Harry.”

Harry’s voicemail message, one Georgia had gotten to memorize by the number of times she’d had to listen to it, hit her hears again. Her hands curled around the note, wrinkling it and ripping the paper on one side. Her tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried to steady her voice, her mind running a million miles an hour as she tried her best to keep down a sob.

“You left…y-you just left and didn’t even say goodbye to me. You didn’t even give me a good reason, Harry.” she sniffed, her eyes looking around the room that was filled with them both, “I knew what I was getting myself into when we started this. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy and there would be times where I wouldn’t see you for weeks on end. But I also knew that you were everything I wanted.”

Georgia had been warned about Harry when they first started seeing each other. She was told all the rumors about him and plenty of people had tried to scare her away from him and his world. But she knew there was more to him than just a pop star sensation, more to him than the act he put on both off-screen and on. He was kind and gentle and so caring. He was ambitious and inspirational, always wanting the best for himself and those he surrounded himself with. Harry was nothing like what the media portrayed and that had made Georgia fight for them to work.

“I know what your job is like, I knew from the beginning and I stayed, Harry. I stayed because I love you and I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted,” she whispered and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweater, “So please just…just call me back and we can fix this, yeah? I love you,” she sighed and hesitated for a few seconds before hanging up.

Harry, from his hotel room just a few blocks away, listened to the voicemail for hours before his eyes finally closed and he drifted off to sleep.

And then she ran into her at that damn party.

In the short span of the party, Harry had somehow managed to grab her attention and after another sip of the pink drink, they both found themselves walking off to the garden. She’d walked out first, her eyes meeting his while she passed by, almost as if giving Harry a sign to follow her. He’d taken one last sip of his drink, setting the cup down before he followed after her. She looked beautiful in the soft light of the garden, but then again, she always looked beautiful. It wasn’t until Harry’s eyes met hers, which were dull in comparison to the usual emotions they’d held before, that he realized just how much he had missed her presence.

“How have you been?” Harry asked, breaking the silence between them and instantly hating how her shoulders and jaw tensed, “I…I’m sorry about…”

“About leaving me with just a note and a shitty explanation?” Georgia asked, her eyes staring into Harry’s with a new emotion, anger.

“Georgia I…” Harry started, the lump in his throat growing as she shook her head and sighed.

“No, you had your chance to talk,” she frowned, “You has your chance to talk and call or even just text me, and did you? No! All you did was ignore me for four months and now you won’t stop staring at me at this party and it’s just…”

“I love you,” he blurted out, his eyes wide as he waited for her reaction, “I know I messed up but I love you and I haven’t stopped loving you since you spilled chocolate syrup on me during our first sleepover.”

“You can’t just show up after months and expect me to forgive you. You broke my heart, Harry! You left me and I couldn’t even stop you,” she whispered shakily, her eyes meeting his in the moonlight, “I just…I miss you so much and I should hate you. I should hate your guys but I just can’t.”

They talked more after that, both of them too tired from the stress and heartbreak of the past months to put up much of a fight. They talked until the moon was disappearing on the horizon and the music behind them both dimmed until it was just Harry and Georgia's voice floating up into the sky. They talked about everything, the insecurities they’d both had, the challenging parts of their relationship, and even the terrifying parts. They both moved closer to one another as the night went on, leaning into the warmth they both gave off until they had said everything they needed to say.

“Please just…can we try again?” Harry whispered as his hand found Georgia’s, his eyes meeting hers with a pleasing look, “I want to work this out with you, I want us to work.”

“I never wanted you to leave in the first place, Harry,” Georgia whispered, her forehead leaning against his as they both felt a pressure lift off their shoulders. Both finally feeling a little more like themselves for the first time in months.

Harry's personal life changed a lot after that party. He continued to throw himself into his work, leaving his studio from late nights recording and rushing on to the set of his latest movie project. Starring in movies had always been a dream for Harry, he got to immerse himself into a world and a life he'd never lived. It was so surreal whenever he walked on stage in his costume, it all felt like a dream. But his latest dreams in life include a certain someone by his side. They included Georgia, whose warmth and kindness brought Harry a bigger thrill than any of his projects ever could. The months apart had left both of them searching for one another in an ocean of regrets and words unspoken until that night at the party.

It was hard work, especially when he was writing and recording in whatever spare time he had on days after he was done filming, making time for his relationship with the love of his life was something he’d never take for granted again. He’d move planets for Georgia and he knew that she’d do the same for him. And maybe, just maybe, the ring that had been hiding in Harry’s bag would make an appearance in the coming months, to show his lover that he would always sing with Georgia on his mind.

taglist: @hrrypinks​ @matchacal

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 5: Let The Games Begin

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 6.2K

Warnings - From this chapter onward the characters are in a Hunger Games setting which will involve Graphic Depictions of Violence and Death, Major and minor character deaths (to state the obvious the most important deaths will be in the final chapter), there is also a planned dubcon scene - which will be marked for those who do not wish to read

Fight scenes will involve: knives, swords, bow and arrows, drowning, torture, and possibly others in the future.

PLEASE AVOID READING IF YOU CONSIDER THIS CONTENT UPSETTING

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

From the second your name had been drawn at the reaping, everything since then had led to this moment. Standing in a sterile white tiled room where the only object inside was a tube that would send you into the arena. Of course, from the moment you entered, you had considered trying to fight your way out, but there were armed guards stationed by the doors. Not to mention the underground location would be impossible to escape from, with multiple doors requiring security passes to open. Earlier you had “jokingly” asked Finnick what the guards would do if a tribute tried to run. He had been upfront about the fact the guards were instructed to apprehend, but not kill, anyone that tried. Finnick told you about some stories he heard of kids that tried to escape before the games in the past, none had succeeded. All of them had been recaptured, injured severely in a way that could be covered (such as a shattered kneecap hidden under baggy pants), and then forced into the arena to die in the opening bloodbath. So, when the announcement came for all tributes to step inside their tubes, you reluctantly acquiesced without complaint.

The tube was horribly claustrophobic. It was soundproof so the only thing you could hear was the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and your heavy breathing echoing off the enclosed glass. For a moment you pressed your hand to the glass, one of the identical triplet stylists watching you from the outside much like a fish in a bowl, before the platform beneath your feet suddenly began to rise. You shrieked, adrenaline starting to rush through your veins, and you dropped to a crouch to try and keep your balance.

“Whatever you do, do NOT step off the platform before the countdown finishes,” Finnick had warned yourself and Namjoon during the train ride to the Capitol, his hands making a corresponding gesture of an explosion, complete with his own ‘pow’ sound affect.

You were terrified of over balancing on the moving platform and falling off to your death. You were also terrified of the opening bloodbath about to commence, the prospect of having to potentially kill someone, and the thought of Hoseok waiting for you in the arena. The more you began to think, as the platform kept rising, the more you wondered if stepping off to an immediate death might actually be the better option.

The roof of your tube opened and the light of the simulated sun was as blinding as staring into the real thing. You winced and lowered your head, taking in your first sights of the arena upon surfacing. You had submerged from the ground onto a platform surrounded by large wet rocks. The most eye-catching feature was a giant waterfall about a hundred yards ahead of you. The fall was awe inspiring, easily over fifty meters tall and crashing down into a pool below. The pool was surrounded by rocks, upon which yourself and the other tributes were standing, all equally distanced from the cornucopia at the edge. The rocks were sloped, water from the fall continuing to flow beyond the pool and downwards. There were gaps between the rocks were multiple rivers flowed rapidly downstream. Should a tribute slip and fall it could easily send them to their death before anyone could even start fighting.

You quickly turned your head to see who was beside you, noticing that tributes were not scattered by district order. To your left were only three, before a forest appeared at the edge of the rocks. There was an unfamiliar girl closest to you, Yoongi, and then a young boy you recognized as being from District 11. You didn’t remember his name but he was memorable enough due to his small size and being the youngest tribute. You turned to see who was at your right before a loud noise and sudden ringing in your left ear snapped your head straight back to the left.

Where a small trembling boy had been shaking just seconds ago, was now a sickening display of dismembered limbs, ruptured organs, and blood now mixing into the water. You didn’t know if he had slipped, or done it on purpose, but the boy had fallen off the platform. The vision itself was awful, but what truly made the scene sickening was the scent of burned flesh lingering from the explosion, causing you to gag.

“Tributes are instructed to remain on their platforms until the end of the countdown. Welcome to the 68th Annual Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor”

A robotic voice sounded from overhead – loud enough to be heard over the multiple screams of horror – as a lit 10 appeared on the sky above. Whatever consideration you had given to the thought of blowing yourself up had vanished upon seeing the grotesque reality.

9

You turned back to the right, partially to see who was close to you, but mostly to avoid the sight of 11’s scattered corpse, struggling not to vomit.

8

The boy from 12 was closest to you, his face pale with fright and tears freely falling from his wide shell-shocked eyes, as he outright sobbed.

7

You couldn’t blame him for crying, if anything you were surprised at the fact you hadn’t started doing so yourself. You could hear some of the other tributes were still screaming in fear and you felt a crippling weight in your stomach knowing that nearly all of them would soon be dead too.

6

On the other side of 12 you saw Hoseok, who was eerily calm amidst all of the panic. He stood tall; dressed in a form fitting shirt, cargo pants that cinched his narrow waist, and a pair of black boots. With his hair parted and swept to the side, displaying all the sharp angles of his facial features, he looked like he could have been a model from one of those Capitol billboards you had seen. But the reality was he was a trained killer, obsessed with you, and after the remaining 5 seconds your life was about to be in his hands.

You wondered if the Capitol had a hand in him being placed so close to you right from the beginning. If you really were Snow’s favorite, like Finnick believed, were they entrusting Hoseok to live up to his declarations from the interviews last night?

4

Upon noticing that you were looking in his direction, Hoseok locked in your eye contact. His rich dark brown irises held a magnanimous pull that kept your attention glued to him, instead of looking to see who else was further beyond him or examining the rest of the arena.

3

He tilted his head towards the direction of the cornucopia with an imploring raise of his brow, a clear indication of his intention to follow the career pack’s plan. You shakily nodded your confirmation in return.

2

‘I’ve got you,’ he mouthed slowly, pointing to himself and then to you with his words. Again, you just nodded in reply, not knowing what else to do.

1

The last second was felt like the longest moment of your life, caught in between the security of your raised platform and the imminent danger of your life being up for slaughter. How was it that your group’s plan was to run straight to the center of the chaos? Your survival depended on the promises of people you barely knew, who would eventually have to kill each other anyway. Your only other option would be the forest on the sidelines, with no survival skills, and a target on your head for being separated from the career pack.

A thunderous boom of a canon sounded in the sky to signal the commencement of the games and you took off immediately. Your environment in District 4, living by the sea, gave you an advantage in being able to navigate the slippery surface of the wet rocks. The combat boots the Capitol had provided you with fit your foot perfectly, were lightweight enough to easily move in, and had a solid grip on the sole.

The race to the center was over a surface of uneven rocks that had gaps in between, where rivers of water rushed through – some of which were multiple feet wide and far too big to jump over. You didn’t dare look to the sides, or behind you, to see what anybody else was doing. Your only focus was the cornucopia that came closer with every step. Items were scattered around, with their usefulness depending on the proximity to the cornucopia in the center. You were beginning to pass things like bundles of fruit or a small sack of nuts on the ground, but didn’t stop to consider them for a moment. If your alliance could secure the cornucopia then you would always be able to return for foodstuffs later, and if some other tributes snatched a few things before that then so be it.

This year the cornucopia took the shape of a large rock formation, some weapons were stashed along the bottom, with the more advanced tools up higher, which would require the tributes to have to climb for them. Your lungs were burning, and the rocky surface was now starting to become a lot more uneven, but you forced yourself to concentrate on your destination, which was so close you could almost touch it. You spotted a backpack on the ground; in front of a rock you would have to climb over. You quickly swiped it up and slung one strap over your shoulder, continuing to move forward as you did. You awkwardly shoved your arm through the other strap as you came to a stop in front of a bigger rock. It wasn’t too large, just above your hips, but wasn’t something you would be able to just leap over like some of the others.

You placed your palms on the top of the surface and prepared to lift you weight over, when suddenly you were hit by a colliding weight in your back. You released a sharp cry, a combination of the surprise along with the sharp bruising pain from your hips being slammed into the rock. You didn’t know what had hit you, but it had caused your eyes to catch the glimmer of a knife’s edge that was hidden in a crack. You hurriedly snatched it by the handle, and turned around to face a terrified District 12.

The poor boy was ass down on the wet ground and staring up at you with pure fear in his eyes. You deduced that he had slipped into you by accident on his race to try and reach the weapons before the careers. He was essentially defenseless whilst you now held a knife, the weapon of your expertise, in your grasp. It would be so easy for you to just toss the blade straight between his eyes. After all he had been trying to get to the same weapons in an attempt to kill you. It would just be self-defense wouldn’t it? So why couldn’t you bring yourself to throw it? You knew you were wasting precious seconds, that every moment you stood there with the knife in your grasp, back to the rock and cornucopia behind it, you were essentially making yourself more vulnerable to other attacks. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to end the life of a terrified child. He couldn’t have been any older than fourteen, the pants and jacket the Capitol had dressed him in hung loosely on his underdeveloped frame.

There was something unfair about being eighteen and an adult, but still having to compete in a game with other children. How could you kill a kid? But really you were still just a kid too? Why did you have to die? Why did anyone here?

Your moral crisis was interrupted by a hissing whizzzz beside your left ear and the sight of an arrow embedding itself straight into the eye of 12. He was dead before his body could fully hit the ground.

“YN!” a sharp voice barked from behind you, and you turned to see Hoseok standing on one of the higher points of the cornucopia with a bow in his grip and a quiver full of arrows over his shoulder.

“JUST STAY THERE!” He yelled, before turning to his side and launching an arrow point blank into the forehead of a girl that had started to try and climb for a sword.

You flinched at his second cold blooded kill in less than a minute; clearly, he was not facing the same internal struggle that you were. By now the other tributes (who hadn’t run in the opposite direction at the start) had realized the highest ranked prospect had landed himself a long-range weapon and were starting to scatter in fright, scrambling to pick up any items they could as they made a mad dash over the rocks for the forest. Hoseok showed anyone within his range no mercy, launching another arrow into the back of a young girl, before narrowly missing another target that had been smart enough to zig zag.

You spotted that Krystal, Athena, and Yoongi had found each other and were working at the base to start gathering things they thought they would need, each holding a weapon as they did so, and constantly looking over their shoulders. You also saw that Namjoon had scaled the side of the cornucopia for the sword Hoseok’s victim had tried for. He was now jumping back down with his sight set on a girl at the cornucopia’s edge trying to carry a flint, bat, and a bag of fruit. You quickly looked down – not wanting to witness the slaughter – but you could still hear her petrified scream and the sound of the blade sinking into her flesh.

“YN LOOK OUT!”

You made the mistake of turning towards Krystal’s voice – shouting in warning – instead of the direction of the male tribute from 7 as he tackled you from behind. Unlike the younger kid from 12, 7 was older, larger and his collision into your body was no accident. Though you had been caught off guard you still managed to maintain your grip on your knife as he wrestled you both off of the rocky surface and into the raging rivers below. You sucked in a deep breath before being pulled underwater. The fact 7 had opted for the water strongly indicated that he didn’t have a weapon himself, and didn’t seem to think you had one either. He had dragged you under by a grip around your neck, but he was struggling to hold it, whilst also trying to swim. The water was deeper than your height, something he probably wasn’t expecting, as the currents pushed both of your bodies downstream. His hold was painful and being held underwater was causing your survival instincts to go into overdrive. There was no sense of hesitation when you started jabbing your knife backwards, trying to get him to break his grip.

You could barely hear his gargled grunts above the rushing water besides yours ears, but when one jab landed so deeply that the knife didn’t come back out, he finally broke his hold with a scream. Twisting in the water, you kicked wildly to separate you further, launching your foot off his gut and propelling your body back to the surface.

You gasped for air, coughing out some of the water that had gone up your nose, as you allowed the water to carry you further down the river. Behind you, you could hear 7’s shouting – a combination of pain from the stab wound and frustration at his failed kill. Moving with the current, you swam with the river, kicking your legs behind your body and moving your arms in a freestyle to put even more distance between the two of you. Ahead, the river began to slow in pace, with a rock at the side sticking out that would allow you to grab on to. You adjusted your stroke and managed to catch it pretty easily, pulling your body out of the water.

For a moment you laid on your side, just trying to get your breath back and spitting out any water you had accidentally swallowed. You were grateful – from what you could taste – that the water seemed to be fresh, rather than salt, giving you a drinking source. Not wanting to risk being so exposed in the open for much longer, you pulled yourself up onto all fours. You looked around to see just how far you had fallen and realized you were now further away from the cornucopia than when the games had started. You could still see it, along with Hoseok and Krystal who had been trying to run along the rocks to help – but the currents had been much faster. They were both around a hundred yards away, looking quite small in your eye, until you spotted a third figure. At first you thought it could have been one of the other careers, before realizing that it was Hoseok pulling the boy from 7 out of the river. He must’ve caught onto a rock earlier than you had. Krystal saw you and waved to ask if you were ok – but your eyes were glued to Hoseok as he lugged 7’s body completely from the water as the latter struggled. You could see multiple stab wounds that you had inflicted across 7’s legs and torso, most of them looked like superficial cuts except for the knife that was sticking out of his thigh.

Wondering why you weren’t responding; Krystal turned her attention to your eyeline to watch as Hoseok grabbed a hold of the knife’s handle and twisted the blade in further – causing 7 to let out an agonized scream. You felt your bones chill at the sound, you had been trying to hurt him out of self-preservation but Hoseok was doing this for his own enjoyment. Like a car crash in slow motion you couldn’t look away as Hoseok ripped the blade out by dragging it all the way down to 7s knee, as 7 begged him to stop in strangled screams. But he didn’t listen, instead Hoseok’s long fingers – the same fingers that had held your face in his hands whilst professing his feelings for you – wrapped around his wounded leg to squeeze painfully, earning another pained scream.

The sight was making you sick and you couldn’t take it, hunching forwards you vomited up what little was in your stomach. Krystal, who had previously resumed climbing in your direction had also stopped – feeling paralyzed by the sound. It was like the entire arena had fallen into a stunned silence, as the sound of 7’s screams carried over the rapids and into the trees. Athena, Yoongi and Namjoon had stopped what they were doing on the cornucopia and even the other tributes in the forest momentarily paused at the sound of the noise. Everyone had known to expect death and violence, but this was going beyond into the realm of torture.

“You thought you could take her away from me?” Hoseok seethed, releasing his grip to stand back up to his full height.

7 writhed on the ground, his face scrunched in pain, and it was all he could do to beg.

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered, coughing up blood from the stab wounds in his torso you had inflicted earlier.

7 knew there was no way he could survive anymore. Even if by some miracle someone else could take out 2, there was no way he would be able to find shelter or food. His fate had been sealed.

“Sorry?” Hoseok spat, turning the knife in his hand.

“No, you’re not sorry now. But you will be”

From your position, you couldn’t hear their conversation, but you didn’t need to. You scrambled to your feet and dashed over the last few rocks towards the forest edge, trying to focus on the sound of your feet sloshing against the water of the river bank to drown out 7’s next round of screams.

***

It was customary to wait until the opening bloodbath had finished before sounding the canons that represented the loss of a tribute’s life. After Hoseok finally finished exacting his vengeance on 7, the game makers decided the opening round was over, firing seven canons into the air – the faces and districts of the lost tributes would be revealed later in the evening. Ripping the blade out of 7’s corpse Hoseok turned around, looking for Krystal who had been responsible for tracking you as he took care of 7. He was livid to see her back at the cornucopia without you. He wiped the blood off the knife with his shirt, before slipping it through a belt loop of his pants.

“Where is she?”

Hoseok demanded to know as soon as he rejoined the others, who were standing together at the base of the cornucopia, surrounding a pile of the best supplies they had gathered.

His eyes were narrowed in Krystal’s direction given she was supposedly the one meant to find you. She flinched, after having just witnessed his assault on 7 she wasn’t exactly keen to tell him something he wouldn’t want to hear. Sensing his sister’s discomfort, Yoongi protectively stepped partially in front of her, brandishing the axe he had claimed as his weapon.

“She’s ok,” Krystal began, and Hoseok’s pinched frown eased slightly, although he still looked angry.

“I saw her pull herself up onto a rock near the shore, further down from where you were.”

“So why didn’t you go and get her?”

“Because she saw you. YN saw what you were doing to 7 and she was terrified. She ran into the forest before I could reach her.”

Hoseok exhaled sharply, as he ran his fingers through his hair. He was pissed at Krystal for just letting her go, but he couldn’t take it out on her in front of the alliance. He was also pissed at you for running away. He had done everything that he had to 7 for you, why didn’t you see that? You should be grateful he was inflicting revenge against anyone that dared to hurt you, not hiding from him.

“I have an idea,” Namjoon spoke up, his body weight casually leaning against his sword.

“A lot of fucking help you were. Aren’t you supposed to be in love with her?” Hoseok snapped in his direction.

“You and Krystal were both closer to her than I was when she fell, there was nothing I could have done. You’re the one that let her get away because you chose to torture that boy instead of going after her,” Namjoon coolly replied.

“Anyway, your plan is?” Athena butted in, growing really tired of the arguing about you. As far as she was concerned it was your choice to run off, she didn’t come here to play babysitter.

“We take the best supplies and set up camp on top of the waterfall. We can’t camp here because it’s too wet, there’s nowhere to sleep or make a fire on this rock. We’d also be way too exposed out here in the open. If we get to the top of the cliff, we can find solid ground and also have a vantage point of watching the rest of the arena below us. Those of us with a long-range weapon,” he paused to look at Hoseok, “can keep an eye on the cornucopia from above and shoot down anyone who tries to come back here for the other supplies.”

“What about YN?”

Hoseok was surprised Krystal asked the question before he could.

Meanwhile Athena rolled her eyes at the side. ‘YN, YN, YN, YN this, YN that, Where’s YN? Why was half the alliance so preoccupied by one member? She's not even that special anyway’ But she kept her thoughts to herself, especially after having just witnessed Hoseok’s attack.

“It’s too dangerous to try and follow her into the forest right now. We don’t know which direction she ran and there’s the risk of coming across other tributes instead. I don’t want to just leave her either, but I think we might have a chance of spotting her from up there using a higher vantage point.”

“It’s getting close to the middle of the afternoon,” Yoongi spoke up for the first time. “Any time spent looking for YN is less time spent setting up a camp, and we don’t know what’s going to happen later at night.”

“What if it was me that was missing? Wouldn’t you try to find me?” Krystal frowned at her brother.

“You’re my sister, that’s different. And she’s not ‘missing’ she chose to run away. I’m not letting you risk your life over something that was her decision. You’re setting up the camp with me.”

“I’m going with you too,” Athena agreed, internally cheering over the fact that finally someone else was talking sense.

Namjoon nodded at the three before turning back to Hoseok.

“You can try and find her now, and risk going out there alone, where any group of tributes would be willing to team up together to take you down after what you just did to 7. Or you can come with us, build our camp tonight, and tomorrow we can search together.”

Hoseok raised his brow in Namjoon’s direction. It wasn’t the first time that they had argued over you, and he knew this sure as hell wasn’t going to be the last. Hoseok wanted nothing more than to leave the others and set off into the forest trying to find you, but Namjoon was unfortunately right. He was already the biggest threat based on his performance score, torturing another tribute would only serve to make him an even bigger target for the others. Going into the forest without someone watching his back was practically suicide. He didn’t trust Namjoon to watch out for him as far as he could throw him, but if they went into the forest together it would at least provide another distraction.

So, reluctantly, he agreed.

***

After running into the forest, you changed direction to run along the side of the river, back towards the direction of the cornucopia, whilst staying hidden behind the trees. Your logic was that if the careers were to try and chase after you, they hopefully wouldn’t be expecting you to be running towards them. You also chose to stay close to the river because you figured a majority of the tributes that had ran away would be further inland. And in the case another tribute tried to attack you, you had already survived fighting someone in the water – it was by far your preferred element compared to the woods. Secondly if you were fighting and could get back out in the open, you knew that Hoseok would instantly come running. You supposed there was some kind of irony in running away from a psychotic killer, whilst simultaneously expecting him to save your life if someone else endangered it. Maybe you would have been able to laugh if it wasn’t so sickening.

When you were close enough that you could start to hear the sounds of the career’s voices, you stopped. Ducking down behind a bush, with another tree at your back for cover, you peered through the leaves and watched them gathering items. Hoseok seemed to be the most reluctant and was continuously looking over his shoulder in the direction you had fallen downstream, as if expecting to see you walking back. It wasn’t hard to figure out that they were planning to move. You couldn’t blame them, after all the cornucopia was far too wet to set up camp on.

Exhausted from the earlier fight, and running through the trees, you slumped back against the tree behind you, feeling the bag on your shoulder collide with the bark. You startled. You had been so distracted you hadn’t even realized that you were still wearing a backpack, you were surprised it hadn’t fallen off in the fight. You pulled it from your shoulders, eager to see what was inside. You had picked the bag up on the cornucopia’s outskirts so you weren’t expecting much, but you could still feel a few items inside. Pulling at the zip you opened it up to reveal a bottle of water, a ruined flint, and a rope. You sighed, disappointed that there wasn’t a weapon but at least grateful to have something. Given you had thrown up before, along with the additional running after, you were dying of thirst. Uncapping the bottle, you took a long swig before twisting the lid back on. Even though the river water was drinkable you wanted to save your bottle as long as possible to avoid going out into the open.

You stayed in your little hiding spot for the rest of the afternoon. Cautiously you watched the career pack gather their supplies, and when they made their way towards the forest you felt your heart rate skyrocket. But thankfully they walked in the opposite direction, towards the waterfall. The careers were the only tributes you saw for the rest of the day.

As the sky began to change color in the evening, so did the temperature begin to change as well. For the most part it had been quite warm during the day. The Capitol had dressed you in a pair of khaki cargo pants, brown boots, a dark grey T-shirt and a brown bomber jacket. Despite being crouched behind a bush, it had been warm enough for your clothes to have mostly dried off during the rest of the day. You had taken off your bomber jacket and hung it over your head for camouflage, which had allowed it to dry completely. But as the temperature rapidly began to fall, you were quick to pull it back over your body, zipping it up all the way to the neck. The temperature continued to drop and you soon found yourself shivering as your breath became a visible cloud every time you exhaled. This had to be a twist from the game makers.

You vaguely remembered someone telling you before that hot air rises. You looked at your surroundings, as your body began to shiver from the still dropping temperatures. Not only was your breath becoming more visible with every exhale but it looked like the air was now holding a misty quality. Looking upwards it didn’t seem to be so dense and there were plenty of large trees with sturdy branches around you. You were definitely terrified at the prospect of snakes, bugs and other lethal animals in the trees, however there were bound to be other dangerous species on the ground too. With no way to make a fire, if you stayed where you were it was very possible you could freeze to death before the night’s end.

Climbing a ship, compared to a tree, was incredibly different. Most boats had railings and were much easier to scale. But you found that the leg and upper body strength you had built from a life of hard labor came in handy. You were agile and found yourself capable of pulling your body weight up onto the branches that were above you. You refused to look down the higher you climbed, knowing there was no water below you to break your fall if you lost your balance. There was no point in psyching yourself out; if you fall, you die. If you don’t climb, you die. The only choice left was to keep climbing. When you reached a height where the branch above you began to dip when you applied your body weight to it, you stopped. Still refusing to look down, you sat onto the branch you were currently on, gripping the wood in between your thighs tightly for security. You removed the strap of your bag from one arm and shrugged the pack over your shoulders. Unzipping it at the top you reached inside to remove the rope, before zipping it back up again.

The first thing you did was secure the rope around your waist, looping it twice before securing your makeshift belt in a fisherman’s knot. The trunk of the tree was too wide to reach around with your arms so would have to tie yourself to the branch instead, which would mean looking down. Very carefully you leaned forward to lower your chest to the branch, exhaling shakily as you caught a glimpse of exactly how high up you were for the first time.

Instead of being able to see the floor, all you were met with was the sight of a frosty grey cloud that was covering the entire arena along the lower ground, it was surreal. Not wanting to be facing downwards for any longer, you worked as quickly as possible to loop the rope around your branch four times before securing it with another knot. Relieved that you now had some security, you sat back up to lean against the branch. It would have to be an uncomfortable sleep, but it was better than nothing.

Although you were no longer in the freezing zone, you still found yourself shuddering from the cold. You bundled yourself up into a ball, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms underneath your legs. Suddenly the Panem anthem began to play and a holograph appeared in the sky. Given the fog there was also a vocal announcement of the tributes who had died, along with the usual pictures being displayed. As you watched the montage of the fallen tributes, you noticed a balloon floating towards you. At first you panicked, thinking it was a bomb or some sort of game maker twist, until you saw the basket with a bundle inside. It was a sponsored gift.

You sat up a little straighter and cautiously reached out to the balloon as it stopped to hover in front of your face. The item was soft and light, as you picked it up feeling confused. The material was too soft to be clothing. Placing it upon your lap you realized that it was a folded camouflage blanket, being held together by a ribbon with a card sticking out. You pulled the card out, flicking it over to read who it was from.

To our darling dove, Stay safe and warm Love always, YN-United.

You had a fan club? Was this a normal thing in the games? You wondered if any of the other tributes had fan clubs too. This definitely wasn’t a common thing within District 4, as you had never heard of civilians pooling resources to be able to donate for your own tributes, so it had to be a Capitol thing.

You were surprised, but not complaining as you undid the ribbon and began to unfold the blanket. It turned out the blanket wasn’t the only gift, as wrapped inside was a stunning ornate knife. You gasped, picking it up to hold in front of your eyes. The handle was white gold and decorated with patterns of flowers and vines, with tiny doves along the base. A ring of diamonds surrounded the top of the handle with a fat diamond attached at the bottom. You felt your eyes watering at how elaborate and expensive the knife had to be. Removing the sheath, your jaw fell open at the sight of the blade. You had never seen a material like it before; it was like an opal had mixed with glass. Stunning colors swirled through the blade, which was opaque enough to partially see through. It disturbed you to think that the people who had gifted you with such a beautiful item wanted you to kill with this thing.

Feeling overwhelmed you returned the sheath over the blade and put the knife down your jacket. The rope around your waist would prevent it falling out from the bottom and you tightened the chords around your neck to make sure it wouldn’t fall out from the top if you leaned forward.

Keeping your knees close to your chest you pulled the blanket over your body, sighing at the instant feeling of warmth the added layer provided. You were still far from comfortable, sitting upright on a tree, but at least you weren’t freezing anymore. By now the sun had completely set and the temperature along with it. You were safe for the moment, but you wondered how the people on the ground were going to cope in the subzero conditions. The only way you could imagine surviving would be through climbing a tree like you had, sharing body warmth with another tribute, or making a fire. Soon you began to start smelling smoke in the air, a clear indication that multiple fires were burning. But fires were dangerous.

***

Across the other side of the river a boy from 3 had set up a fire in desperation. He knew it wasn’t smart to make it obvious where he was, but if he didn’t create a heat source soon he was going to die soon anyway. He could only pray that the other tributes were too distracted trying to avoid freezing themselves to think about hunting others down. Unfortunately for him his prayers went unanswered. The last thing he felt before a canon boomed in his honor, was a blade across his neck as someone slit his throat from behind.

[foodieforthoughts]

Sand and Stars - Chapter Three

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 1834

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of war, military technicalities, smut in future chapters

A/N: Everyone who is sticking around for this story, I love you all. So finally there is a bit of story progression and I really am excited for your feedback. Also, thanks to @thelastsock for beta reading, this woman is a GEM! Like, comment and reblog if you liked it, we writers get a boost of confidence from it. Enjoy!

*gif by @demivampirew*

<Chapter Two

Title: Chapter Three

Olivia rubbed her hands together as the cold January winds washed over her face. Her four in the morning wake up had her relieving Schmidt from his patrol post. Despite wearing her t-shirt underneath her fatigues and the armored vest strapped on her torso, she shivered as a gush of wind swept over the silent desert.

The temperature in the Iraqi desert usually dropped down extensively, in contrast to the sweltering heat during the day. Olivia loved winter mornings but only when she was back home in New York, watching the sun rise through the fog with a steaming cup of coffee. Oh what would I do to get a cup of coffee right now.

She spotted Sloan behind a barricade made with sandbags along with BJ, or Sergeant Benjamin Jones, by her side. In a funny twist of events, two weeks of an unusually high amount of scheduled postings together was all it had taken for Margaret Sloan to stop complaining about his boisterous attitude and morph into fawning over the man. Olivia had an inkling that BJ was behind the coincidences of them spending time together so often.

Walking across the quiet compound, Olivia reached the gate where Schmidt stood with two more men from the Special Forces team, whom she recognized as Pepps and Pats. Schmidt smiled at her as she approached him which she returned with her own while pulling on her gloves. Adjusting her rifle properly around her shoulder, Olivia greeted the other two men who were in the process of pulling out cigarettes from a box.

“Morning, Sarge,” Schmidt greeted while accepting a cigarette from Pepps, “I can go to bed now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m here for.” She pulled at the scarf on her neck, winding it snuggly to prevent the wind licking at her exposed skin. Pats offered a cigarette to her which she promptly refused.

“What? You stopped smoking?” Schmidt spoke with the cancer stick between his lips, staring incredulously at her.

“Like you don’t know.” She rolled her eyes.

Schmidt shrugged his shoulder, lighting the cigarette and handing the camouflage print lighter back to Pepps. He let out a thick puff of smoke in the air with the other two giving similar clouds as they walked away.. “I blame Alex for changing you.” Schmidt said while shaking his head. “He’s made you bland like our MREs.”

Olivia snorted. “I don’t change for men, Gary. And besides, smoking isn’t good for health.”

“Who are you and what have you done to our Sergeant Red?”

Olivia laughed while punching Schmidt in the shoulder. Schmidt laughed along, taking drags of his stick in between. The silence of the night with not even the sound of insects was apparent in the pitch-black darkness beyond the gates. The silence felt deafening to her combat attuned, city living ears. 

“Sloan doing alright with her new guy,” Schmidt chuckled, jutting his chin towards the barricades. “These guys were letting me on some juicy gossip about those two.”

“Care to share?” Olivia feigned interest by animatedly resting her chin on a hand. She had already heard Sloan gushing about her supposed crush on the bearded hunk of a man who was apparently a sweetheart.

“Sloan snuck in their quarters last night. BJ made everyone-” His sentence was cut short as he looked beyond her shoulders, forgetting his words while being fixated on whatever was behind her.

Olivia turned around instinctively, following his gaze and gripping her rifle just in case. Her heart skipped a beat as she spotted Captain Syverson making his way towards them with Aika following him. He was dressed in only a t-shirt and cargo pants like the cold did not even affect him. Or he was too hot to feel it. She mentally kicked herself for letting her thoughts flow towards the gutter.

In the past few weeks, Olivia had grown to like the captain. She had already accepted the fact that physically he was a sight for sore eyes. But she had also observed how he went about his day and concluded he wasn’t a creep like she had initially thought.

She had watched him talk to his teammates, the meticulous briefing that he carried out every morning. He commanded respect but was also easy-going. Just the other day, she had watched from afar as he was being teased by Pepps over being smitten and how he was turning into a hormonal teenager. Olivia had blushed beet red when Pepps had mentioned her name and had rushed to join her men while trying to conceal the subtle smile playing on her lips.

“Good mornin’, guys.” Syverson’s husky voice sounded like a pleasant hymn to her ears. She let go of her gun, letting it hang over her chest and resorted to nervously fixing her scarf.

“Morning, Captain.” Schmidt greeted, offering his cigarette to Sy.

“I don’t smoke.”

Olivia looked towards Schmidt coyly, already understanding the thoughts going through her adopted twin’s head. Schmidt was smirking at her, wiggling his eyebrows and puffing out smoke as he made his way to join Pepps and Pats. On several occasions he had called her out for staring at Sy like he was a ‘delicious plate of home cooked food’. She had hastily refused and showed him the finger while desperately trying to hide her blush.

“Pleasant morning,” Sy commented, looking around the compound with his hands on his hips. She let her gaze travel over the vastness of his chest and down to the gun holster on his thigh. Olivia would have never imagined herself to be jealous of a piece of nylon sitting snugly against a soldier’s thigh.

“Sergeant Ross, are you checkin’ me out?”

Olivia instantly veered her eyes away from his thick thighs and looked up at him. Sy's eyes danced with mischief, a shit-eating grin peeking out from his beard. In the past two weeks, Sy had also progressively flirted with her. He would sometimes compliment her on her pushups in the gym which she assumed was just an excuse for him to look at her ass. He had brought out a cup of coffee for her in the middle of the night when she was posted at the gate too. His men had teased him about being partial towards her for which he had flipped a finger at them.

“Not everyone is like you, Captain.” She turned back around, pursing her lips to mask her smile. She liked to playfully banter with him. She heard him snort and walk to stand next to her. His presence made a spark of electricity travel from her head to the tip of her toes.

“I disagree.” He chuckled. The vibrato of his laugh reverberating from his chest seemed to immediately brighten Olivia’s day. She glanced at him and felt her heart pick up the pace, meeting his eyes. “If we were back home, I would have already taken you out on a date.”

As the words registered in her mind, warmth rushed to Olivia's face, even the tips of her ears felt hot in the cold desert air. “Pretty bold of you to assume I would go on a date with you.”

“Oh, you would agree.” He smirked at her. “I can even describe the date if you want.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. She shrugged her shoulders and leaned against the wall of the gate post. “Only because I have nowhere to go.” She tried to act disinterested, but her curiosity was already rising. It had been ages since she had last gone out on a proper date with any guy. Only the whirling blades of the chopper and the dust of the desert came to mind when she tried to recall the last time.

Sy leaned against the wall sideways on his shoulder, crossing one ankle over the other. He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled at her affectionately. “First, I would buy you some flowers and drive up to your house. Then I’ll take you to this wonderful place where they have seating in a private area, so that we are not disturbed. Would get some wine to go with our food and ask you about your life.”

“Red or white wine?” She asked only out of curiosity.

Sy scratched his beard, frowning as he thought. “Not a wine guy. But I would drink it if you like.”

Olivia was flattered that the Captain was ready to make an exception for her. She felt her heart flutter but decided to shrug her shoulder nonchalantly. She gestured to him to go on because she wanted to hear what else he planned for this date.

“After dinner, I’ll take you…for a nice walk at the park. We would sit on a bench and talk, maybe get a little handsy.” He raised his eyebrow suggestively, his mouth curling at the corner.

“Phft!” Olivia huffed, rolling her eyes. But internally her mind was already filling up with images of running her hands down Sy’s chest or feeling his hands on her butt. She took a slow breath to calm her rapidly heating body.

“Okay, scratch that. We’ll maybe go for an ice-cream. And when I’ll drop you back at your place, we’ll stand outside on the porch with only the crickets keeping us company,” Sy stood up from the wall and took a step towards Olivia. His voice dropped an octave as he spoke, “And I’ll kiss you like no other man has ever done.”

Olivia’s breath hitched as she looked at Sy’s mesmerizing eyes. She looked at his tantalizing lips, darting her tongue out to wet her own. She gulped as her throat went dry and the cold vanished from around her. It felt the longest moment in her life where she debated whether to just lean in and get the kiss Sy seemed to be offering.

But like a jolt of lightning and an unpleasant déjà vu, Olivia was reminded of something similar happening between her and her other captain. It had been a momentary lapse of reasoning which had led her to get involved with Alex and enter a complicated relationship with him.

As soon as the thought appeared in her mind, Olivia pushed herself off the wall and took a step back. She couldn’t let herself get sucked into another man’s life while she already had unresolved issues with another. She noticed Sy’s eyebrows knit together in confusion before she turned to look the other way. She closed her eyes, sighing and thinking of a clever way to dissolve the moment. Luckily for her, Syverson was a clever man and he must have picked up on the hint for he called Pats to accompany him to the south gate.

Olivia watched as the Captain walked away without addressing her or glancing her way. She was certain she had wounded the man’s ego in one way or another. She let out a slow breath, felt her shoulders slump as Sy’s figure disappeared behind the building.

Chapter Four>

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