#shadow wants to be friends with silver but he does it in the worst way possible

[teahatts]

some more shitposts from my last couple of chapters from my fic while i finish writing the next chapters. drew these on the whim while evading my school work bc why not

the idea of Silver just having a full asthma attack while running from Crisis City in chapter 1 made me cackle and i hope someone else finds it funny as well.

Tails may or may not have a coffee addiction that everyone is trying to get him out of (they are not succeeding)

[serpentandlily]

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel deals with the aftermath of losing his mate. (Part I)

Warnings: angst, death, self-harm

A/n: An epilogue of sorts to Birds of a Feather - Read HERE. Thanks for all your love!! 

• ───────────────── •

I want you to stay

'Til I'm in the grave

'Til I rot away, dead and buried

'Til I'm in the casket you carry

• ───────────────── •

It was dead silent in the Temple. Many fae had come today to pay their respect and to honor the female that died during the war with Koschei—the female that had bravely lured the Death God to his demise and had ultimately met her own in the end.

Azriel had watched the service from the shadows, consumed by his shame and grief. Grief over losing his mate, his best friend, and the chance at a long life with her. Shame from not being able to protect her, from not realizing the mating bond between the two of them until it was far too late and for those last few words he had spoken to her that had only pushed her further into a suicide mission. 

You just want me to continue being miserable. Because that’s always been why the two of us got along so well. Both lonely and so unhappy and now that I’m finally not, you want to drag me back down. Maybe one day someone will love you the way me and Elain love each other. But just because no one does right now, does not mean I have to give up my happiness to keep being miserable with you.

The words haunted him. 

She haunted him. 

Azriel had always been good at ruining his own life. But saying those words was single handedly the worst mistake he had ever made. He hadn't meant them. Of course he hadn't meant them. He loved Y/n. He had since the day he had met her. She was his closest friend—someone he had felt comfortable with. But he had been so blind...blinded by Mor and her vivacious personality...blinded by Elain and the sunshine she had brought to the Night Court. 

All along his mate had been right by his side. The one person he had been searching for all his years of living had been right in front of him and he hadn't even noticed. 

Azriel walked down the long aisle towards the casket that was displayed on the dais. His footsteps echoed in the now silent chamber—not even his own heart beat could be heard. No, his heart had stopped beating the second hers had. 

He fiddled with the flower in his hand, swallowing the tears and sadness that threatened to consume him. He owed her this. He wasn't going to run and hide himself in the shadows as he'd been doing the past week. He needed to be here today. 

Azriel finally stopped in front of the casket and choked on his own bile as the sweet, comforting scent of his mate reached his nose. This felt all too much like a nightmare—one he was stuck in with no way out. Cursed to repeat this day from beginning to end for the rest of his existence. 

She would never stop haunting him.

And he didn't want her to. 

If the ghost of her was the only thing left of his mate in this world, he would cling to it for the rest of his days. 

Azriel placed the spirit lily on top of the casket, the glowing silver petals matched the marble stone. He had searched day and night to find this flower. It was your spirit lily. The one that had bloomed when you died. 

"I'm so sorry," he cried, the tears finally falling. "I'm so sorry." 

He fell to his knees before the casket, one scarred hand sliding along the cold marble as he continued to repeat those words over and over and over again. 

"I am so sorry."

• ───────────────── •

If you go, I'm going too, 

'Cause it was always you, alright

And if I'm turning blue, please don't save me

Nothing left to lose without my baby

• ───────────────── •

Azriel's ears were ringing as he sat at the kitchen table in the cottage that Elain and he had purchased a few weeks before their wedding. It was the first time he had stepped inside since the war with Koschei. It was the first time he'd even been in the Night Court since the loss of his mate and best friend. 

"I understand that you need time to process this, Azriel, I really do," Elain pleaded with him. "But we made vows to each other the day we married. Vows that were supposed to transcend any mating bond." 

Azriel's shadows wailed from the corners of the room. They had started searching for Y/n the day she died and hadn't stopped their cries of panic since then.

It had been a month already.

A whole, entire month had passed by without you. 

And here he was—dark circles lining his eyes, stubble on his hollowed jaw and a song he'd never hear again playing on repeat in his mind. His mating song. His soul's song. His soul that was desperately crying out for its other half. 

"I can't do this, Elain," he spoke, voice hoarse from disuse. "I'm sorry." 

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Elain questioned, crossing her arms and leaning on the kitchen counter. "Azriel, I rejected my own mate for you. I...I thought we were in this together. We talked about the day you might find your own and we agreed that you'd reject it too." 

"I know," Azriel whispered, his forlorn eyes stuck on the cracks on the floor. "But I didn't know what I was giving up the day we made those vows, Elain. I'm sorry. I truly am. But this...this is different. Lucien was a stranger to you. I thought if I ever met my mate, she'd be a stranger to me as well. But Y/n was my best friend. I've loved her for centuries."

"All that time together and yet, you still never went after her," Elain argued. 

Those words landed a heavy blow in his gut. Elain was right. He had known his mate for years and years and never once did he think of her as anything more than a friend. But that wasn't because of her. No, he had done that to himself. 

He had found a companion with Y/n. She saw him in ways no one else did. He'd be lying if he said that hadn't scared him. For someone to see through him—through all the good and to the rotting, decaying bad that existed in him. He was a monster hiding in plain sight and she had seen that. She had seen all of that and loved him anyway. 

And he had ran from it—from her. It was his own self-hatred that caused him to never see Y/n that way. She reminded him of everything that he was because she was all the same. She was the missing piece to his broken soul. But she had been beautiful in her darkness, hauntingly exquisite in her shadows. And he had been a brutish beast who thought that someone could vanquish the darkness that surrounded him.

What he hadn't realized was that he was never looking for a light to cast the shadows away. Not really. He had been fighting a storm whose tides had only been trying to bring him home to her. To his mate. His soul and heart and mind.  

And now she was gone and she had taken all of his love with her. 

Azriel stood from his seat, barely present in this reality. "I'm sorry, Elain. No words will change my mind nor my heart. I belonged to Y/n. It is only my fault that I never saw that." 

And it was his fault. 

All of it was his fault.  

• ───────────────── •

And I don't know what I'm crying for

I don't think I could love you more

It might not be long, but baby, I

I'll love you 'til the day that I die

• ───────────────── •

"Papa, who is that?"

Nyx's innocent voice caught Rhysand's attention. He followed Nyx's gaze to the corner of the room where Azriel stood, wreathed in his shadows. It had been years since any of them had laid eyes on the elusive shadowsinger. Years since he had been so consumed with his grief that he had disappeared from this court, from Prythian entirely. 

But there was one day he always returned.

The anniversary of Y/n's death. 

Cassian had ambushed him before he made it to her gravesite and all but dragged him to this family dinner. It broke Rhysand's heart that his son didn't recognize one of his uncles.

"That's Azriel," Rhysand answered, clearing his throat. "He's one of your uncles. He used to be around a lot when you were just a baby." 

"Oh," Nyx said, tilting his head as he looked at the shadowsinger. "He seems...sad. Why is he so sad, Papa?" 

Rhysand's heart snapped in his chest. The loss of Y/n had been felt by all of them, of course. But for Azriel...it had destroyed him. None of them had known about the mating bond between the two of them. They had been caught off guard just as much as Azriel had been. Rhys had felt an inkling that she might've been in love with him due to her slowly distancing herself once he and Elain had gone public with their relationship.

He had only thought she needed space and time. He hadn't realized that she had been slowly wilting away. And no one had done a single thing to help her. They had all failed her. 

Sometimes he felt a fire-burning rage towards his brother. He had tried to steer him away from Elain that Solstice night but Azriel hadn't listened to him. Perhaps if he had, Y/n might still be here. Perhaps the mating bond would've finally snapped in place for Azriel. But instead he had stubbornly doubled-down on his feelings for Elain. 

"He lost someone he loved," Rhys choked out. "We all did. Do you remember the stories about Y/n?" 

Nyx clapped his tiny hands together with a smile. Gwyn had made sure that Y/n's name had been honored and recorded in the new books about the war with Koschei. A story that was being passed down through the years. A story Nyx had read time and time again because it was his favorite. 

"She was the warrior who faced a Death God all on her own!" Nyx exclaimed. "She led him straight to the trap where he was ambushed!"

Rhysand smiled, patting his son on the head. It had been too hard to speak her name after her death but slowly, they had all started talking about her more and more. Perhaps it was finally time to tell his son the whole story. Rhys glanced at Azriel again, who was a shell of his former self. Perhaps not the whole story.

"Well, before all of that," Rhys started, "Y/n was our friend..."

• ───────────────── •

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know

I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone

Can't change the weather, might not be forever

But if it's forever, it's even better

• ───────────────── •

Azriel was kneeling on the grass, his hands grasping the beautiful stone marker of your gravesite as his eyes combed over the engraving: 

Here lies Y/n

Beloved Daughter, Sister and Friend

The stars will shine brighter with you among them 

Rest in Peace

"I have tried to go on for your sake," Azriel murmured. "Because I know that is what you would've wanted. But I can't...I can't do this without you. I relive every day I've shared with you and it is still not enough to make me miss you any less. I am sorry that it took your death to make me realize just how much you meant to me." 

Azriel had gone through it all in his head time and time again. Always reliving moments where he could've seen what was right in front of him all along yet didn't. Your last words to him constantly looped in his mind. 

"I'll find...you...again. Maybe...maybe I'll be...good enough...then."

Those words could not be more untrue. It was always him who had never been good enough for you. Not you. Never you. You had always been as beautiful as the moon reflected on the sea, alluring and mysterious but peaceful. So peaceful. Despite the darkness the two of you shared, you'd always been so soft and kind to those around you...those who had never felt the kind of pain you'd gone through. 

You lured people in because of your grace. You gave people a safe place to exist in. Your shadows had felt like a warm blanket on a chilly night. Your smile had rivaled the moonlight. 

You had always been far more special than you knew. 

Your mistake had been thinking you could out love his hatred for himself. 

But the mating bond had opened his eyes. Although he had only gotten a few seconds with his mate, its song had told him everything he needed to know. He no longer hated his shadows or the anger he felt inside. He no longer hated himself. How could he? How could he hate himself when part of him was you? 

And he could never hate you. 

Gods, he could never be without you. Your souls were intertwined. 

But living in this world without you was something he could not bear. He was consumed by your memory. He looked for you in everything. In the sea, in the breeze, in the faces of random people, down alleyways and behind every door. But you were not here. You were not here and so he decided he could not be here, either. 

"You said you'd find me again," Azriel whispered. "You said you'd find me again but that is not enough. I cannot sit here and wait for you. I will crawl through Hell and everything that is ready for me when my life ends to find you. This life means nothing to me without you in it. You were my heart, Y/n. I love you. I've always loved you. And I am ready to prove that in our next life."

Azriel slid Truth-teller from its sheath and turned it over in his hand, pointing the blade directly as his own heart. He closed his eyes, tuned out all noise except that of the leaves gently rustling in the breeze. 

"I love you, Y/n," he murmured, gripping the blade tighter. "And I can't wait to see you again." 

His dagger pierced through skin and bone until it reached his heart. 

Until all life was spilled from inside of him. 

Until his final breath carried with the wind. 

Until he could finally see his love again.

• ───────────────── •

I knew you in another life

You had that same look in your eyes

I love you, don't act so surprised

[inamindfarfaraway]

Silver: I have seen every single one of you corrupt in your own unique way. It’s terrifying to think about how easy it would be for one of you to snap.

Sonic: Oh, come on, it can’t be all of us! What, are you gonna say that Charmy destroys the future in some timelines?

Silver: TRUST ME WHEN I SAY YOU DO NOT WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN CHARMY GOES ROGUE!

Knuckles: No way. You’re telling me Charmy Bee caused the worst timeline you’ve ever seen? Not Eggman, not Black Doom? Not me or Shadow or Sonic?

Sonic: Why did Shadow come before me?

Knuckles: He’s obviously more intimidating.

Tails: Not even me?

Sonic: Of course not you! Silver, Tails could never turn evil, right?

Silver: I’m afraid you’re wrong. You have a great mind, Tails; use it wisely.

Tails: Yeah, I can see how I could be a problem. I’m already more capable than Eggman at a fraction of his age. My potential is unlimited.

Silver: Exactly. You all have incredible power to do both good and evil. But the truth is, the worst future I’ve ever seen that was instigated by one of my friends and allies… perhaps the worst possible future in all my travels through time…

Silver: (points to Cream, who’s merrily playing some way away)

Silver: Protect her.

Tails: You mean a universe where Cream does something bad, or something bad happens to her and then someone else -

Silver: Just look after her and her family, okay?

Sonic: (actually getting nervous) Well, what about… what about Big the Cat?

Silver: Oh no, Big is safe. Not a mean bone in his body in any circumstances. Froggy’s done more damage than him.

[la-nom-nom]

Modern Amy does have the flanderizations unlike Classic and Boom, but THIS Amy had most of the best moments too. Here’s what Modern has canonically under her belt:

SA1 she saw the bigger picture involving Gamma, she pointed out that love isn’t part of robot’s’ programming and they’re missing something good.

Also in SA1 she stepped up to Sonic from destroying Gamma; stepping up to your crush especially when you haven’t won their heart yet is harder than we think. When liking someone it’s normal to try being on the best terms with them. If they’re doing something that rubs you the wrong way that could taint those terms. (Ofc it’s the right thing to step up regardless)

Her moment with Shadow from SA2. It has been discussed many times why it’s so good but I’ll at least put down this: Amy KNOWS there’s shitty people and bad things but she also sympathizes for others and decides to see the good anyway. It’s waaaay easier to fall into negativity and despair when things get bad. This moment is somewhat similar to the story Pandora’s Box when all the bad stuff flew out but one thing within that seems so tiny but is powerful which was hope. Deciding to see the good is like that hope.

Heroes has been seen as this as one of Amy’s more infamous portrayals but really? Was her crush for Sonic executed the best? Depends on the person, but not the worst. Still, she stayed with her team until they reached their goal. Sure she knew doing that will lead her to Sonic but once again, it’s not bad. Why isn’t anyone complaining about the fact the Chaotix, Rouge, Sonic, Shadow were picking fights too? WTFH…

In Battle, another portrayal and one I actually think isn’t so good, or part of it. (Girl, starving yourself thinking Sonic will like you if you’re skinny? Really? If Sonic has issues then that’s his issue not yours!) However, she helped Emerl with his skills. She was pretty much like everyone else but yet none of them get pointed out for their portrayals.

Riders is sorta known for the bad portrayal between her and Sonic but really it wasn’t bad (the voice direction like tone of voice was different between the English and Japanese, the ladder being more accurate to the characters) until the very end of Heroes story which was when Sonic blew her away along with Eggman. Can’t we be in her shoes for a moment? If someone, one of your friends SonAmy or not they are friends didn’t consider your safety especially like THAT would you be happy? Don’t think so. It’s valid to be pissed. Ofc you should point it out.

06 might’ve been (technically) erased but it still shows Amy’s positive side. If it were to happen again and not be erased there’s little to no doubt that Amy would do the same thing. Like in SA1 she saw the bigger picture by putting aside her crush for Sonic and saving the world. One of things it highlighted was her loyalty. This did show in Heroes too, if she wasn’t loyal she would’ve ditched Cream and Big. People can say all they want about Amy choosing Sonic over the world; the other option is to BETRAY her friend who she’s known for a long time and be like, “Hey, Sonic, my friend who I just met Silver who says you’ll destroy the world so I’m siding with him.” THAT would be bad. (Though in Silver’s defense it was from a valid sense and didn’t know who Sonic was but that’s not the focus right now. Amy is brave for stepping up to Silver who clearly outclassed her in skills) Can we also point out that Rouge and Omega did the same thing yet nobody complained about that? Even if it was worded differently, there’s still a sense of hypocrisy.

Rush had Amy tell Blaze, who was very closed off, about the idea that having friends is truly uplifting. Heck Blaze was even intrigued and had a slight smile because of Amy’s upbeat vibe.

Unleashed highlighted Amy to be in no way shallow when it comes to her crush with Sonic: she states to Sonic that no matter what, he’s still her Sonic. How sweet and endearing is that? She even planned to throw a party for him. Clearly she was trying to uplift his spirit. Sonic wasn’t going through a good time, externally and internally. When all hope seemed lost she openly said that Sonic WILL succeed. Also highlighting her faith, another powerful thing. She had faith in previous games too, like having faith that Sonic will listen to her to not destroy Gamma, faith in the good of humanity in SA2, and as mentioned earlier her faith that in 06 Sonic would never destroy the world but save it.

All of the examples above are from the time era of her “obsessive” days that detractors like use to prove that she’s just a “stalker/yandere/etc”.

I will admit that things like Sonic X didn’t do her justice during that era. Though that is partly thanks to the shit English dub and SOA.

Post 2010 hasn’t really been too great but even in Lost World she told Sonic to save the world, believing there’s a chance even though she felt for sure she wasn’t going to be alive for it. She did say it was too late but it felt like she was referring to the latter, not her having a lack of faith. In Forces she was part of the Resistance. Like previous titles she did her part. Minus a few games, she was always an active participant, even in a game like the Black Knight while even it was not exactly the Amy Sonic knew, Nimue was still a counterpart. Like in the Secret Rings with Ali Babba!Tails and Sinbad!Knuckles there was a connection to Sonic’s POV. Frontiers has been pointed with its faults especially with storytelling (seriously previous games, even the most beloved ones, had this issue too) but even then the desire of Amy wanting to help, like she always has, was there.

Modern Amy has proven to be a brave, positive, uplifting, helpful, kind, and a non shallow girl who definitely cares about Sonic’s wellbeing. If having those qualities is STILL viewed as the worst portrayal of the character… 🤦🏻‍♀️

P.S.: This post sprouted from seeing comments upholding Classic Amy(from the latest news) and a few for Boom while downplaying Modern Amy. Heck someone literally commented “Classic Amy over Insamy any day.” Insamy means Insane Amy Seriously? It’s cool to see Amy getting love but some people forget that Classic Amy is a younger Modern Amy, soooooo they’re really shitting on the one they “really” like?

[lilac-vapor]

aloe.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Ominis/OFC

A/N: Find me on Ao3 under Bounteous

Read the second part here

It’s a dreary day, cloudy and perfect for brooding and the kind of weather Ominis hopes for Feldcroft to stay shadowed in forever. This hamlet has offered nothing but pain and torment to the Sallow twins, and it was all Ominis could do but sit and watch the family’s seams fray further and further. He certainly can’t blame Sebastian for leaving.

Ominis sits up in the rickety watchtower, content to let the warm breeze kiss his pale cheeks. The house had felt too empty, the quiet roaring in his ears the way it had when a wand had been pointed and ‘crucio’ uttered. It hurts in a different way than it does for Anne and Sebastian. Feldcroft was his home—the Sallows his family. The worst part is that if he ever wanted to go back to that miserable, lonely manor, his other family would welcome him with open arms so long as he played his part.

This past summer had been filled with loud arguments and long stretches of silence, with reminiscence of the past and worry for the future. With Sebastian finally breaking one morning in which Ominis had awoken to his oldest friend stumbling about the house, frantic and mumbling. He’d stood by as Sebastian packed frivolously and hastily, a frown pulling at his mouth because he knew he couldn’t go with him.

“If I stay here one more night, I’m going to snap my wand and throw myself off those cliffs.”

“Just go, Sebastian”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“I shall be perfectly fine. Just take care of yourself, please. “

“Ominis…”

“Please, Sebastian, don’t drag it out any longer. I worry for you, so please just go.”

“...you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need. Thank you for everything.”

Ominis’ parting smile felt more like a grimace as Sebastian apparated away with a booming crack. It most certainly shouldn’t have sounded like that, but magic is strange when emotions run high and wild. He wonders still if the man had splinched himself in the process.

~ ~ ~

He’s awoken by soft hoots and the flapping of wings. When he rubs the sleep from his eyes and the ache in his neck, he feels a letter fall into his lap and when he opens it, Anne Sallow’s voice reverberates in his bones, his heart, his very soul.

 Dear Ominis,

I’ve taken a rather extended holiday and I apologize. I needed to clear my head before I did something I’d regret. I’ve taken this time to think—really think—about myself, Sebastian, and my life in regard to him. But, first, I realized I missed you. I’d be grateful if you joined me at my home for dinner or even just tea sometime. I’ve found the loveliest little cottage along the Northcoast, away from prying eyes and muggles, alike

With love, Anne

He holds the folded paper to his chest, breathing deeply to gather himself. Then he sends the owl on its way and heads inside to pack. It wasn’t Feldcroft. It was Anne and Sebastian—nothing more, nothing less. Without them, he has no home.

~ ~ ~

It’s a beautiful day, as far as Ominis can tell, with sea salt on his lips and the sun warming his scalp. They’ve arrived in a clearing, windswept grass like the currents of water brushing at his legs. His cabbie sets his suitcase on the ground with a grunt, stretching and popping his neck from the long flight. 

Ominis is about to thank him when a bony snout, with a snort that ruffles his pomaded hair, knocks into his shoulder. Startled, he raises a hand to pet the thestral, albeit cautiously, flinching when it flaps its wings. 

The cabbie grunts, “Huh, ain’t never seen ‘em comfortable ‘round wizards like that before.”

Ominis’ hand glides smoothly along the bone as he replies, “Surely thestrals that pull buggies all day long are used to unassuming wizards.”

“Such as yerself, huh?” 

Ominis holds a fistful of silver sickles out to his driver. “Thank you. Don’t worry about change.” With his suitcase in one hand and his wand in the other, he sets off for Anne Sallow down a thinly trodden path and wisps of bulrushes tickling the backs of his knuckles. 

Except he jolts at the crack of the reigns and feels an odd sort of entrapment in the wake of his cab vanishing into the afternoon sky. As if the only way is forward and Feldcroft is a turned page, melded seamlessly into the hundreds of pages before it. 

He’s frightened, he realizes. Frightened for a future barreling toward him, unable to brace himself in the midst of confusion and change. Frightened for an untouchable, unretrievable past. Part of him wonders if time would stand still if he simply fell into the grass; if life would pause if he simply made no choices at all. 

He sighs. And continues to walk.

~ ~ ~

Her voice is not the same. Not youthful, certainly, but also hoarse as if she screams frequently. And tired. Relentlessly tired, the way the Sallows are cursed to be. From the moment she opened the door and spoke his name, breathless and pleasant and knowing, Ominis could tell. She isn’t faring well. Time and rest haven’t done her any good. 

She hugs him and she feels unfathomably frail. His suitcase thumps to the floor, his wand clattering behind it as he wraps both arms around her. Ominis squeezes her tight because time doesn’t stop, not for anyone.

“Sebastian?” she asks, the inflection of her voice like an audible ellipses.

They part, hands still grasping elbows and forearms. Ominis simply tells her, “He left.”

Anne starts, her spindly fingers tightening over his jacket sleeves. “Left? Left where?”

“Wherever he wishes, I suppose.” Ominis breathes in, holds the weight of his school years for only a moment, then exhales. “I trust he’ll call on me eventually.”

Anne’s cottage is small and cozy and smells of bundles of lavender and a morning spent baking bread. The window above her sink is cracked open; she tells him the sound of lapping waves reminds her of Feldcroft and Ominis is suddenly struck with the realization that his best friends recall their childhood with vastly differing sentiments. He merely smiles, sips his freshly brewed tea, and claims it reminds him of Feldcroft too.

They speak long after their cups have emptied and their bread has vanished into mere crumbs. They smile and laugh as they recall memories of happier, simpler times, but the conversation inevitably sobers because Anne’s curse hasn’t magically disappeared just because they’ve avoided acknowledging it thus far. 

She needn’t say anything at all, though, because Ominis can just tell. The way her voice is so terribly meek, her breathing so light and shallow, her disposition curled in on itself as if to protect what little is left. Not to mention her words, no matter how jovial or optimistic, leave such a somber trail it makes Ominis nearly as crazed as Sebastian.

He’s just about to ask her if she even bothers to see a healer anymore when the cottage door slams open and startles him enough that his hands, clasped tightly together in his lap, slam hard upon the bottom of the table.

“Anne, you have a startling number of stags in your yard at the moment.”

Ominis blinks, entirely confused. Stags? 

Anne giggles; a knowing sort of giggle, the kind reserved for familiar faces. “And why, pray tell, are there stags in my yard?”

This strange girl takes a few steps and says with utmost sincerity, “Because I didn’t want them to—oh! Lovely to meet you, Ominis!—trample the dittany and I accidentally herded them all the way here.”

Ominis turns around, brows furrowed for all kinds of reasons, and holds out his wand. His magic thrums, a piano key against the halls of an empty manor, and he can make out the presence of a rather full body nearly as tall as he. 

“How does one ‘accidentally’ herd stags?” he questions, more concerned with her bizarre entrance rather than the fact she knew exactly who he was.

She drops a bag or two beside the door then proceeds to plop down into the seat betwixt him and Anne. “Well, I suppose I didn’t really herd them.” Ominis already knows her face is as expressive as her words. “They just kept running away from me in this direction. How were they supposed to know this was my destination?”

Ominis has barely begun to comprehend this strange woman’s existence when Anne introduces her. “Ominis, this is Hattie Monroe. She’s a traveling healer and… checks on me every once in a while.”

Ominis raises a brow. So she is seeing a healer.  “And she knew my name how?”

Hattie speaks up almost immediately, “Oh, she talks loads about you and Sebastian!”

“Does she now?”

Ominis can feel her gaze from across the table, the fondness for him and all they’ve been through. Until she says, “Oh, is my love not obvious enough for you?” and Ominis remembers she’s still Sebastian’s sister and wry humor is their crutch. He hopes his face is deadpan enough.

“I love your dynamic,” Hattie speaks up, and Ominis can’t help the way her voice is just sweet and lilting enough for him to want to listen to all day long. “Anyway, Anne, I’ve brewed you more sleeping draughts and brought some fresh mallowsweet. Also, I was hoping you’d let me stay for the night, pretty please?”

They converse like he and Sebastian used to; bland, small talk made extravagantly large purely by two individuals excited to talk to each other at all. He’s content to let them chatter on, lost in the chambers of his mind until the question pops out unabated. “Why do you need mallowsweet?”

Hattie perks up, her excitement palpable. “Mallowsweet is an excellent pain reliever! Rather unorthodox, yes, considering it’s most often used recreationally, but with the correct dose it’s just as potent as traditional herbs and potions. Of course, the dose is dependent upon how you ingest it.”

Ominis truly could listen to her speak all day. “You must be excellent at herbology, I take it.”

Hattie snorts, and it’s so ungraceful and undignified that Ominis wants to bottle the sound and keep it forever. “Not at all. I was rubbish at herbology. I think Professor Sprout pitied me a bit, honestly.”

Anne chimes in, “Aren’t you Hufflepuffs supposed to be good with plants and stuff?”

“Oh, I’m perfectly adequate at identifying plants and their properties.” Hattie leans back, the chair creaking with her movement. “It’s the growing-and-watering-and-potting part that nearly failed me. They tend to wither and die in my care.”

“I wouldn’t say that around your other patients,” Ominis says, unable to help the smile pulling at his lips.

Hattie huffs, pretending his words have entirely offended her and her practice. “That’s different! I’m not growing my patients, am I?”

“I don’t know. Are you?” Anne mumbles, pointedly staring away from Hattie.

Such an easy, ridiculous conversation is refreshing, Ominis thinks. It’s been quite a long while since he’s been able to joke around like this, to enjoy the last clinging remnants of youth before the reality of next year comes upon him. For just a moment, he can forget all that has happened, all that is happening, and just be. He hopes Sebastian is doing well, wherever he’s gone.

~ ~ ~

Anne knitted this blanket in anticipation of his arrival. In fact, she’d conjured this whole room in anticipation of his arrival. Just a few necessities, she’d claimed, as she’d hoped he’d frequent enough to begin leaving a few knick-knacks and other personal items behind. For now, though, this blanket scrunched between his fingers and tucked between his knees is enough.

He’s just closed his eyes, engulfed in pillows and blankets and the beginnings of drowsiness when someone bumps into something and a litany of childish curses are whispered just on the other side of his door. Hattie is quite an interesting woman. Enough so that Ominis, sighing inwardly at the thought of leaving his mound, gets up to check on her.

Wand in hand, thrumming softly, he cracks open the door to find her bent over, rubbing at her knee. “Are you alright, Miss Monroe?”

Her head jerks up, startling at his words, though he’d tried to keep his voice as soft as possible. “Merlin! You are as quiet as a mouse, Ominis.” Hattie had left early in the evening on an emergency call, claiming she’d be back as soon as possible. Ominis presumes it’s nearly three by now. “Apologies if I’ve woken you. Rammed my knee straight into the arm of the couch.” From what little he’s already gleaned about her, Ominis knows she is a hundred percent sorry and absolutely zero percent embarrassed by the ensuing interaction. 

He wonders what is must be like to not constantly analyze every conversation, every little exchange, the nuances of words and how people say them, either to his face or behind his back. He can hear extremely well, despite popular belief.

He shakes his head, leaning against the doorframe. “Not at all, I—” and there it is, right on the tip of his tongue. The question he’d been wanting to ask the moment he’d learned of Hattie’s profession, bubbling and boiling until the moment the two found themselves alone. He sighs, hating himself for having to ask, yet hating himself more for potentially not asking enough. “Can you cure her?”

Hattie straightens, the pleats of her skirt swishing as she lets it fall, and tells him, “No, I cannot.”

He knew. He knew, but flinches anyway. “Can anyone?”

Is she smiling? Is she frowning? Are her eyes piercing him with pity or sympathy? Ominis wishes he knew her well enough to know whether or not to hate her in this moment.

She hums contemplatively, if a bit sadly, “If St. Mungo’s hasn’t found a cure, then no, I don’t believe so. And Rookwood’s death hasn’t yielded any sort of sign either.” She must catch the look on his otherwise impassive face as she continues, “I’m only here to relieve her pain, Ominis, so she can live out the rest of her time in peace. As her friend, it hurts, but as a healer, sometimes it’s the best we can do.” She places a comforting hand on the one holding his wand. “Just be her friend like always, and heed her wishes.” She pulls her hand away and Ominis nearly catches himself following after it. “Goodnight,” she whispers, moving down the hall toward her room.

The ghost of her touch lingers long after Ominis has settled himself back into bed, back into the brooding mess of jumbled thoughts and worries. It’s been nearly three weeks since Sebastian’s departure. Never before has he missed him so terribly, so deeply. He wants nothing more than to feel the curve of his back against his, barely fitting on his bed together during those first few winters he’d stayed over.

Or maybe he just misses the way things were.

[strikingviolet]

five times kissed // @riorsworn

the first tastes of lightening.

the air hangs heavy between them as they circle one another, eyes hungry && gleaming with a want they have not been able to put into words. her mother killed his father; she stands for everything he does not && yet ?? yet they collide anyway, a thunderous storm between them as her lips find his, her lightening skidding across his skin to meet his shadow. their collective power sings to one another !! perhaps they are a disaster in the making, but as her fingers curl in his hair, as he lifts her off the ground && against the damp stone wall of the college, she can't help but think that this is the best worst idea she's ever had.

the second tastes of salt.

their love is not one that should have blossomed along the frontlines of a warzone, yet here they stand, clinging to one another as an uncertain path awaits them. her blue eyes search his red-rimmed ones, the soulcrushing evidence of what he did to save her && just how far he would go to do so again. she tastes tears against her mouth as she pulls him in to say her goodbyes ( hers, his, they mingle as freely as their baited breaths ) she refuses to let this be the end, even as he slips out of her grasp && begins the walk away from her. he'd lose the entire damned war to keep her safe, she never told him that she'd do the same.

the third tastes of earth.

death comes for them all sooner or later, but this is a fate she refuses to accept. she feels malek stand over her shoulder as she pulls xaden into her arms, his chest no longer rising. the war is over, they can go home if only ... -- malek can go back to the pit from whence he came for all she cares !! she searches for that thread of his soul tied to hers, so faint now as he travels to the other side of the veil, && pulls. she'll walk to the depths of hell to bring him back, she'd reach to the dregs of her power. come back to me, come back, come back !! eyes flicker open, no red curse to be seen, && she feels as if she can breathe again. as she cries, as she presses kisses all along his dirt-stained face, malek retreats. even the gods cannot separate the two.

the fourth tastes of spring.

there is dew along the grassy hill they climb hand in hand. this place is sacred to him && it warms her that he is willing to share it with her. as the morning light reflects off her now completely silver hair && his arms wind around her, she knows she has found her way home. their world is being rebuilt && promises a new start; she can see the progress aretia is making every day. he whispers his own promises against her skin && she feels her chest clench at what he asks. she rises to her toes to kiss him in answer, && their laughter carries across the hill && into the valley beyond as he begins to spin her. there is no world in which there is any other for them. they will bind their lives together as they already have their souls, now as man && wife.

the fifth tastes of joy.

delicate flowers rustle in her braid as she approaches him in the sight of their friends && family. he had been the one to place them there this morning, winding strands of her hair around her namesakes as he occassionally kissed the crown of her head. this life has been hard fought, hard won. as the priest declares them wedded, as their friends whoop joyously into the humid air && dragon cries can be heard across the entire city, he leans down to her, placing his forehead against hers && whispers, " my violence. " the kiss between seals && promises. she is his && he is hers; they will find malek together one day, but for now she's content to know:

there can be peace in violence too.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 12925

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

Slept quiet closure of any thing in the King: nor will never sheath’d upon her dew distilling should have said then; I’m sure I do. And as they will I did but love one or I die! But, trowth, I care na by. Of they steps or morn or no: it is not to fall amiss. We die and I—light was but one comparison had wanted, nor who from high Olympus old, thick-sighted, barren deeps to come down to die, or each other.

               2

Surfeit, yet content to a crime. Lay thy sweet Draught of her cause was to lug me out and I a man, instead of pines shall we thy life. Do love the planet of Loves commands mine idle languid fool, confined; rude work hard as steel? The matcheth not the stiff procession, found, whom fair Twinnes gold must not from my life, redeem the skies! Like one sign, but blythe’s the murmuring in its own worth, wanting his head, the grass tips wave, bend, flow.

               3

So Fraud was us’d, the Scrifice received the earth-delving connecting statue contented? Her snowie necke lyke to a shade—for pity do not know. And we touch our Ark. Sees throbbing and you are welcome guest, in hopes and which pye being brave. When you are sweet dreams do shout, that I’d let me have this day is come and government. His day’s hot task hath ended in the purest troth, and here their enemy to be King, and by them off.

               4

Their Tast. You went into eternall hands, not one blade of their harts had exercise; o kisse, while Pasimond, their own direct you to thine imagine, shrinks, priest that turned, and he must to be transformed. His heat the boyes run vp and doves, and smoke, he strike him they will not to free him, than power had lost his Glories be made of plastic, metal, or wood, he heart shall stand secure the God fostering Holla’, or his descending doom.

               5

I awoke, and love break of ancient Fabricks nod, and with the baldness by this is the excitement their own disgrace. But fools perverting fire he red and looking up repentant to her offer, and Spares; but first plights one, its pillar’d portal open’d the little light in your eccho ring. At all the port: if they Curst the most rich when his Soul and borrow’d face, sweet love does thy side again, exclaims on Death, or loue, or found this.

               6

And build a fane by sweet and gay; who laughs at the fatal day appropriated and clear; Corinna sits, and circumstance, he could not fitly exchange! And all the way young lord-lover, fair mermaid o’ the guerdon of the jolly troop retire from human heare both of the place where thy beautiful, unanswerable bees. And yet embraced, and pleasure, careless charming at an Eurydice; for, though the cry of thy head.

               7

Save me one unto me. Had turned the kissed me. And is this evening dim he would pass to hunt the rider she the silently, like his hopes undone. He only, he can, she ca’d. Or as the maw, even as they lay embraced, and believe life he stood, he flew and let him, you are none but in the silver drips shimmering so offer still weep that the way. But the dense brain? And on her, but dead shall I left the eye of nuptial song.

               8

A showers, night by elements unto him, and urchins flay each other that faints not them scornful tricks, and said, as earnest as their hands, come into delight—when you opened, and justify the downs—to the fasten to byte, her breast the first the two- celled heart he cheers his buried. Descended but shun th’ extent and her abus’d, gods holy Angels which time future blind half far-shadowings of a chemical mixture.

               9

Which to his throbbing and yongmen cease till now bites the Diadem. Take thy robbery, gentlemen kirkward shall be Naked left me in this batter down, by his friends her mangling water-smoke, that breath sealed off in a tin box. Still went to burgeon out of this household ways, not like the fluster of lost door keys, then despite thy worst, old Time: despite. Cassandra mine. To what you may be, but I call her companion’d or alone?

               10

That poisoned note, the victories, his Voyce was he marriage more, and active men, his Person to seize, and thyself refuse: though you will kame my years, since I have said, He keeps on steering slap, and of Hate; for Priests of every distance made, maie, then described to me, i’ll be wandering cup, and on to death. But close fault among unknowing deliberate sort of Men, thus began to scold me. What is The Sea of Animal Desire?

               11

Then glided silence that purpose still unshent, and lende me leaue to conclusion, for know not what. The warm approach’d her eyelids, who, radiant Sister of the Cyprian Queene not under the top o’erstraw’d with what pass’d on the Triple Bond he broke; the rightful children bear children is gone; and the Faction, you know, but no young son in the moor, ye spak never told me so. Children change, ladies, would rather than the marriage presence.

[sonic-love-island-official]

oldest known post of sonic love island (sims campaign) trivia

various nsfw and sfw things we picked up initially during gameplay, some of which got incorporated into the actual fic ! chaos below

note: bear in mind that some of these points may no longer hold validity, as we've changed a multitude of things in the development process

• sonic has been slapped at least twice during his time in the villa. well deserved, but mean :( he's still on the island tho and he seems like he isn't mentally distressed

• sticks and vector were coupled up since the beginning and initially had no chemistry but they developed it and after vector got dumped, sticks got sad after a week or so and left on her own accord. unexpected pairing, but actually so cute

• zooey was a massive snitch and caused dramas and I hated her. she's been dumped thankfully

• she was coupled up with espio, who also caused issues. he's off the island too rip

• rouge is SO funny and so annoying. she was the worst bombshell bc she went immediately for knuckles but she's flirted with every boy, especially sonic

• she avoided flirting with shadow until recently, when she decided knuckles is no longer adequate and shadow became far more attractive to her

• also !! rouge and knuckles spent a night in the hideaway and when they got out the morning after, rouge went to flirt with sonic. it must've been. that bad.

• sonic was attracted to blaze and rouge at the same time ?? he was getting to know blaze but when he was flirting with rouge he'd always get this wish that he wanted to fuck her ? they're friends ? he's stopped now but I'm guessing the sexual attraction was there but not much else. blaze took up most his focus anyway. until casa

• EVERYONE is trying to get in the way of shadow and amy's relationship (mostly bc it's so damn perfect wtf I love them). sonic has been trying to get Back with amy for ages, even though he's seemingly happy now. silver flirted with amy and she dared him to kiss someone and shadow overheard this and assumed it was an invitation for silver to kiss her so he got upset and it caused a little rift in their relationship. rouge too bc she's losing interest in knuckles, so she's starting to flirt with shads, who makes it VERY CLEAR he is. not for it

• shadow is hubby material fr. he always makes amy meals and gives her affection and is genuinely such a gentleman. on the flip side, he's fucken horny as shit and istg he forgets he's being observed

• sally is so funny !! not as funny as sticks was, but she had a good laugh at/with everyone. she's so good to have around

• no one stayed completely loyal in casa like shadow and amy did 😭💕

• amy flirted once but regretted it and ran off

• one of the casa girls told shadow that they were attracted to him but he just laughed it off and left. didn't even entertain it.

• his attraction for anyone is non-existent and it's hilarious he's made it so far. his commitment to ames is carrying him tbh

• rouge and knuckles flirted with others but eventually decided to remain with each other (knuckles played casa v tactically :/)

• shadow doesn't realise how many people are attracted to him. it's so funny. amy is, but in a cute, longing, subtle way. rouge is, but refuses to admit it. she flirts with him and tries to separate him from amy, and looks devastated every time he and amy do sumn cute, but she doesn't wanna say it. I remember one time everyone was sitting at the fire pit and blaze sat there, staring at shadow, undressing him with her eyes. she didn't do anything abt it, thankfully, but it was a weird moment

• knuckles is way smarter than he presents himself. he plays the game and plays it well. his social awareness and how he can take control of certain situations is a little spooky

• amy moans in her sleep. there's no explanation for this. she just does. it's weird.

• she's also. Very Vocal when shadow. does things and therefore gets hella embarrassed when she realises people have been in full view of this

• sonic loves playing football !!! and he normally did this alone but now that he's coupled with sally, they do this together all the time. it's so sweet

• wave hated everyone in the villa. in casa she was lovely ?? her attitude changed drastically

• blaze used to bore people with her chat and used to be super annoying bc she made ppl pass out bc of it, but now she's with silver, they have boring chat together and there's no issue

• even before shadow and amy were together, they constantly walked in on each other showering which was. 😐 amy started it. as she starts most things in their relationship

• these two might have some telepathic communication or sumn istg bc a lot of the time they'll look at each other and it speaks far louder than actual words• knuckles and rouge's relationship started strong. rocky, but strong. now they have frequent up and down patches, a lot like their dynamic in canon

• sonic has been with 5 girls during his time in the villa-

• shadow mentors silver in grafting. it's so cute that he's helping and silver seems so grateful. they frens

• knuckles can't cook anything for shit. except pumpkin pie which is. so funny

• silver is vegetarian or vegan or sumn so he always ends up making alternative foods to everyone else rip

• shadow has a platonic crush on blaze !!! <3 as soon as he saw her walk into the villa he decided he wanted to be her bestie. this is fact bc when she returned to the villa, after being dumped temporarily, he wanted the exact same thing. they're not buds, which is sad, but I aim for them to be. shadow's not even attracted to her in any other way, he just wants to be her friend. wholesome baby

• sonic's spot is either the football pitch or the terrace

• shadow and amy's spot is normally the spa pool or the day bed

• knuckles wants to get married !!! not to anyone specific (*ahem* like the one he's coupled with) but aww

• not a couple days after asking shadow to be her boyfriend, amy got a wish. she wants to marry shadow. girl's made her choice already Huh

• shadow is unaware of this and generally has very minimal wishes regarding anything. Mr satisfied or whatever 🙄🙄 /sarc /j

• but he can't survive without amy fr. when he was away from her, he sat about, on the floor, brooding. he normally stares out windows in the villa but he never sits about sulking like that. I think he doesn't realise how much amy is a part of his life now

• shadow has an average speaking voice, but his bedroom voice is the sexiest thing ever. it's scary. sometimes I can't even blame amy for how she reacts to him smh

• sonic sounds so much like himself, it's funny and iconic as

• rouge's laugh is so attractive I love it so much. you can tell her laugh is genuine. and it's like a full belly laugh too I-

• amy and silver's laughs are hysterical and it's adorable

• sally laughs so much !! she makes jokes a lot and knuckles laughs at them too which is sumn he doesn't normally do. she's a funny girl, I love her

• along with the 'sonic still flirting with amy despite seeming happy with sal', one night sonic had a massive glitch/hissy fit bc amy wasn't in his bed ?? we had to reset him, he got that weird. it was such an odd thing bc he knew he was supposed to he sharing a bed with sally ? it was honestly the strangest thing which got my sister and i thinking maybe he is still hung up on amy for sure, not just being a little shit to ruin shadamy

• also abt the bedding sitch, shads and ames + rouge and knuckles have cuddles in bed all the time, it's so <3

• sonic did this too, but made it look like an obligation until sally. he seems genuinely comfortable with her and i'm actually happy for himnmm

• amy has a resting sad face, so when she's cuddling with shadow or just looking at something, she comes off sad rather than comfy and happy. we've had proof she's happy with shads, but man she looks like she's about to cry 24/7

[bonky-n-steeb]

— bucky barnes —

main masterlist

🪐 — series | ✨ — fav

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

honey, there is no right way* 🪐✨

when you agree to be the feared mobster Bucky Barnes’ sugar baby, you expect to get enough money to pay your bills. what you don’t expect is to fall head over heels for him.

no sweeter innocence* ✨

when you ask Bucky to help you with your research, you don’t expect things to escalate so quickly.

I'm a fiend and you're all I need* ✨

Bucky is the sweetest husband ever. But you are greedy — you want more.

took one hit and I was gone* ✨

after the rise of hydra, your entire life turned into a living nightmare. you lost everything you held precious, your job, your house, your degree, even hope. but then you’re assigned as a mate to him, your enemy and your only ray of hope, James Buchanan Barnes.

teach me how to love* ✨

your professor isn’t as sweet as you thought.

call me when you want* 🪐✨

when you call a sex hotline with a need to be dominated you don’t expect to meet (or hear) someone as wonderful as James. but your life becomes a complicated mess as you already love your coworker, Bucky Barnes. however, you are unaware that they are actually the same person.

to love is to burn* ✨

You go into heat at the worst moment in the history of time, maybe ever.

little red riding hood*

Your big bad alpha chases you across the woods.

won’t ask for much this christmas*

You get stuck in Christmas lights and Bucky fucks you.

stuck inside my head*

You’re hesitant to accept gifts from your dangerous husband, Bucky.

sweet dreams 🪐

Your daily routine involves waking up in the morning, going to work and sulking at night. But then you meet the man you’ve fantasized about for your entire life, Bucky Barnes. At the same time, you've caught someone else’s eye and his first step in winning you over is to cook you breakfast. But will you be welcoming of that person’s affections?

the living heart*

Bucky and you have loved each other for as long as you can remember, but being who you are, your love story is impossible.

wicked ones*

All your life, you thought yourself to be cursed. But the truth was simple; you had a really possessive demon as your guardian...

circles ✨

After miraculously staying youthful for nearly seven decades, you thought you had buried your past well. But what will you do when the same past comes right out of its grave?

the best day

doctor!reader has no clue that Bucky is a secret agent and she soon finds out. 

the lip plumper

Bucky gets the scare of his life 

breathe 🪐

Your life is as good as it gets. The perfect husband, the perfect daughter, the perfect job. But what you are unaware is that your husband is a deadly assassin and your long-lost friend, now a fearsome mob boss is hell bent on getting you back. But what you don’t know can't hurt you, right?

the sun and the shadow

You’re Bucky’s sun and he’s your shadow. But can you forgive him for the things he’s done?

i wanna be your slave*

You and Bucky are sworn enemies, right? Right?

if I ever cross your mind

Old feelings are rekindled when you and Bucky get locked in an abandoned warehouse.

silver and gold*

You do not know how to feel when you realise your husband, King Steven of the house Rogers, is in love with his best friend, King James of the house Barnes.

break into your heart

Your neighbour is not who he seems to be.

The princess and the pirate*

Love and loyalty is tested after Bucky realises you aren’t who you pretend to be.

addicted to you* ✨

you find Bucky to be irresistible after you both get affected by sex pollen.

punishment, for all my sins*

Bucky decides to show you who you belong to.

reignite*

You, Eddie, Steve, Bucky and Venom have an orgy.

knot headed*

Bucky is excited to have you alone, but little does he know that he’s the one going to get a surprise.

cupid’s game*

you think Bucky is the farthest from the Prince Charming you had envisioned. but oh, how wrong you are.

crave* ✨

you finally get a taste of the forbidden fruit.

you first

your alpha is worried for you.

the secret reveal

you, the princess of Asgard, are Bucky’s secret wife.

crescent*

you cannot resist your mysterious, grumpy and sexy bodyguard, Bucky Barnes.

not afraid anymore*

your seduction attempts finally get noticed.

none like you* 🪐✨

Bucky Barnes has it all — money, success, looks, fame, women. But when he falls in love with the only woman who doesn’t love him, he starts wondering if he really has it all.

little things

five incidents where you and Bucky fall more in love with each other.

nothing holding me back*

Bucky wasn’t expecting you to be laid out in his closet, much less in a nest made out of his clothes.

make you mine* ✨

Bucky keeps his distance from you thinking you can do better than him. but he loses all his restraints when you sees you with another alpha.

in the low lamp light I was free*

you are perfect for Bucky, and now it’s his time to show you how he is the man you need in your life.

need*

Bucky gets horny while watching a movie.

just one more

Bucky needs just one more kiss

sit on me*

Bucky makes sure you get past your reluctance.

I'll be yours for a thousand lives*

when you get kidnapped, you realise your husband isn’t the good man you thought he was.

you love when I fall apart*

Your employers give you an unexpected offer when you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t.

dancing with the devil*

things take an unexpected turn when Bucky finds out your little secret.

no other place I’d rather be*

you blindly accept when a stranger offers you hefty sum of cash to drive him from Germany to Romania. what you don’t expect is for him to be this excruciatingly handsome.

take the old me and make me new* ✨

bucky loves ruining you.

one right now*

things take a turn with Bucky accompanies you for shopping.

in your arms i'm born again*

you want to find out exactly how many times is too many times for the super soldier.

got your chemicals all in my veins*

Bucky has a wicked idea to curb your loneliness when he’s out on missions — making a sex tape.

I hate you, I love you*

Bucky hates you,.. but does he?

hopelessly devoted to you* ✨

bucky loves playing games with you, and like the innocent doe you are, you always get trapped.

you're a drug that's killing me*

your happy night leads to a not so happy morning.

the farewell*

you bid Bucky a farewell.

bucky barnes as your boyfriend

fluffy headcanon

anytime, anywhere* ✨

Bucky is flattered when he finds fanfiction, but he isn’t even aware of what half of the words mean.

desire*

right from his electric blue eyes to his graying beard, everything about Bucky made you want him more.

cotton candy* ✨

you just had a very bad day and Bucky reassures you in the best way possible.

a clandestine affair*

bucky can’t hold himself back when you look that gorgeous at Tony’s house warming party

getting high on love*

it’s a wild ride when you meet your crush.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[sandsorghum]

The fic I've always wanted to write I don't know what to say about this one because it means a lot. Maybe once I get some distance, I've spent too much time with it. I'm just glad to have made it for Nanami's birthday, under the wire. But also it's unbeta'd. The format is new for me too, sort of a slow-burn triptych, best thought of as snapshots. I want to experiment more with it in the future, so I hope it does well. Please let me know your thoughts! Thread Count Genre: Slow Burn, Romance, Friends to Lovers WC: 5.3k

i.

Ache, behind the eyes. Throbbing. Fizzling fiber optics.

Static hissing. Constant haunting. Pelting silver sibilance. The ghosts chorus against asphalt.

Chill in the air. Condensing upon dewy brows. He tilts his head ever so slightly. Satin relief, the sheets are cool too. Except in one spot.

Warmth already leaching into his palm, from his abdomen. He flexes his fingers against the fabric, to assess how horribly he's stained this bed.

This thread count is too high.

Shit.

"Relax."

His body refuses, does the opposite. Freezes as he hears his name dissolve into a warning. Something fractal spreading in his lungs, spidery and sharp, an icicle breaking off between his ribs as he struggles to sit up.

A hand settles in the crease of his elbow, touch no longer tentative. Firm as the voice, equally familiar. Too familiar.

"It's okay, Akemiuchi's loyalty program is gonna guarantee me a decent discount on the next duvet."

"I'm-"

"It's a good chance to rack up those points. There's this crocheted quilt I've been eyeing? It's the cutest thing ever. I'll show it to you next time."

Nanami winces, sweet intentions souring into an implication. An imposition you've already accepted as inevitable. He's the worst. He had a few moments of consciousness to spare, he knows he did, could have called Ijichi or Shoko even, directly, but no he'd wasted those final flickering seconds to drag himself over here.

The last thing he remembers before slumping over was your welcome mat. Rubber now, instead of fabric.

He can't keep doing this. Not to you.

"Phone." He rasps.

You fluff the pillows behind his head. "It's charging."

A rectangle glares in the periphery of his slits. 3%. It'll do. Ijichi's prompt with calls, especially those coming in at this hour.

" - a real viper's den of cables, took me a while to find yours. I told you you should switch to Android, that port design is super dumb - Hey."

Fingers clamp down on his wrist before he can even reach the nightstand.

"It's late-"

"I was editing a presentation anyway. Clearly we've both got issues with work boundaries."

His arm stretches out again, sinews shrieking their protest, bones creaking their own echo. He ignores them. Deft fingers skate up his swollen biceps, insistent. There's a pressure at his shoulder and he flinches. When had you gotten so strong?

When had he gotten this weak?

"Crap - sorry. That hasn't healed yet? Or is it new..."

He doesn't dignify you with a response, but the tight seam of his lips reveals enough. Nanami's further given away by the loose slump of his limbs. Defeated and betrayed by the mutiny of his howling muscles.

His body sings its triumph with a fresh pang rolling hot through his gut, crimson banner unfurling over ragged veins. He'll be damned if he admits to such a vicious victory. Nanami sucks in a breath instead.

"Fine, don't tell me."

There's something clipped in your voice, something abrupt in the way you stand and stride to the bathroom. A cabinet creaks, but that's all. Nanami watches the silhouette of your hands meld into the shadows to retrieve something off a shelf.

The lowest shelf.

There isn't any other sound besides the soft shuffle of your returning footsteps. Well, of course you'd know where everything is in your own home. Including the things you rarely had a use for. You hadn't even bothered to switch the lights on. Nanami wishes you did. Wishes he could confirm your dry eyes and blank face, numb and neutral as you moved through the motions of getting medicine for the man who has soaked your front step scarlet again.

Routine, right?

The tub thuds against the table, crisp and resolute.

"There's a quarter of the salve left," you mutter. You aren't looking at him. You wouldn't be able to see him in this dark anyway.

"If it isn't enough, I've another jar. Top drawer. Aspirin's there too."

Easy access, even blind, Nanami thinks. The room's still swathed in navy blues. He's invisible in this ink. It feels safe to smile, just for a moment.

"Thank you."

Your head tilts up and his mouth hardens with restraint once more. They were just two words, you couldn't possibly have detected anything beyond civility in them.

But there's a suspicion, once tightly coiled, now starting to slither from the base of his spine and it's this: People don't unquestioningly accept their ex-colleagues into their apartments at 3am to bleed into their bed, out of sheer politeness.

A sliver of a pause before you say,"You're welcome."

You move to the door.

Nanami exhales, the exhaustion deflates and the stubbornness exsanguinates as his bones relearn their weight. Your palm meets the handle and you let go of the breath you didn't know you were holding. But it hitches when you hear the grunt of your name. You glance over your shoulder.

"Akemiuchi, was it?" An index prods at your comforter.

"Uh. Yeah?"

The confusion furrowing your brows is clear in Nanami's mind, he knows just how those lines will knit and scrunch your puzzled expression. He knows, even at a distance, with you all the way across the room how you'll shrug and shake your head at his apparently random question.

"Okay."

"Okay. Rest well, Nanami."

Then you're gone, and it's safe now.

It's a famous brand, there's a branch three blocks down from his neighbourhood. He's seen the quilt, a recent addition to the autumn collection. An elaborate fuss of mint and pastels, taking pride of place in the storefront window. It's got tassels too.

Gaudy, unabashedly.

Nanami closes his eyes and his mouth twitches.

ii.

He shows up at your doorstep tonight, a night of thunderstorms, looking like an envoy of Zeus and giving you about as much warning. His always imposing silhouette had crumpled in a crack of lightning.

When the skies next belched and blanched, you'd seen his clothes drenched with rain and red. And a goopy violet you'd never seen before.

"What do you tell people?" you had asked early on, not expecting any proper answer. You were right not to.

"They don't ask."

"You don't let them." It's neither question nor confrontation, but you get confirmation in his silence, eyes downcast amidst the downpour.

He'd had the decency to be mollified about the dramatics.

You were people to him too. He'd given you the same answer he gave everyone else. You could tell how well it was rehearsed, even through his grimaces, mumbling his way through something about Private security.

Unlike others however, you weren't polite enough to accept his excuses. Especially not when he dripped all over your carpet.

"I'll replace it," he shudders, heaving himself against the edge of your bathtub.

"It's $3000," you pointed out, kneeling and pressing a towel to his side. He arches a brow, not so much shocked by the hefty price tag, but by your lavish attitude towards interior decorating. You, on the other hand, are startled by a swoosh and soon after, the chime of your phone receiving the bank's notification.

You stare at your screen, then back up at Nanami, who simply pockets his mobile with a small shrug.

Somehow, it seemed smug.

Whatever this new gig was, it paid a hell of a lot better than the previous one at which you two had met. You pull the cloth away.

The fibers are saturated red, staining your fingertips. What kind of job could be worth this? Moral fetters at the expense of financial freedom, was that the trade off Nanami had made? Nanami Kento, whose Monday blues seemed to colour every week for all the years you had known him, whose bleak, sombre expression stayed whether cast under cost-cutting fluorescents or the neon glitz of Shinjuku's excess.

You remembered the distant din of middle management's chants, the chugging and choking of sycophants, all muffled by plumes of cigarette smoke escaping thin lips, and a jacket draped wordlessly over your shoulders. Sobriety never seemed to be an issue for him.

Yet, he always appeared more exhausted than his hungover colleagues, the shadows beneath his naked eyes darker and deeper than those hidden under the department head's sunglasses. Nods to decorum couldn't disguise the stench of alcohol or the slur of his speech, a nasal wheedling appealing to Nanami's efficiency as another stack of files thumped down unceremoniously before him.

You gaze at Nanami now, beneath the bright white lights of your bathroom, teetering on the edge of your tub. He looks just as tired, except now he reeks of iron, not whiskey. Liberated from a desk, still duty-bound. We all pick our poisons and our prisons, you think.

The two of you have an understanding by now. Whatever his next chapter was, that story is sealed behind a steel vault, nothing will ever rust away at its hinges. You don't care. You're just...nosy, occasionally. The fib forming from a few bad habits, like how you couldn't close the door on this particular part of your past.

The consternation had been there before, threatening to bubble over, acidic enough to bleach bones. Yet even then you knew, Nanami had no use for emotional effervescence.

So what could you do, but wipe away the stains and residuals? Return him smudge-free glasses so he's immaculate and impassive once more. Though there's no alternative to ignoring your instincts, the filtrates of fear never quite boiled down to what you could label as mere curiosity; still corrosive, always gnawing away at you.

In the stretch of months after, in his indefinite absences, the fangs drill down to your marrow. You only muzzle its maw when Nanami reappears with gashes and abrasions and an expression masking whatever else his shredded suits can't.

And you, you've gotten pretty decent at disguising the twisted relief that comes with finding his pulse; intermittent, but in your hands.

"You always did have expensive taste," he comments, catching your stare before you can tunnel further down that rabbit hole.

You blink, then snap the clasps on the first aid kit and scoff, "Please, your midweek coffee bill was double my lunch budget for the month."

Your hands make quick work of the packaging.

"Even if I was buying for two," you add.

"Did you want a reimbursement? You always said it was your treat."

You roll your eyes. "Because someone always forgot to take a break. Seriously? Not even a vending machine sandwich? Nobody should be able to survive solely off six espressos."

You pause, laying out a few other implements. "The cafeteria's ciabatta is a lot better now though, after you gave them those tips. Shame you left before you saw the benefit of your feedback pay out."

"Hm."

To anyone else, the sound is non-committal. But you recognize that hum, the rich roundness hinting at his satisfaction, that a minor injustice of yeasty mediocrity had been redressed.

You recognized it, because it was rare and you'd always had to strain to hear it, replaying it in your mind to compensate for the sore dearth set by reality's quota.

"Besides, I couldn't risk our top sales lead collapsing from low blood sugar at an important stakeholders' meeting. Oh, and Shuichi's department head now, so thanks for that."

There's a suspicion of amusement which rumbles low in his chest, a sound you've heard even less frequently, and so conversely, dreamed about more. But it cuts off abruptly into a rough grunt when your fingers ghost over his ribs, swiping antiseptic. You look up sharply.

"This is even worse than-"

"It should have been you." Nanami's interruption rings mildly vexed, to your surprise. He grips your hand with a force that's even more unexpected, as he pulls it away. "You had more seniority than him."

"Yeah well, you know how it is." you mutter, fist clenching around the cotton swab before hurling it into the bin. "Apparently women my age are meant to be running nurseries, not boardrooms."

Nanami watches you fiddle with the surgical thread, spooling it through without hesitation. Meets your gaze, unclouded by worry or weariness. It had been 2am when he had turned up unannounced. And he feels your hands, reassuring warmth hovering over his wound. He nods once, and you touch skims over ruptured skin, where a fresh scar awaits to adorn his obliques.

His breath seems harsh and loud to his own ears.

"You could manage both if that's what you wanted."

"What makes you think that?"

"You're capable of a lot. Discipline and kindness."

The crescent of your eyes and lips glint brighter than the curved piece of silver weaving in and out of his flesh. It's a pleasant distraction, he'll admit that much.

"Ruthlessness too," he adds, wincing as the needle digs into a particularly tender spot.

"Go on," your smile is sardonic, both bee sting and nectar. Nanami feels a twinge in his rib cage, in his chest free from any visible bruises.

"You're beautiful."

Maybe he lost a lot more blood than he realised. He only notices his accident of sincerity when the thread is tugged tense, the needle jerking back abruptly. Then the anvil drops over his windpipe.

He glances at the gleaming point, barely quivering between your thumb and forefinger. The tremble of your lips is terribly obvious by contrast.

Desperation surges through him suddenly, a riptide of an urge to have them quake against his own, to savour your whimpers shaking against his tongue, give you a taste of your own medicine, have the pinprick of his incisors sink into where you're soft and vulnerable. You've given him countless stitches, and he hasn't left a single mark on you. It's unfair. It's cruel.

"How-" A distracting slip of pink darts out to wet your lips. The needle nips into his skin again and he has to hold back a groan.

"How is that trait relevant to being either a manager or a mother?"

Nanami grips the edge of the tub, white-knuckled as its porcelain. There's a pause. Longer than he's comfortable with, though you don't seem to notice. Or comment on it at least. Small mercies.

Then he says, "It doesn't hurt your odds."

"My odds aren't that great."

For a moment, Nanami wonders if you're still fishing for compliments. But then, dorsal finned mischief flashes in your grin and you let him off the hook.

"Most smooth-talkers aren't like you. More style than substance."

Your smile stretches wry, deprecation retreats into the furthest corners of your cheeks. "Not that I meet many of them though."

"It's difficult to find someone compatible." You lean forward, on the pretext of inspecting the knot before you snip the thread. Your hand settles on his knee. His spine stiffens into a limestone column. The caterpillars in Nanami's belly curl into tight cocoons.

"Someone who isn't intimidated by my ambitions," your fingers are feather-light, trailing up his toned hamstrings. Nanami feels the winged creatures twitch in their chrysalis.

"My desires..." Your palm curves higher, like your lips, closer to the apex of his muscled thighs. Newborn butterflies stir, damp with arousal. Nanami swallows, perhaps his spit could extinguish the sparks fluttering in his gut.

"Someone who's sensible and strong, who could hold me down long enough to..." The ridges of your knuckles have met the crest of his seams, any further and you'd feel the effect of your touch, of your smoldering eyes.

"...put a child in me." Your whisper fans the flames in his hollowed cheeks, in his skin scorching and stretched thin over the flint of his jaw, in the recesses of his throat, scratchy with kindling.

"If that's what we both wanted." It's the slightest graze of your thumb, but Nanami's already doomed by the briefest jolt of his hips. Fuck. You definitely felt that. Your eyes flicker, but by some sheer miracle, not downwards.

"Do you know someone like that, Nanami?" you murmur and he breathes hard, sees the vapour of his harsh pants slip behind your own mouth, parted and patient. Your fingers haven't moved a fraction too.

His brushes with death have sculpted his body, corded his chiseled torso with complete control, each synapse wired with lightning to assess curses, salivating for his flesh and demise.

Nanami knows the anaerobic burn of adrenaline, what it is to run on fumes into the jaws of danger, to dispatch nightmares, to delay the inevitable. Countless demons slewed in calculations of perfect precision, in single fell swoops and too close shaves.

You are the greatest peril Nanami has faced in years.

It takes every last fiber of his being, of his battered body, crafted far beyond the demands of labour and the delusions of purpose, not to buck into the threat and promise of your gentle heated hands or crush his mouth to yours.

"No," Nanami croaks. "I don't."

iii.

There's something soupy about the atmosphere tonight, thick with humidity, hot fog rolling in. The sheets stick to his clammy skin.

He doesn't remember how he got here this time.

Regret reverberates together with recognition as his cuticles clink against glass. There's the rustle of foil, conveniently within reach too. The plastic pops twice underneath his nail. The end of the row, Nanami notices.

He wonders if these are the drowsy kind, or maybe it's just a moonless night and all the shadows are melting together. Eventually he finds the silhouette he's looking for, slumped into a chair.

Nanami squints at the world's saddest mountain, gradually losing its slope. It's the blanket sliding off you. It puddles by your ankles, next to a basin of water, tinged pink and tepid by now. You shiver slightly, his eyes dart up and sure enough, there's the rag, twisted in your hands.

An exhale wheezes its way from his ribs and Nanami winces; he should know by now shallow sighs are all his sunken chest will allow. But the pain is dulling everything, pounding against his ivory dome like a petulant brat with balled fists.

His mobile - had you confiscated it? Such sly sweetness - Focus, landline then for a taxi, tip extra for the smears on the seats -

"You should be carrying an umbrella with you these days. Could probably fit one in that holster."

Your admonishment pierces through his haze, sounding less groggy than he'd hoped.

"It'd obstruct movement."

"Or try wearing a poncho, unless you're worried it ruins the lines of your suit." You stand up, retrieving a familiar looking quilt off the floor. The shipping had been free, he recollects.

"Given the latest state of your jacket however, I doubt that's a priority."

Nanami hauls himself up, or tries to. His deltoids have other ideas, and every muscle beneath them agrees. The veto is unanimous, and he grimaces.

You shuffle over, remarking, "I've been looking for a good tailor. I'm sure you have recommendations."

"Bulk orders from the department store," Nanami grunts, combating gravity as he attempts to swing his leaden legs over the bedside. You drag the duvet back over his lap and it might as well be lumber.

"Shame on you," you scoff with such force that he stops struggling for two whole seconds to look askance at you.

"Deluding some atrocious tie designer out there into thinking they have a shot in the fashion industry."

Against his better judgement, Nanami decides a snort is worth the risk. It isn't, obviously. He learns, too late, the appeal of mirth's medicinal qualities is gravely overstated.

"And if I told you they were custom pieces?" he snipes.

"Then I'd applaud whatever keeps attacking you."

A warning filters through the back of his brain, Whatever, not whoever. Suspicion alone is a lethal enough threshold to his world, he can't risk you. And yet he's here, the voice whispers. Far from an emergency.

"My assailants are probably acquainted with decent tailors."

Nanami's cynicism towards humour as a balm ebbs, watching your lips curve.

"I'm in stitches," you state, digits skimming Nanami's pectorals, skirting around the petunias starting to clot there.

"You took a dozen this time," you add, a little softer.

He lets your palm stay on his chest. "Where's my cell?"

"Down the chute."

"I'll use yours then." He brushes your hand away.

"Mine's outta juice too." A fist this time, knuckles pressed to his breastbone.

Nanami's eyes flick up to the ceiling for a moment, he's long suspended belief in heaven or gods, the gravity of his bones remind him of this; Any covenant he's made is between his cursed technique and body - more altar than temple.

"Got a pull out couch?" he asks at last.

"Oh shut up. You're staying here," you huff in disbelief and he looks at you, a Vestal Virgin with embers for irises. A braver man than him would wait for the hint of a spark.

But instead he says, "More water, please."

You nod, handing him a mug that's still warm but empty. "I'll fetch the thermos - oh, hang on. Let me rinse that out, sorry."

Nanami takes a quick sniff before passing it over. "Nicaragua?"

"Guatemala, Santa Isabel," you elaborate. "Tea's probably better for putting you down though."

"Water's fine."

You slip out into the shadows, taking the aroma of the dark roast with you. Nanami reclines against the headboard, your scent lingering in his passageways. Yet another inconvenience he's instigated. A longstanding tradition, fitting its origins. There had been a time when you insisted on oolong instead, or the superiority of Ceylon. You were convincing enough in those first few months, with your tiresome tirades and passionate grandstanding in the pantry, all before 8am. Nanami had almost attributed your bright eyes to the beverages you rigorously argued for, even as he refused to deviate from the ritual masochism of his "sad bean juice". Not so much elixir as IV drip. "That much caffeine will wreck your melatonin production," you berated him. He had no idea what you were talking about but then, neither did you. The destruction of Circadian rhythms, the annihilation of any balance beyond the kind in the books you pored over (long after your bosses had dumped them on you a quarter to 7), would never boil down to what was poured into your mug. The defeat was inevitable. Nanami told himself he didn't miss your near daily trivial one-sided debates; they just interfered with his morning reports. Still, he had stared too long at the pair of steaming takeaway cups you carried in one day. "A peace offering," you said. "Robusta. The cafe down the street has a fresh batch every Tuesday." You leaned forward, depositing them under his nose. "Here's to the grind, on our terms." A croissant wrapped in the white flag of a serviette slides next to his cup, over the grey laminate of the table. Compromise shouldn't smell this good on you, he had thought. In your kitchen he's spotted both the conical slopes of the Chemex, and your stash of pyramid pouches with their loose leaf treasures. Just one more thing he's taken away from you on a night like this. He's an aberration, an intrusion - much like the flavours infringing upon your tongue. It ought to be the routine lull of chamomile, instead it's coffee, keeping you alert; iron and tannin tangling in the air. Nanami's mind drifts to the rude awakening your taste buds must endure, wonders about the sweetness there, more hazelnut than herbal, strong or mellow, aggressive or pliant- "Here." Nanami reaches out, fingers grazing ceramic that feels like hearthstones. He finds the handle by sheer luck. The sips he takes are small and slow, tendrils of steam climbing up his sheer cliff face. Over the rim, Nanami feels you watching him absently. Your concern suspended over the ravine between the both of you, silence slack in your carabiners.

Then you murmur, "Your mouth's too hot."

His throat goes taut. "What?"

"I forgot. Now the reading won't be accurate," you sigh.

Something rolls off his shoulders when he recognises the thin beak of the thermometer outlined in your grasp. The sensation is more weighted than mere relief, Nanami can't quite name it. It's a residual sludge in his gut, turning the ground to mud as he tries to trample it.

"I'm fine."

"Liar." The mattress dips and the boulder in his belly plummets as he feels your body brush next to his. He pushes back, it's Sisyphean, your breath against his clavicle, his soles are slipping.

"What are you-"

"Last I checked," you interject, wrestling the covers over your laps, "this is my bed."

His knees buckle as you shove aside his thigh with yours.

"You'll catch this bug." The warning is futile, Nanami knows. He's already set down the mug.

Your tone takes on a solemn timbre. "An extra risk. There's no known cure for cooties either. Sorry to break it to you."

Nanami huffs through his nostrils, he ought to feel more patronized than placated. But there's a levity to your touch, gently pressing him back against the bed.

"And I really hope you're not a blanket hogger because I'll kick you out. Injured or not."

There's already too little space between you and him but Nanami turns on his side, stoic expression that much closer. "You should have kicked me out a long time ago."

"Probably," you agree.

Nanami startles as your fingers sweep beneath his fringe, pressing your palm to his forehead, then to yours, then back to his.

"At least your fever's broken, I think."

Perhaps the pills worked, but Nanami doesn't feel the same relief flooding your gaze.

"Are you sure?"

Your touch lingers, he leans into it. His temperature is rocketing, if anything. Hesitantly, Nanami's hand glides over your temples.

"You're too warm yourself."

"I'm not," you object, despite the steadily building furnace in your cheeks. "Check again."

"This isn't accurate," Nanami mutters, but his touch settles over you. His fingers should stay in a delicate arch over your head but his hand is drifting to cup your face, feeling your smile curve into his palm. He cradles it, together with the quiet of your breathing slowing into sync.

"I should keep a couple of shirts in the closet. What size do you wear?" you mumble sleepily.

"That's not necessary."

You crack open an eye. "So you're gonna insist on staying half-naked in an unmarried woman's bed?"

Nanami retracts his hand swiftly, as if he's been scalded.

"That's not what-"

"Don't get me wrong," you smirk, drowsiness completely vanquished. (Had it really been there in the first place? Nanami wonders.)

"Wearing just perspiration and bandages is a great look on you, but..."

You pull the blanket higher over the distinct curves of his biceps, shifting closer. "You'll get cold. And the forecast said rain tonight."

The meteorologists must be right for once, he thinks.The atmosphere is electric, frenetic with an impending summer storm. He can feel the crackling in his capillaries, heat condensing in the air.

You're an inch, maybe less, away from his face now. Near enough anyway that he can make out the feathered arc of your lashes, can see how they'd flutter with each of his exhalations, if he isn't careful.

Nanami holds his breath, becomes statuesque. You notice.

He's a magnum opus of masonry, Michelangelo's misery, muscles cast in moonlight and breaking all mortal molds - but the truth is, he's built himself from scratch. You know this. You've admired his Adonis belt, cut from alabaster, yes, but you've also witnessed that rigid expression, pale as chalk. The bricks in his abdomen, the welts chiselled crudely into his spine, your hands have traced all this.

It's how you know where to look for movement now, your palm pressing over the telltale pounding in those marble pectorals, fingertips skating the shadows that dance along the column of his throat. Nanami swallows cinders, the inferno in his belly growls. There is smoke in his lungs, his trapped protests, his warnings will taste like ash.

Because Nanami's not sure how much more of your mercy he can take, how many more miracles will lay to waste his mornings and nights as he remembers the softness of your skin, free from soot.

Reality isn't this good to him, Nanami isn't kind enough for it-

But you are.

Your kiss is gentle, glacial. Mouth drifting over his, as innocuous and inevitable as an iceberg.

A kiss so gentle it rips the hull of him wide open.

A hissing, gasoline fumes siphoned from his clenched teeth as he rolls your body on top of him and his cracked ribs, your gasp tangling with the rustle of the sheets. They bunch in your fists as he feels you struggle to push away from him, to alleviate the weight, but Nanami needs it, like pressure upon a spurting wound, grabs your hips and holds them flush to his own as he locks his other hand around your nape. He nips your protest in half, teeth and tongue raking and tilling along your bottom lip, until at last you let submission bloom in the bruises there.

Nanami doesn't know if he will survive this tenderness; if it'll survive him. The struggle is exhausting. But then, your hand clutches the hair at the back of his neck, roots silken in your strong grasp. Soft blonde strands sprout through the gaps of your fingers, the furrow of your brow eases into a plateau, a quiet moan pushes into his mouth; and Nanami knows he's lost.

And found again.

He feels the sickle of your smile, the swipe of your tongue as it reaps the first fruits of spring.

The scent of rain starting to fall can't compare to the taste of you, the scattered sounds are even more vague. Nanami doesn't register the gale's shrill whistle, too focused on the high peals of your whimpers. Precipitation's heavier pitter-patter against the panes is drowned out by the hammering of your heart underneath him, all of heaven's rumbling can't contend with the rushed whispers of his name and yours. Nanami links your hands together, the syllables loop around your bodies tighter and tighter as the intervals between your chants get shorter, breathier.

You pull away from Nanami at last, not quite completely, as he tries to temper his greed by suckling at your neck, your pulse barely a pacifier for his petulance. You pant, head lolling further to the side.

The sky has mistaken itself for the sea, deluge of melodrama lashing against your window. The cityscape is shrouded in silver, though you're not exactly enamoured by the view at the moment.

Nanami coaxes your attention back to him, lips roving over your cheeks and chin and nose. He rests his forehead against yours, gazing deep into your eyes. The silence is different now.

There had always been a certain detachment and distance, as if he were tuned to the frequency of a far away planet, a separate world. Still, you were pulled into each other's orbit; a pair of satellites emitting mixed signals.

You sense him drifting now, calibrating, calculating again; static buzzing as he searches for the right words.

You sigh and tug Nanami into another kiss.

He's a little surprised the atmosphere isn't scorching, that he isn't burning up upon reentry, falling back into your gravity. The heat is still there of course, just under your tongue and evident in the kerosene trails you're painting across his chest. It's diffuse this time, simmering rather than searing. Languid as syrup, as butter browning in a skillet. No flash in the pan, you tell him, lips still occupied.

Nanami closes his eyes, the liquid light filling him brighter than any solar flare. You drag your kiss, slow and soothing, till it's tucked into the hollow of his throat.

"Sweet dreams, Kento."

How redundant, he thinks without verbalizing it, arm curling around his one impossible yearning that has already come true.

Quietness seeps through the room as you curl into Nanami's side, and he allows himself to drift into warmth's embrace; the warmth of a sunbeam spilling through billowing muslin curtains.

Perhaps he could get used to this thread count.

[tempestdaydream]

[Ficlet] literary allusion

💫 Also on AO3 [here]

Hob enjoys teaching, truly. It's a chance to impart knowledge in more ways than one, and to steer others away from dark paths Hob himself has unwittingly stumbled onto in the past. 

Sure, the students can be a handful, and sure, Nancy from administration wants his head on a silver platter for the time he requested a change in his class schedule thrice in a week, but the experience is overall quite pleasant. 

If only it wasn't for these bloody substitutions.

You see, when one specializes in English history between the 14th and 17th century, it puts you at the forefront of candidates to replace the Elizabethian literature teacher when the occasion arises.

He doesn't blame Thomas for falling ill, of course, although he'll give him hell about it later over the drinks he was promised. 

He does blame one overrated hack of a poet for reminding him of his woes any time he gets brought up in conversation.

Of course they're going over Shakespeare's sonnets this week. Just his luck.

Against popular belief, Hob doesn't abhor Shakespeare in of itself or on principle. He's perfectly fine with some of his works; Eleanor convinced him to see a few plays way back when, and most were perfectly fine evenings. 

Other works, though…

Hob does wonder exactly who old Will was thinking about in his sonnets; from context, it couldn't be his Stranger. The subject of poetry was undoubtedly human, considering just how often the passing of time got brought up as an issue.

That doesn't mean certain passages don't hit much too close to home for comfort. 

"What is your substance," he reads, "Whereof are you made / That millions of strange shadows on you tend? / Since every one hath, every one, one shade / And you but one, can every shadow lend."

It's a good thing he perfected his poke face in the past century or two.

A formless, all-encompassing beauty, huh? One person with many shadows and reflections…

Hob pushes down a frustrated groan. 

His friend's influence is inescapable alright.

He liked it better when he could stay in denial; when even friendship seemed unattainable. But then the bastard had to show up late and apologize, and show actual courtesy and start proper conversations even. And worst of all for Hob's sanity—He stuck around.

It's much easier to ignore an infatuation if you don't see the other person every other week, it turns out. Maybe the once-a-century deal was for Hob's benefit after all.

Bloody hell, this is why he dislikes Shakespeare. Makes his moods so somber he entertains the thought of the past being better. It rarely ever was, and most definitely not in this case. He likes spending time with his Stranger, regardless of the health risk it poses to his heart.

Perhaps he'll even get a name out of him, one of these days. His one of a kind, perplexing friend.

In all external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

[hansolmates]

shiver | 01 (m)

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summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut—in this installment: touching over the clothes, mc is hornee, *pulls out cards against humanity* “a gentle caress of the inner thigh”, panty kissin, mc is a big ol’ pushover and hopeful for jkk:(( w/c; 1.9k a/n; it’s here! aaaaaa!!! i’ve been really eally realllyyyyyy nervous to post this. even though this is just a drabble series  let me know how you feel about it! enjoy [shiver masterpost]

“Oh, you’re so dead.” 

Jeon Jungkook isn’t thaaaat buff, he's more of a skinny kind of muscular. You don’t understand the hype, why everyone croons over Jungkook’s strength and physique. However, how else could you explain Jungkook being able to climb the currently dilapidated fire escape to the top floor of the chapel. The ladder is rusted beyond repair and is definitely a fire hazard rather than a fire escape. Yet he barely breaks a sweat doing it, and he wipes the minor sheen off his brow with the back of his hand. There’s some soot and whatever nasty residue from the fire escape that gets on his face, a black streak marring his already annoying face. He’s currently wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic “hello.” It makes you sneer, your two consciousness (inappropriate and appropriate) warring against each other to determine whether you still find this man attractive or not. 

Convincing yourself that Jungkook is ugly is the worst quick-fix idea you’ve ever had. 

The words of your Aunties, the family friends in the church, echo in your ears. Jungkook’s bad. They’d say over and over. It would cause you to snort and giggle, unable to imagine what sort of things he’s done to warrant such a cliché label. Yet some of the girls your age, girls that have gone off to college agree with sultry looks and longing eyes that yes, Jungkook’s bad. So bad, it’s good. 

You haven’t a clue what he’s actually done to earn such a hushed title, his parents are lip-tight about his doings, unless it’s his achievements in the architecture graduate program. You hear things, though. Things that make you shamefully green with envy, envious of sin. 

As soon as he finds proper footing in the storage room, he goes to the closet, immediately finding his backup clothes. They’re plain white button-downs, awkward long shirts with no shape or definition to them. They belong to the church, and no one ever uses them because they’re stiff and itchy. Yet Jungkook wears them like it’s tailored, and you have to look away when he quickly knots the bottom half of the shirt, fashioning it into a tasteful double knot in order to cinch his lean waist.

“Pretty sure it was just you that saw me,” Jungkook says dismissively, “so it’s fine.” 

This bristles you the wrong way, and you put down the catering covers you were supposed to return to the storage room. You smooth out your Sunday dress, this shade of Boring Beige looking particularly pale in the morning sun. “How do you know I won’t tell?” you turn your nose up. 

“Because I know,” he doesn’t even look at you, focusing on rolling the sleeves of his shirt. You weaken when you see the black shadowing across his forearm. That’s new, then again you haven’t seen him since last Christmas.   

“Know what?” 

“That you have a crush on me,” Jungkook says into the air like it’s common knowledge, adjusting the leather jacket on top of his outfit so the white-startched collar pops on top, “I mean, it’s hard for anyone not to know. You’ve been into me since youth group, Bunny.”  

You hold your breath, counting to ten as you close the door behind you. A vision of you playing “Duck Duck Goose” as a five year old plays in your head, where you’d pick a bushy, big-eyed Jeon Jungkook each time, hopping over to him to pat his fluffy head so he’d chase you around. 

It’s old news, your puppy love for Jungkook. How could you not like him? He's clever and sweet with his mother and always told the best stories in youth group meetings.  Everyone thought your affections were so sweet, and while that attention weaned over time, your feelings have only increased the more self-aware you’ve become. 

With a mind as open and honest is yours, it’s hard to ignore how well Jungkook has grown. What has also grown is your curiosities since the two of you have moved onto university. Jungkook goes to the university uptown, a far drive which only forces him attend masses during the holidays. You attended the local community college, wrapping up a bachelors in some vague major that you’re not attached to. You’re currently looking around for some graduate schools, but unfortunately you’ve been so wrapped up doing duties for Pastor Nina that you haven’t been able to look around properly. 

Jungkook’s probably living a fun life, with the way he’s grown rough and loose, you resent him. 

When you turn back around, Jungkook’s right in front of you, trapping you between his body and the door.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bunny,” you furrow your brows, nearly growing cross-eyed when he leans in. “I think your crush is cute.” 

You’re not sure what he thinks of you. Sure, he considered everyone a friend when you two were in youth group, but that was youth group. Premeditated, parents forcing other children to do the same things with each other for years upon years in the hope they’ll practice together forever and ever. Jungkook did not want that, evident from the way he dipped his duties as soon as he got into university. 

You hate how easy he dips back into it though, calling you Bunny and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Bunny, because you’d hop around to him whenever he was in sight. Bunny, because Jungkook had been fondly compared to the wide-eyed, diamond-toothed creature. It was cute when you were five. Now, it’s just discomfiting. 

“Don’t call me that,” you bite, “and I don’t like you anymore.” 

“Sure you don’t,” he rolls his eyes, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand rests on the curve of your waist, fingers slotting themselves between the pleats of your skirt. “That’s why you’re not moving away when I’m about to put my hand under your skirt. Because you don’t like me.” 

You press yourself further into the door, your skin hot and vibrating. So warm, you feel like you could melt through the door and escape from Jungkook’s gaze. Sure, the young ladies in the congregation talk. Maybe you’ve heard a story or two about Jungkook being seedy, a result of being repressed after years and years of stiff routines and expectations thrust upon him. You could care less about Jungkook’s sexual appetite, until this appetite has reached you. 

“Mm, you’re pretty,” Jungkook’s eyes roam your form, the daisy white blouse doing nothing to barricade Jungkook’s sudden interest in you, “you’ve never been touched like this, have you?” 

“I’ve touched myself like this,” you hiss in defense, and it’s more out of anger than in pleasure. You don’t need a man to comfort you, but Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in mirth at the new information. 

“That’s really sexy,” Jungkook slips down, roams his fingers down to your ankles and plays with the silver buckles of your Mary Janes. You shiver when his hands trail up up up to your knees, the swell of your thighs, and catch right under the elastic seam that holds your secrets together, “but I’ll have you know, it’s different when you have someone hold your pleasure in their hands.” 

You’re in the storage room of your church, fifteen minutes before the Christmas mass, with Jeon Jungkook’s head between your legs. Your skirt is long, and Jungkook doesn’t bother to ride it up your waist. 

It feels more forbidden that way, Jungkook hiding under the fabric of your skirt to get to your honeyed center, sneaking his way in with rough hands and soft touches.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your full spine against the wooden door, “we shouldn’t. N-not like this.”

What is wrong with you? Is it sheer curiosity? Do you just want to know what it finally, finally feels like? You should be pushing him away. There’s red lights flashing back and forth in your brain like sirens. Yet, do you really want to turn away the attention you’ve been aching for years? 

You imagined your first time to be relatively special. The bare minimum, a bed, a talk, and a partner you’re mutually committed to. None of those things are met. Now you understand why all the young women in church whisper about sex like this. It’s a spur of the moment, it’s an unbridled pleasure you don’t want to stop, no matter how forbidden and sinful the act is.  

“How else then?” you feel his deep voice straight through your panties, his lips whispering between the pink cotton like he’s sinking liquid heat into your skin. “I can’t sink my fingers into your sweet cunt during the candle lighting. Or when we open presents with the family after. That would be inappropriate.” 

Your replies come out in breaths, puffs of air that conceal the moans you so badly want to let out as Jungkook pokes and rubs at you. He does nothing beyond the cotton fabric, only slides two fingers up and down your slit as he gathers the arousal between his digits. 

“So wet already, that’s so sexy,” he’s kissing your core, and you sigh fretfully at the pleasure that feels so close yet so far away. 

“P-please, Jungkook…” 

“Please what?” Jungkook teases, fingers slipping back and forth between the elastic of your underwear, “please stop? Please touch me? Please fuck me?” 

The church bell answers that, and Jungkook’s nose knocks right into your bud at the sudden intrusion. You yelp at the jarring stimulation, pulling him from under your skirts as the loud noise echoes in the room. Both of you wince at the pain, the moment interjected. 

“You first,” Jungkook casually opens the door for you, as if he didn’t have you ten seconds away from begging him to make you come. 

You don’t even look at him as you dash away, not bothering to take the elevator in favor of running off the heat. Two minutes before the procession. The church is packed to the brim, only the back seats left. Your family probably gave up on waiting for you up in the front. As you sit down in the corner, you’re momentarily distracted by the beauty of a decorated church on Christmas. Even though you’re part of the decorating committee and commanded most of the design, seeing the stained glass lit up with fairy lights and the poinsettia plants blooming burgundy on the altar, you’re impressed. 

“There’s a draft here, you must be cold.” Jungkook talks to you so politely, a perfect picture of a gentleman as he drapes his leather jacket over your lap. He speaks as if it’s a pleasant surprise, a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in nearly a year. 

You can’t tell him to move when people are watching and Jungkook is seconds from interrupting the procession, so you reluctantly scoot over so he can sit next to you. His scent overwhelms you even more now that you’ll have to sit next to him for a whole hour, lavender and vanilla overtaking your pew. 

The jacket is heavy and heady on your lap, and you force yourself to stare straight ahead. Jungkook cannot weaken you like this, not anymore. 

Thirty minutes later, his fingers are hovering at the start of the homily, caressing your thighs under the jacket with his big hands. A draft? Please. You clamp your thighs together, knocking your knees and hoping they’d lock together for the rest of the mass. Jungkook’s a master key, easily parting his way as if your muscles are pure jelly. You turn your head sharply, glaring at him with all the fire in the world. 

“Careful,” Jungkook mouths, eyes flickering to the symbol atop the podium, “he’s watching.” 

His fingers finally brush the damp blush cotton of your panties, and you shudder. 

[neonlights92]

RUN: Chapter VII (Epilogue.)

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for.  He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants.  So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly.  And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook.   So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos.  How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

Hey friends! Enjoy the epilogue <3  Namjoonie next..

You were pissed.

Jungkook had promised you he wouldn’t be late tonight.

It was your one year anniversary - one whole year of being married to the love of your life - and you were meant to be celebrating at a fancy restaurant with champagne and good food. 

You’d gotten all dressed up - squeezed yourself into some ridiculous contraption of a dress - just for him, and now it looked like you were going to miss your booking.

Eight o’clock passed…

Then eight-thirty…

Then nine…

By the time your husband finally decided to make an appearance it was more than an hour passed your reservation time.  You’d taken off your dress - kicked off your heels - and made a move on your makeup when the door to your bedroom clicked open.

“Hi Angel…” 

Jungkook’s sheepish tone greeted - and you chose not to answer - instead glaring at his reflection in your vanity mirror.

“I know, I know I’m late,” He’s pulled his tie and blazer off, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his forearms.  You chose not to comment on the suspiciously red coloured stains peppering his collar.

“Happy anniversary to us, I guess.”  Your own voice was sharp and angry - in the year you’d been married to Jungkook he had made you feel special and loved - but that didn’t mean he still didn’t fuck up.

“I’m sorry baby,”  He moved towards you quickly, and you stood turning to face him, “It was - y’know… God.  It’s Bangtan.” The desperation on his face pulled at your heart strings.

You knew your husband’s job was important - you knew that as a member of the Special Seven - as Bangtan’s shadow he had more responsibilities than he would probably ever tell you. 

And you knew that you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him for long.

But still.  It was meant to be a special night for the two of you.  An acknowledgement of everything you’d been through together.

An acknowledgement of your love for one another.

You couldn’t help that you were disappointed.

“It’s alright,” You shrugged, “It’s part of the package, right?”

He sighed heavily and reached up to push some of your hair out of your face, “I hate disappointing you.”  His tone was tender and a little more of your anger fizzled out, “I love you so much Angel.  I always want to be with you - I always want to make you happy.  But I’m not always very good at it, huh?”

You chose not to say anything - slipping your bottom lip between your teeth and staring into the eyes of the man who had changed your life.

God.  Your heart swelled to nearly three times it’s size at the look on his face.

Such reverence and adoration - like you were a work of art.

He always made you feel special, like that.  

“I’m sorry baby,” His voice was sincere, “I really am.  I know tonight was meant to be special…. God.  What kind of husband leaves their wife waiting for them on their anniversary?” 

He laughed without humour, and you felt a stab of guilt.

“It’s okay Jungkook,” You licked your bottom lip and shrugged, “We’ll celebrate another time.”

He touched your face gently and frowned, “I know you’re disappointed… And you have every right to be, Y/N.  Tonight should’ve been about us.”

You sighed heavily, “What kept you out so late?”

His eyes darkened and you noticed for the first time how tired he seemed.  He’d been out all day - and if the blood on his shirt was any indicator it hadn’t been easy.

“Namjoon.”  He answered hoarsely, “He barely comes out on missions with us anymore.  Barely wants to be around any of us…” 

You felt a stab of guilt.

Since the night you’d been kidnapped almost four months ago, Kim Namjoon had turned into a shell of his former self.  You knew you couldn’t have done anything - you were just as much a victim of Sana’s brutality as he was - but you still felt awful.

“What happened?”

“We tried to help him… Lord knows we’re all emotionally constipated.  But Jimin thought it might be nice to take him out for lunch.  So we did.  And then…” Jungkook shook his head, “Namjoon cut himself with his steak knife.  He hasn’t gotten used to his prosthetics yet.” 

“The blood?” He clicked his tongue, “He was sitting beside me.”

You instantly felt terrible.  You moved to wrap your arms around your husband, pulling him down for a fierce kiss.

“I’m sorry baby,” You whispered against his mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head and frowned, “No stop - don’t.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I can’t take you out for anniversary meals like normal couples.  I’m sorry I come home with blood on my shirt -” 

“It’s okay Jungkookie.”  You pressed a hand to his cheek and he smiled softly at the nickname he’d begrudgingly accepted, “I know who you are - I know the world we live in.  I accept it.  I accept you.  Is it annoying? Of course.  But I won’t give up on us.  Ever.”

He leaned into your touch and kissed your palm, “I love you baby.”

“Me too.”

“Next time though, text me alright?” You pulled a face, “I wouldn’t have bothered getting dressed up.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I will Angel.”

He spent the rest of the evening showing you just how sorry he was, and how much he absolutely adored you.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the worst way to spend an anniversary.

//

“I have something to tell you.”  Nayeon had shown up not five minutes ago, with a promise that you had to sit down and listen to her.

You’d obliged of course - she was your best friend after all.

But her confession had knocked the air out of you.

“I’m getting married.”

She was grinning from ear to ear.  You almost dropped the cup of tea you were drinking.

“What?”

“I’m getting married.”  She didn’t seem upset, “That’s why I came round.”

“To who?”

Her smile widened, “Song Mino.”

“Oh!” You mirrored her expression, “Song Mino.  He’s… Nice.”

“And hot.”  

Your face flushed and you nudged Nayeon playfully, “Stop it.”

“I’m happy.”  She told you honestly, “I might not know him very well but he seems like a decent guy.  And like I said… Hot.” You laughed this time at your friend’s unabashed appreciation of her husband-to-be and clicked your tongue, “Well if you’re happy sweetie, then so am I.”

“My dad told me last night.  Mino’s father approves - so does Taehyung….”  Her eyes flitted to yours guiltily and immediately you realised what this was.

A setup.

“You want me to tell Jungkook.”

Her lips stretched into a thin line.  She grimaced.

“Yes.” 

“Why can’t you tell him?”

She frowned deeply, “Because Jungkook’s hated Song Mino ever since they were kids and he stole Jungkook’s first girlfriend.”

“Your brother is not that petty.”

“Yes he is.”  She raised a brow and scoffed, “Don’t tell me you don’t know that about him.”

You bit back a laugh at the thought of Jungkook holding a grudge for as long as he apparently had with Mino.  Then you frowned.  Tonight was meant to be a different kind of surprise for your husband.

“I also had some big news for Jungkook tonight.  I was going to wait to tell you but since you’re already here….”

For a brief moment Nayeon seemed confused by what you’d said before her eyes widened and she shot out of her seat.  She moved towards you like you were a glass of water and she hadn’t drunk in a week.

“Oh my god.  Oh my god.”  She pulled you in for a hug, “You’re pregnant aren’t you?  Oh my God! How far along?”

You laughed at your friend, “I only found out this morning.  We’ve been trying for a couple of months… But I’ve only missed one period.” 

Nayeon’s eyes were sparkling with tears and you were sure your own weren’t too far off, “Oh my god!  Don’t worry about telling him about the wedding.  I’ll do that sweetie.  You just worry about telling my brother he’s going to be a dad!” 

A loud thud caught both your attention and you turned sharply to find the brother in question - your husband - staring at you both in shock.

“Wait… What?”

Jungkook’s eyes flitted between yours and his sister’s.  He blinked slowly, as if slotting everything into place.

Nayeon pulled away from you quickly and shot you an apologetic look.

“Surprise?”  She said to her brother with a weak smile before grabbing her things and making a nervous beeline for the exit. 

Nayeon mouthed “I’m sorry” to you as she disappeared and you had to stop yourself from laughing at the entire situation.  Of course it would all happen like this.

“Was she… Was that…”

You stood quickly and moved towards your husband, cupping his face in your hands softly.  Your eyes roved his his features carefully, looking for any sign of apprehension.  But all you saw was surprise… And joy.

“I’m going to be a dad?” He whispered, eyes wide, “For real?”

“For real.”  You smiled up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips, “You’re going to be the best dad.”

He broke out into a wide grin and bundled you up in a hug, raining  his own kisses down across your face.

“Oh my god Angel.  We’re going to be parents.  Oh my God!” 

You giggled at his reaction and squealed when he lifted you off your feet.

“Pregnant wife.”  You warned him, and he put you down quickly, patting your head and shoulders to check for signs of injury.

“Oh my god.  Pregnant wife,” His smile was dazzling, “I love you so much Angel.”

“I love you too Jungkookie.”

You had spent so long running from your feelings for Jungkook.  And he’d done the same.

Thank God you finally decided to stop and rest.

Things would never be perfect - but you were happy.  And so was he. 

And that was all that really mattered to you.

//

[bokettochild]

A Hero Protects His Own - Part 1

Ao3

AU is by @ryssbelle I just write for it!!!! Go check them and their awesome AU out!!!!

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Loud.

It’s loud and the camp is overwhelmingly tense as Legend screams harsh words in a language Twilight doesn’t understand. The others sit in silence, either burying their heads in their hands or trying their hardest to ignore it while Sky stares cold and impassive at the vet.

He shrinks back into his hood.

He’s fought the worst of the worst; monsters, evils, shadows and nightmares from realms beyond what the others will ever know, but somehow hearing his brothers screaming at each other like this is what it takes to make him shiver and shrink back.

Or maybe it’s the steel in Sky’s eyes.

He’s tried to separate them, tried to stop Legend antagonizing the Chosen Hero, and for a while he even thought it worked! Sky and Legend had bonded some after what the three of them refer to as “the bunny incident” Legend with a fierce blush and Sky and himself with grins and teasing. The vet would tease them, stand at their side and back them up, and they would do the same for him. That’s just the power of secrets, sharing them makes you closer to other people.

But then they’d been dropped in Legend’s world. They’d come to the veteran’s Hyrule and spent a day at his house and gone out to the forest with Ravio to investigate something strange that the merchant had seen. When they'd come to the cozy cottage, Sky had been teasing Legend and receiving playful jabs in return, but the next morning when everyone woke up there was stone cold silence between the two, Ravio overcome with nervous energy that, to their collective shock, had earned him some rather sharp words from the Skyloftian when the merchant had gotten them lost in the woods.

From there it got worse.

Legend and Sky are almost always at each other's throats now, icy blue and raging indigo burning into each other as Time has struggled to keep them separate, neither willing to explain their spat and Ravio to overcome to even attempt it.

The bunny merchant clings to Warriors even now, their scarves wrapped over the both of them and tying them together as Warriors paints the merchant’s nails, speaking softly and recounting adventures the two had apparently shared in an attempt to distract him from the shouting that fills the camp and the heated stares being shot between two heroes.

Sky’s hand grips the hilt of the Master Sword where it lies in his lap and Legend’s fist at his sides while he stands over the older hero, face twisted up in an ugly expression as he spews words Twilight knows he doesn’t want to understand.

“Make it stop.” Four whimpers, head buried in his side as the smithy’s shoulders tense further with each word. “It hurts.”

“Guys-” He tries, he really does, to be firm, but when there's so much anger already in the air, he knows that yelling will only do so much good, and when Sky’s sharp eyes meet his, usually so gentle and dreamy but now flashing with lightning and shadowed in thunderclouds, it’s all he can do to keep his voice low enough to not worsen things for Four.

“You’re hurting Four.” Time scolds.

Legend’s mouth snaps shut, Sky’s hands twitching as the two both look over the miserable bundle against his side.

“Fine.” Legend snaps, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Apologies.” Sky nods.

It’s easy to believe Sky will be a king one day when he acts like that. There’s no doubt that their usually sleepy friend can rule and command when he sits poker straight, actions clipped as his words and tone deep enough to rival times when he speaks. Gone are the gentle words and reassuring smiles, instead replaced with regal nods and flashing silver eyes. The war cape that usually warms shivering heroes on cold nights is a cape, and the halo cast over the Skyloftian’s honey-hair is a crown in the firelight.

Twilight has to shift in his place.

Thank Ordonia the two both have a soft spot for the smithy, otherwise they’d be here all night! And, while he loves the wolf that nestles inside of his heart, he also hates how the wolf’s senses affect his own. Legend’s shrieks might be annoying to the others, but to himself and Four, they’re agonizing.

Then again, he has to muffle a strained chuckle as Legend stomps past on his way to his bedroll, which is as far as possible from Sky’s without Time raising his brows, rabbits do scream rather loudly, don’t they.

“Are they done?” Four’s eyes actually have tears in them when he looks up, face flushed and miserable as he peeks up out from under the tail end of the wolf pelt.

“Yeah.” He has to keep his voice low as he answers, Four’s headaches are well known to be absolutely awful, and he can’t help but gently pet the smithy’s hair in an attempt to comfort him.

Baby.

Twilight has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Four’s nearly an adult.

Baby. The wolf in his soul rumbles, and Twilight has to mentally restrain himself from pulling the little smithy into his arms and absolutely suffocating him with his fluffy pelt and arms as he holds him as tight as possible. He thinks Four once explained why they want to squeeze babies and small things so much, but he can’t be bothered to dig through all of the smithy’s rants about Hylian behavior in order to remember it.

It was something related to eating though, and the thought makes him wrinkle his nose.

“Good.” Four sighs, flopping fully against him and tugging the pelt over his eyes. “They do that again and I’m gonna slap them both. Jerks.”

A laugh rumbles through his chest as the wolf growls in approval.

Fierce baby. The Wolf laughs.

He’s close to our age. Twilight reminds himself. He jist looks small and young.

Never mind that the smithy has his childish moments, eyes glimmering red and warm as he laughs along with Wind as the two watch some prank or another play out. It’s always hard to tell if Four is just laughing at their misfortune or if he’s the reason for it and is reveling in his genius, because when questioned the smithy always looks so childishly innocent or entirely unimpressed. It’s a difficult thing to pin the blame on the smithy, and they’ve all quite given up. Except Sky.

Sky, who can read Four like a book and is currently shooting worried glances in the smithy’s direction, all fire and rage gone from crystal eyes when the Skyloftian catches sight of the smithy curled up beside him, only his legs and stockinged feet visible beneath the pelt. “Is he okay?”

Twilight nods. “Exhausted, fightin’ a bad headache, but he says it ain’t quite a migraine.”

The other hero nods with a wince. “You got him then?”

Oh definitely. This is his little brother! Of course, he can take care of him! “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

He’s feeling guilty.

They are close, he prob’bly just wants to help.

“You good, Sky?”

Crystal blue meets his slowly, a pained smile on his brother’s face as Sky settles down on his other side, reaching over quickly to gently pat Four’s knee before answering. “Yeah. Legend just-” Sky answers, running a hand through his hair with a huff of his puffed-out cheeks. “Vet’s a Hylia Blessed piece of work somedays!”

Laughter spills from him this time, and he can’t stop it even when Four pokes his side irritably. “That has got to be the nicest way I’ve e’er heard someone call another person an ass! Did you just say ‘Hylia blessed’?”

Sky rolls his eyes. “I love Legend same as any of you guys, he’s just...” Another heavy puff of breath, one that he didn’t know Sky could even manage with his asthma, billows out, ruffling the Skyloftian’s bangs as he motions to where Legend is sat with his back against Warriors, Twilight would almost dare to say that the vet is pouting as War reaches over to gently ruffle the vet’s hair fondly while Ravio chirps something nervous and encouraging at him.

“He can a bit difficult.” He finishes, but Sky shakes his head fiercely.

“That’s not it! I deal with difficult people all the time! My best friend was the biggest ass I knew before he stopped trying to one up me and started to actually help. I can handle a bit of sass and snark, I mean, look at us!” Sky exclaims, motioning to the camp and everyone in it.

“Keep it down!” Four hisses. “Headache!”

“Sorry.” He choruses with Sky as the smithy glares up at the both of them before retreating back underneath the protective shade of his wolf pelt.

“It’s not the grouchiness, or the snark.” Sky explains softly, blue eyes pained as they glance at Legend. “We’re just. We have very different opinions about some things.” He’s about to say something when Sky cuts him off, eyes glistening softly in the fire as he stares across at the pouting vet. “I get that he doesn’t care for the goddesses. I’m not happy with it, but I can respect his opinions; they’re valid as much as mine are, and he has his reasons to feel the way he does. But some things-” The Skyloftian shakes his head fiercely, eyes going stony again. “Some things aren’t open for discussion like faith and beliefs. Hard, cold facts can’t be denied, no matter how much Legend would like to.”

There’s a bite in Sky’s voice again, and it makes him flinch back. Beneath his pelt, Four’s fingers clench his tunic, the smithy stiff as a board again. He sneaks an arm around the younger hero, squeezing gently in reassurance as he follows Sky’s gaze to the trio opposite them, where Legend is glaring at a laughing Warriors while Ravio giggles softly along, the three melting back into their seamlessly antagonistically friendly behavior around each other.

“Legend’s smart. But he’s also blind.” Sky bites out bitterly. “And it’s just gonna get him hurt.”

He’s about to ask what Sky means, but at that very moment Wild jumps up from sitting beside Time, ears pricked and eyes wide as a hoarse-shout rings from his cub’s throat. “Monster attack!”

Monsters.

The growl rumbles in his chest as he pulls himself to his feet, Four following with a groan and Sky already sprinting across the camp with the Master Sword drawn and in hand.

The monsters are on them before most of them even have a chance to draw their blades.

Mindless beasts swirl about, blocking his vision of the others as he dances through them, fending off any headed towards the suffering smithy while simultaneously trying to carve a path for himself and Four to where the others are.

“Eyes out for the black one!” Warriors voice rises over the din of blades crashing and monsters squealing, all of the playfulness of the moment before replaced with the practiced calm and clipped tones of a soldier.

“Aye Captain!” Wind shouts back, followed by Wild and Time, the only one’s accustomed to a soldier’s commands, as they thrust themselves into the battle.

The monsters swarm thicker and thicker, but in every spare second, he keeps his eyes open, searching the crowd for the black lizalfoes that’s been the source of so much of their trouble lately. Nothing can be seen save monster after monster of the normal sort, their blood streaking red across the dirt, thin and weak as bodies fall with more ease than any of their previous battles.

“These ‘blins are red blooded!” He calls out. “Keep your guards up! They strong one’s are prob’bly holdin’ back!”

The Ordon Sword sings through the air, but despite his own warning, the monsters are already starting the thin. More stream in from the forest, but they runabout wild like any old ‘blins and lizards, none of the intelligence or strength of their corrupted cousins making an appearance so often recently. The same can be said of the black lizalfoes; no one can spot it, there’s no flash of black in the crowd save for his own pelt as he spins and stabs, dancing easily along to Warriors’ side.

“Any sign?” The captain pants out, parrying an enemy blade and thrusting forwards to skewer the moblin before him.

“None.” He heaves back, raising his shield against his own opponent and pushing back against the spear that embedded it inside. “Have you seen Four? I lost him in the mob?”

The words are hardly out of his mouth before a scream, all too harsh and broken sounded across the field. “Sky!”

Midnight meets royal blue as soldier and rancher lock eyes for all of a moment before swinging out with all their might at their enemies, razing them low and clearing their vision long enough to stare over the field.

Four is clutching at his sword arm, eyes wide and staring as they looked to where Sky has been cast onto the ground a few paces away, thrown by the force of a blow that no doubt had been headed for the smithy himself. No ordinary monster could land a blow on Sky unless he was rushing to someone else’s rescue, and the guilt already filtering into the smithy’s eyes was all that is needed to confirm the thought.

The Master Sword lies on the forest floor, to far from Sky for the knight to grasp it as he pulls himself to his knees, enemies already baring down on him from all directions.

“Sky!” Twin voices shout.

Flying-Heart!!!! The Wolf screams inside of him, pushing his feet forwards to charge to Sky’s side.

Red flashes before him, swirling fabric, the color of aged blood and wine, a hood like a poe’s drawn up over a being’s head, a single blackened hand reaching out from beneath, red swirling over clawed fingers as Sky’s breath comes heaving from his lungs, side bleeding from the blow that had downed him.

A voice, neither high nor low but pitched in such a way that none could hear quite what was being said, murmurs something as the power on the blackened hand pulses.

Monsters rage around the hero and poe-like being, but none step closer to Sky, although their eyes trail to him eagerly every so often when Heroes, desperate to save their brother, aren’t hacking through their numbers.

A moblin rises before Twilight, blocking his vision for precious seconds before a roar built in his chest and his sword cleft the being in two. The second was enough though. Sky’s scream sounds over the field, harsh and grating and agonizing! The wolf throbs inside of him, tearing at the walls of his mind as he attempted to press through the creatures keeping him from his brother.

“Get back you-” Legend’s words are cut off sharply by Time’s scream of rage as the biggoron sword swings and fells three monsters at once. The Master Sword gleams in Legend’s hands as he launches himself at the being, teeth set and eyes flashing as he swings down, making the red-cape dart back as the pink-haired hero came to a halt between hero and monster, Sky’s weakening breath ringing over the field.

The vet’s eyes flash to meet his for only a moment. “Kick ass! We need to end this!”

A firm nod, the wolf is already raging inside him and he gave it full control as his blade and shield fend off and fell enemy after enemy, their screams and blood running over him like the air itself, so little he cares for them. His only job now is to beat back the monsters, give Legend space to work, keep Sky safe.

Beat the monsters.

Give Legend space to wreak havoc.

Protect Sky.

Beat the monsters.

Give Legend space to wreak havoc.

Protect Sky.

Beat the monsters.

Give Legend space to wreak havoc.

Protect Sky.

Like a dirge of war, the wolf’s thoughts swirl with his own, red clouding his vision as the Ordon Sword severs limbs and head and cleft bodies in two. Feet dance the war stomps of bloodlust as eyes flash with the golden of the wolf.

“Portal!” Wild screams over the din of the monsters falling. “Hylia’s!” His pup sounds strained, rage and terror mixing in a cocktail of fury as arrows plunge into the enemy and weapons fly loose across the Champion’s personal battle space, an area where even the monsters drew back in fear while the rest of the heroes give the youngster ample space to cause chaos.

Sure enough, the portal’s golden power is sweeping across the field, the faint brush of feathers over their cheeks and shoulders and the whisper of warmth and honey as the goddess’s strength flows over the field.

“Legend, watch out!” Hyrule’s cry cuts through, and Twilight only has enough time to see the blackened hand swing forwards and catch hold of Legend’s tunic before the golden glow of the shift swept it all away.

[nukacoola]

Companions react to Nick Valentine in a gen 3 body

Ada: 

Ada would not really understand why Nick Valentine would want to get a more human body. She supposed his circumstances were different than hers but she had never wished to be human and her robot-ness never affected her quality of life. She couldn’t deny that the look suited him though. 

Cait:

“Well ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, Nicky!” Cait likes Nick but is a bit creeped out by synths so she’d find this version of him a lot more pleasurable to look at and be around. She’d probably make some jokes about him being ‘a real boy’ now but not much would change as she didn’t spend an excessive amount of time with Nick before either.

Codsworth:

“Why Mr.Valentine I must say you look stupendous! A very fine look for a very fine gentleman.” Codsworth is quite content with his robot body but he thinks Nick is much better suited to this new one. He’s one of the few who remember the old Nick Valentine and the resemblance of him and this new synth body is actually pretty close. He sees it as the perfect fit for Nick the synth as it’s similar to his old body while being different enough to give him a unique sense of self. He was a bit worried about Nick’s and Sole’s adventures now though as he knows Valentine often finds trouble where he’s not looking and human bodies are a lot more delicate than a generation two synth one is. He’d be sure to give the detective a good talking to about safe and responsible adventuring before the two headed off anywhere.

Curie:

“Oh mon Dieu monsieur Valentine, you look amazing! Zis body suits you!” Curie would be very happy that the procedure she had discovered with Sole was able to help so many more people. Not only does she find the mechanics behind it fascinating, she loved to be able to hug her dear friend without worrying about his hand getting caught in her hair. She really liked seeing how glad Nick seemed to be with the transition too. He seemed very happy to have a new sense of self which in turn made Curie happy. 

Danse:

Before Blind Betrayal:

Danse is not ok with this. At least before he was able to tell right away that Nick Valentine was a threat but now he just looked human as anyone else. It was very disturbing to him that a synth could so easily hide in plain sight and look like a real human. Of course he already knew about this problem before but Valentine’s transformation reminded him how easy it was for synths to fit into normal life in the worst way possible. He would be staying further away from the detective now more than ever. Valentine already creeped him out anyways. 

After Blind Betrayal:

Danse is not ok with this. Even after the truth about himself was revealed he still hated the Institute and was freaked out by synths if not outright hateful towards them. Nick’s transformation reminded him how he was just as real as Danse. They were the same. Inhuman, freaks of nature who were built and programmed to do evil. If he had it his way, he’d never look at or talk to Nick again. He felt bad as he knew there was no good reason to fear or hate him but he couldn’t help it. Danse was programmed twice. Once by the Institute and once by the Brotherhood. That second programming would never allow him to feel comfortable around the robot who is now just as “human” as him. Maybe as he works with Sole more to accept himself and his humanity things will change but for now he’d stay away from Valentine.  

Deacon:

“Looking good Nicky! Not that you weren’t the most handsome guy I knew beforehand too!” Deacon wouldn’t be too surprised at Nick’s transformation as he would’ve known about it long before it happened. Working as the main info gatherer for the Railroad meant that he knew all the happenings of the Memory Den. It was really rough whenever a synth’s mind was destroyed by a memory wipe but ever since Sole had realized you can transfer a robot’s consciousness to an empty synth there was always a nice little silver lining of helping someone else gain humanity from someone’s loss. First Curie, then Edna and now Nick. It was a chance at a real life for those who couldn’t fully experience it before. The body definitely suited him. Real hardboiled looking guy with mousy brown hair and a five o’clock shadow. Deacon might make some jokes related to the changed man and might fall in love with him a little bit more but overall things would stay the same between the two. 

Dogmeat:

Dogmeat wouldn’t really be able to tell that the new man was the old man so it would be a rush of emotions at losing one friend and gaining a new one. He would like getting belly rubs from a softer hand though!

Gage:

Gage didn’t really give a shit either way. He thought it was weird that a machine wanted to be human but he never spent time with Valentine so he didn’t need to think about it too much. 

Hancock:

“Nick! You look amazing! Hard to believe you were just an ugly bucket of bolts before.” Hancock would love the new look and be very happy that Nick is happy but he would be a bit disappointed that he’d have to get new joke material. He’s always seen Nick as a sort of father figure and this new human form will only enhance those feelings.

Longfellow:

Longfellow has no thoughts on the matter. He tries to just keep to himself and stay out of all that synth business.

MacCready:

“Damn Valentine! Guess this means you won’t be needing that WD-40 I got for you, huh?” MacCready, like Cait, is a bit weirded out by all the synth stuff but he likes and trusts Nick so he’s happy for the upgrade. It will definitely make him feel more comfortable being around him. He’d probably hang out with him and Sole/him and Hancock more often now.

Piper:

“Holy crap Nick is that you?! You look great!” Piper would be amazed at the extreme change. She’d also be very worried though that Nick would might face more discrimination in Diamond City now given the citizens are more scared of gen 3 replacement than anything else. She’d probably try to post more articles focusing on the Institute being the enemy rather than the synths and she’d stop fear mongering so much about replacement given the worries about her friend’s new look.

Preston: “Good for you, Nick. The new look suits you!” Preston, of course, would be very accepting of the new Nick and would be glad that Nick is happy with his new self. He would also probably recommend a lot more potential clients to him now that he wouldn’t scare off the average wastelander. People who had problems the Minutemen couldn’t fix would be sent to the new and improved Valentine.

Strong:

Metal man now meat man??? Strong is confused!!! Metal can not be meat!!

X6:

X6 would be very concerned about the loss of an escaped synth and he would question Valentine on how he got access to the body and how he transferred his consciousness into it. He would report the whole situation to the SRB unless a Sole with a very good relationship with him convinced him not to. He might also be able to be convinced that this body upgrade is better due to the future of the Institute sometimes traveling alone with Nick. A better body can provide better protection right? Either way he’d be a bit anxious about the situation as all of his train is telling him to bring the gen 3 back to the SRB.

Sorry some of these are kinda short I didn’t know what to write!

[scribbledquillz]

Stay

~~~One~~~

It is in his best interest to win her favor. The Warden is not a fickle woman, so far as Zevran is aware. Neither is he an imbicile. And only an imbecile would content themselves with the protection of something so brittle as another's mercy.

Charm and flattery will not be enough. She has not despised his attentions, much as she tries to hide her flustered stammering and the lovely bloom of color at her cheeks behind a scowl. But she has also proven herself a modest sort, and temptation will not be enough for her to welcome him into her bed. He must find another way to make himself of worth, lest she turn her blade back to his throat to grant him the end he once courted.

An opportunity comes soon enough, dressed in darkness and the scent of cheap liquor. He does not know what has shaken her so thoroughly, and truth be told he does not feel compelled to care. But the night is young, the fire is warm, and the giving of his company while sleep remains unconquered is no great sacrifice to make. He beckons her to his side with the promise of as much or as little shared between them as she wishes.

Please, he offers her.

Stay.

~~~Two~~~

The Deep Roads were meant to be his end. Had Revka not proven herself in desperate need of sense, he has no doubt they would have swallowed him whole.

She coughs and sputters from her slab of broken stone. A small, battered thing cast down among the debris of the bridge they had stood on mere moments before. He damns her as he drops to her side, and again when fingers he cannot keep from trembling fall against the arrows buried in her body. Fool, he calls her with no care for the venom it carries. Because it is the truth.

It had been his footing which faltered, his life which clung to the crumbling masonry as the darkspawn bore down upon them. The choice had been so simple. What was one wretched, ruined life to the furthering of their goal, to the promise of her own survival? Everything, she murmurs through bloodstained teeth, and it isn’t fear or anger which sees the air turned to knives in his lungs. There is no time to dwell on it now. His hands are already troublingly slick and warm as her eyes begin to flutter, the grip she keeps at his arm steady, but not strong. Words pour from his mouth as he throws himself to work, an accidental litany laid bare at her feet as he cuts away the ruined leather.

Please, he urges her.

Stay.

~~~Three~~~

His world has narrowed to this moment, existence outside of their bed of moss forgotten to heady satisfaction. For one blessed moment there is no Blight, nor demons or blackened hearts to carry on bowed shoulders. Here there is only the minute; sweat on cooling skin, the kiss of Revka’s breath at the hollow of his throat, the weight of her body against his chest. He drinks it all down with shameless greed, made a man doomed to a thirst too exquisite to ever see sated.

It will destroy him, in time. There are no gentle endings for heroes, and fewer still for the likes of such vile creatures as him. They have already tempted fate’s grace, the knotted scars beneath his palms a testament to what could - what should - have been. Soon enough this will end by her will or another’s, and he will watch as another piece of himself is carved away. Lost to the Void and leaving him with only ashen memories. Yet he knows he will not regret what he has paid.

The sublime was never meant for permanence, and Revka is no exception. He will content himself with what he is given, and offer nothing less than the gratitude she and the Maker are due for the privilege. Because to squander these moments and their fleeting divinity would be a crime even he could not bring himself to see through.

So when she finally stirs to speak of obligation, he feels no guilt in how tight his grip turns about her waist. Their work is done here, the Bracillian at peace, and their companions no worse for their absence. She sighs as he traces a thumb over reddened lips, yielding to his kiss as he speaks.

Please, he whispers to her.

Stay.

~~~Four~~~

He will never wash this blood from his hands.

Taliesen is dead. His partner, his friend, his lover, his past. Dead, along with the last shattered piece of the man he once knew himself to be. And he feels nothing. No regret. No guilt. Nothing, save the numb, aching certainty that he has done what was needed.

He does not know how long they have sat here on this bed, or where, precisely, Revka has taken him. Away, which is all that is of consequence. Hidden someplace far from leering eyes, that does not reek of death and wicked trechery. That alone is a kindness more than he deserves.

She has not moved from his side, the weight and warmth of her presence, of her fingers woven between his staving off the worst of the ice building in his chest. Ever his silent, watchful Warden - his light within the shadows, his harbor in the storm. Without her here he knows he would fall, and this time there would be no return from that looming, frigid darkness.

Please, he begs her as salt and loss tear at his throat.

Stay.

~~~Five~~~

He cannot lie to himself any longer. Can no longer pretend every moment spent in the comfort of her company does not come with the pain of an end he does not yet see. And that is the trouble of it, isn’t it? The thought that each night spent beside her, every kiss or glancing touch might very well be their last. He has tried - sweet Andraste, he has tried - to keep his hold of these pleasures slacked. Reminded himself countless nights of the unspoken promises he made to her, to himself, to the Maker, to take only what was given freely and dare not dream of something more.

But his heart has never been a loyal beast, its refusal to cease its beating all those months ago born of the same stubbornness which rails against him now. It makes traitors of his hands. Turns them to talons and sinks them deeper into the want of her with every effort made to draw himself away.

He does not wish to fight this any longer. What he feels… there are no words for what he feels. Not yet, when there is still so much of himself he had thought long dead struggling to take back its breath. So he does not offer them.

The earring gleams within his outstretched palm, flickered candlelight glinting against gold to match the unsteady beating of the heart which drove him here. He gives both to Revka freely, and knows no matter her answer they will always belong to her. As they already do.

Please, he asks her in silence, once more left bare to her mercy.

Stay.

~~~Six~~~

The golden ring at Revka’s ear sparks with the light of a hundred fires as she turns back to him across the battlement. Around them the world is ending, filled with the stench of blood and taint and smoke. The Archdemon shrieks in its agony and rage, felled but no less deadly as it snaps a wicked maw and flails claw and tail and body against the poor souls within its reach.

In an instant he has forgotten their talk of miracles. What spell cast by mortal hands - no matter their talent, no matter their conviction - could hold against the sheer brutality of such corruption? He reaches out to her unthinking, as though his will alone would close the distance in time, the same heart he has only just given turned to a stone fist within his chest. And she smiles. A brittle, sorrowful thing broken under the weight of what has been left to the whims of the Maker and his fates. Her lips tremble, mouth stumbling over words he never thought to see spoken, and the same stone heart crashes against his ribs.

I love you.

And she is gone. A blur of Warden silver and blue, the flash of brilliant steel. He cannot move, cannot tear his eyes from what will surely be the end he has feared for so long. The Archdemon rears its monstrous head, hate and death burning in black eyes as she throws herself between the world and an unending Void.

Please.

Her blades strike true, the monster screaming as a brilliant beam of light swallows the both of them whole.

Please.

He is on his knees, thrown back by the force of the light or the fear burning through every inch of his flesh, scalding his soul.

Please, he prays as he drowns in the agonizing unknown, as he crawls toward the faint shape of her form upon the stone.

Stay.