#the ''halos'' both have the same shape and both loosely wrap around their arms

[moonpaw]

do you think there’s some kind of connection between yamato’s and luffy’s fruits since they’re the only mythicals with the cloudy halo thing going on, or is it solely just for the elemental aspects and nothing else

[johaerys-writes]

Fandom: The Song of Achilles Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Chapter 14: A Bounty of Hours of High-Flying Birds is up! The boys’ first night together in Skyros, from Patroclus’ POV. Smut, cuddles and feels galore :)

Read on AO3! Or read from the beginning

For a long while, I simply held him.

I wrapped my arms around him, hid in the hollow of his throat. Felt his lungs, the way they swelled with every breath. Listened to his heartbeat, the way it pulsed in his neck, in the dark. I traced the channel of his spine with my fingertips. It was hidden under layers of fabric, but I knew the subtle dip between the shoulder blades, the curve of the lower back. I knew it, better than my own. I had followed it countless times; I could have done so in my sleep.

Achilles’ fingers smoothed up my back, caressed the back of my neck, threaded through my hair, mirroring my own movements. We had only lit a single lamp and left the window open, and in the moonlight that streamed in he was silver-bright and luminescent, a flame flickering in the dark. I gazed at him, and wondered how I had spent a single moment, a single breath without gazing at him; it all seemed so far away now, incomprehensible. A nightmare that disperses upon waking, yet its echoes still leave a trace of bitterness, of fear, behind.

None of that mattered now. Nothing mattered, not when he was breathing, his pulse beating, the moon shining upon him while I held him in my arms. I breathed deep, the deepest I had breathed in days, weeks, months— I breathed like I never had before, like all the air around me had been sucked the moment he’d been taken away, and it was now given back to me in abundance.

I breathed. We breathed.

Achilles did not speak. He hadn’t spoken a word since we’d walked into the room and closed the door behind us. He leaned back to look down upon me, his eyes searching my own. He would do that, every so often, as if he could not believe I was there, as if to convince himself that it was truly me, and not some ghost, some mirage, some half-formed dream. Long, delicate fingers traced the sides of my face, as if to make sure.

“Patroclus,” he whispered.

I took in a shaky breath. I did not take my gaze off him— I do not think I could, even if I wanted to. I watched his eyes the whole while, the way they gleamed beneath his eyelashes, the way his pupils widened like a hunting cat’s in the night. His fingers moved lower to trace the line of my jaw, smoothing down the column of my neck. He caressed my collarbone with his knuckle, then followed its line until it let him to the clasps of my tunic.

An intake of breath. The whisper of fabric as it fell loose over my shoulder.

“Patroclus,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss the skin he’d exposed. I shivered, my head falling back on a sigh when I felt his petal soft lips on me, his breath warming me.  

He moved on to the other clasp to unfasten it, his lips following where his fingers had touched. His palm smoothed down my chest, pushing my tunic down. When I was standing before him in nothing but my skin, he undid the laces, clasps and sashes that kept his own dress in place with quick and sure movements. It was swiftly discarded in a pile on the floor, next to my own clothes. Then, he drew me flush against him, holding me so tightly I thought my breath would leave me, his lips gliding over my own, his hands roaming, roaming.

“Patroclus.”

“Achilles—” I gasped when I was suddenly lifted off the ground. I laughed despite myself, wrapping my legs around his waist, my arms coming around his shoulders. My nose was buried in golden curls, rich with the smell of him, the taste. Rose water and sandalwood, pomegranate, him. His scent suffused me, filled me to the brim— my lungs were close to bursting, yet I wanted more. I needed more. I needed to breathe him in, to drink him in, to keep him safe within me, forever.

“Achilles,” I whispered into his hair, squeezing my eyes shut when I felt them burning.

Don’t leave me.

With his arms around me, keeping me aloft, he walked me to the bed. I held on to him tightly as he lay me down, with my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms locked behind his neck, feeling his lungs that swelled and his heart that beat against my own. He felt so solid, so real against me. It was as if we’d never been apart, as if the last two months had been but a blink of an eye, while at the same time I could still feel the hollow of his absence as if he was not there at all. I thought of all the nights that had gone by in an endless, dizzying stream, nights that I had spent dreaming of him, wanting him, aching.

“Achilles,” I whispered into the soft hollow of his neck, and I was aching still.

Stay with me.

He spoke my name again, I think. He was kissing me everywhere, whispers interspersed, warming my already flushed skin, lips and hands mapping every inch of me. Our kisses, from slow and gentle, had turned fierce, exploratory and possessive, as if in the span of a single night we could make up for all the lost time, like we could unwind those shimmering threads and wrap them all again around us, for us.

It wasn’t long before his deft fingers slid down between us, quick and agile like watersnakes. I gasped when I felt them wrapping around me in a firm grip. He knew the rhythm I liked— oh, he knew it well— and his eyes were on mine now as he stroked me, faster now and faster.

I might have spoken then, perhaps. I might have said something —I missed you, I missed this, I need this— but words were slipping away from me, like so much sand through my fingers. I surrendered myself wholly, unable to hold back. I reached down too, past his chest, past his stomach, past the soft tangle of golden curls at his navel. He was hard and slick with dew and ready already, and I watched him, drinking in the sight of him as every stroke of my fist brought him closer and closer to the edge.

“Patroclus,” he moaned, thrusting in my hand, “Patroclus—”

Release was quick to come, for both of us. He came with a gasp, spilling messily over my stomach. The beads of his seed shone all over me, pearlescent in the moonlight. I wasn’t far behind, riding the crest of that wave while he kissed me, and kissed me, and kissed me.

“Achilles,” I sighed against his lips, drawing his breath into my lungs, dizzy with the sweetness of his mouth. He was smiling when he collapsed on top of me, his arms coming around me to hug, to hold, to keep. Weak shivers were still running through me when I hid my face in his hair.

Never leave me.

Sleep was just at arm’s reach.

~

Later, the chill breeze that blows through the window stirs me awake. Achilles is sprawled over me like a blanket, like the fox furs we would throw over us in Pelion to keep us warm in the heart of winter. He is smiling in his sleep. My eyes fall closed again, and I think:

Don’t leave me.

He stirs, still asleep. His lips press against my cheek as if by instinct, and I think:

Stay with me.

“Patroclus,” he breathes, still reaching for me, even in his dreams, and I think, I think, I think-

Don’t leave me. Stay with me. Never leave me.

~

We slept for a while like this, tangled in each other’s arms. Legs under legs over legs, arms beneath necks, hands going numb and tingly from the weight. When we finally peeled away, we were both sticky, sweaty; we laughed at how little we cared. A brass bowl of water with strips of clean cloth had been left for me by the servants before I came in, and we washed ourselves hastily before moving back to the bed.

The moon beyond the window was bronze and full now, slipping sideways, dipping towards the west. The Pleiades were twinkling, in the far away.

Achilles lay on his back on the narrow bed, his chest rising and falling softly with his breaths. The oil in the lamp was almost gone, and in the light that was fading he looked hazy and indistinct, his outlines blurring in a soft, shimmering halo.

I lay on my side, watching him. I let my gaze sweep over his smooth brow, his sharp profile, the bridge of his nose, his bow-shaped mouth. He swallowed, and I reached out to ride the tiny motion with the pad of my finger. That made him smile.

“It tickles,” he said. His fair eyelashes fluttered, revealing sleepy jade green eyes.

I shifted closer to him, pressing against the length of his body, and he lifted his arm to hold me. I felt safe there, wrapped in his undulating warmth, in the heat that always seemed to emanate from him. It was because of his divine blood, he’d explained to me once, that his skin was so warm.

I had nodded then, but it still made little sense to me. Thetis was as frigid as the dark waters of bottomless oceans. I could not imagine her bone white skin being warm to the touch. Achilles radiated like the sun; Thetis was as cold and distant as the moon. He was honest and direct when she was scheming, golden and resplendent when she was sharp, cold, cruel to the core.

It mattered not. He was Achilles, and he was beautiful, and he was there. He was my light, my life; Thetis would readily take both from me. I had never feared, nor hated, anyone as much as I did her, right at that moment.  

Sullen determination sparked within me. I would never let him go, regardless of how little she thought I deserved him. I would defy the gods themselves, if I had to.

“What are you thinking about?” came the drowsy, sleepy question.

I stayed silent for a moment. I did not want to share with him the acid of my thoughts, and I did not want to lie to him. I simply said, “Your mother was trying to hide you from the war?”

Achilles’ eyes cracked open, when they had been half closed, and he shifted to face me. Sleep was gone now; his attention was entirely focused on me. “She does not want me to go to Troy. It’s too soon, she says. I’m too young. There will still be wars to be fought, she says, and Troy should not be it. I think...” He paused for a moment, considering. “I think she wants me to be safe, and you with me.”

I frowned. Thetis had always wanted him to fight. If there was something I had come to know about her, was that nothing she ever did or said was simple or straightforward. I wondered where the knife lay, amidst the flowers.

“So it was not because of me? This…” I gestured at the remnants of his disguise, his hair that was still hanging in its womanly curls.

“Deidameia was because of you, I think. But the rest was the war.”

I struggled to understand it. Achilles could explain it no better than I could, so we simply stayed silent for a long while. The wick in the oil lamp was sputtering softly when Achilles’ fingers smoothed gently up my arm.

“I missed you,” he sighed.

His touch made my skin prickle. Desire sparked readily within me, just with the feel of his breath brushing my cheek as he shifted closer to me still.  

He flattened his palm down my sides, following the curve of my hips, brushing down my thighs, claiming every inch of me. “I missed you,” he said again, more fervently, urgently.

I kissed him in response. There were no words to encompass the depth of my need for him while we’d been apart, the hollow that his absence had left behind. I touched him as he touched me, following his movements, like a flower follows the sun.

“I thought about you.” His breath was shaky when he rolled over me, washing over me like riptide, waves that rolled over a golden shore only to retreat again. His jade eyes were blazing through his golden lashes, and his lips were flushed and glistening. “I thought about you all the time.”

His words warmed me and I sighed, letting my head fall back against the pillows as I looked at him. The tips of his curled hair caressed my face like feathers.

“You did?”

“Yes. I thought,” he whispered in my ear, his voice raising the hairs all over my body, “of holding you like this. Touching you like this.” His hands moved ceaselessly, endlessly wandering, as he planted kiss after kiss on my lips, my eyes, the angle of my jaw. “Did you think of me?”

I blushed; I could feel my cheeks catching fire. Of course I had thought about him too. All those nights that had seemed never ending, when it felt like the ship would never reach the shore, and I feared I would remain trapped in the interstice between darkness and the unknown, I always thought of him. I would summon his image in my mind, like a talisman to ward off every terror. The way his hair looked in the bright sun, strands of molten gold heavy with water, clinging to his skin when we went swimming in the stream or in the sea; the droplets that glittered on his curved eyelashes and in the space between his full lips like beads of morning dew.

“I did,” I said, a touch strained, when his tongue flicked over my earlobe. I felt alive, vibrant; more than that, I felt bold. I tilted my head to the side to give him better access to my neck as I asked, “What else did you think about?”

Read the rest on AO3!

[translightyagami]

Mikalight Week fic: 24-Hour Gym

a short mikalight fic for, what else, @mikalightweek. wrote it sort of quick? and its not explicit but is very sensual and there’s a lot of body talk and you can basically assume they fuck after the fic (i was TOO LAZY to write the smut). Anyway.

This fic is rated BPBB, for Bench Pressing Bodacious Babes.

Quiet and soft humid air filled the gym. From the window, Teru watched him with his standard issue NPA duffel bag slung over his shoulder, laughing at a text on his phone. When he looked up, they almost met eyes and Teru turned, facing his reflection in the wall-length mirror. His black hair hung in lank strands beside his face; his grey T-shirt collar darkened into a full-leaf of sweat over his front. The gym door bells jingled as he came in, cheeks pink from the mid-winter outside and a wary smile on his face.

Of course, Teru recognized him. Kira. Light. Above the brown trendy haircut floated his full name, the kanji confusing for a minute until – congealed and solidified – the meaning existed. While Light checked in with the sleepy front desk clerk, he talked loud and high-pitched. It was a voice unlike the one Teru heard in the warehouse, the one that told him after the police and that little white haired boy were dead, to go home. To make up an alibi. And to meet him, at this little 24-hour gym, in ten days.

Watching Light’s mirror twin walk to the back lockers, Teru lifted his dumbbells on autopilot – eleven, twelve, twelve, no wait – before setting them down, grabbing the towel he tucked into his jogger’s waistband. Nervous sweat and exertion sweat mixed together, all mopped away by a monogramed hand towel. When he glanced back up, Light was at the rowing machine.

For twenty minutes, they waltzed: Light moved to a machine, doing his reps, while Teru went to a different machine, did his own program. (An unceasing eye for detail made note that Light lifted about ten under Teru’s lowest weight.) Having shed a jacket now that he’d warmed up, Light worked in a loose white tank top that hung low in the sleeve holes. Every so often, when he reached to grasp a bar, his chest swooped in and out of view. Teru caught scar tissue, though never a long enough glimpse to know its shape. He stood from the arm extension machine and walked to the bench press. All the way he felt two sharp eyes peering at him from a leg machine.

Teru set the plates: two 10 kg., and then two 2.5 kg. plates, an unusual though not overwhelmingly larger weight than he lifted on a normal night. Foolish and near school-boylike, he wanted to show off in front of the other man. After setting the weights, he leaned back and rested his head beneath the long metal bar – and waited. The sound of God walking, a long stride with confident footfalls, was familiar in Teru’s ears. Head haloed in florescent, Light bent above the metal bar with arms outstretched.

“Do you need a spotter?” His tone suggested a joke – ha, ha, who else but me – but Teru only heard the question in serious.

“Yes,” he said, and it was then he realized these were the first words he’d spoken to Light in public. How apt, how right, that their exchange be God extending his hands to help Teru carry such a heavy burden. Light hovered his palms just around the silver length, eyes trained on Teru as he wrapped fists at either end and – oh! – lifted. Every rep, staring directly into a brown-eyed microscope, and Teru almost shook, lost his strength, when their hands nearly brushed. He managed ten reps before gently resting the bar back in place. Sweat dripped off his neck and above him, it made gems across Light’s forehead.

“Wow,” Light said. “You’re pretty strong.”

“T-thank you,” Teru cursed his stutter. He didn’t expect the compliment and it made a little flower burst inside his concrete encased heart. The flower only grew the longer Light looked at him, smile just a pink curve, eyes unnervingly genuine. It was a look that fake people in movies gave each other – Teru hated how much he liked to trust it. God had to be genuine – a kingdom of justice would never stand on false ground. Light’s stare trapped him with a weight deeper and heavier than any dumbbell, and when he glanced away, Teru gasped. His breath had flattened in his chest.

Light left first, at midnight, and when Teru went to his own locker at one thirty am, he found a note shoved into the air slits. On the note was a phone number and curt letter L for a signature. He folded it into the smallest triangle he could, having memorized the number, and set the paper beneath his tongue. As Teru packed his things, nodded to the gym employee, walked into a cold and calamitous city sidewalk, the paper poked and scraped the inner wet flesh. Pain in little bites followed him on his walk – each bright moment a moment of God beside him. Do you need a spotter? A question, a divine extended hand. Wow. You’re pretty strong. Strong, a warrior disciple, God’s most beloved. And, at the platform for his train home, he swallowed the dissolving note – communion.

Teru started working out in high school, when a gym teacher suggested a natural physical ability like his could use sculpting and recognized in him a perhaps genetic inability to play on a team. Ever since the first time, he took to the regimentation, the preplanning and trackable results of gym life. Within the walls of his usual club – the membership to which took up an embarrassing but necessary amount of his pay – Teru found ritual. A work out was an offering to the divine in his own body, and now it became religious practice, a modeling of himself into a better tool for Kira’s will.

This late night arrangement became weekly. On Tuesdays, Teru and Light worked out in the same hole-in-the-wall 24-hour gym, just them and one employee. Two owls dancing around the machines, Teru knew both their stares were gobbling each other’s body behaviors like so many tasty mice. He saw in Light a similar high-school athletics resolve, although the way his muscles smoothed rather than fit into shapes spoke more to sports than targeted workouts. Teru resisted his own snobbery in this observation – though he found a dedication to the perfecting of the body rather than to sportsmanship more pleasing. Kira had his reasons, maybe, for choosing athletic pastimes. There too was a certain leanness to Light’s body as well. Even with a layer of more authoritative muscle, he looked vulpine, foxlike in his lithe frame. His posture retained the slight slouch that many people who were slim in their young adult hood had; in fact, Teru only recognized it since he himself trained it out of his own habits a year prior.

And, yet, the flurry of observation – itself a thrill in its artificial intimacy – didn’t compare to those few minutes where Light leaned over, put his elegant hands out, and spotted Teru’s bench press. He took to doing them more often than his usual schedule. Combined with the bigger weights, an unevenness grew in his routine that Teru would never have allowed before. He couldn’t stop himself though. Anything for a few moments close enough to Light to see the split of his lips, the sweat trickling over his flushed cheeks.

On the fourth week, while Teru wiped down the leg press after he used it, Light approached him.

“Hey,” he said. “Isn’t weird how we’re always in this place together, but we’ve never learned each other’s names?”

“Mikami Teru,” Teru said. The tone was straightforward, and his volume normal – and still he imagined how imprudent he sounded. “I don’t usually go to this gym.”

Light narrowed his eyes and shook his head, just enough to say not the plan. Up his back, Teru’s spine stiffened. It was no joy to disappoint Light.

“Well,” Light said, slick voice untwisting the frustration in his gaze and presenting a smile that bordered on pretty. “I’m Yagami Light. I’ve really admired your routine. Maybe sometime we can meet up. I’m no good with workouts, not like you.”

“Oh. Yes.” Teru nodded. Meet up? Before he could ask a clarifying question, Light spoke over his concerns.

“Call me tomorrow,” he said. “I’m free after five.”

He walked away, not leaving a number except the one boiled in Teru’s stomach. No matter how heavy the weights he lifted, no matter the volume of the baby crying on his bus home, all Teru thought of was his phone and tomorrow after five. His palms itched.

He called at five twenty the next day, having rushed home after a meeting went long, and Teru never heard a worse noise than the ringing before Light picked up. On first answering, his tone was unpleasantly gruff, accusatory – a man in the drag of an older, wiser man. It clashed with the smooth youthfulness of Light’s voice in the gym, which only returned when Teru tentatively said his own greeting.

“Oh! Mikami,” Light said, a balm over the scratches left behind by his put-on masculinity. “You’re calling so late. I thought maybe you forgot.”

“No,” Teru said. “Never. I don’t forget important things.”

“Mm,” Light said. Behind his voice was a tapping sound, someone hitting paper with a pen. “I’m honored to be an important thing. Say, I didn’t catch it before, but where did you say you lived?”

Teru sat on a kitchen stool; he’d been standing, impatient, in the breakfast nook as though preparing to run to wherever Kira needed him. But the question set him down – why did Light want to know? And was it safe to say over the phone? Realizing he’d left dead air too long, Teru muttered that he lived further south – about an hour from the 24-hour gym.

“Oh, I see,” Light sounded mildly perturbed to be have been waiting. “I was just thinking, my girlfriend is making cookies and I thought I’d send you some. Do you have an address that’d be good?”

His girlfriend? Teru didn’t press but his stomach sank. However the phrase stung, he listed his apartment address in dutiful detail. In his ear were the soft scratches of Light’s pen writing everything down and, once he finished, Teru coughed. He didn’t want the phone call to end.

“Did you play sports?” His question flowed out in a proper, clear way, and Teru congratulated himself on how normal he sounded. “Maybe in high school?”

Light went quiet and when he spoke again, the words were cold.

“I played tennis,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I only wondered because,” Teru scrambled for something less damning to say, “you’re in such good shape but don’t like to work out. And usually that’s because of sports, I find.”

“Ah,” a low simmer melted Light’s voice. “You like to work out, don’t you, Mikami?”

“Mm,” Teru said. “I enjoy the time to work on my body. Physical fitness is a key to leading a good, worthwhile life.”

“Interesting,” Light said. He tapped his pen before popping his lips. Their wet click was at once disgusting – the body, the spit, the base physicality of it – and alluring – the body, the spit, the parts of Kira blessed by his own inner spirit. “I’ll send those cookies tonight. Expect them at your door around midnight, hm?”

“Oh.” This wasn’t about cookies. “Yes, I’ll look for them then. Thank you, Light. That’s very kind of you.”

“I’m always kind to my friends,” Light said.

At midnight, Teru heard the curt knock of the one he waited for. Standing in the hallway of his apartment building, wrapped in a coat, green sweater and black jeans, was Light. He smiled when Teru gestured for him to come inside – a good, well-raised smile. In a small childish part of himself, Teru wished to return such a pleasant smile. Instead, he nodded and raised his eyebrows as Light pressed a plastic box into his hands.

“I wasn’t lying, before on the phone,” he said, shaking off his coat. “My girlfriend was baking. She insisted I take some to meet my new friend. My recommendation?” Light swung around, coat on his finger and a wryness to his expression. “Toss them. Misa can’t bake.”

“How unfortunate,” Teru said. I’m a passable baker, he thought.

Light walked further into the one-bedroom space. He put his coat onto the black lacquered hat rack’s lower rung, ran a finger across the tight gray rectangle couch, and complimented the large entertainment center Teru built. When he let it slip that, in fact, he’d built it himself, Teru saw a curl of interest in Light’s gaze.

“I’ve always liked building too,” Light said, shrugging. “But never something so well constructed.”

He wandered into the sitting room and looked to his feet, a play-acted shyness. Nothing in his body language bar the glance down suggested timidity. Teru followed, although he knew his own behavior was less confident. Light flicked his eyes up and stilled Teru’s movements.

“I’m proud of your actions,” he said. “How well you served me, served the kingdom Kira hopes to build.”

A tremor worked through Teru and he sat, unable to keep his legs steady. To be acknowledged made him eager and fraught. Without thinking, he bowed his head, and a warm palm pressed over the back of his neck. Light murmured something.

“What did you say?” Teru asked, eyes going blurry the longer he stared at his own lap.

“I said,” Light slid a finger beneath his chin, tipping Teru up and into his line of vision. “Do you think you could bench press me?”

“I,” Teru frowned, his instinct to refuse presenting weakness. He fought past it. “I can try.”

The smile from before – polite, the kind a mother asked for during family pictures, toothless – warped into the brilliant split Teru recognized from the yellow warehouse. Light smiled in high volume, loud and greedy.

“Perfect,” he said. “Let me undress.”

“Undress?” Teru’s resolve wavered and he stood.

Light shrugged, already popping the button of his jeans.

“Won’t you need better traction?” He asked. “My clothes might cause your hand to slip.”

Breathless, Teru watched God strip down to a pair of black briefs. Shirtless, the two pink scars he saw glimpses of before swiped just beneath Light’s nipples, which hardened in the air-conditioning. Mental deduction took Teru up to chest surgery, although he couldn’t pinpoint the reason. As he stared, Light’s eyes took on impatience not unlike when Teru slipped up in the gym.

“Do I not please you?” Light raised his eyebrows, swinging out his hands. “Do you find God wanting in some way, Mikami?”

“No, no,” Teru covered his mouth. “I apologize for the imprudence. I only was curious.”

“Keep curiosity to the cats,” Light said. “Now, lay back and we’ll try this.”

Teru pushed his coffee table to the side and laid himself down on the sitting room rug. Flat on his back, Light leaning over him almost nude, a strange helplessness infected him. No matter what happened next, he had no real choice other than what Light chose for him. It didn’t help that Light’s gaze had an almost lepidopterist’s leer – staring at a captured butterfly and wondering what pins to use on its corpse. Teru shook himself inside; Kira didn’t think of him as a butterfly. He was a servant, a faithful one, and Kira found him strong.

Stretching up his arms, Teru cupped his hands and met Light with his own stare.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, “slowly place your waist in my right hand and your thigh in my left.”

Light nodded, walking around to stand next Teru’s shoulder. He bent in a gentle arc and his waist was the first thing to touch against Teru’s palm. In a shift, the confidence of before didn’t echo in Light’s actions now. He was cautious, still leaving one foot on the ground as he laid himself into Teru’s grasp. A muffled groaned left Teru; even with his weight distributed away, Light was still heavy.

“Um,” Light said. “Is it okay to let go?”

The question was human, quiet, and Teru wanted to file it away suddenly. He took a deep breath, wiggled his fingers where they held Light, and nodded.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

Light gasped as he lifted his leg. Balanced between Teru’s straining arms, he hovered untouched by anything but air and the other man. Teru was in pain – not just from the difficulty of holding up an adult man but from how good Light felt. He was warm, soft, and yet at the same time hard, solid muscle beneath the skin. Gritting his teeth, Teru heaved and lowered his armload until Light’s hip was just above his mouth.

He couldn’t help himself; Teru kissed the bare skin. His lips slid just so over goosebumps, tasting hints of salt and body lotion. Even partway through, he wanted to kiss the vulnerable hip again – memorize the flavor of Kira against his mouth. Light trembled and let out his name in a rasp.

“Mikami,” Light whispered. “Fuck.”

No answer occurred to him, so Teru lifted Light back up. As charged as the moment was, a small part of him celebrated being strong enough to, in fact, perform one bench press of another human. Light squirmed in his hands, too much, and without warning, Teru’s grip loosened. God fell out of his palms and landed hard on Teru’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“Ah,” he shouted at the same time Light yelled, “Fuck!” They sat in sore heap. Teru rubbed his hands together, over and over. He’d failed; he let Light fall, hadn’t been strong enough to keep him stable. With trepidation, he glanced toward the other man prepared to see anger in God’s eyes, but instead Light stared back at him with arousal. His eyes were hot, molten, and his movements became languid.

“You’re so strong,” Light said, and now his voice was like nothing Teru ever heard before. There was a wildness mixed in with hunger. Light looked at him, and Teru wanted to be devoured.

“I knew the moment I saw you,” Light crawled up Teru’s aching body, his words like lava poured from his mouth. “You would be my strongest one.”

“I want to be strong for you, God,” Teru let out. “I want to serve you, be your sword.”

“Oh,” Light laughed, and it was an abrupt sound. Teru couldn’t say he liked it but the brightness in Light’s cheeks was good.

“You’ll serve me very well,” Light said, brushing Teru’s hair away from his ear so he could speak into it. His voice burned into the delicate shell. “Mikami.”

“Teru,” his voice came out a little weedy, yet Teru met Light’s hot gaze with his own resolve. “Call me Teru.”

[spideymarvelws]

Hard Decisions

Prince!Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglist

A/n : I just really wanted to write a prince!tom fic also i struggled so much trying to figure out a title and summary but im pretty happy with the actual fic Still dont like the tittle tho...

Summary : You take tom out for an escape from his life in royalty, at least that was the plan.

Warnings : Floof, kinda smutty but not really, mentions of violence, war, some cursing here and there

Word Count : 2.8k

...

"That wasn't fair in the slightest and you know it!" Tom shouted as he halted his horse, licking his lips with annoyance.

He was in the middle of his book that his master had assigned him when you burst into his chambers, breathing heavily like his dog after he took her out into the fields. You were dressed in your riding gear, throwing his own smack in his face, the only words falling from your mouth were.

“You, me, stables, now,”

It wasn't totally out of character for you to be so spontaneous, he was used to it by now, so were his guards and everyone in the castle. So much so that they weren’t fazed anymore when you zipped past them in the halls never knowing if you were running to or from something.

None of them were curious enough to ask.

Nevertheless, he was always free for a nice ride through the forests with you. He always enjoyed tagging along and partaking in your little shenanigans around the kingdom. It was a nice break from his responsibilities as prince.

"What isn't fair is that your horse had to deal with your terrible riding," you picked at your nails, smirking at the young prince, "Better than last time thought, only five minutes behind,"

Even if you always beat him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," He muttered, jumping off his horse, his boots landing with a thud on the floor, "What are we even doing here in the first place?"

"You'll see," you smiled leaning off the tree trunk, "I put Galaxy over there," you pointed towards the brown horse shaking its head, most of its body hidden behind the thick shrubbery, "I'm sure she wouldn't mind some company,"

"Don't know, I feel like he would feel inferior to yours," Tom said, pointing to his horse.

"Don't worry, that logic only applies to you when you’re with me," you chuckled. It was known that you loved teasing him, it shocked him to this day that he still put up with your shit for the past years, putting in so much effort to see you at least once a week.

But you were the only person who kept him up float for the past years. The only person who treated him as an equal despite his blood and title. And he would be a fool if he let that go anytime soon.

Of course you couldn't know that, he could imagine how much embarrassment that would fill his body if you knew about his attraction towards you. He could already picture you brushing his words off as a silly joke and continuing with your day.

He didn't think he could deal with the rejection, to deal with losing you over some feelings.

"So, where are we going?" he said, dusting off his vest, "Or did you just bring me out here to murder me?"

"Trust me if i wanted to murder you, I would've done it a long time ago," you grinned, holding out your hand, “Now come on! The sun won’t be up for too long,”

You dragged him  up though the bushes and trees, maneuvering your way through the forest. He’d never seen you this bubbly before, running and jumping over roots and ducking swiftly under branches all while occasionally  looking back at him with a wide smile that made his heart melt.

“Are we there yet?” he whined, yelping when a branch hit him smack in the face.

“Oh shit,” your hand shot up to your mouth, trying to hide the laughter threatening to erupt from your throat, “Are you alright?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” he said sarcastically, rubbing his nose, trying his best not to sneeze, “like one always is when they get smacked with leaves and wood,”

You bit your lip, moving the branch back up so you could see him clearly, “If it makes you feel better, we’re almost there,”

He sighed, his head falling before picking it back up to look into your eyes, “Alright,” he chuckled when you continued to tug him along.

After a few more seconds of walking, he noticed the sound of water falling in the near distance making him a quirk up a brow. Soon enough you both emerged from the dense forest into a small opening.

His eyes trailed up the small pond, the ripples of the water reflecting the random rays of light passing through the trees hovering ever it like its own roof  As he moved up, he eyed the flow of water running down a layering of rocks like a small fountain. Around it was a mass of shrubbery, green with hints of colour throughout. It felt like he was stepping into a painting his mother painted for him when he was younger.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes taking in every part of the scenery.

“I know, found it when I was sear- playing with Harrison’s sword,”

“You lost his sword?” Tom teased, catching your mess up.

“I found it back, calm your tits,” you uttered, mumbling under your breath, “after having some fun with it,”

“What was that?”

“It was a nice sword alright?”, you laughed, pulling your hand out of his. 

He watched with curious eyes as you approached the lake, stopping as you reached the edge. He felt the instant head rise to his face when your fingers grazed the bottom of your loose skirt, pulling it off your body in one go and throwing it to the side.

He coughed as he looked away when your boots came off next along with the rest of your undergarments leaving you in your underwear and bra. He tried his best to keep his eyes turned down out of respect, but he would be a liar if he wasn't fighting not to raise his head.

“Are you coming?” you said, dipping your toes into the water before fully submerging your both your feet, “Or are you just going to stand there,” 

“I-” Tom blushed, rubbing the back of his neck.

You turned around to face him, hands crossing in front of your chest, staring at him expectedly, “Come on now, before your father figures out your gone,”

“I’m pretty sure he already knows-”

“Then you have no excuse!” you tilted your head to the side, jutting your bottom lip out, “I didn’t bring you out here to just stare at me as I bath,” you raised your eyebrow suggestively, “Unless that’s what you want to do?”

“I-,” he paused, looking back down at the ground in defeat (and to hide his blush at your words). He could never say no to you, “Fine,”

You jumped into the water in glee, shaking your hair purposely for the droplets to fall on his clothes.

He rolled his eyes playfully at your smug smile, unbuttoning his vest and throwing it on a patch of grass. He did the same with his shirt, turning around when he began to shuffle out of his pants. Tom wouldn't deny the fact that he knew his looks, years of fighting and working gave his body a defined shape.

He could feel your eyes burning into his back which gave him the boost of confidence he needed to turn around.

He carefully made his way into the water, hissing at its cold touch. You rolled your eyes at his slow movements, grabbing his legs and pulling him inside. You laughed as his body hit the water, splashing you and the land around the pool.

You giggled as Tom raised his head, shaking it back and forth, his brown locks creating a halo around his head. You pushed more water at his figure, laughing even harder at the look of betrayal on his face.

“You-,” he chuckled, moving his arms in the same manner, sending a wave of water in your direction.

“Oh, Is this war Holland?” 

“You bet your ass Y/l/n,”

You lunged at the brunette, pushing him under the water, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him down. But it didn't last for long when he quickly broke the surface of the water once more. You wrapped your legs around his waist in a desperate attempt to keep him down, but it was useless given his strength.

When you looked back into his eyes, you finally took in how close you were, faces merely centimetres away from each other. You could feel his hot breath against yours, your wet skin melding with his. Your chest tightened, emotions you tried so hard to keep hidden resurfacing without thought. A glimmer of hope popping in your mind when he didn't pull away instead resting his hands on your waist, keeping you close.

You just didn’t think a prince would reciprocate the feelings for a commoner girl like you.

“Hey,” you whispered, readjusting your arms around his neck.

“Hey,” he whispered back, his eyes darting from your lips back to your eyes.

“i-,” your forehead fell against his, eyes closed as your heavy breaths fell upon his face, “Tommy,”

“Just say the word,” he gulped, “Just say the word, and none of this happened,”

He held his breath when you didn’t respond, his hands loosening from around your waist. He relished in the feeling of your body pressed against his not knowing when it might be the next time you would ever be like this with him after today.

He was a fool to think that you actually liked him in that way, that this wasn't just the spur of the moment but feelings aching to be unraveled at the seams.

“I want this to happen,” you finally muttered, opening your eyes to look directly at him, “I’m just scared what will happen after,” 

Tom let out a shaky breath, looking back and forth between your left and right eye, trying to process your words, “Only one way to find out right?” he managed to say, licking his lips.

You bit the middle of your bottom lip, letting it go with a heavy breath, “Yeah I guess so,”

“Are you sure?” He couldn't help but ask again.

“Just shut up and kiss me for God's sake,”

Tom finally smashed his lips on yours, tasting the fresh water on the surface before moving them along with yours. You tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss. Even after imagining this moment for so long, losing himself in the thought almost everyday, it could’ve never prepared him for the feeling of your mouth on his.

His hands tightened around your waist, his feet moving slowly along the floor to press you against the nearest rock, wanting to be as close to you as possible, for this to last as long as possible. You fingers moved from his neck to his hair, tugging at the soaked strands making him groan into the kiss.

“Tommy,” you muttered, barely pulling away to utter the words before latching your lips back on his. 

“Yeah,” he smiled, biting your bottom lip as he pulled away fully.

“I-,” you started but was quickly interrupted by a loud bell that began to ring in your ears.

“Fuck, what’s that?” You breathed, whipping your head in the direction of the bell.

Tom replied hesitantly, “Someones attacking the castle,”

“What?” you said in disbelief, detangling your legs from around the prince’s waist, “Who would want to attack the castle?”

“I don’t know,” Tom said with a clenched jaw, despite his attempts to sound calm, the alarmed edge to his words failed to slow your rapid beating heart.

“You don’t know? You’re the prince!”

“Yes! As far as I’m aware we’ve been at peace with everyone for hundreds of years!” 

You took a moment to process his words. Your parents always used to tell you stories of the great war, always bragging that your great grandfather fought the battle that helped peace run through the lands.

The war that ended all wars.

Songs were sung everywhere, children learned about it all the time, hearing the tale of tragedy and loss every day of their loved ones. Hell, even you had the words memorised in your head so that you knew, the people knew that they were safe, that they were free.

The bell high in the castle was only meant to be rung when the crown was under attack. Thousands of questions began to run through your head.

Who would attack?

Why would they right before dawn?

How was anyone not aware of it earlier on?

None of it made sense.

“Come one, we got to go,” Tom gripped both your forearms, letting out a heavy breath. His voice was nothing but a distant sound in the back of your head, bouncing off the walls of your skull.

“I-,” you managed to squeak, your throat starting to close up as your breath became shorter, coming out in little, shaky huffs with deep inhales.

“Y/n, Y/n? Y/n!” tom said hastily, his hands making its way to your face, directing your eyes to his, “Look at me alright? You’re going to be fine. We are going to be fine alright?” his fingers wiped the wet hair sticking to the front of your face, “When we get back to our horses, yeah? I want you to ride far away okay. Do you remember our tree house, right? At the edge of the forest leading into the meadow? I want you to go there alright? Take galaxy with you and hide out there until i come for you,”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut before looking back into his panicked ones, “Wait, What? Tommy, I’m not letting you go in there by yourself!”

“AND I’M NOT LETTING YOU DIE!” he shouted, trying his best to control his breathing, his distress, his confusion, “I’m not about to lead you into a battle that i know nothing off unarmed!”

“What about you?” you whispered, but loud enough for him to hear, “Do you think I’m okay with you running into battle?”

“I’m the prince, it’s-,” he sighed, “It’s my duty,”

You looked up into his brown eyes, staring into them to find some sort of comfort. You tried to find the joke, something, anything that might tell you that this wasn’t real, all just some sick prank to get you back at disrupting his activities.

But as his pupils dashed back and forth between yours, unable to focus. You knew that you couldn't talk your way out of this one. 

You also knew that you would be of no help in the kingdom in battle but ideas began to pop in your head of how you could help outside the walls

“Alright,” you gulped, “Alright,”

He gave you a quick kiss to the forehead before jumping out of the water. He tossed you his vest as you got out behind him so you could dry your body first. Shuffling around to gather the clothes that were thrown haphazardly in the ground.

Once both of you were fully dressed, Tom grabbed your hand as he led you back to your horse. You ran quickly, trying your best to not let the thoughts consume you but focus on what you needed to do, what you had to do.

Letting go of your hand as you both reached the clearing, he ran to his horse, untying his restraints. You did the same, petting her main in a calming matter, not only for the horse but for you too.

You both froze at the faint sound of a sword slashing some shrubbery followed by some muffled voices.

“Get on your horse,”

“Tom-,”

“Get on your horse now Y/n,”

You quickly mounted Galaxy, grabbing the reins tightly as Tom pulled out a sword from around his waist, keeping it close to his side. 

“When I tell you to go, you go okay?” he said wearily, his head darting in every direction.

“Tommy,” you said quietly, grabbing his face in the palms of your hand when her turned around to face you. You pressed your lips on his one last time, pulling away to rest your forehead against his, this time without the water surrounding you both.

“Stay safe, okay?” you whispered, rubbing your thumb against his cheek.

“I’ll try my best,” he smiled, taking your hand in his, “For you,”

“Over here!” a gruff voice sounded, “I see a horse!”

“Go, Y/n, Now,” Tom said quickly, moving back to his original stance.

With a split second of hesitation, you pulled at your reigns, kicking the horsed side, riding Galaxy away from the kingdom. You cringed at the distant sound of swords clashing and men screaming. What scared you the most was that you didn’t know who they came from.

But you couldn't focus on that right now, you had to find the tree house and from there, figure out what the fuck you were going to do, to help the kingdom.

To help him.

...

Permanent TagList : @jadegill @joyleenl @sarcastic-sunset-7

Tom Holland Taglist : @dummiesshort @seutarose @thenoddingbunny-blog​

[haikyuuateer]

time alive || kei tsukishima 

summary: falling in love is one of the most unforgettable feelings in the world. being with the person you love is the best sense of comfort you will ever have. having them in your arms makes both of you feel secure and safe. it’s just the feeling of being alive. (this sort of drabble ig is inspired by the song "time alive," it’s a super good song please check it out ahaha https://youtu.be/PgHXb4zn2qE) (okay if i’m being honest i just listened to it on repeat while writing this because i was emotional)

pairing: kei tsukishima x f!reader

warnings: none other than like one curse word if you consider dammit a curse word also i barely proofread this ahaha sorry

word count: 3.3k 

under the cut to save your tumblr browsing experience hehe

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If Kei Tsukishima were the moon, then you were his sun, lighting up his world.

Of all the people he met you through, he met you through Yachi. With Kiyoko gone, the poor girl was flustered on her own, so you became a team manager alongside her to help her out with babysitting a bunch of boys supporting the boys' volleyball club. It may not have been love at first sight when Kei’s eyes landed on you for the first time, but he felt like you were different than anyone else he had ever spoken to. And he felt a strange warm sensation when you smiled at him, handing him a water bottle. "You did great out there, Tsukishima!" 

It was just a smile. It was just a sentence. What different was it than any other smile or sentence? Any other compliment? What made you so different? 

He always seemed to notice the little things about you. Maybe it was just because of how he was very observant and analytical with a lot of things in his life, but you were someone he could never get out of his mind. He noticed how you had a habit of running your fingers through your hair when you were focused on something. He noticed how you would glance away and tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear whenever you were flustered. He noticed how there would be a slight red tint to your ears and cheeks when you were embarrassed. He noticed how that, whenever you laughed or smiled, your eyes seemed to sparkle as if they were a galaxy on their own. He noticed how the simple curl of your rosy lips into a grin could brighten someone’s day. And that one day where you tied your hair into a messy bun, he noticed how the two strands you left by your face shaped it, giving you a softer appearance, and he noticed how the stray strands of hair around your head almost seemed like a halo, as if you were a blessing, or an angel from the heavens.

Whenever your fingertips grazed his hand, whether it was because you handed him a ball or a water bottle, he felt like he could melt. If your fingertips alone were that warm, surely your hands would be warm as well, right? And he was right about that. It was a morning practice on a winter day. He took his hands out of his pockets and tried blowing warm air on them, only to see you in front of him, your gorgeous eyes peering into his, your lips curled into a smile, and your small, warm hands wrapped around his, which were ice cold. "You should get some gloves, Tsukki. What if your hands get so cold that they fall off? We can’t have that happen~" And you giggled. And Kei found it to be one of the most heavenly sounds he had ever heard.

He was lost in the moment until he heard snickering behind him. And he didn’t want to, but he took his hands away from your grasp, thanking you quietly before leaving to change. 

He didn’t know why he started feeling irritated whenever he saw you smile at one of the other guys in the volleyball club. He didn’t know why he had gritted his teeth in frustration when he saw you flash one of the sweetest smiles at Kageyama after handing him a towel. He didn't realize he was practically glaring daggers at you two (mostly Kageyama) until Yamaguchi gently nudged him, smiling. 

"I think you like her, Tsukki. You should ask her out."

"Shut up, Yamaguchi."

"Sorry, Tsukki..”

He laid alone on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was exactly 1:38 AM, and he couldn’t fall asleep after hearing what Yamaguchi had told him.

"You should ask her out."

Him? Ask you out? You two talked occasionally, maybe he could consider you a friend, but.. Ask you out? What if it was too sudden?

He frowned after thinking of how sweetly you had smiled at Kageyama that day. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want you to smile at him like that every day. He always felt his heart swell with pride when you would smile at him and cheer after he’d successfully block another team’s spike. To him, it was such a small thing, just him preventing another point from being scored on the opposing side. Why did you always treat every little achievement as the best thing he had ever done? He couldn’t even complain, though.. You kept him going. And as he found himself blocking more and more spikes, he found himself looking right over to you after, and being greeted with that smile, that beautiful smile that made him feel like.. maybe what he did really was amazing, and that he himself was.. worth something. His blocks were worth something. He meant something to you. 

You, on the other hand, had the most PAINFUL crush on this tall french fry. He may have had a cold demeanor compared to the others, and his sarcasm and sass were probably endless, but you just—God dammit, you just loved this boy so much. He wasn’t one to smile often, but when you cheered for him alongside his brother (you insisted that Yachi be the one to sit with the coaches), and he looked up at you and you saw his lips curl into the slightest grin, you swear you felt your heart explode. 

Both you and Kei remember the moment so vividly. The cold stinging your cheeks, the cold breezes that would blow past and whisper into your ears, and the snowflakes gently falling from the sky, adorning your hair, glittering under the street lights. 

Today was the day. 

You had told Yamaguchi a week prior that you had a crush on Kei, and he was all for helping you get the perfect time to confess to him. You gave him permission to get Ennoshita in on the action, who was team captain, and would probably help Yamaguchi get a better excuse to leave practice early so that it would be only you and Kei walking home together. (Little did you know, Ennoshita was fully aware of you and Kei crushing on each other. You two were painfully obvious.) 

You wrapped your scarf loosely around your neck and put your knitted gloves on, then you left the gym with Kei beside you. Normally you stayed behind with Yachi to make sure Kageyama and Hinata actually went home, but whoopdeedoo, turns out Yachi already knew you had a crush on Kei, and immediately shOVed you out of the door so that you would get your chance to confess in private. 

You pulled the edge of your scarf away from your mouth, exhaling a foggy breath into the cold air around the two of you. Your heart was pounding, your cheeks were rosy (totally because of the cold), and your hands were trembling, but it was now going to happen. It’s now or never, that's what you kept trying to tell yourself. 

You walked ahead and stopped in front of him, turning to look at him, staring into his eyes. "Tsukki." You hardly called him that, because you respected that it was a nickname that Yamaguchi had for him specifically, not you. 

The boy noticed that you had said his name and took his headphones off, looking down at you. "What is it?" Holy crap, he responded.

You swallowed nervously, then stepped a bit closer to him. Then another bit closer to him. You shakily reached towards him, went up on your tippy toes (can’t blame you, the dude’s pretty tall), then clutched the sides of his sleeves, staring into his golden-brown eyes. You could practically hear your own heart pounding in your ears, your hands were shaking again, but it was too late to go back. "I.."

No.. No. Why now? The words were caught in your throat. You found yourself struggling to speak. You couldn’t speak. Your lips were still parted, you were still clutching onto his sleeves, and he was still looking down at you, waiting for you to continue. You almost felt like melting under his gaze. 

"I.. I like you, Tsukki. A lot." Your voice broke at the end. You pursed your lips, then continued to speak. "I just.. I just can’t stay quiet about anymore. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I j—"

You had lost him at "I like you." He pulled you closer to him and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to your lips, closing his eyes. He felt you tense up in his grasp at first before relaxing, letting go of his sleeves and practically melting into the kiss. In contrast to the harsh, bitter cold around you two, this kiss was warm, and he was warm. You reached up and gently wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss. It almost felt like a dream, but you knew it was real, and he was real, and he felt the same way you did, right?

Finally, Kei was the first one to pull away. You opened your eyes, meeting his again, and smiled. It was that sweet smile, the one Kei loved so much, the one that made him feel like he was alive all over again. "Does that give you a good enough answer?" He asked, and he smiled. 

You felt your heart skip a beat, and your cheeks probably reddened even more. "Yes," You breathed out, before pulling him into another kiss. 

————————

After that day, you thought Tsukki was going to keep the relationship a secret. He just seemed like he would want to at first, so you just kept things quiet when the two of you were around other people. When it was just the two of you, this boy was crazily cuddly. He loved giving you kisses on your neck because he knew how ticklish you were, and it made his heart skip a beat whenever he would wake up with you in his arms, because wow, he was dating you, probably the most amazing girl in the whole entire world. wow this boy is absolutely smitten with you

You really fell into believing that your relationship would always be a secret until one day, just another day of practice, when you handed him a towel. He leaned down and gave you a quick kiss before taking the towel, giving you a small pat on the head, and walking away.

What. Did he just do that.

The gym was silent for at least three seconds before erupting into chaos. 

"EEEeEeEHhHhhh??!?!?!?!"

You couldn’t make out the words everyone had been incoherently screaming. Hinata had already pulled you into a protective hug, screaming at Tsukki ("YOU CAN’T JUST KISS GIRLS RANDOMLY LIKE THAT, TSUKISHIMA!! omg Y/N are you okay did he hurt you it’s okay i’ll protect you here we can go wash your face"), Nishinoya and Tanaka were praising him for having been the first one out of them all to get a girlfriend, the first years were confused but nonetheless surprised that the “cold one” was dating you, Kageyama.exe has stopped working, Ennoshita, Kinoshita (he knew too???), Yamaguchi, and Yachi all winked at you, and you saw Yamaguchi flash a thumbs up as well. You swear you saw Takeda sigh and pass Ukai some money, too.

————————

Before you knew it, your and Kei’s third year had come and gone, and you two were graduating.

Everyone was piled into the auditorium, students were being called up one at a time to shake hands with their teachers, vice principal, and principal, and receive their diploma. 

Kei heard your name get called out. He had wished he had been sitting next to you, then, but you were practically on the other side of the auditorium. He wanted to at least hold your hand until then, and then smile proudly at you as you stood up and raced up to get your diploma. He wanted to see that bright look in your eyes as you sat down next to him again, staring at your diploma in your awe, as if you never thought you were going to make it. But you did. You made it, and he did too.

He watched as you walked up, up onstage, shaking hands with all your teachers. He saw you linger after you shook hands with Takeda. He didn’t know what you two were saying, but you talked with him and bowed before going to get your diploma. And as your diploma was handed to you, you looked at Kei, and you smiled. Your eyes met, and you giggled to yourself when you saw him blush and look away. When Kei was called to receive his diploma, you smiled lovingly at him the whole time he was onstage, and you cheered with Yamaguchi, Hinata, and Yachi once he got his diploma. 

More people received their diplomas, and then that was it. You finished high school. You made it. 

You stayed behind with Yamaguchi, Kei, Kageyama, Hinata, and Yachi. You all sat in the chairs left behind after the graduation ceremony and reminisced over old times, like when Hinata somehow managed to serve into the back of Kageyama’s head again, Yamaguchi, the beloved team captain, got called "dad" by one of the first years, that one time Yachi helped Kageyama pin his hair back so that it wouldn’t bother him during practice, and everyone didn’t tell him that it was actually a frilly red bow until after practice, etc. etc. 

The six of you left the auditorium as a group. You trailed behind and checked a message from your mom on your phone, only to let out a squeal of delight. You made it into your dream college. Everyone stopped to look back at you, and you walked up to them, showing the picture of the acceptance letter that your mom had sent you.

"I made it into my dream college, guys."

Everyone immediately broke into smiles and squished you into a hug (well, except for Kei and Kageyama). You couldn’t help but cry of joy. You had the best boyfriend ever, you made it through high school, and you made it into your dream college. 

————————

You and Kei were both laying in his bed. It was the same night as the graduation ceremony. After hanging out with everyone else, you decided to go home with him. He had his back to you, and was on his phone. You tugged on the back of his shirt a bit and he rolled over, looking at you. "Hm?"

"I’m leaving to go to college next week."

"Mhm."

"I’m going to be hours away from you. Almost.. Almost across the entire country."

"Mmhm."

You frowned. "I won’t be able to see you every day. Or every week. Maybe not even.." You trailed off and sighed. "I could.. I could just go to college here, so that I could be with you. I mean, I did want to go to that college, but I’d rather stay here with you—"

Kei gave you a peck on the lips to shut you up. "Y/N. Don’t be dumb."

You pouted.

"You’ve been dying to go to that college ever since I first met you. I don’t want to hold you back from doing something you’ve had your heart set on for years."

"But.. Kei..."

"Go to the college, Y/N. This is a once in a lifetime chance for you, and I want you to be happy and go there."

"But I’ll miss you so much.."

"I’ll call you every day and every night." He cupped your cheek, then ran his fingers through your hair, twirling a strand around his finger. "I’ll text you, too, and you can take as many of my hoodies as you like."

You smiled. "I like the sound of that."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and hugged you close to him. "I love you, Y/N."

Your eyes widened, then you hugged Kei tightly, burying your face in his chest. You knew he loved him, and you knew he cared about you. Times like this were when he was probably most affectionate— You knew he wasn’t all for showing affection while you two were around other people, and you were okay with that. But the sound of him telling you made you feel the same way you did back when he kissed you for the first time, and you loved how he could always make you feel that way with just a few words and an affectionate gesture. 

But you only had a week left of cuddling him like this— No, not even a week. You were going to have to spend at least two days on packing, and one day to hang out with your friends for the last time before leaving for college, and then that would be it. 

And the first tear slipped from your eye, immediately soaking into Kei’s shirt. And then another, and then they wouldn’t stop flowing. You curled up against him, practically sobbing into his chest, and he stayed there with you, right by your side, holding you in his arms until the two of you fell asleep.

————————

The day finally came. The day that you anticipated, dreaded, and wished for, all at once. You tightly hugged your mother and watched with tears in your eyes as she walked away. She brought you to the airport, but she had to go to work straight after, so all your tears were shed during the ride to the airport.

Or so you thought. 

You looked up at Kei after you watched your mother walk away. Your bottom lip quivered, and then you hugged him tightly, the tears flowing once more. Out of all the places in the world, you felt safe the most in his arms. You didn’t want to leave. You really, really, didn’t want to leave. You let out a small sob when you felt Kei’s arms gently wrap around your waist and hug you closer. If anything, that made you want to leave even less, now. 

You finally let go of him and stepped back, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve, or rather, his sleeve. Yes, you were wearing one of his hoodies, and yes, you had two more packed in your suitcase. You sniffled and looked at Kei again, your eyes still glossy. 

"I’m really going to miss you."

"Uh huh."

"You better keep your promise of calling me every day."

"Mhm."

"Don’t cheat on me."

"Actually, I was gonna go make out with Yamaguchi after you left."

You chuckled and playfully punched his arm. "Yeah, and I’m actually going to visit my fiancé in Paris, sorry."

"Whoops." Kei grinned, and you smiled back at him.

"I have to go, now."

"I know."

"I love youuuu." You went up on your tippy toes and booped his nose before grabbing your suitcase. "I’ll call you when my flight lands, okay?"

"Okay.."

You turned around and started to leave. One step, then another—

"Wait! Y/N, you forgot something."

You looked back at Kei. "Huh?"

He walked up to you, cupped your cheeks, then kissed you.

You smiled and put your free hand over his, softly kissing back. 

Aren't you two just the cheesiest couple ever?

But like all other things do, the kiss came to an end, and you walked away from the person you loved the most, and then you were on a plane, going farther, farther, and farther away from the people you loved. You thought you would be sadder, but you weren’t. You knew that Kei would still love you, and call you every day, and pull you into the tightest hug and pepper your face with kisses whenever you visited, and probably send you memes at 3 am because he just missed you that much and needed an excuse to text you.

And you just knew.. This was the feeling of being alive.

[fic-for-fic-sake]

Hair

Pairing: Bucky x curly haired reader

A/N: This quarantine is having me post all of my fanfic at once smh. Anyway, this was written back when I was having a series of good hair days and I wanted to write about Bucky being fascinated by the reader’s curly hair. 

Bucky had only ever seen you in combat clothes. Black tac pants, combat boots, a black tank top, and your hair tied neatly in a bun. It was either that or training clothes. The point was, he had known you for six months and had never once seen you in regular civilian dress. Except for today. You both had the day off and you decided to train together in the morning. After an hour of punching bags and cardio you had decided to call it quits. 

“Okay Barnes, I’m gonna hit the shower, try not to kill yourself while I’m gone.” You teased as you left the room. Bucky was still lifting weights, huffing as he did so. He paid little attention to your exit other than a grunt in your general direction. After 20 minutes he also decided to wrap up his session. Instead of taking a shower right away he decided to read the paper for a while and drink some coffee, maybe wait for Sam to get back from his run. 

His head was buried in The New York Times when he heard your steps coming from down the hall and into the kitchen. He heard the fridge door open as you searched for something to eat. 

“Is Sammy back yet? I was wondering if he would let me throw the shield.” You questioned as you shut the door, apparently finding whatever it was you needed. 

Bucky scoffed as he started to put the paper down, “You’d have better luck wi-” His sentence stopped abruptly as he laid eyes on you, or more specifically, your hair. It was mesmerizing. He had never seen it not in a bun before and now he was pissed about it, because he had been missing out on the most perfect set of curls he had ever laid eyes on. Even in their semi-wet state they were still springy and bounced around your shoulders as you moved, each catching the light perfectly and in a tantalizing fashion. His fingers itched to reach out and touch one. 

“Bucky, hello?” You called, waving your hand in front of his face. 

“What? Sorry.” He breathed, still fascinated by your curls. “Have you uh, have you always had curly hair?” 

“As long as I can remember yeah.” You commented, pulling on one of your tightly coiled strands, elongating it, and then letting go so that it bounced right back in place. Bucky wished it were his fingers doing that instead. 

“Why don’t you wear it down more?” He questioned, finding that the subject of your hair was one he couldn’t easily let go of. 

“It gets in the way and I don’t want it damaged.” You explained, beginning chopping up chicken and vegetables for your salad. “You should do the same with yours.” 

Bucky carded his flesh fingers through his long black locks, he could tie it up, or he could just cut it again. 

“I’d probably just shave it off again, make it look like it did back when I was younger.” What was the point of having long hair if it didn’t look like yours anyway, he thought absentmindedly to himself. 

“I’ve thought about shaving my head.” You admitted, absentmindedly tugging at some of the ringlets around your face, letting them fall from your fingers one at a time. 

Bucky froze at the thought. He couldn’t understand why anyone with hair as gorgeous as yours would want to cut it off. “Why?” He whispered, dumbfounded. 

“Sometimes it’s too much maintenance. Like literally half of my shower routine is just my hair, and in the summer it gets so hot and not to mention frizzy.” You thought, mixing your cut items with lettuce and adding dressing. You waved goodbye to Bucky as you retreated back to your room leaving him at a loss for words. 

“Penny for your thoughts.” Sam mused, as he entered the room and saw a troubled Bucky. 

“Did you know Y/N has curly hair?” 

“Yeah, didn’t you?” Sam scoffs, pulling a water bottle from the fridge and chugging it, clearly still winded after his run. 

“No...how did you know?” Bucky questioned, feeling a subtle flair of jealousy for the man in front of him. Did everyone know about your hair but Bucky? 

“Calm down killer, it’s not like that.” Sam began, sensing the palpable tension coming from Bucky, “About a month ago she asked if I knew of any good places that cut curly hair and I said yeah.” 

“Couldn’t she have just gone to the closest shop?” 

Sam tried and failed to hide his guwaff at the question. 

“What?” Bucky questioned incredulously. 

“I mean, curly hair is a tad different than straight hair. You have to get it cut a certain way and I don’t think the $5 supercuts was gonna give her what she needed.” Sam explained. 

“Huh.” Bucky responded, “I wonder if she would let me touch it.” 

“Only if you wanna die.” Sam cautioned. “Never touch a woman's hair unless she gives you permission. Rule number one of curly hair.” 

It was on that note that Bucky left Sam to his devices. He had pretty much dropped the subject of your hair until two weeks later, when he heard a knock at his door. It was you, and you had what appeared to be a shower caddy in your hand. 

“Hey, can I use your shower? Mine’s broken and maintenance says they can’t fix it until Wednesday.” You asked apologetically, giving Bucky a sad smile. He gestured for you to make your way into his ensuite bathroom. 

“Thanks a million Bucky, if there’s anything I can do for you just let me know.” You called out from the shower, your voice echoing off the walls as you got ready to turn the water on. Well, that offer was certainly tempting. Bucky’s mind went back to your fascinating mane of curls and a thought popped into his head. 

“Yeah, actually there is something.” He called out to you. 

“What?” You replied eagerly, head sticking out from the door frame, your curls forming a wide and frizzy halo around your head. 

“Can I, uh, watch you do your hair?” He asked, feeling like shooting himself in the foot for even asking the question. 

“You wanna watch me do my hair?” You repeated, not sure you were hearing him correctly. 

“Yeah, I mean you said it takes a while to do and it always looks so good. But nevermind it’s dumb forget it.” Bucky hurried his response, feeling the blush creeping up on his cheeks. 

“It’s not dumb Buck. Sure thing. When I’m done with my shower I’ll come and get you.” You reassured before you shut the door and turned the water on. 

Ten minutes later you opened the door for him and he followed you into the bathroom. The thick humid air assaulted his lungs and he smelt jasmine and honey, he assumed your soap, but there was also another smell, coconut and hibiscus. He leaned in closer to you and noticed it was coming from your hair, which was sopping wet, weighing down your curls until they looked less like ringlets and more like loose s shapes. 

“Are you smelling my hair?” You questioned cheekily, looking to face Bucky. 

“Sorry.” He murmured, suddenly finding his feet utterly fascinating. Your giggle brought his head snapping back up to find your eyes. 

“Don’t be. It smells good. I’m just about to get started.” You commented as he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, looking at the array of products before you. He watched as you grabbed a wide flat brush and let it gently pass through your hair so that it almost looked straight before the bottoms decided to rebel and curl up once more. 

“So, I only brush my hair when it’s wet because otherwise that wouldn’t be a pretty sight.” You explained, passing the brush through your shiny hair once more. You then picked up a product with a pink label on it before squirting some of the thick cream into your hand. 

“What’s that for?” Bucky questioned, curiosity peaking. 

“It’s a styler, so it makes my curls look more coiffed I guess. They use it in all the youtube videos so I figured it must be important.” You shrug slightly as you pass the product through your hair, and Bucky could see what you meant. Your curls responded beautifully to the product, each ringlet getting more love than the last. Once again he got that familiar urge to rake his fingers through your hair. 

“Can I, can I touch it?” He questioned, voice soft like a child asking for something they know they shouldn’t. Sam had warned him not to touch your hair but he had asked first. 

“Normally, no. I would cut your other hand off. But, seeing as it is wet and I can fix it, yeah I don’t see why not.” You responded, leaning in closer to Bucky so he could properly touch your tresses. 

Not wanting to do any damage he only let his flesh hand touch your curls. At first, the touch was tentative, not sure what was allowed. He took one particularly perfect ringlet between his fingers and smoothed it over. Appreciating the way it caught the light. Next he twirled another section around his finger, watching in awe as it held the shape when he let go. Then, growing bolder, he let his full hand palm your head, shaking the wet curls loose and allowing volume. He heard a soft and contented sigh escape your lips and looked at your face to find your eyes closed and mouth in a permanent smile. You were enjoying this just as much as he was. 

“So, am I ruining your hair?” He breathed, slightly smug. 

“I guess not.” You replied, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He pulled his hand from your hair as you continued your work. The next product you put on your hand had a strong smell of artificial blueberry and was the brightest blue color he had ever seen. 

“What’s that one for?” 

“It’s a gel, I put it in my hair, wait for it to dry, and then scrunch it out. It helps my curls keep their shape and reduce frizz.” You explained as you pulled the product through your hair, scrunching it along the way until you had curls that you liked. 

“Wow.” Bucky said, amazed. When you said your hair took a while you meant it. No wonder why he had always seen it up. 

“Why do you care so much about my hair anyway?” You questioned, putting all your items back in your caddy and walking back to your room across the hall, Bucky following close behind. 

“Well, I guess back in my day everyone wore their hair pretty much the same. It was nice but it was all pulled up and more straightened. I’ve never seen anyone with hair like yours. It’s refreshing.” He responded truthfully. You tugged on a wet curl, seeming to soak in his answer. 

“Makes sense.” You concluded with a smile. “In a few hours I’ll show you what it looks like dry.” It was then that Bucky decided he would like nothing more than to look at your hair for the rest of his days.

[pftones3482]

The Smell of Juniberries

(A Klance Commission for @aquacanis). 

Under a cut for length, set about two years post season 8. Yeeeee. 

~~

Juniberries smelled like how cranberries tasted – tart, pungent, with hints of sweetness that paired well with almost any other smell they came into contact with. They were wonderful for bouquets, if one knew what they were doing, and after nearly two years of working with them, Lance was very confident in his ability to make floral arrangements.

“You just about done here? I need help with the sound equipment,” Pidge piped from his shoulder.

Lance let his hands fall from the flowers, studying them with a critical gaze for one last moment before twisting to the gremlin at his side. She’d shot up nearly four inches since the end of the war, perfect arm rest height, and Lance used this to his advantage now, leaning on her shoulder. “Can’t get Hunk to do it?”

Pidge rolled her eyes, glasses reflecting the early afternoon light of the open-aired pavilion as she nodded over to Hunk and Shay. “They’re working on lighting and the dessert table. Ask me, they’re just flirting incessantly.”

Lance smothered his grin and nodded, letting a chuckle slip loose. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be over in a minute, Pidgeon. I’ve got two pieces left.”

She gave him a two fingered salute and then walked back to the DJ booth, adjusting her suit as she moved. Lance took the second of reprieve to straighten out his own suit, a dark jacket over a soft, baby blue button down with a pink bowtie. His eyes perused the pavilion, lips quirking at the sight of Hunk and Shay laughing, at Coran and Iverson (THAT had been a surprise, but was admittedly adorable) bickering on how to hang the black and white streamers across the room.

“Need some help?”

“Quiznak!” Lance hissed, nearly elbowing Keith in the throat as he whipped around. “Don’t do that to a guy, Kogane!”

Keith’s smile was genuine, a hint of mirth in his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound it.

Lance huffed a breath and attempted to compose himself while simultaneously giving Keith a once over. He was the best man, dark suit jacket and maroon colored button down. The bow tie at his neck was pink, like Lance’s, though a different shade, more suited to match the color of his shirt. His pants were form fitting, flaring just slightly at the shoes, and Lance caught himself staring just a little too long at his thighs. He shot his eyes back up, but Keith hadn’t seemed to notice. “You good?”

Keith pulled his gaze back from where he’d been studying the room. “Yeah. Yeah, just can’t…can’t quite wrap my head around it.”

Lance nudged into him gently, smiling in the hopes of easing his nerves. “Hey. He’s basically your brother. It makes sense you’re nervous.”

Keith snorted, a small sound, but one that sent Lance back years. “I shouldn’t be. Obviously he can handle himself, and Curtis is amazing. It’s just…I spent so long worrying about him and trying to…I don’t know.”

His brows were furrowed now, and Lance let him sit for a moment in silence. Took the time to collect his own thoughts.

For two years, he’d been working on the family farm. Integrating juniberries into Earth’s atmosphere had been shockingly easy, though it wasn’t that much of a surprise, given how similar the atmosphere of Altea was to Earth. Since the war, they had been the most coveted type of flower, worth hundreds, and Lance was determined to make sure people knew about them, their history, about the woman who had made their existence once again possible.

Lance pressed his lips together and glanced around.

She was here, in subtle ways. The pink of the bow ties, at Shiro’s insistence. The juniberries in everyone’s lapels. The scattered pictures on the tables, dozens featuring goofy selfies and group photos that mostly Lance and Pidge had forced everyone into. He was glad they had done it, now.

She was there in the way Coran’s gaze lingered too long on the juniberries, in the way Iverson’s hand slipped over his shoulder and squeezed, reassuring. In the way Pidge paused at the DJ booth, eyes shut, fingers clamped around the headphones over her ears, murmuring words in Altean rather than English. The way Hunk’s fingers shook over the pastries on the table, juniberry shaped and infused cookies and cupcakes, Shay’s hands quelling the trembling.

She was there when Lance turned, to reassure Keith, the halo of light that circled his body as he looked back to Lance, a crooked, anxious smile on his face.

He knew that she would tell him to go for it. That she’d want him to be happy. It scared him to the depths of the oceans, but he knew she’d encourage it. This feeling he’d had, for far too long.

“Lance?”

He shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep him from doing something stupid. “Yeah, sorry?”

Keith’s head tilted. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, wisps of escaped pieces dusting his forehead. “Are you okay?”

Lance countered it. “Are you?”

Keith’s lips pressed into a line, thin, looked away. “I…”

Curtis’ mother came flying into the room from the adjacent church, clapping her hands. “Chop chop everyone, let’s go! Five minutes until we need to be in places!”

Before he could lose his nerve, Lance settled his hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezed. “Later. Help me with these arrangements.”

They ended up a little sloppier than the rest, but Lance couldn’t bring himself to care.

~~

The summer after the war, a year after the end of the Galra empire, found Lance kneeling in the dirt outside his house, hands muddy from fixing the fallen juniberries. There had been a storm the night before. It had taken out trees, bushes, roses, the like. Juniberries had never been exposed to rain until they were planted on Earth. They did well in it, as one could expect, but they were delicate. Couldn’t take a lot.

They had fallen, wilted, were on the verge of dying.

Lance couldn’t see. His vision was blurred, hands shaking too hard to move any of the flowers properly. His family was asleep - it was early. The sun was barely on the horizon.

It felt cruel. Like the universe was playing a horrible, nasty joke on him. “Here’s this plant that reminds you of your dead girlfriend! Lol time to kill it.” What kind of sick sense of humor did the universe have?

Hands closed over his. Slow. Meticulous. Uncaring of the mud and the dirt and the tears. Lance looked up to find Keith kneeling before him, still dressed in his Blade uniform. His knife was on his hip, a weird detail that set in Lance’s mind and never left. Behind him stood the others, in various forms of dress, all of them looking tired and sad.

He looked back to Keith, drowned in the depths of his gaze. When he opened his mouth, Lance found himself focusing on the way his lips moved, caught himself, very briefly, wondering what they felt like.

“How can we help?”

They spent the day cleaning, restoring, throwing mud and just laughing. It was the first time since her death that Lance had felt truly at peace. At the end of the day, they’d joined Veronica and the kids for lemonade on the porch and surveyed the saved fields.

Keith’s arm had draped around Lance’s shoulders, Blade Uniform replaced with one of Marco’s old college t-shirts. A friendly hug. The weight still registered in Lance’s head. He still didn’t know how they had known to come. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save all of them.”

A glance to the left, at the wheelbarrow of unsalvageable juniberries, and then back to the right, at Keith. The others, behind him. He knew, then. Felt his cheeks burn, but he couldn’t tell if it was a blush or those damned marks. “We never could.”

The hug grew tighter.

~~

“I do.”

“You may now kiss the groom,” Coran announced, eyes twinkling and mustache quirked.

Lance whooped louder than almost anyone as Shiro and Curtis closed together, grinning through their kiss. Hunk grabbed him and Pidge up in a tight hug and Lance sank into it, smiling so widely that he knew his cheeks would ache in the morning.

A look to his left, Keith clapping politely but smiling like he’d just seen the sunrise for the first time. Lance nudged Hunk, jutted his head, and in seconds the man was being swept up along with them, yelping in surprise but laughing as soon as he knew what was happening.

The after party went long. Speeches read, by Keith, one of Curtis’ old friends from before the war that Lance didn’t know very well. One by Coran, that Shiro had requested, one that made the old man cry even as he read.

And then dancing.

Too many partners to count. He danced with Pidge, goofily, twice. Took it more seriously the second time before nudging her off to the woman she kept eyeing in the corner. Lance thought she might be related to Curtis, but wasn’t sure how. Danced with Hunk, mock slow-dancing, and then with Shay, sticking his tongue out at Hunk over her shoulder as she giggled. With Coran, a dramatic waltz that made them both crack up and laugh like children. Coran’s face was soft when he left, his eyes settled on Lance’s cheeks. Lance knew it hurt him to look, sometimes. He didn’t hold it against him.

Somewhere into the night, Shiro approached. “Dance with me.”

Lance took his human hand in surprise but let Shiro lead him out onto the floor. Curtis was dancing with his little sister’s niece, swinging her around the dance floor as she squealed in delight. “How do you feel?” Lance asked, glancing back at Shiro. He realized, with a start, that he was just a little taller than him now.

Shiro’s smile was soft, barely there, but so genuine it ached. “The same? But different. If that makes sense.”

Lance hummed. “It does.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lance lifted his eyebrows, looking at Shiro in confusion. “What for?”

Shiro shrugged, spinning a little until Lance could see Keith over his shoulder. “For putting so many elements of her into this. I just…wanted her to be here, you know?”

Lance locked eyes with the man and softened, squeezing Shiro’s shoulder tightly where his hand rested. “Hey. I do. It’s your day. Of course you wanted her here. We all did. And she was. Here, I mean.”

Shiro’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know it must have been harder though. For you.”

Lance spluttered out a laugh, shaking his head. When he looked back up, Shiro was watching him. Not in surprise, or irritation, but just…watching. Gentle. “It’s okay,” Lance promised. ��I miss her. Of course I do. We all do. But I…”

His eyes drifted again, falling on him, on the way Hunk was trying to teach him the wobble, of all fucking things. His hair was disheveled, suit jacket gone, top of his shirt unbuttoned. He was grinning, eyes sparkling.

Shiro spun so fast Lance barely registered the change in direction until he was watching Veronica and Nadia dancing on the opposite side of the room. Shiro’s lips curled into the most mischievous grin Lance had ever seen on the man. “Oh. OH. Lance.”

His cheeks were burning again, and he lowered his gaze. “I’m…”

“Do it.”

Lance looked up, somewhat embarrassed. “What?”

Shiro’s smile was softer, now, as he took in Lance’s anxiety. “Do it. He’ll say yes. I promise you that.”

He stepped back, pushed him gently in Keith and Hunk’s direction, hand lingering in Lance’s. Shiro squeezed, once. “I promise,” he whispered.

He walked away, then, stepping in and taking Curtis’ niece from him. Lance turned back to Keith and Hunk. Hunk was gone, helping Pidge with a technical issue. Keith was sitting alone, punch in hand.

He glanced up at the night sky, crystal clear and glittering with stars. “Allura, give me courage,” he muttered.

His marks burned as he walked.

Keith looked up when he approached, eyebrows raising, and Lance held out a hand, trying for a genuine, careful smile. “Would you like to dance?”

Keith studied him for a long moment, lips parting and eyes softening into something that Lance found magical. His hand settled in Lance’s with a tension that Lance could feel in his whole body. “I’d love to.”

[tealquacks]

Starting with a Heart...

Docthor day 5: Monstrous.

This is really fucking weird

@lostcybertronian

It stopped pulsating after three minutes, the longest Author had gotten. He looked up from his journal as it stopped moving on the table, laying still in a sinewy, bloody hunk, resting in a halo of fluorescent light. Cursing, he tore the page out of his journal, watching the heart on the table fade into nothingness, as if it wasn’t even there. Then, he sat perfectly still, silently fuming. Damn. Damn! He’d gotten close this time. The first attempts were much more pathetic, quivering things that flopped like a fish instead of properly pumping. Whatever he was doing wrong was minute, precise, necessary, and fucking stupid.

He looked over at the journal, copying the words he had written. They shone gold, a heart being made on the table bit by bit, stuttering before pumping, pumping. Loud enough to hear from under the floorboards. Author chuckled at his own joke, watching the heart and the clock ticking on the wall. He held his breath, as if one motion could stop it again.

“Honey?”

Author jumped at his voice, nearly falling out of his chair as he turned to see Edward in the doorway. Author stood. His hair was flipped to the other side, staring at him with soft, sleepy eyes. A white blanket slung around his shoulders was the only scrap of clothing he wore, Author peeking at the bruises and bitemarks trailing down his neck and chest, lips still swollen from god knows how many kisses.

“Edward-“

“You promised you’d stay, and I woke up alone. Come back to bed, pumpkin...” he trailed off, looking past him. Author cringed.

“Is that a heart?”

Author squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, dear.”

“A human heart?”

“A crude replica of one-“

Edward snorted. Authors eyebrows shot up. Suddenly, he was walking to the table and taking the heart in his hand, staring at it with his soft, sleepy eyes. Blood poured down his arm, then reached the blanket. He held it close to his face and stared into the gaping holes where invisible veins stuck out, shaking his head rhythmically.

“Firstly,” he whispered, voice still rumbling and heavy with sleep, “you made it too big. If you’re trying to make a human, it should be roughly the size of a fist. But this? It’s the size of two fists. Either way- I think the main problem is that you have no central nervous system, and the blood isn’t being oxidized at all. And it’s beating too fast.”

Author blinked, eyes transfixed on the blood pouring down his arm, staining the blanket, all while Edward stared, cold and clinical. The heart was red in the harsh light, held aloft in Edwards hand. Alas, poor Yorik, I knew him well…

He set the heart on the table and slinked up behind him, bloody hands resting on Author’s hips, sending chills down his spine. His breath caught in his throat.

“Y-you’re not scared? Or- or mad?” Author whispered.

“Curious,” Edward breathed, his lips grazing Authors neck. “Go on, continue writing. Make lungs. Make it breathe.”

Author’s head spun, hands shakily writing words, conjuring flesh out of nothingness, shaping it through words alone. Edwards voice rattled on in his ear, hypnotizing and heavy, saying yes, go on, make them breathe; there are filters in the lungs, honey. Make sure it’s connected to the heart, honey. Oh, that’s beautiful. Good. Fascinating.

The fluorescent light buzzed louder than any word they whispered, beating heart soon sequestered away in heaps of flesh. Between two lungs, shrouded in a thin, silky membrane. Ribs guarded the chest, then muscle and meat and finally, skin. Edwards head rested heavy on his shoulder. His hands rested under his shirt, now, wet blood on his skin. He thought to that night, when he came home with his story carved in his skin. Edward was naked and bloody, but he had been clean. Clean.

His body pressed against his, the words in his ear- he was drowning in blood. The stench of it. The rush of it coursing through his ears. With a soft noise, the blanket fell to the ground.

“I never knew you could make life,” Edward whispered, nipping his earlobe, “I always thought you were stuck killing, and that’s why you do it. I like seeing this side. You could stop hurting people, make life instead.”

Author was mum, his tongue a lump of lead in his mouth. A future laid itself in front of him, one where he stopped this endless hunt, created life instead of taking it, Edwards breath hot on his neck. He gave the creature fur. Gave it a proper brain. Edward suggested another pair of legs to support the body, hand gently brushing through Authors hair. A little bit of blood dropped from his hair to the page.

“Sorry,” Edward giggled. Author laughed in spite of himself, knees almost giving out as Edward kissed his jaw. His hand jerked, the monster spasming. He could hear Edward gasp. The thing was breathing.

It was a huge, hairy beast that looked almost like an insect, six muscular legs jutting out of its sides. Knife like claws scratched the table as it fell to the floor with a tile cracking thud. The spine curved perfectly, ending with a long panther tail, swaying gently like grass in the wind. Its head rose up, looking at the both of them with huge eyes. They were blood red. There were too many of them. It opened its mouth as if yawning, huge white teeth harshly gleaming in the light.

Author tried to step back, Edward holding him in place.

“See? I knew you could do it,” Edward said. His voice kept him steady. “I knew that you could be good. That you could make life instead of taking it. Why kill, when you can create?”

“I have to,” Author choked out. Edwards grip on his hip tightened.

“Why?”

“They’re for my stories-“

“Why not make a story where good things grow and live? A happy one. No killing, none. Have you considered that you could make your characters happy?”

The creature growled, deep and low.

“And what have they done to deserve that? Lied and cheated and whored themselves out. Why should they be happy when I’m… Nevermind. Liars. Cheaters. Whores. Bastards. All humans are the same.”

“Are you calling me a whore?”

“I’m calling you a human. An irrational, emotional human.”

“You’re human too, dear.” Edward felt too warm against him. Like a fire behind a door.

“Let me go.”

“Not until you listen to me.” His voice was gentle, despite his words being daggers. “You’re as human as I am. That may make you a liar, a cheat, a whore, irrational, emotional, whatever you think that means, but that’s all you are, a human. See-“ Edward grabbed one of Authors shaking hands, and pressed it against his own chest. He felt a dull thudding. “-You have a heart, too.”

The creature was circling around, restlessly. Black fur shone like hot tar under the cruel light. Drool sloshed from its maw.

“I am a god.”

“Then be a benevolent one.”

Author turned around, mouth open and ready to argue, but then he was being yanked close by Edward and kissed hard, hands covered with dried blood tracing their way over his spine, one resting at his hip. The creature howled behind them, broken and loud, Edward tilting his head to get a better angle. Something hot dripped down his face. He yanked away, and felt his face. Licked his hand. It tasted like salt.

“Why are you crying?” Author whined like the monster behind him, heart thudding in his ear.

Edward shook his head, face dry.

“It’s okay, honey-“

“No it fucking isn’t!” Author sobbed. Edward stepped back, eyes wide and lips still swollen. He looked pitiful- no. He was pitying him.

“You can talk to me. Please. Just talk to me.”

“I’ve been trying to talk to you! But no matter what I say or what I do, you never listen to me. For the last time- I’m not human! I’m above them! I am a god!”

“Then be a benevolent one!” Edward screamed. The room fell silent. He was panting like a dog, chest heaving and hands bloody. “You’re so obsessed with death and power and it’s tearing me apart, I can’t bear to see you go out and kill and kill without end… but look,” he crossed the room, reaching a hand out to the monster Author had made, “you can make life. You can be good, benevolent.”

“I didn’t do this to be good!”

“Then why did you do it?”

The monster made strange, metallic noises, grating and loud, scraping his ears and echoing on the walls-

“So I wouldn’t be alone! That thing? That’s my clone! A monster made of words!”

“You’re not fucking alone! You have me!”

“Edward, you don’t love me.”

The room was silent. Authors chest heaving. Edward was still looking at him so, so sadly, and he was starting to cry, too. Author wanted to explain, tell him about all the pages in the journal, all the time he spent writing their love, but it died on his tongue when Edward came close, gently pressing a kiss to his lips.

“We can talk about this in the morning,” he whispered, trailing his fingers on Authors shirt before walking away, shutting the door behind him. The monster made a strange noise, scratching the tiles, leaving deep grooves.

A monster made of words.

He looked down at his hands. They were free of blood, but not clean. He wiped his face, letting out another choked sob, trying to make it sound like a growl at the last minute. The monster rolled over onto its back like a dog, the blood red eyes intelligent and clear as a lake. Benevolent. Life giving. Pathetic. So wrapped up in himself he couldn’t see the truth. Edward’s blanket was a loose husk on the floor. Without another word, he turned his back on the beast and grabbed his bat, swinging it around, and around, and around.

He could take his benevolence and he could fucking have it.

-

Edward kept walking to their room even as the sounds of howls and cracking bone echoed through the building. Bim’s door swung open.

He ignored it.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Oh,” Edward whispered, not caring he was naked, “just a thunderstorm.”

“My mom always told me thunderstorms are what happened when god was angry.”

Edward stopped in his tracks. He looked down at his hands, covered in dry blood, then back to Bim.

“No, not angry. Just lonely. Just lonely.”

—

That morning, Author and Edward woke up together, bloody fingers intertwined.

“You’re not alone,” Edward whispered, “I’m here. I’ve always been.”

Author made a noise in his sleep, and he knew he couldn’t hear him.

“You’re not a monster,” he continued, brushing dried tears off Authors face, “just... misled.”

Nothing. At least there wasn’t a denial.

“I love you,” he whispered, even though he knew he wouldn’t get any response, even if Author was awake. Slowly, he pressed his head to his chest, Author’s heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

“You have a heart, my love.”

[snarky-badger]

@kkillercroc Sorry for the late reply - forgot to check the notes on that ask reply I did! Bad Badger.

Still working on that Arbiter/OFC fic. Might never finish it, but I do have smut written! There’s a snippet of the fic below! Enjoy the smut. >:D 

(though it’s not the finished product. There will be revisions in the future)

Unnamed Halo Arbiter (Thel’ Vadam) X OFC Fic (SoulMate/SoulMark AU because I can.)

EDITED five minutes after posting to add more ficcage.

EDITED again because I stupidly forgot an entire paragraph. *headdesk*

Thel led her to his quarters, and Annora froze in the doorway, blinking at the massive room. An extravagant bed was off to the right, with an oddly shaped couch to the left and another doorway further in that led to a separate room - possibly the lavatory. "Holy crap. This place is bigger than my old apartment."

"It is usually reserved for the Commander of this vessel," Thel told her as he tiredly moved over to the armor rack, unlatching his chest piece before shrugging out of it. "The title of 'Arbiter' is changing, returning to the old ways where being an Arbiter was the highest possible honor a Sangheili could attain. Rtas would see me become Commander of the Sangheili forces."

Annora stepped into the room, the doors sliding shut behind her. "And what do you want?"

"I.... do not know. I wish my people free of the Covenants threats and lies, but even if I were to kill the Prophet of Truth, it would not stop the Brutes from waging war against us. Nor would it reunite all Sangheili - many believe us heretics for breaking away from the Covenant."

"The Prophets lied to you all for so long, twisting everything to suit their needs.... It's all some of them know now. Abandoning all that, stepping into a new life without those guiding hands - it's daunting. Not everything has that strength."

A sigh left the massive form. "I did not have that strength," Thel admitted, working at the armor that stretched down his left arm. "Even when both the Chief and the Gravemind spoke the truth, I did not believe either until the very end."

"But when it counted, you stepped up to the challenge," she murmured, walking over to him and reaching up to touch his shoulder, smiling a little when he turned towards her, eyes weary. "That counts for something."

"Does it?"

The tired tone of his voice made her frown and move her hand to his face, fingers lightly brushing across his cheek. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

He rose a massive hand to capture hers, tugging her glove off so he could nuzzle at the skin of her palm. "What if their faith is misplaced? I was a Supreme Commander, yes, but so much has changed. What if I cannot live up to the expectations placed upon me? There will be Civil War amongst the Sangheili, and an easily broken truce with Humanity. So much could go wrong."

"That Rank was stolen from you because they needed someone to blame for their mistakes. You're still intelligent and brave and honorable, not even the Prophets can take that from you."

"Sia'ree, I killed billions of your kind. I am not the right person to broker peace between our people."

"Then help save billions now. I'm not saying it'll be easy - nothing worthwhile ever is. Look at what's happening now, human and Sangheili fighting together against the Flood and the Covenant. It proves that peace is possible, doesn't it?"

"And when there is no common enemy to distract us all from our learned hatred?"

She smiled and rose up onto her tiptoes to place a gentle kiss to the right side of his mandibles. "Then that's when the real work starts."

Thel blinked, tilting his head at her. "That was a sign of affection."

She grinned teasingly. "Was it?"

A growl left him when she started to step away, and he caught her around her waist, hearing her laughter as he tugged her close again. He nuzzled into her, breathing in the scent of battle and sweat and female before daring to nip at her neck. "You are trying to distract me."

Annora curled her arms around his waist in a hug, mimicing him and nuzzling at his throat. "Is it working?"

"Mmm. Yes." He slid his hands up her back, tugging at the armor she still wore, claws poking and prodding - ignoring her giggles and wriggling - until he found the odd buckles and started to work them loose. He removed the pack she wore, then loosened her upper armor, helping her shuck out of the entire torso piece and setting it to the side next to her helmet.

She was removing her arm guards when he turned back to her, so he knelt to remove her leg guards, growling again when his hands enountered blood soaked fabric on her right leg.

"You are bleeding."

"Yeah, I know. Biofoam doesn't last more than a few hours. It's starting to dissolve."

He was careful in helping her out of her boots, claws fumbling with the latches there, reaching up to hold her waist to steady her as she stepped out of them. Frowning, Thel had her turn so he could see the bandage wrapped around her calf through the tear in her pants, grumbling at the amount of blood there. "What caused this?"

"Goddamn Brute Spiker." She blinked at the angry snarl that left him. "It isn't as bad as it looks though. It just bleeds a lot because it's in the muscle and every movement aggravates the wound."

"It needs tending."

"I've got more bandages in my kit."

"Shower first."

"What?" Annora turned wide eyes to him as he rose and went to lock the door before starting to strip out of his underarmor. Blushing, she quickly did an about-face when he started shoving the material down past his hips.

He let out an amused chuckle, and she saw him shove the jumpsuit into a panel in the wall before he stepped towards her. She studiously kept her eyes on the floor, or the wall, anywhere but at him as Thel moved in front of her.

"Am I so unsightly, sia'ree?"

"What? No! I just...." She looked at him, keeping her gaze above the waist, thank you very much. Though his muscled chest - alien but still familiar enough - was distracting. "You're naked."

"That I am. Though I am sheathed, so there is nothing to be embarrassed about."

Her brain went 'sheathed?' at the same time that her treacherous eyes glanced down, and yeah, there was nothing there save a barely visible slit. "Uh huh."

"Am I so different from a human male?"

His curious tone drew her gaze. "Um, yeah. Men don't.... They kinda.... dangle?"

He barked a laugh. "You jest."

"Haven't you wondered why some soldiers tried to kick you Sangheili between the legs as a last resort?" she asked with a smirk. "That's because if you kick a male human there, they'll go down like a ton of bricks. It's external, and really sensitive. Especially to blunt trauma. Well, any trauma, I'd imagine."

He snickered. "I may have to tell Rtas," he chuckled, before returning to the point at hand. "In any case, that does not mean you cannot shower with me. We are Bonded, Annora. I would look upon my sia'ree and know her."

She fidgeted. "You'll be disappointed."

"I doubt that. Am I so horrible to look at?"

Against her will, her eyes took him in, from his amber eyes, to his mandibles, down, across his chest, and further, past his hips to his digigrade legs and odd feet. "No."

"Then nor shall you be. Now, how do I divest you of this? Or must I cut it off?"

"Don't destroy my clothes," left her in a pout as Annora untucked her tee from her pants, feeling the heat of a blush on her face as she pulled her shirt off. His warm hands palmed her toned stomach, long fingers almost curling around her entire rib cage, thumbs brushing against the band of her bra, just under her breasts.

Hands shaking a little, she undid her belt, shivering when Thel pushed her pants off her hips and down her legs, and she kicked them to the side, glad, at least, that she'd had those hair removal treatments all those years ago on her legs, groin and under arms.

"So soft," Thel murmured, sliding his hands up her thighs and back to her waist. He could almost encircle her entire waist with his hands, she was so small compared to him. Humming, he plucked at the odd material over her chest that hid the glands there. He knew, of course, from intelligence on humanity that they were there so females could nurse their young, such an odd way of raising children. "This too, sia'ree. I want to see all of you."

Annora swallowed thickly, but reached back to unhook her bra, using her right arm to hide herself as she slid the bra off and tossed it towards her pile of clothes before shimmying out of her underwear. Thel purred again, eyes gentle, and she let him pull her into another hug, skin to hide, her head nestled under his chin. Felt him nuzzle at her short hair again as she slowly curled her own arms around his waist, the warmth of him helping sooth her rattled nerves.

"Different is not bad," he rumbled to her, using her own words against her. Pulled away to meet her gaze, chuckling at the wary look she gave him as he took her in. She was smaller than him, but lithely muscled, deceptively strong, and he let his fingertips stroke over the curves of muscle on her arms, then down her back, drinking in the feeling of so soft skin. "Did you think I would find you ugly?"

She glanced away nervously. "Little bit."

He let out a purr, one hand rising to cup her cheek against his palm. "You are lean and strong and curved, like a blade. Soft, like the doarmir fur cloak I used to own. Brave and honorable, like a Sangheili Warrior, yet tempered by compassion. You are far from ugly, sia'ree."

He led her into the shower, palming the controls. Hot liquid rained down, and he adjusted the heat of it to something more appropriate to delicate human skin before pulling her in with him. She made a disgruntled noise as the spray hit her in the face, and he chuckled, moving to block the water with his body, arms reaching out to pull her to his chest again.

Slowly, he moved his hands down her back, from her shoulders to her waist, kneading sore muscles and stroking soft skin. It took a moment, but she gathered her courage, hesitantly moving to copy the touches on him, and he purred, feeling the odd sensation of her Healer powers seep into his flesh.

"Little higher," he rumbled, hearing her chuckle as she stretched up to reach his shoulders, slim fingers, so different from his but oddly perfected for this, digging into the knots of muscle there and coaxing them to relax. Another pulse of her Healing ability made him groan, and he leaned down to nuzzle at her, nipping at the spot below her left ear. "Show me how to touch you."

Annora shivered at his voice purring into her ear, but smiled as she slid her hands over his shoulders and down his chest, lightly scratching him with her nails. He moaned, nuzzling at her again, breath hot against her neck. Blushing, she took his right hand and guided it to her left breast, showing him how to brush his fingers across her nipple, how to knead, and she gasped when he lightly mouthed at her shoulder as he followed her directions.

He smirked against her skin when she uttered a soft moan, brushing his forethumb across the pebbled tip of her left chest mound. She was so soft there, like the finest bedding, and he pulled away to meet her gaze, smirking again as he leaned down to gently nip at that soft flesh. That pulled another wordless sound of pleasure from her, her hands slicking over his head and down his neck, fingers gripping at his shoulders, and it was only because he was blocking the water with his body, only because he was so close to her that he caught the spicy scent of her arousal.

Thrumming another purr, Thel slid his left hand down, palming her abdomen and that odd divot there, before going lower, to the junction between her legs. She wasn't much different from Sangheili females there, though he was surprised to find that she was open to him, just warmth and slickness and, ah, there.

She gasped his name as he gently slid a forefinger into her, testing her, careful of his claws. She was small, and tight, muscles fluttering around his digit as her hips rolled into his palm, and he wondered if it would even be possible to mate with her, she was so tight. Even if it was impossible, the noises and her scent of arousal proved he could at least give her pleasure.

And then Annora slid her own palm down, fingers tracing his sheath, and he groaned, lowly, voice echoing in the shower as he tossed his head back. Felt himself spread, felt himself expand and slide out into her hand, firm and ready, and those fingers, Ancestors, small and too many, but as she slid her hand along his length all he could do was growl a curse.

Size, size was going to be a problem, she realized. His finger alone was large, but Thel himself was thicker than a human male, longer, with ridges along his curved length, with an oddly shaped head. Was just as sensitive, maybe more so. The torrent of growls and moans that left him as she slicked her hand up and down his cock, thumbing his tip, made her ears ring.

Suddenly, she found herself thrown over his shoulder, treated to the not unwelcome sight of his back and ass as she was carried out of the shower and over to the bed. Heard his growl as he dropped her onto it before crawling over her, pausing over her core to inhale deeply.

If this was going to happen, Thel knew he'd have to be careful. Despite her scent driving him mad, he moved up to nuzzle at her chest again, sliding a digit back into her and slowly pumping it. She mewled, gasping, her pupils blown wide with desire when he rose his head to look at her, the sight pulling another rumble from him.

"T-there's a nub, just in front--"

Her voice cut off with a cry when he set his forethumb against it, rubbing her in time with his thrusting digit.  Her arms wrapped around him tight as he moved up to nuzzle at her neck again, and Thel nipped at her, experimentally, chuckling when she dug her weak claws into his back and arched into his chest.

This was definitely going to work.

Her scent spiked at the same time that she cried out again, inner muscles fluttering and clenching around his digit. He kept moving throughout her climax, stretching it out, until she gasped and went limp, panting for air.

Purring, he pulled his hand from her, eyeing the slickness there before he rose his fingers to his mouth, mandibles flaring as he savored her taste - musky, with a sweet, slightly salty tang, like an after dinner treat.

Annora shivered at the heat in his gaze when Thel turned his full attention to her again, opening her arms and sighing when he leaned down into the hug, nuzzling at her again.

"Will you have me, Annora Phoenix?"

His tone was formal, deep with lust, but tight. Consent, obviously, had a large part to play in Sangheili bedplay. "Always," she murmured in reply, smiling at him when he cupped her face in his large hands, thumbs caressing her cheeks. "Though, can I suggest something?"

"Of course."

She smirked a little. "Roll onto your back for me?"

He clicked his mandibles, curious, but wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his back, looking up at her as she shifted above him, fingers sliding across his length again as she rose on her knees. Realizing she meant to control the speed of their union, Thel grasped her hip in one hand and his length in the other, aiding her in lining him up. "I do not wish to hurt you, sia'ree."

"You won't. Just, slow, okay?" Annora shifted a little, felt the head of him poke at her entrance, then lowered herself. There was a bit of resistance before his odd tip popped into her, and she groaned as she felt herself stretch wide to accomodate him, her hands splayed on his abdomen to balance herself.

A growl rumbled out of him, hands clenching on her waist. The urge to thrust up into her heat was powerful, instinct screaming that he take his mate now, but years of built up willpower kept him still, aware that he would harm her if he did so. "A-Annorrrrra....."

"Gods you're big," she whimpered, hips slowly rolling as she took him another inch, muscles fluttering. He writhed under her a bit, huffing his breath, growling, and she cried out when he moved a hand a little lower to place his thumb over her clit, rubbing her in time with his breathing.

She was going to be the death of him. Though, in all honesty, dying from a bought of mating was a much better way to go than death by battle or Flood, in Thel's current opinion. She was tight around him, inner muscles fluttering and twitching as she slowly took him in. It was maddening, but concern kept him still, even though the stress of it had him panting and growling like an animal.

Finally, finally, Annora took the final bit of him, eyes sliding shut as her back arched. He was touching places in her that she'd never known, her muscles stretched wide to accommodate him. Each and every once of those ridges had hit her g-spot as he'd slid into her, and with his thumb still rubbing circles on her clit, all she could do was tense and cry out as another orgasm crashed through her.

Feeling her clench around him pulled a snarl from Thel, claws digging into her hips a little as he rolled his hips to hers, desperate for any sort of friction. Panting, nearly wild, he managed to hold back as she stretched out over him, her arms curling around his neck as she nuzzled at him.

He snarled at the feeling, moaning when she ground her pelvis to his. "A-Annora.... Do not tease me, sia'ree!"

She gave him a mischiveous smile and purposefully tensed her inner muscles around him. "Who's teasing?"

Growling, he held her hip tight and flipped them over, looming over her, his right hand braced against the bed to keep his greater weight off of her. Slowly, so slowly - despite everything screaming at him to do otherwise - Thel withdrew a little then thrust back in, moaning with relief at the much needed friction. "Please, sia'ree, tell me I can take you now. All this teasing--!"

Annora reached up to hold him, nuzzling at him the way he'd done to her. "Take me, Thel."

It was all the permission he needed. Growling, he allowed himself to move, stiltedly, trying to keep things slow, hips pulling back and thrusting forwards into her heat. She moaned his name, and he felt her shift, her legs curling around his waist, pulling him closer still, and he splayed his left hand on her back, keeping her pressed as close as possible as he moved in earnest.

Those ridges rubbed her in ways she hadn't thought possible. Every slide and thrust pulling cries and whimpers from her as he rutted into her. Could only hold on to him as he pounded forward, his left hand dropping to her hip to pull and push her onto him with every thrust in and out.

Heard him growl, deep, the sound making his chest vibrate against hers, and she dug her nails into his back when she felt him swell inside her even more, his tip flaring as he came, heat flooding her. The sensation tipped her already sensitive body over the edge again, her cry muted by his howl when she clenched around him again, shuddering.

Panting, trembling, Thel barely managed to catch himself before he fell onto her, groaning as he twitched inside her, continuing to spill himself into her. She was limp and spent under him, her hands weakly holding onto his shoulders as she caught her breath, that odd red flush colouring her face.

Purring, he held her hip to keep her pressed close as her legs slipped from around him, then rolled onto his side, nuzzling at her and drinking in the intoxicating scents in the air: their sweat and the smell of mating making his head spin pleasantly.

Annora giggled a little. "Wow."

His chuckle was deep and satisfied. "Indeed. And you were worried." He leaned in when she beckoned, thrumming another purr when she kissed the side of his mandibles, then his cheek, her hands sliding down his back to his waist. He was still flared inside her, could feel the wetness on their legs as his seed seeped out of her as he contined to fill her. "Another shower might be needed."

She trembled at the continued sensation of pulsing warmth. "Speaking of, how long--?"

"Mm, another minute or so. Though we will be tied for longer." He rose a hand to her face. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Far from it."

He chuckled at how she shivered when he pressed his hips to hers, filing that away for the future. "I should mention that Sangheili rarely tie to their bedmates. It it something meant for breeding. Usually we can control whether we flare or not. But you, with all your teasing...."

"Oh sure, blame the newbie," she retorted with a laugh, running her hands up his chest, fingers exploring the different swells of alien muscle.

Mandibles clicking in a smirk, Thel leaned down to nip at the spot behind her ear, purring when she shivered again. "When this fight is over and we are hopefully victorious, I intend to keep you in my bed for days," he rumbled into her ear, growling at the spike in her scent of arousal.

"Who's teasing now?" Annora gasped, listening to his laugh as he gathered her into his arms and cuddled her to his chest, nuzzling at the top of her head. She releaxed into him, pressing a kiss to the Mark of Shame on his left pectoral, the startled purr that left him making his chest vibrate against her lips.

tbc

[ktrsvo]

infinity plus one (2.9k) alternate universe - soulmates

Peter whispers, “I’ll never not choose you, Lara Jean.”

the movie called me, and i could not resist

Lara Jean grows up believing that the sentence on her wrist is supposed to mean something.

Six words. Nineteen letters. There is no one like you.

All her life, she is told that birthmark words are words she’s supposed to hear from her soulmate. Something exclusive, grand, and romantic. Magical, in the way hearing classical music on a moonlit night is supposed to feel. Like you’re more than part of the universe, like you actually encompass the entity itself. All the stars, planets, suns, revolving infinitely around the earth.

Or, at least that’s what romance novels say.

But here’s the thing: the sentence on her skin is nothing extraordinary. It could come from anyone, anytime. Some people, she’s heard, have beautiful words, and there are Lara Jean’s, as plain as they come. There is no one like you. Fate’s way of handing out poetic irony right there.

Margot won’t tell her what her sentence is. The response is always the same: “just flowery nonsense”, each and every time.

Lara Jean’s kind of jealous, really.

But not everyone has words. There are those with images, too. Almost the same as tattoos, but ultimately with more meaningful permanence. Delicate roses done in pale pink filigree, to name a few. The unfurled wings of a raven, spread out in midnight-blue ink. Sea shells on a tangle of anemones, pearl-white and ornate.

They beat what she has, any day.

Admittedly, it’s a pretty vain wish, to have stars instead of an unkempt scrawl. But that’s precisely the point: if she’s going to meet her soulmate, it might as well be a memorable affair. Not - whatever this is.

Oh, well. You can’t have everything in life.

✧･ﾟ: *

She thinks it’s Josh for a good two weeks.

It starts when she falls off her bike one day. They’re riding around the neighbourhood, the warm afternoon light luminous against their skin, their backs, when Lara Jean comes across a rock and skids to the side. She isn’t wearing any kind of protective gear, so that earns her a few scrapes.

The sight of the gashes gets Josh into the Worried Mode immediately. That sort of state is usually reserved for Margot - Margot being Margot and all - but Josh can be just as bad, sometimes. So there they are, crouched on the sidewalk, Josh carefully examining the afflicted areas, Lara Jean sticking her tongue out all the while.

“Hey, I’m fine. Promise,” she insists, pushing away at his hand because it’s the truth.

Josh raises an eyebrow. There’s an amused twinkle in his eyes that makes her breath catch for the briefest millisecond. Or two. “Uh, hello. You can’t ride in your condition,” he says. “What if you like accidentally trip again? Or something? Margot would kill me.”

“Nice to know that your own welfare is all that you care about.” Lara Jean snorts. Then, she moves to get to her feet, but the effort makes her wince, and it isn’t lost on Josh.

So before Josh can speak up, Lara Jean is hopping onto her bike again and racing down the sidewalk. It is quick to become a game, the two of them speeding along the streets, the balmy summer hair whipping through their hair.

They stop once they reach the front of Lara Jean’s house, and Josh practically throws himself onto the grass.

“Seriously?” she says, poking at his leg with a foot. “C’mon, lazy bones. We still have that tree-climbing to do.”

Josh rolls onto his side. He curls into himself, pretending to sleep. “Get yourself patched up first.”

“That can wait.” Lara Jean lets out a laugh. And then, she stretches out a hand. “Josh. Please. Get up.”

For a moment, it looks as if he isn’t about to listen to her, but then his fingers wrap around her own wrist, his lips quirked up into a smile. And for some reason Lara Jean’s heart, that - that traitor, starts stuttering at this, Josh’s hand now slipping into her own, his mouth curled in a crescent moon shape, his voice honey-sweet in her ears.

“There is no one like you, is there, Lara Jean?” he says, and maybe he means it to come off as teasing, but it isn’t, not really.

Those six words, six syllables, and still the world turns. Staying firmly in its tracks.

The now dying light haloes the brown of Josh’s hair, illuminating the lighter hues, like the golden threads of a tapestry. It’s you, Lara Jean thinks dimly. Definitely you. But it does not feel like it is.

(He is not, Lara Jean realizes not long after. When she discovers the mark on his skin does not match hers in the slightest. Not a sentence, but an image. A whorl of powder-blue, twined along the slender arch of his collarbone.

✧･ﾟ: *

There’s Kenny from camp. John Ambrose from Model UN. But it is neither of them, like Josh.

Kenny, she finds out the hard way, after he says the words on her wrist without knowing of their existence. And it’s funny, how a sentence that once meant so much could turn out insignificant in the end.

“You know, Lara Jean, I actually know who my soulmate is,” Kenny says to her as they’re swinging their legs over a ledge, unaware that her heart is sinking, sinking, sinking. “It’s this girl back at home. She’s really pretty, you know. Brown hair, green eyes. Freckles all over her face. I think I’m in love with her. And I think she loves me, too.” He says this so seriously, so solemnly, Lara Jean forgets her disappointment and hopes it’s true, for both their sakes.

When you’re eleven, you don’t really know what love is. Not the kind where your family or friends are involved, but the kind that makes your heart race, palms sweat, knees buckle. Lara Jean would know; she got over Josh point five seconds after the crushing realization. So, Lara Jean and Kenny? Not meant to be?

Cool.

Camp is the last time Lara Jean sees Kenny, anyway. Cutting a languid, loose-limbed figure against the noonday sun, tanned from exposure.

✧･ﾟ: *

John Ambrose is a little more complicated. They get to know each other well during the MUN meetings, and Lara Jean ends up liking him so much it’s harder to accept the reality.

Smart, handsome, soft-spoken John Ambrose, with those bright blue eyes of his that remind her of oceans where they’re at their deepest. Rich sapphire. Deep, deep blue.

For a while, she is sure that John Ambrose likes her back. That maybe, just maybe, he is the one meant for her. So when a stroke of fortune gets him to utter the cursed words, during a conversation about political warfare, she’s touched that he seems to mean it, that he truly thinks she is clever and capable and bright, but there’s something missing from the picture, one that she cannot name for the life of her.

Sure, John Ambrose does like her. In the way she has been hoping for.

It is not a dream come true, however. Whatever they have between them ends where it starts - never mutually acknowledged - because, number one, they’re kids, and, number two, she figures out it’s not John Ambrose her heart has been searching for.

When John Ambrose moves to a new school by the end of the year, that’s quick to become history, and strangely enough Lara Jean feels an odd sense of closure.

✧･ﾟ: *

Seventh grade comes along and brings with it Peter Kavinsky.

This one is easy: the only real event that comes up between them is a single kiss during a game of Spin the Bottle. That’s pretty much it. Plus, there’s the matter of Gen being crazy wild for him, convinced they’re meant to be together, forever and ever, so ....

Good for Gen. Whatever.

Still it does not stop Peter from stealing looks at her on occasion. And she notices this, alright. Hard not to.

✧･ﾟ: *

Lucas James happens before Lara Jean has the sense to finally draw the line somewhere.

She’s not sure how it begins. Her, eyeing Lucas James from afar, pulse racing, cheeks warming. Maybe it was the smile. Or that amazing sense of humour. But it was the dance, really, that sealed the deal, the two of them swaying under the blue-purple lights, rendered aglow. Him whispering the words so many before him had once told her.

However, they don’t last long, her feelings for him. It is the start of something new, until one day it isn’t: “Hey, Lara Jean, I think - I think I’m into guys.”

That day, Lara Jean looks him in the eye. And gives him a big smile.

It may not have worked out, but at least she found a friend.

Five boys later, and clearly the soulmate search isn’t really working out.

Perhaps it’s time to set it aside. For now, at least.

✧･ﾟ: *

Eleventh grade arrives, and by that point Lara Jean isn’t really looking for a somebody, anymore. It gets pushed to the sidelines, wondering about her soulmate, because there are better goals to have at the present moment than trying to find the One. She’s got years ahead of her. A lifetime, to be exact. And if that still isn’t enough, then that’s that, she supposes.

If it isn’t meant to be, then it isn’t meant to be. No use trying to wish the unachievable into existence.

And then Kavinsky happens - again.

Peter Kavinsky. Kavinsky, with that lazy, crooked smirk, and those piercing dark eyes that have always seemed to smolder with all types of belly-burning promises. And Lara Jean has seen them in action - the effect potent up-close and just as strong even from afar.

A butterfly’s touch to the wrist turned searing by the low burn of that steady gaze.

Lara Jean should be immune to this. This being boys like him, too cheeky, too charming for their own good - nothing but trouble.

And she is, so to speak. Immune.

She’s seen him in classrooms, hallways, and parking lots. With his arm slung over a pretty girl’s shoulders. His laugh infectious when he leans down to whisper into her ear. His smile loose and coy. Incandescent at the seams. This part is where the appeal’s lost on her, even though yeah, he is hot.

No, that’s not it. Because what Lara Jean has always been drawn to is that Peter, for all that boys like him should stand for (as dictated by those silly ninety-nine cent finds at discount bookstores), is actually really, really nice. Like, he’s been this way since middle school, and maybe Lara Jean’s being judgemental, but she’d been at least thirty percent sure that he’d change, transform into someone annoying and pseudo-debonair. Typical jock attitude.

It’s nice that she got that assumption wrong.

So, back to the topic of soulmates. And how Kavinsky fits in.

It’s stupid, thinking about those things on the same page, much less the same line. It’s Kavinsky’s fault, honestly, that he had to choose sitting right next to her - out of all people - in Lit class, and then proceeding to give her that annoyingly gorgeous Peter Kavinsky grin.

While saying, in his most serene voice, “Looks like we’re stuck together, Lara Jean. We’re officially partners-in-crime now, right?”

There was a cough in the background - Gen’s irritation, at the sight of them side by side - and then Lara Jean’s small smile directed towards him, amused.

That’s how it started. Lara Jean falling against her better wishes.

And the dangerous part is, there now seems to be no end in sight.

✧･ﾟ: *

It takes Peter Kavinsky driving her to school, swapping silly notes and hanging out at cafes with her, to get her to arrive at a realization.

That he feels so, so different from the others. Josh, Kenny, John Ambrose, and Lucas James, that it honestly kind of startles her in its novelty. The slow and tender way he’s steadily infiltrating her thoughts and the spaces in between. The limbo between rest and wakefulness, and that dream-state of barely-there consciousness.

Peter’s just a hard-to-forget afterthought in her reality, solid only when he’s around in her presence, until one day he isn’t, slowly easing himself into a position of significance in her life, no longer white noise.

He is there at school, and now in her dreams as well. Boy running. Boy chasing. Always, always after her, through dew-soaked meadows of green gilded by sunrise.

✧･ﾟ: *

“Lara Jean,” Peter says with a grin, settling down onto the spot next to her and then knocking their knees together.

“I’m waiting for Chris,” Lara Jean says, putting aside her book.

His mouth curls in amused suspicion. “No, you’re not.”

A sigh. “No, I’m not.” She looks into his eyes, and there are lights flickering in them from the lamps lining the street, and she thinks she can hear her heartbeat, there behind her ribcage. “Don’t you have someone else to annoy, Peter? Why always me?”

“That’s because there is no one like you, Covey,” Peter says, and the mark on her wrist burns, but Lara Jean just looks away.

✧･ﾟ: *

At school, they tell you how stars are born, the ones high up in space. The process takes place inside molecular clouds called nebulae, where dense regions start forming, and then collapsing under their own gravitational force. Once that happens, a real star is born after the resulting protostar at the centre undergoes fusion.

That’s the simplified step-by-step. Minus the technicalities.

It’s hard to explain Lara Jean’s reasoning, why she thinks that might be how love develops, too. But she’s always had a thing for reconciling completely unrelated topics with each other; that’s the beauty of metaphor. It doesn’t have to make sense, so long as it moves you.

So picture this: a nebula. A cloud of dust and gas. Confusion. Feelings. All sorts of happy but irritating things.

And then next, gravity compressing the cloud. There’s pressure building, and the temperature going up.

The centre gets hotter and hotter, and then a fusion reaction takes place. And there you have it: a star. Love burning, burning, burning.

✧･ﾟ: *

Lara Jean takes to distancing herself, but it’s hard, because it’s Peter, and giving in is so much easier, so she stops, and just goes along with it, lets herself think about Peter in all the ways she’s wanted to.

Holding his hand. Looking into his eyes. Pressing her palm to his heart.

Peter saying, “Lara Jean,” when he means something else, and Lara Jean saying, “Peter,” when she means, “I feel the same way.”

And then there comes a time when Peter tells her he’s known who his soulmate is for a while now, and Lara Jean’s heart sinks because she thought he was genuinely hers, but she doesn’t let her disappointment show; she only smiles and says, “Good for you.”

“Don’t you want to guess?” Peter says, and Lara Jean shakes her head, trying for another smile.

“No, not really.”

✧･ﾟ: *

She finds out that Kitty has been keeping Peter’s notes, and she’s only annoyed for a moment, until she goes through some of the papers herself.

You looked so pretty today, Lara Jean. Math class, fifth period.

Did you know that you have hair the colour of midnight. Seriously. I’m not saying this only to be poetic. World History, third period.

And then, There is no one like you, Lara Jean Song-Covey -

Wait. Wait.

Lara Jean pauses. Scrunches her eyebrows. Then she pulls down her bracelet, compares the note’s handwriting to the one etched on her wrist.

Same letters. Same scrawl. A hundred percent match.

A small smile blossoms on her face.

✧･ﾟ: *

They meet up after school, when the sky is a thousand different shades of languid rose-gold. Peter is waiting for her on the bleachers, hair windswept, mouth pulled up in a large grin, and there’s Lara Jean moving next to him, her heart refusing to settle, still.

“I got your note,” Peter says, and Lara Jean feels full of this: the timbre of his voice, the deep amber flecks in his eyes, the soft, gentle glow of sunlight against his hair.

He shows her his wrist, and there it is: I know it’s you, Peter Kavinsky, done in the soulmate mark equivalent of glittering blue gel pen.

Wait. “But - but I gave you that note two hours ago,” Lara Jean says. “How did you know it was me before then? Like, you told me way back when that you already had an idea.”

“I think I dreamt you,” Peter says, and when Lara Jean laughs, tells him to be serious, he just says, “Honestly, I did. Like, I think that my heart’s internal compass was just pointing at you this whole time. That, and I really wanted it to be the case.”

“You … did?” Lara Jean’s breath hitches. Halts entirely.

The fading sun turns his skin luminous and orange-warm, and when Peter whispers, “I’ll never not choose you, Lara Jean,” before leaning down to kiss her, nothing magical happens, and even though it isn’t like what the movies say, it’s even better because it’s real, all of it.

Peter’s mouth against hers, her hand pressed flush against his chest, and the unspoken I’m falling for you in between.

The world is already painted in the colours of a sunset when Peter reaches up to cup her jaw and kiss her more deeply, so really, that’s all the magic that she needs.

[queenpersephonesgarden]

Whumptober Day 3

Prompt: Insomnia Fandom: RWBY Characters: Qrow Branwen, Ruby Rose Word Count: 1,443

It feels like hours, but in reality, it might only be minutes; there’s no telling how long it takes him to crack.

The house is dark, aside from the subtle glow of moonlight coming in through the window.

The sheets are clean and warm, the mattress just soft enough to be comfortable rather than distracting.

The entire house had gone silent at some point in the night, all of its other occupants having wandered off and settled down in their own rooms at some point a long time ago, with only the occasional creak of the house settling or a strong breeze outside setting the trees surrounding the house to whispering to make any noise; it should, in theory, be a very good night.

And it very well might’ve been, except he still can’t fucking sleep.

His eyes lazily retrace the shadows dancing across the floor of the quest bedroom for what feels like the millionth time, marking a winding path all the way from the window to the edge of the bed, but no matter what patterns he follows or how much his eyes burn with exhaustion, every time he dares to close them the same image just keeps coming back:

Dark hair spread like a halo across the ground.

A face that should be smiling joyfully instead of trapped forever in a silent scream of pain.

A sword locked in one hand, grip unwavering even when the strength of those fingers is long gone.

A cloak that should be white like snow, instead stained red red red as her lifeblood continues to sluggishly pour out of the hideous gashes in her chest-

Qrow’s eyes snap open in the darkness once again, and he lets loose a string of curses in the silence.

Fuck. Fuck.

How the hell is grieving supposed to help if his own damn head is refusing to give him any sort of reprieve, if even for a few hours?

What he wants, more than anything, is a stiff drink or two. Or three. Just enough to let him forget, for a while.

Anything to help him sleep for a few hours.

But he can’t, not here, not in her house, with her girls so close at hand, with Tai already a complete wreck, with her pictures on the walls and her favorite perfume suffusing the furniture and all of her knick-knacks still on the mantle-

Fuck.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come back after all.

With a quiet snarl, Qrow sat up suddenly, ignoring the dizzying rush that went to his head as he stumbled blindly to his feet.

He can’t take it anymore; if he can’t drink here, he’ll go out and find a nice pub to spend the night in instead. Tai is in no shape to take care of anyone right now, and the girls are both still too small to even take care of themselves; there’s no way in hell he’s foisting himself onto them right now.

But he just can’t wait around until tomorrow.

He’s so fucking tired.

Somehow, he manages to figure out how to get dressed in the near-darkness without causing too much noise; he could thank his unfortunate sobriety for that, at least.

Heart hammering in his chest, Qrow throws Harbinger across his back carelessly, feeling just frustrated enough to question why he’s even bothering to bring it; with or without it, it’s not like he’s any good to anyone he’s trying to protect-

Another wordless snarl escapes him as he yanks the door of his room open, in just enough of a rage to slam it closed behind him without a care as to who he wakes up-

“Qrow?”

A sleepy little voice freezes him in place in the middle of the doorway, right in the middle of his dramatic exit.

The fists his hands had unconsciously curled into during his anger quickly loosened as his eyes tracked the voice. The guest bedroom opened straight into the living room rather than be stuck at the end of a hallway; from here, he had a perfect line of sight to the main couch, where a tiny figure bundled under a fuzzy red blanket was just visible in the low light still fading in from another window.

“Unca Qrow?” the voice called again, and this time Ruby Rose was looking right at him, face drawn into a drowsy frown as she studied his haggard appearance. “You awake?”

His chest is heaving like he’s just run from here to Haven and back again. He doesn’t know why.

Qrow has to take a moment to breathe deeply, slowly, before he can muster something imitating a smile. “Uh, yeah kiddo, I’m up.” He’s not sure how calm he sounds, but he hopes it enough to keep Ruby from noticing how badly he’s shaking. “And it looks like you are, too. Didn’t your dad tell you to go to bed a while ago?”

Ruby’s expression scrunches up in that stubborn little way of hers, and she slouches a bit as Qrow heads closer to her little bundle. “He forgot. He forgets a lot now,” she mumbles, and it might have been funny if it didn’t make Qrow’s chest tight.

“Your dad’s going through a lot right now,” he admits as he slowly lowers himself onto her couch, trying not to feel terribly like an intruder with his own niece. She doesn’t seem bothered by his presence, though, so perhaps he’s not doing so bad.

Still, he pauses for a long time, watching her worry the edge of her blanket for a while, until he can awkwardly muster, “You shouldn’t be awake right now, kid.”

“You shouldn’t be, either,” she says with a sleepy smile, and it’s so much like a teasing Summer smile that it makes the air hard to breathe.

Qrow looks away from Ruby’s face, but he can’t look anywhere else – her knick-knacks are still on the mantle, her pictures are still on the walls – so eventually he gives up and looks back at her daughter with an incredibly forced smile.

“Yeah, neither of us should be up this late,” he says, hoping against hope that he won’t have to cajole her into sleeping. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

Ruby’s face looked oddly pensive in the dim light. “What are you doing out here?” she repeated, and okay. So that’s the way they were going to do this.

Qrow raised both his eyebrows in what he hoped was a stern manner, but probably came off looking way too amused. “I asked you first.”

“I asked you second!” Ruby retaliated, one tiny little finger pointing accusingly at his face.

She had him there. If he didn’t admit defeat, they’d likely circle around the subject for a while, and while it might be funny, it would kind of defeat the purpose of him getting her to bed with as little bloodshed as possible.

Sighing in mock irritation, Qrow crossed his arms and admitted, “I was… planning on going out for a drink, until a certain niece decided to spend the night out on the couch and bust me.”

Ruby giggled, and the tightness in Qrow’s chest loosens, just a bit. He’s stopped shaking by the time he plopped a hand on her head. “Your turn, kid.”

The cherubic smile on her face abruptly sours, and Qrow’s stomach churns as she dropped her attention back onto her blanket, worrying to edges even faster between her fingers.

She mumbles something under her breath, and he softly reminds her, “I’m up here, sweetie.”

With a grimace, she meets his gaze, and he has to fight against the memories her face evokes. When she grows up, she’ll be the spitting image of her mother. He’s starting to see, just a bit, why Tai is having such a hard time lately.

“I’m- I’m waiting for mom to come home.”

Some small remnant of Qrow’s heart shatters in his chest, and he tries very, very hard not to let his voice shake as he says, “Kiddo, you know we told you-”

“I know,” Ruby interrupts, voice very, very small, and one tiny hand reaches up to swipe a little at Summer’s silver eyes. “I just- I thought-”

Aw, hell.

No tears, please.

Helplessly, he opens his arms in an invitation.

Ruby doesn’t need to be told twice; she lunges forward into him, wrapping two little arms around his middle as she buries her face into his chest.

His chest quickly grows damp with tears, but Qrow just hugs Ruby a bit tighter as her muffled sobs filled the room.

It looks like neither of them are getting much sleep tonight.

[queen-scribbles]

Shelter

For @pillarspromptsweekly​ prompt #6

It was, at least, a summer rain. That was the only charitable comment Emiri could give on the abrupt downpour as she and her companions ducked into a cave.

“Well, that came about real sudden-like, didn’t it?” If they hadn’t just been caught in the opening salvo of a deluge, she’d have sworn Edér sounded cheerful.

“You could say that,” Emiri said wryly, running her fingers through her dripping hair. Another flash of lightning brightened the sky and she shirked toward the back of the cave, joining Aloth further away from the storm.

“Here.” He handed her a blanket. “It’s the best we have for drying off. You look like you need it.”

“Thank you.” She shuffled to the side as Kana and Edér settled in nearby and reached up to tap the faintly glowing growth that encircled her head. “This does make hoods a challenge.” Emiri sighed as she squeezed water from her hair and looked toward the cave opening, the curtain of rain visible past Hiravias and Sagani’s silhouettes. “And today was shaping up to be a pretty decent birthday ‘til now...”

Aloth looked at her in surprise. “Today’s your...?”

“Well, not officially,” Emiri conceded, drying her hair as best she could with the blanket. “But since I don’t remember when my birthday really is, just that it was summer, this is the day I usually count.” Thunder cracked and she flinched. Ondra’s Teeth, that was close by... “Might move it this year...”

Aloth chuckled. “Being able to move your birthday, there’s a silver lining for you.”

She laughed as she set aside the blanket, skin and hair as dry as they were going to get. “True.” After a moment’s silence, she gave in to her curiosity.  “When’s yours?”

Surprise flickered briefly across his face, visible even in the faint light of her halo, and it took him a moment to answer. “Next week.”

“Next week? And you weren’t going to say anything?!” Emiri shrugged off her soaking cloak so she could better adopt  a reproachful stance.

Aloth raised an eyebrow. “Says the woman who didn’t mention until moments ago that today is hers.”

“Yeah, well, I did most of my growing up as a slave on a pirate ship. I’m used to people not car- Oh.” She stared at him in the flare of another lightning strike.  “Aloth.”

He shifted uneasily, picking at a hangnail and looking out at the downpour as if wishing it would stop so he could bolt. “It’s not that important, Emiri.”

“To me it is,” she contradicted. “I know what that feels like, Aloth.” She hesitated, tugging at a loose thread on her shirt. “Would you mind, since today is proving unsuitable-” she glared at the pouring rain- “if I said my birthday was next week this year? Not the same day as yours,” she added hastily, “just closer to it, since we both do have someone who cares this year. We can celebrate together.”

“I-” Aloth hesitated, then nodded, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I would like that, I think. Depending on what you mean by celebrate.”

“Nothing fancy,” Emiri promised. “Neither of us like big fancy social situations. Maybe I convince the cook to make us each our own batch of those dark chocolate Rauatai cookies.” She heard Kana muffle a laugh and whipped around to mock-glare at him--”There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of a sweet tooth!”--before turning back to Aloth. “Anyway. Cookies. And we’ll take the day off from adventuring. To do things we enjoy. One day won’t hurt that much.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Aloth agreed, small smile tugging at his lips.  “Next week, then.”

“Next week,” Emiri nodded, and they settled in to wait for the storm to pass, safe in the shelter of the cave.

>O<

Emiri’s plan was easy enough to enact, except for one thing. The Dyrwood sky stayed a threatening shade of grey even after the initial storm had passed. And, sure enough, the day she and Aloth had decided to celebrate was pouring down rain. Again.

At least this time they were safely ensconced in the shelter Caed Nua offered. The rain wasn’t so bad when you were watching it through a window with a roof over your head.

“Someone is determined for you to have a dreary birthday,” Aloth commented wryly as they sat in the library, several books spread open across the table. The black cat from Raedric’s dungeon strolled between the tomes, occasionally making a show of stretching over whichever one Aloth was trying to read.

“Well, then I’m sorry for dragging you down with me,” Emiri said, reaching over to pick up the cat. “Fluffy, stop it.”

“I still can hardly believe you named it that.”

“I didn’t name her,” Emiri protested good-naturedly. “That’s Edér ’s doing. I think he meant it as a joke, but it’s stuck.” She scratched the cat behind the ears, earning a loud, happy purr. “She seems to like it.”

“Mm. Emiri... may I ask you something?” Aloth fiddled with one of his rings, looking unsure of himself as he spun the silver band.

“Sure,” she nodded, perching sideways in her chair, legs hanging over the arm, so Fluffy could curl up in her lap.

“Why the diligence marking your birthday? I’d think the reminder you’d spent another year someone’s slave would be... disheartening.��

Emiri was quiet for a long moment forming her answer, long enough Aloth’s ears started to shade pink and she could almost see him regretting the question. “For some--most even--it probably would. I never knew of anyone else who kept track. For me...” She sighed. It was difficult to explain. “It was a way of proving to myself I’d survived another year. And there was something about it, made me feel safe. Protected isn’t quite the right word--stronger, maybe--but the whips and yelling and the names they called us never seemed as bad that one day out of the year. Like I was sheltered from the worst of it, I guess. It was a small victory to look forward to. I know that probably sounds weird, but it kept me going.”

Aloth shook his head “Oh, no, it makes perfect sense to me.”

Emiri thought back to Brackenbury’s basement and grimaced. “I s’ppose it would... but that’s a dark line of conversation for a day that supposed to be us celebrating, so I’m changing the subject.”

He shot her a bemused smile. “To what?”

She shifted in her chair, almost dislodging Fluffy, so she could dig in her pocket. “I made you something.”

Aloth blinked at her in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Emiri shrugged. “I know. I wanted to. It’s part birthday present, part thank you for everything; having my back, teaching me to read, all that.”

“Oh. That was no trouble.” He smiled. “You’re a quick learner.”

Her cheeks warmed and she felt more than saw her halo flicker brightly with embarrassment. “Thank you.” Her fingers curled around the item she sought and she pulled it out to hand to the wizard. “And happy birthday,”

Aloth rose halfway from his chair to reach her outstretched hand. “Thank you.” He gently worked open the small pouch and pulled out an intricately woven blue band, half an inch wide and decorated in the middle with several flat black beads. “You made this? That’s rather impressive.”

Emiri shrugged. “It’s just tying a whole bunch of really small knots, Aloth. I grew up on a ship; I’m good with knots.”

He ran his thumb over the woven pattern. “I feel like that may be oversimplifying things a bit. It’s beautiful, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. “I made it long enough you can use it to mark your place in a book or grimoire or tie it around your wrist.” Her smile turned sheepish. “You’ll probably have to wrap it twice if you wanted to do that. I may have forgotten until halfway through about the size difference between aumaua and elves. Probably didn’t help that I made a test one for me first to work out the pattern.” She pushed up her sleeve so he could see the one she wore; adra-green with silver beads, the pattern a good bit rougher but basically the same. “Just to make sure I had it down.”

“I appreciate that,” Aloth said, smiling. “And the gift in general. I’ll put it to good use. Now...” he dug under a stack of books he’d had piled on the table when she entered the library. “I actually have something for you as well.”

Emiri sat up properly in her chair, causing Fluffy to hop down and stroll away. “Aloth, you didn’t-”

“I know.” He smirked slightly as he echoed her earlier words. “I wanted to.”

“Well, in that case, thank you,” she laughed as she accepted his gift.

“You’re welcome.” Aloth fiddled anxiously with his sleeve as she untied the ribbon and pulled back the wrapping. “You are... the first true friend I’ve had in a very long time. I don’t think I can ever adequately express what that means to me, but I did want to show my gratitude.”

“You’re gonna make me cry,” Emiri said frankly, then promptly gaped when she saw the present. “Aloth, it’s beautiful.” The book’s cover was a rich, dark brown leather, embossed with a flowing pattern around the edges. It took her a minute to work her way through the title and determine this was a collection of equal parts legend and history for the Dyrwood. “Thank you!”

Blushing slightly, Aloth shrugged. “I figured if you’re going to be ruling over and protecting a section of this region, best you know the people’s history and beliefs, yes?”

She hesitated, biting her lip as she stroked the cover. “D’you really think I can handle this? On my own, I mean...” It was an intimidatingly thick book, reflecting the rich and diverse culture present in the Dyrwood.

“Oh, yes, certainly,” Aloth nodded, smiling and tucking his hair back behind one ear. “As I said, you’re a quick learner. I have faith in you. But, if you get stuck, you know I’m always here to help.”

“And I appreciate that.” Emiri rose and hugged him. “Thank you, truly. Both for the present and your friendship. Both mean a lot to me.” She glanced out the window as she let go. “Oh, hey, it’s not raining so hard. I vote we dash over to Brighthollow an’ see if those cookies are ready.”

“Seconded,” Aloth said with a small laugh, deftly looping her gift twice around his wrist and tying it off faster than she’d ever seen kith or folk do anything one-handed.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on it as she clutched his present close and the two of them hurried out of the library, hoping this gap in the weather would last at least long enough for them to reach Brighthollow’s shelter.

>O<

As she’d hoped, the cookies were done. They had, in fact, been cooling just long enough to still be warm was Emiri and Aloth divvied up their shares. Grinning like a little girl, Emiri took her leave of Aloth and retreated to her bedroom with the bundle of cookies. Having sweets in any quantity to herself was still something of a novelty to the Watcher, and she couldn’t help but giggle as the door closed behind her. She was going to spend the rest of the day curled up in bed, nibbling her way through the still-warn cookies as she read her new book. Best. Birthday. Ever.

That was the plan, anyway. But she was distracted by the neatly wrapped bundle sitting on her bed, tied up with a wide red ribbon and currently being used as a pillow by a very content hound dog.

“Lottie, are you keepin’ that safe for me, girl?” Emiri cooed as she dropped the book on her desk and sat on the bed to unwrap the large bundle. Lottie whined at the loss of her pillow and rolled over to sprawl across the actual pillows. Emiri smiled and shook her head at the dog before returning her attention to the gift. The wrapping fell away easily to reveal a beautiful blue cloak. It had obviously been worn before, but was well-cared for and clean. Best of all, when she unfurled it, it was the proper size. Aumaua were uncommon enough in the Dyrwood, she and Kana both had trouble finding clothes and  gear that fit comfortably. And when they did, it usually cost an arm and leg.

And then, upon closer examination, she noticed the hood. Someone--she was pretty sure she knew who--had deftly sliced it open down the middle and added an extra panel of matching fabric. Grinning ear to ear Emiri tested it out, and sure enough, the extra fabric gave plenty of room for her to pull the hood up over her halo, sheltering her as was normal for a cloak. A small piece of parchment fluttered from the cloak’s folds as she pulled it on, and Emiri paused to read the short message.

I hope this serves you even better than it did me. Happy birthday, Emiri.

Even if she hadn’t recognize the handwriting, it was written on the back of a discarded page from a chanter’s hymnbook, making her list of suspected givers exactly one name long.

Emiri pushed herself to her feet, barely remembering to grab the sack of cookies so Lottie wouldn’t eat them, and practically flew from the room. “Kana!”

The distance from her room to his wasn’t great, and she barely paused long enough to knock and receive a bemused Come in before all but tumbling into the room. She regained her balance and hugged Kana with enough force he almost lost his.

He laughed as he returned the hug, gently pulling back the hood so he could see her face. “I take it you approve, then?”

“Effigy’s eyes, yes!” Emiri squeezed tighter for a moment, then let go to shoot him a concerned look. “Does this mean you don’t have a cloak now?”

“Oh, no, I’ve a couple more,” Kana assured her. “This one was simply in the best condition, and thus best suited to be given as a gift, that’s all.”

She stood grinning for another few heartbeats before remembering the sack she clutched in one hand. She shook it open and held it out to him. “Cookie?”

“I thought those were just for you and Aloth.”

Emiri pursed her lips, then grinned again. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Kana chuckled. “Well, in that case, I suppose one wouldn’t hurt...”

By the time she returned to her room, the sack of cookies was lighter by three, but Emiri didn’t care in the slightest. She did a little twirl after closing her door, watching the cloak flare out. Best birthday ever.

---------------------------------------------

Yes, Emiri totally gave Aloth a friendship bracelet as a birthday present. I have zero regrets.

(they look like this btw)

[caeliri]

All Things; Peace - pt. 2

All Things; Peace pt. 1

Hallowhearth was haloed by Summerglen’s only graveyard, a sprawling, hilled yard of stones dappled in moss and worn by the ages. No plot was unmarked, though all were in a state of poor tending; the young Dame had only begun work to repair and revive the graveyard when the call for deployment took her attention from her estate and turned it towards the southern isles.

Seeing them, now, brought a sudden rise of shame in Caeliri as she pulled open the wrought iron gates that barred the interior gardens from the graveyard, and her eyes shot down to the tips of her toes. So far, she’d allowed herself a measure of forgiveness for all her many errors, because she was new to this, because the expectations levied on her shoulders were many for her age, but Light, she felt sick now to think how far she continued to fall from the mark.

They deserve someone better, was all she could think, even as she drew a deep breath and pushed the gates wide open until they clattered and stuck. Anyone better.

Weaving through the flower-speckled graves, Caeliri muttered the words she’d read again and again and again and again, hoping they would stick;

“A tree is more than wood for the hearth, and so too are we more than flesh and bone for this life; flesh may turn to soil, and bone to dust, but those we love will live eternal, in every breath of the wind and ever glimmer of sunlight--”

Beyond the ivy-wrapped iron, the citizens of Summerglen stood huddled around the stone arch that upheld the gate. They wore the colors of silt and soil, browns that ranged from stone to chocolate, to match the earth that swallowed the deceased. Some wore gowns, others trousers, their clothing stripped of what little finery they owned. Their dress was modest and Caeliri made an effort to match; no gallant gown, no medals, no armor - she wore simple trousers, thigh high boots with a heel that sunk into the dew moistened earth, and a shirt that, for once, covered the pale expanse of her belly.

For a moment she hesitated, feeling a gurgling anxiety rise in her belly, but she stepped forward--

And felt a hand on her shoulder. “Let the servants open the gate,” Liadove’s voice caused her to start, and Caeliri’s ears shot straight up; she hadn’t heard him approach, nor seen the Firestorm servants - in their usual uniforms of gold and blue and blazing white - arrive with him, but the two men moved like hawks to the gate, blurs of blues with swift, sure hands that had the gates unlocked and parted to allow the mourners passage before she could even offer protest.

“I thought your disappointment might melt your boots to the hearth’s floor,” Caeliri breathed, unable to help the corner of her mouth from quirking upwards as she flicked her eyes over to her Captain of the Guard.

“In the end, the choice is always yours,” Liadove offered, “I’m only here to serve your will, Dame Caeliri… and assure no blade meets your throat beneath the veil of night.” At that, he tightened his grip on her shoulder; she could feel the fondness in his fingers, and it brightened her smile. “My opinion matters little--”

“But it matters,” Caeliri offered, bowing her head politely to the mourners as they wandered into the graveyard, letting her voice dip low to mask their conversation beneath the idle murmurs of the new arrivals. “I just don’t always agree.” Lifting a hand, Caeliri squeezed Liadove’s, before pulling away from him.

Gathered about the fresh dug graves, the crowd arranged itself without direction; the families took the front, the rest of the mourners filled in around them organically, until the gathered formed a large mass that roamed over the hill. A somber cloud slithered through their ranks, even as the pale mist of morning began to wane; the harrowed, near haunted look in their eyes made her gaze wander away, the shame still searing hot beneath her skin.

Her order.

Her will.

Her right.

Her responsibility.

From the corners of her eyes Caeliri could see fleeting figures in the fading mist, and her brow furrowed slightly. From afar, she could not ascertain if they were men and women wandering from the proceedings before they truly began, or the machinations of her own sullied conscience playing ghastly tricks on her.

Or, perhaps worse still, they were neither - since the evening she spent with Elleynah in the ruins of Azshara, when both their dreams had been filled with songs and screams, there was a sense of… presence that never fully left her. It lingered, never quite the same, an ever shifting sensation of something Else and Other just astride her every step, and though she’d thought she heard whispers even here in Hallowhearth when silence should have held the manor in it’s sway, dismissing it had been all too easy… thus far.

Swallowing tightly, Caeliri edged around the gathered villagers, her steps measured and placid; a farce, opposite entirely to how she felt, but what was practice for if not for these moments? What good were masks if they didn’t conceal what dwelt beneath?

It was an effort to put the thought of shadows and spirit from her mind, especially with the grassless gravemounds that dotted the yard, but there was room for doubt and reason enough to dismiss the possibility of phantoms for the logical explanation; Hallowhearth was open to all, home to everyone, today. It was tradition when one of their neighbors was to be given back to the earth, and with the manor unoccupied for a half-century and access to the ancient halls denied… it was little wonder some curious souls would wander from the funeral to gander at the gilded rooms and oft-forbidden finery. Summerglen was six-hundred citizens strong, and hoping that every person would take interest and be invested in the funeral services was far-flung and foolish.

Of course.

That was the answer.

The logical answer.

The only answer.

Her careful path brought her not to the front of the crowd, but the back, to the very last person at the farthest edge of those who had gathered to offer their condolences, and her hand slipped into her pocket to retrieve a glassy, teardrop shaped stone. It was no bigger than a gold piecce, though not nearly quite as round - it was by no means a rare or fine crystal, either. Though it’s facets were perfect - Ashalyn Amberstar, the jewelcutter, would have never let an imperfect stone leave her workshop, no matter it’s intended use - it was hardly a thing of grandeur on it’s own, and it’s worth came not from the raw material from which it was forged.

The woman before her offered her a small smile, the hand not laid on the heavy swell of her belly held forth to take the small stone.

“Dame Caeliri,” she murmured, her voice low and pleasant, the gentle bow of her head sending wheat-colored wisps of hair sweeping across her forehead, the braid that ran in a circlet of silken strands across her head unable to hold strands so fine.

“Miss Heartblossom,” Caeliri’s greeting was fond, even if the title was formal - few folk in Summerglen had been so open-armed to her as Halea Heartblossom… though, being married to her Captain of the Guard may have influenced the woman’s warmth, Caeliri chose to believe it was an earnest affection.

Stepping back, Caeliri bowed her head politely as Halea brought the stone to her lips and murmured softly against its roughly faceted surface, her words lost beneath her breath - they may have been a prayer, or a fond farewell, but they went unknown to all who stood beside her. They were words meant for her and the deceased alone, and when she spoke her peace, she handed the stone on to the man beside her.

Hand to hand, lips to lips, the crystal slipped through the crowd, its faces kissed with hymns and hopes and memories alike, at times passing palms without words spoken from the one who bore it last, at times lingering longer for those who wished their final words to weigh as much as the hurt in their hearts, and as the tear-shaped stone was passed, Caeliri quietly made her way to the front of the crowd, her head high and steps as sure as they were ever going to be. Beneath Deyaenus… unique guidance, she’d learned, at least, how to address a crowd - to draw air from her belly, to speak from her gut, to seize her voice and sling it as far as it could go, to touch the ears of many - and as she found her way to the forefront of the mourners, she drew in a deep, deep breath, and let the prayers she’d practiced slip from her lips;

“Today, we bid farewell to a sister of Summerglen, whose life was lived beneath these ancient boughs and who skin was kissed by spring eternal. Unto the Light they go, not soft, not somber, but with revelry -- to join those who have gone before them, and left the path lit. There is naught but joy and love for them now…”

She stumbled, unsure of how to continue - there was a line… a line she forgot. A twinge of panic clattered through her chest, and her heartbeat hastened, thundering hard against her ribs in painful thumps. Her tongue traced over her lips, the stall - she hoped - seeming intentional - a moment to contemplate, to let the weight of her words be tasted - but as her eyes drifted to Liadove, there was naught but a raw and clawing fear circling her sea-green irises.

Several feet away, Liadove stiffened, his own face failing to shift, but the subtle cementing of his features plain enough; he knew that she was flailing, and more so, he knew it meant she was about to deviate from the ancient script.

“I… won’t tell you not to weep.”

A pause - a murmur through the crowd; it was but a moment of rising sound that was swiftly quelled.

“There is no shame in it; what tears you have to shed, whatever their root, be it anger or sorrow or longing, let them fall free to wet the earth beneath your feet, to feed the soil so that it may flourish freely.”

Silence hung over the gathered.

Panic-stricken, Caeliri let her eyes flit over the faces of those at the foot of the grave, who stood before the loose-packed soil in shades that matched the dew-drenched earth. Bewilderment beset their faces, but in at least one there was a glimmer of unbelieving relief. A glimmer that soon slipped softly down the hard-cut cheeks of a face that had seen ages far beyond her own, and caught in the grey-peppered hair of a once scarlet beard.

One breath wasn’t enough to still her hammering heart, but it was enough to speak on in the words the mourners knew well;

“Those we love, we lay within the earth, but though their bones lay beneath our feet, they move unburdened beside us, always. A tree is more than wood for the hearth, and so too are we more than flesh and bone for this life; flesh may turn to soil, and bone to dust, but those we love will live eternal, in every breath of the wind and every glimmer of sunlight--”

At last, the stone made its way to the man who stood before her, his face now moist as the misty grass beneath their feet. His hands, war-torn and warped by work, held fast to the stone the longest, so fiercely that his knuckles turned white and his entire arm began to quake, and for a moment the young Dame feared her step away from tradition had stoked an errant spark of rage within the elder.

The stone never found his lips - but he swept it through the tears that trickled down his cheeks, and relinquished the stone to Caeliri.

When once more the crystal was in her hands, it was warm, it’s facets heated from hot whispers and clutching palms alike as it traveled from one mourner to the next… and wet, still, from the fresh spilled tears. For a moment she paused, looking at the man who handed her the stone, caught between the old, childish desire to seek approval for her action, and the knowledge that she could act without approval - that she should act without hanging on the hope that every action would net her positive affirmation and assurance that her choice was correct - and in weighing her options let the silence linger a little too long.

A wash of color crested on her cheeks, and Caeliri was thankful that the next part - oft saved for a member of the priesthood, when the holder of Hallowhearth was not Light-blessed - made the closing of her eyes near mandatory, if not at least understandable.

With the crystal clasped between her scarred palms, Caeliri reached into the hollow chasm of her chest, to the place where the Light seemed to live inside of her, and drew upon the unyielding font of warmth. It came to her with the same ease as breathing, rolling beneath her skin in washes of warmth not unlike tame and timid sea-water tickling the shoreline. A golden glow blossomed in her palm, and passed from flesh to faceted stone, until the Light was captured at the crystal’s core. With every wish and memory sealed within the tear-shaped stone, Caeliri turned toward the grave, and the small hollow above the engraved name.

‘ELARINE MIRTHLIGHT

BELOVED DAUGHTER, DEFENDER OF SUMMERGLEN

DIED VALIANTLY IN COMBAT AGAINST THE BURNING LEGION’

She pressed the stone into it’s slot, feeling it click snuggly into its proper place, but her fingers lingered on the stone, slipping slowly to the words etched into its surface. Guilt gripped her heart, and though it was… improper to some, she was sure, her head bowed until her forehead met the cold surface of the gravestone.

“I’m so sorry, Elarine,” she murmured, her own final words to a woman she’d only known by name, “Light bless you, always.”

Caeliri lingered but a moment before rising, unconcerned with the moist patches left on her knees, or the grave dirt that clung to her pants. Her hand fell idly to her pocket once more, to the six stones remaining.

Seven soldiers; seven graves - and six more to go.

@stormandozone | @airiannagrace | @felthier

[farcillesbian]

[ID: digital painting of two girls spooning in an unmade bed, viewed from directly above. sunlight is peaking in through the blinds. both girls are on the slender side, and the girl on the right appears to be taller than the girl on the left, but it is hard to tell because they both have their legs curled up.

the girl on the left is the little spoon. she has golden brown skin, and dark brown - almost black - hair that would probably hit her shoulder blades if she were standing up. her is spread out underneath her, like a halo. her eyes are closed and she leans her head slightly forward. there is an X-shaped scar on her forehead, a small scar on her cheek under her eye, two small scars on the bridge of her nose, and one small scar on her chin. she is wearing an orange t-shirt and short black shorts. her left arm is bent up so that her hand rests next to her forehead. she has a scar going across her forearm, and a bite-shaped scar on her bicep. there is a large scar midway down her thigh, and a couple of small scars a few inches above it. her knees have multiple scars, and there are a few small scars on her calf and her foot.

the girl on the right has her left arm wrapped around the other girl, threaded underneath her partner's upper arm. her skin is light beige. her hair is voluminous, dark blonde, and very curly, about the same length as her partner's hair. she has two small scars on the bridge of her nose and two slightly longer scars on her lower cheek. she is wearing a loose, rosy brown t-shirt and short, light grey track shorts. she has many scars of varying lengths on the outside of her upper thigh, a long scar that goes across the middle of her thigh, many scars on her left knee, and a few scars on her calves and feet.

both girls are sleeping with serene looks ok their faces. the painting overall has a very intimate feeling. end ID]

recently finished commission for @discipleofthe10thmuse that I LOVED doing (do not repost!)

[bestswaddleblanketsblog-blog]

Best Swaddle Blankets For Your Baby

My first baby didn't take care of swaddling. We swaddled him dutifully for the first few weeks as a result of that is merely what we thought we have been alleged to do. (I bet if a nurse at the hospital had caught a self-adhesive Christmas bow on his smooth spot I might saved on doing that too.) We gave up on swaddling pretty shortly, although, as a result of we simply didn't have any blankets to swaddle him with. For best swaddle blankets, well muslin swaddle blanket follow the link here.

If the advantages are so numerous, why do not more mother and father swaddle their infants? It can be a challenge to learn to swaddle a child correctly utilizing a typical blanket. The blanket have to be tight enough to stay fixed and make the child really feel secure, and yet loose sufficient in order that the toddler would not develop into overheated. As soon as a child begins shifting around, he typically kicks off his blanket, and a loose blanket within the crib can enhance the chance of SIDS. And most receiving blankets aren't massive sufficient to correctly swaddle a rising infant after a couple of months or even weeks.

Best Swaddle Blankets;

Receiving best swaddle blankets are a staple in a baby's world. They are an all-purpose blanket made from light-weight materials reminiscent of thermal waffle, polyester, fleece, muslins, flannel, and extra eco-pleasant choices akin to natural cotton or bamboo. They are both sq. or rectangular in form and will not be overly thick so that they can be easily wrapped across the child to assist preserve their body warmth. Newborns need to preserve their caloric consumption for weight achieve and may waste calories sustaining their own fragile temperatures.

Tangential, but I am fascinated by Caitlyn's child! I've all the time loved sleeping beneath heavy, heavy quilts (down comforters are wasted on me) however I hate the constriction of sleeping luggage. I am completely going to ask my husband to bury me in dried beans.

My son peed through all the pieces pretty usually the primary few weeks, so having enough items to wash and wear simultaneously was necessary. Newborns sleep on a regular basis in order that they're principally swaddled always. Then only during naps and sleep. This was our experience, I'm certain everybody choses in a different way based mostly on what their child likes.

Whereas swaddling prevents Sudden Infant Dying Syndrome (SIDS), it may also put it on the market. Confused? If you do not swaddle the child properly, and the folds are too close to the newborn's neck (thereby obstructing the windpipe), there are possibilities of SIDS. So just be sure you're swaddling the newborn accurately and leaving enough room close to the neck region.

Swaddling is practiced widely in hospital nurseries, and oldsters in nations comparable to Albania, Turkey and Afghanistan have used traditional swaddling strategies for generations. These strategies usually embrace particular swaddling clothes and bands, or several cloths positioned in a specific technique to keep the baby secure.

Being such good, huge and comfortable blankets, they're good for functions other than simply swaddling. I additionally like them for being out and about in the stroller or car seat, and they're nice for nursing or tummy time. Among the finest swaddle blankets you'll discover!

I used the hospital receiving blankets to swaddle my first son (6.5 pounds) and only from the chest down after the first couple of weeks. And we've got a couple stretchy waffle-weave blankets which are superior for swaddling, imo. A budget receiving blankets were good for tossing over the kids within the carseat in the summer. Generally the a/c is just a little much for the little ones but a bunting is way an excessive amount of. I was actually tempted to get a Miracle blanket for my 2nd son (10 kilos). I used to be given one as a present and a Swaddle Me as well. My 2nd son HATED both of them with a a fiery ardour. OMG! He hated them a lot. Both my boys principally simply wanted their legs swaddled as they liked to sleep with their arms raised. Swaddling the arms after a couple weeks was met with angry screaming child.

As soon as your toddler is past the swaddling stage, a wearable blanket (also referred to as a sleep sack or child sleeping bag) is extremely beneficial as a substitute of loose blankets, again due to the suffocation hazard the blanket can pose.

One other wonderful thing about these muslin swaddle blankets is that it comes with a foot pouch on the backside that's snug and yet stays comfy. It may be very tough to kick themselves out of the blanket and the arm flaps help safe their arms. This helps cease your baby from making facial scratches or make sudden actions (such because the startle reflex) that will solely wake them up and interrupt with their sleep. Most significantly, you would not have to deal with Velcro straps which may be very disturbing while you try to make diaper modifications in the midst of the night.

Now, what does this blanket have that makes it a true miracle? We aren't fairly certain both but it surely's in all probability the mixture of comfortable swaddling and a few belly stress that helps soothe them. Possibly this makes them really feel like they are nonetheless inside their mother's womb? Most certainly. However, whatever the reason is, we love that it works!

At first glance, the Woombie swaddle seems very tight and small but you'll have to remind yourself that infants come from the womb which might be snugger and tighter. Don't worry, your baby is within the excellent place and the comfy feeling is actually what helps soothe them and get them to sleep longer.

He did really begin busting out of that eventually, though, and we ended up getting the Halo Sleep Sack Swaddles. I beloved them. They can be utilized as a sleep sack, or they've this piece of cloth you wrap around their arms and fasten with a huge piece of velcro - there is not any getting out of it. Our son loved them, and so did we. We used them till he was about 6 months outdated, till he started rolling over in his sleep. The day we stopped swaddling was a sad day in our house.

All a budget flannel receiving blankets I've are rectangular - WTF? Fortuitously an older good friend of ours has a friend with a serger stitching machine, and she simply buys a yard of flannel (usually on sale at Joann for $2 or so) and serges the perimeters to make one GINORMOUS square swaddle blanket (forty eight x 48 inches, baby!). Our pal sent us 5, and we used them in constant rotation, and now I order a set as my customary baby shower reward for pregnant associates.

Numerous babies lose their capacity of arousal if they are swaddled for too lengthy. This implies they wouldn't know when to get up. While many parents need their babies to get a great sleep, babies must be swaddled for a restricted time only.

My second was a cranky newborn and I did not know what to do about it. My mother purchased me a bundle of swaddling blankets they usually utterly changed my life! I only had two and we used them until she outgrew them so a number of months. I plan on having 2 on hand with this one just in case she prefer to be swaddled.

Regardless, we still imagine that the Summer season Infant swaddles are great. They are not product of thick material so they aren't essentially the most best for use through the winter months but they're awesome in the course of the summer season. Some mothers actually nonetheless use it during winter and so they like it as a result of it keeps their infants warm sufficient however the materials is breathable and prevents warmth rash. They are undoubtedly nice for use on infants who are nonetheless a few weeks previous to a few months old.

I swore we have been going to send my older son to school with a twin sheet and instructions for his roommate. He is three and nonetheless likes piles of covers, which I think give him that very same feeling. My younger son is 8 months and only sleeps swaddled. We have flannel large blankets (from Goal) however I'm considering of getting the muslin ones for the summer season.

The snuggle sleeved knitted blankets are very comfy. It doesn't limit the actions of the infant's fingers and the infant can sleep comfortably. Additionally they are available varied animal shapes like rabbits, mouse or cats, and your child seems completely lovable.

Now, what's there to love concerning the Woombie swaddle? Properly, for starters, it's great for newborns as it offers among the many most comfortable fit. The material stretches and moves with the infant and but remains cosy and tight to create a womb-like environment, as if they're being snuggled and held.

I used to be in a position to use the cheapie receiving blankets for a few month after my first was born (four lb eight oz, so DUH!) however when my second (eight lb 10 oz, OUCHHHHHH) was born, I've no disgrace in admitting that I totally STOLE receiving blankets from the hospital. Oh yes I did. They're so much greater than those you purchase within the bundle, and so they had been already nice and worn in. I by no means purchased an actual swaddling blanket, and the three pilfered hospital blankets labored until she was about three months, when she instantly determined she HATED being swaddled.

Touted because the world's most pediatrician recommended swaddle blanket, the miracle blanket is extremely common. Constructed from 100% cotton, it is suitable for year spherical and one measurement suits all as much as the age of 14 weeks. The miracle blanket is designed that will help you create the right swaddle each time that your toddler won't escape of.

Trim the best swaddle blankets sides so they're square and straight. Then fold over an edge, by say 1/four or half of inch. You'll be able to either iron the fold in place, or fold it as you sew. Use the zigzag sew in your machine (99% of sewing machines have a zigzag stitch, even the cheap ones) to c over the uncooked edge of the material. That is quicker and simpler than an actual hem and I think higher for blankets anyway. Repeat for the other three sides. Ta-da! Finished blanket.