#them in another life core... sorry i am a sap

[roomba-mangga]

top image is the version i read first and while it did wring my heart like a wet rag the translation in my physical copy went the extra mile and beat me to death with a club in an alleyway

(bonus tears: the fact that they're parallel to thistle and delgal and this is what thistle might have said to him if they got to talk)

[kemendin]

Sorry to apparent current DnD canon but infravision is way cooler (er, warmer) than darkvision (also I have deep nostalgia for the Drizzt books) so I am KEEPING IT

Also I told you this post wasn't an exaggeration xD

“There we are,” says Gale softly. He lies back down as well, adjusting himself to roughly mirror Dhamari’s posture. He regards the drow with an easy smile for another moment, then lifts one hand and gives a languid twirl of his fingers. The candles floating above them dim, then fade away entirely, leaving the two men in quiet darkness. Dhamari remains as still as he can, heart thumping as he tries to acclimate himself to this new environment. Where his natural body temperature leans cooler, Gale is warm; Dhamari can feel it emanating from the man, enticing his own shivering form closer. And yet…. Turning his head, Dhamari lets his vision shift into the heat spectrum. Gale is indeed a beacon beside him - the steady glow of flames freshly turned to embers and moulded into human form. Yet where the bloom should be brightest, around his heart, there is instead a void - a dark ball like cold iron, coiling outward from his chest as it saps the warmth, the life, from his core.  The sight of it sends a harder knell through Dhamari’s already forceful heartbeat. He wants to reach out, spread his hand over the darkness, as though his own meagre warmth might be enough to soothe its bitter hunger. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t dare. Instead he lies there in silence for moment after moment, tense and uncertain and waiting; and he’s not even sure what he’s waiting for, because when he flicks a look from the corner of his eye, Gale is simply lying there too, his eyes closed now, his chest rising and falling with slow breaths. Dhamari watches him, then swallows, wets his lips, and at length ventures a hoarse question into the space between them: “What… what now?”

[kieraelieson]

Logic Still Needs Comfort

A fic for @im-a-creepy-cookie as a part of @sanderssidesgiftxchange! I did your touch-starved Logan prompt!

Warnings: detailed sensory issues, joking mention of death

Logan disliked being touched.

It had been known for years. They all knew it. Surprise hugs or claps on the shoulder startled him unpleasantly and even made him upset sometimes. Touching his hand to get his attention made him jump and frown. He himself had compared the experience to having a bug or an animal suddenly landing on him.

And so Roman and Patton learned not to touch him aside from the occasional celebratory high-five. Which was fine. Everyone was fine, and happy.

And then came Virgil. And accepting anxiety as a valuable part of Thomas. Which changed things.

••^*^••

“Hey, um… L?”

Logan turned to see Virgil fidgeting but staring at him with an intent look. “Yes?”

“So, um, well you know I told you how Remus is practically a leech, and there wasn’t any getting away from it, but I’m not saying Patton isn’t great! But just Roman is… Roman, and just, but Patton really is great but I kinda don’t want to get turned into a teddy bear, and you’re all calm, and I’m, well, I’m sort of missing the calm and….” Virgil looked down and huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Oh, this is gonna come out awkward any way I say it. Can I sit next to you? I just wanna play on my phone and maybe stick my legs over your lap or something.”

Logan cocked his head to the side just slightly. “You wish to stick your legs over my lap while sitting next to me? That seems like it would involve terrible posture.”

Virgil gave a little breath of a laugh. “Any way I sit involves bad posture.”

“Actually, occasionally when you sit you replicate what is sometimes called the ‘primal squat’ which is reported to be excellent for your posture.”

Virgil gave him a lopsided grin. “Ok, you got me there. Maybe. But anyway, would you mind? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I’ll head back to my room.”

Logan considered it carefully. It was true that he did not enjoy touch. But this seemed as if it would be relatively calm, and would not require much, if any, reciprocation on his part. “I do not ‘mind’,” he said, utilizing Virgil’s turn of phrase.

He was currently standing, reading a book he had taken from the bookshelf he was standing in front of, and had not yet decided whether to stay with this book or choose another. He quickly pulled out the other two he’d been considering, and tucked all three books under his arm before seating himself on a couch.

It was a pleasant place, the memory library. Calm and quiet, with almost a heaviness to the air that Logan found enjoyable in a way. It was also rather dim, however, at least in this area, where the memories were older, and Logan found it necessary to summon a side table with a lamp on it so that he would have suitable light for reading.

He’d momentarily forgotten about Virgil until the couch cushion dipped beside him. Virgil pulled off his shoes and glanced at Logan.

“You really don’t mind? I mean, I know it’s kind of invasive to your space. You don’t have to say yes.”

Logan nodded. “I am not opposed.”

Virgil very tentatively put one foot up on Logan’s lap, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Logan felt again that sudden unpleasant ‘something touching me’ feeling, but it passed surprisingly quickly, and by the time Virgil had fully settled himself, laying on his back with his knees up over Logan’s lap and his feet on the other side of Logan, the feeling was gone entirely.

Logan propped his book against Virgil’s knees and began to read.

He was a little surprised, when Patton called for dinner, to find that they had been there for close to two hours, and that the unpleasant feeling had never returned. Instead he was feeling warm, and comfortable, more than he had in quite a while. He attributed this to the couch. And perhaps the warmth was a slight raising of Thomas’s core temperature, due to stress at having Anxiety so close to the old memories. Perhaps they ought to have sat down somewhere a little further away.

Regardless, he was about to comment, as they got up, at how pleasant the experience had been. Except that as soon as they both stood up, he found he was suddenly and extremely unpleasantly cold. This alarmed him, and he left without discussing anything with Virgil, concerned that the warmth and sudden cold was a sign of sickness, perhaps only his own but perhaps a symptom that Thomas was sick as well.

He went straight to the miniature control center he’d set up in one corner of his room, pulling up all of Thomas’s vital signs as well as a recording of where he’d gone that day. But everything was normal.

The cold seemed to be fading somewhat, though it was leaving a concerning ache behind. And it seemed to be concentrated on his thighs and forearms, of all places.

Logan looked through his list of sicknesses, sensible and nonsensical, that he had somehow contracted over his life, and found nothing similar. Still, this must be a sickness of some kind. Most likely a nonsensical one, as he hadn’t noted similar symptoms before. Perhaps he would discover some absurd idiom Thomas had latched onto that was causing him to experience physical repercussions. Something similar to ‘brain freeze’ perhaps.

A soft knock at his door caught Logan’s attention.

“Yes?”

“Logan?” Patton’s voice asked. “Are you alright? Virgil told me what happened. He didn’t realize how much you don’t like being touched, and I think he’d like to apologize, but he’s really worried that you’re upset with him.”

“What—“ Logan had left rather abruptly, and without expressing to Virgil that he’d enjoyed their encounter. It was very possible, with Virgil’s anxiety, that he had misinterpreted Logan’s abrupt departure. “Ah. I see.” He waved a hand to open his door. “I am not in the least upset at Virgil. There seems to be a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, good.” Patton said, concern all over his face. “But you should probably tell Virgil that, and there’s some dinner saved for you yet.”

Logan nodded, the ache in his forearms and thighs rather distracting. “Thank you, Patton.” And then it hit him. If it really were an odd turn of phrase Thomas had attached to, Patton would certainly know it. “Have you happened to notice any interesting phrases recently?”

Patton frowned in confusion, indicating that Logan had changed the subject too rapidly for Patton to keep up. But then he grinned a little. “So today, I saw a baguette in a cage at the zoo!”

And then it was Logan’s turn to be confused for a moment, before he realized. “Ah, I didn’t mean a joke-“

“It was bread in captivity!” Patton smiled brightly, nearly laughing at his own joke.

“Yes, thank you, Patton,” Logan said, allowing the tiniest bit of an amused smile to show.

Even that slight encouragement made Patton beam. “Well, I told Roman that I would watch Disney with him tonight, so I’ll have to go, but don’t forget to talk with Virgil before you eat, and don’t forget to eat either!”

“I won’t forget,” Logan promised, a softer smile showing.

But as soon as Patton left he clapped a hand over his mouth. Why was he so… easily swayed? He prided himself on keeping a straight face, and yet now he’d smiled at Patton’s pun! What was wrong with him?

And now, with Patton leaving the room, it was as if the heat had been sapped. He was again very uncomfortable, aching and cold and he didn’t understand why. Was he perhaps experiencing some strange and extreme form of separation anxiety? It had set in both times as another side had left, though in different ways. But he didn’t feel anxious.

It was all incredibly strange.

But it seemed that Virgil was under a rather upsetting misconception. It could wait. He would speak with Virgil first and then look into this strange sickness further.

Logan crossed the hallway to knock on Virgil’s door.

The door opened almost immediately, Virgil looking as though he’d been waiting on someone to knock, and that Logan had not been the one he’d been expecting, based on the wide eyes and generally startled appearance.

“L, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known, I wouldn’t have wanted to make you uncomfortable—“

“Virgil, I assure you, I was perfectly comfortable. I would have expressed discomfort if I needed to.”

Virgil blinked, and the deep black of his eyeshadow faded somewhat. “You aren’t mad?”

“Not at all. I enjoyed the calm company you provided. I left abruptly upon discovering symptoms that indicate possible sickness.”

“Oh.” Virgil was silent a moment, gaze flickering away from Logan as he processed. “Wait, sick? Who’s sick?”

“I may be, though it is odd, and perhaps not a sickness at all.”

“Well, what is it? What’s going on? Are you ok? Is it contagious?”

“I do not know. I am experiencing a strange cold, and aching.”

Virgil’s eyebrows creased in concern. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Logan nodded seriously. “That is why I left, trying to discover what it could be.”

Virgil nodded in an encouraging, ‘go on’ kind of way.

“I haven’t found anything yet, but Patton informed me of the misunderstanding between us and reminded me to eat dinner. I intend to do more research afterwards.”

Virgil nodded. “I could rubber duck for you, if you want. Maybe I could help a bit.”

Logan stared, trying to remember what the phrase was meant to convey before revealing his confusion. He was certain he had it on a flash card somewhere, but he’d left them in his room.

Virgil rather obviously quashed an amused smile. “You tell me what happened, and then we see if we can figure it out together. Repeating the details can help you connect them better sometimes.”

“Ah. Yes. That does seem useful. Thank you.”

Virgil gave him a lopsided grin, pulling up his hood and closing his door behind himself. “So when did you first notice the symptoms?”

Logan explained his symptoms and research to Virgil as they went downstairs and sat down at the table.

“And I still have very little of an idea of why,” Logan admitted. “I believe it possible that it’s another of those idioms that we sometimes experience physically.”

Virgil nodded very slowly. “I actually… might have an idea. I have an experiment I’d like to try, but if I explain it fully it’ll bias you and it probably won’t work.”

“Go ahead,” Logan said, opening the Tupperware container of spaghetti. “What is your experiment?”

Virgil reached one hand across the table. “While you’re eating, give me one hand.”

Logan considered, reaching out to hold Virgil’s hand. “Does this have something to do with checking pulse? You would be able to do that more easily with my wrist than my hand.”

Virgil shook his head. “Just eat, and when you’re done we’ll see how it goes.”

Logan frowned slightly. “Do you believe this has something to do with how recently I’ve eaten? Or that it could be influenced by the focus needed to do something with only one hand?”

Virgil chuckled. “I’ll explain once you’ve eaten.”

Logan was far too curious to wait patiently, and ate quickly, pushing away a not-quite empty container. “What is it?”

“Are you feeling warm again?”

Logan took a moment to assess, and realized that yes. He was feeling warmer. The ache as well was completely gone. “I am. Is it the food?”

Virgil offered a rather sad smile. “Alright, now let go of my hand and tell me what you feel then.”

Logan let go, and almost immediately the cold rushed back. He frowned. “But why? Why do I suddenly seem to have my physical temperature tied to the proximity of you and the other sides?”

His hand ached, and he held Virgil’s again, relieved, but utterly confused when the unpleasant feelings faded.

“I’ve had something like this,” Virgil said. “But not quite the same as yours, based on what Patton was saying. I think you’re probably touch starved.”

Logan considered this silently.

“But I don’t like being touched.”

Virgil gave his hand a slight squeeze. “You don’t seem to mind this.”

Logan nodded, very slowly. “You’re right. I… I don’t mind this at all.”

“I think we should talk to the others,” Virgil suggested.

Logan nodded slowly. “I suppose so.”

••^*^••

“You’re what?!” Patton practically wailed, throwing himself at Logan in a hug.

Immediately Logan felt like he wanted to crawl out his skin. This was miserable. In no way what he wanted. It didn’t feel right at all. It was like a whole hive of insects were buzzing just below his skin.

He pushed Patton off of him, more roughly than he would have intended. “Get off!”

Patton stopped immediately, staring in confusion and hurt.

Logan couldn’t handle it. He was freezing, and his skin was crawling, and his mind seemed filled with static. It was terrible. He just couldn’t.

He barely understood the words directed at him from the other sides as he sank out.

He locked his door and shuddered, hands repeatedly making and releasing fists. He shuddered again, trying to dislodge the crawling feeling. It didn’t leave.

He’d been right, he didn’t like touch. Not at all.

He got into the shower, running the water hot and scrubbing the disgusting feeling away. It helped warm him up as well, which felt way better. He bundled into his bed, pulling the weighted blanket that had been a gift from Virgil over himself.

A while later, finally calm and comfortable, he conjured a note to stick on the door.

I am not upset, but please leave me alone.

••^*^••

Logan spent the next several days figuratively buried in research. He investigated touch starvation as well as touch aversion, and a host of other possible clues to his situation.

He also gradually became more uncomfortable, holed up in his room.

He came to the conclusion that he did, in fact, have a kind of touch starvation, awakened to a roaring hunger by that pleasant afternoon sitting with Virgil.

But he also certainly had an aversion to being touched in certain ways. And he suspected, looking into it more, that surprise was a large factor, as well as the amount of him that was being touched, and perhaps the way in which he was touched.

He was basing this largely on his own reactions to Virgil’s method of touching, as compared to Patton’s or Roman’s, since he highly doubted that it was something inherent in them that he was averse to.

Finally his findings were all put together into one detailed, though as of yet hypothetical, presentation. Armed with this, and a determination not to touch anyone until he’d presented his findings, he opened the door to his room.

As he’d suspected, there was something attached to his door that made a noise as it was opened, and he was soon nearly mobbed with the other sides. They didn’t touch, or come too near, or say anything, but all came very quickly to stare at him, worry in every gaze.

He raised his folder. “I have a presentation. Please gather in the living room.”

It didn’t take long. Not at all.

Logan opened the folder and set it on top of the tv, so that the images could be seen.

“I believe Virgil was correct in suggesting that I have a degree of touch starvation.” He flipped through a few pages, supporting this statement with both facts and personal experiences.

He paused. This was the part that was likely to hurt feelings. Even he knew it, and he wasn’t usually adept at understanding feelings. But it was necessary.

“However, in satisfying this hunger, I will need to be ‘picky’. I have boundaries outlined in this section, and I need to keep them rigidly. This will mean that I will not be open to surprise touch, and likely not to hugs either. I would like to have support from each of you, support in accordance with what I’m capable of handling.”

“Absolutely, Logan,” Patton said. “I’d really like to be able to help you in the right way.”

Both Roman and Virgil nodded very solemnly and enthusiastically.

Logan smiled, more moved by this expression of support than he’d expected to be. “Thank you, Patton. And thank you two as well. I will be very much in need of your assistance.”

He cleared his throat, more in an attempt to gather himself together than any really obstruction. “I’ve laid out a number of methods of touch that I believe would be helpful to me, and arranged them by likelihood of success, and also divided by which I believe each of you would be more inclined to enjoy yourselves.”

••^*^••

Logan was seated on his bed, organizing and updating his flashcards, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

“Hey,” Roman said, peeking in rather shyly. “Um, can we try one of those things now? I brought something to do.”

Logan considered, a slight curl of worry in his stomach. “Yes. I believe now would be a good time.”

Roman fully entered the room. “So I can sit behind you, and do my thing, and I won’t bother you while you do yours.”

Logan smiled slightly. “That sounds pleasant.”

Roman grinned, a bit of pride evident in his expression. He sat behind Logan on the bed, facing away from him, and leaned back slightly, so that they were each leaning against the other.

For about thirty seconds, Logan was uncomfortable, but gradually, warmth spread out through his body, and his mind was able to return its focus to his flashcards, and soon he found he was quite comfortable.

“Hey, specs, what do you call a little tiny shovel? Like the ones for kids. Or I guess not for kids, or not all the time.”

“That would be called a trowel, though perhaps a more recognizable, less correct term would be a spade.”

“Thanks!”

Logan could hear the smile in Roman’s voice, and smiled himself. This was genuinely pleasant.

Even after he had finished with his flashcards, Logan didn’t move. He just soaked in the wonderful warmth, answering whatever questions Roman had, and occasionally listening as Roman gushed about a particular sentence or paragraph he was especially proud of writing.

••^*^••

Logan walked beside Patton, enjoying the false nature of the imagination. He was familiar with much of the flora and fauna, even a decent portion of those entirely invented within Thomas’s mind. And Patton seemed to enjoy Logan’s rambling as much as Logan enjoyed the rambling.

A hand bumped gently against his, and Logan hesitated a moment, before linking his pinky finger with Patton’s.

Patton’s smile grew even brighter. “And you were saying the seeds of that tree are special? What kind of special are they?”

Logan smiled proudly, launching into an explanation. Patton swung their hands back and forth gently as they walked, and Logan felt something within him fill up. He felt pleasantly full, as if there was a cup inside him that had been long empty, and was now trickling over the rim, full enough to even spill.

••^*^••

Logan and Virgil laid out on the roof, looking up at the night sky. They were side by side, with Logan’s left leg tangled up with Virgil’s right.

It was calm. And warm. And peaceful.

In a reverse of the usual pattern, Virgil was the one telling the myth, this time of people who had lifted up the sky.

Logan felt himself drifting off, more comfortable than he could remember being in a very long time. He was figuratively floating on soft, warm clouds. Drifting into a summer night. He was safe, and content. Comfortable.

••^*^••

“Patton,” Logan said slowly.

“Hmm?”

“I would like to attempt a hug.”

Patton turned all his attention to Logan. “You sure?”

Logan nodded. “Yes. Just— slowly. And gently.”

Patton nodded solemnly, reaching his arms out.

Logan slowly leaned into the embrace, and Patton gently wrapped his arms around him.

And it wasn’t bad.

Logan hugged Patton, squeezing lightly before letting go. “Thank you.”

Patton’s eyes were all shimmery, and his smile wobbled. “You’re welcome, Logan!”

••^*^••

The door burst open dramatically and Roman ran in, flopping over the arm of the couch and letting out an even more dramatic groan. Then he peeked his eyes open, and moved to just as dramatically flop onto Logan’s lap.

“I fought dragons.” He announced, his voice a whisper as if he were inches away from death.

Logan, for once, was hit with a burst of mischievousness, and patted Roman’s face in an intentionally awkward way. “I will be sure to mention it at your funeral. I’m sure you’ve written an extensive ballad, and I’ll force Virgil to sing it in your honor.”

Roman had a sudden grin before resuming his ‘dying of exhaustion and probably wounds’ act. “Make sure you do,” he croaked out. “And have Patton put flowers in my casket.”

“Of course.”

Roman went limp, closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out.

“Patton!” Logan called. “We’re going to have to put on a funeral.”

“A what?!”

••^*^••

Logan leaned against Virgil’s side, his empty cup of coffee set beside him, as the second movie began to wrap up.

“If they start another movie, you can lay in my lap and go to sleep,” Virgil offered quietly.

Logan, who despite the coffee was beginning to nod, hummed an affirmative.

He was woken up a good deal later by a lack of sound, and found that they’d just finished what might have been the third, but could’ve been the fourth or fifth movie of the night. He was laying on a pillow in Virgil’s lap, and his legs were up in Roman’s lap. And judging by Patton’s smile, pictures had been taken.

“We’re finishing up now,” Patton whispered. “And setting up to sleep out here. Do you want to stay in here or go to your own room?”

Logan yawned. “It will be far better for my posture to go to my own room… but if you were to turn on a sound machine… I would not be opposed to remaining here.”

Soon, something between white noise and rain lulled him back to sleep.

••^*^••

They all found a marked improvement, both in Logan’s mood and even in Thomas’s clarity of mind, as they continued experimenting with touch.

It was discovered that Roman, while not starved, was also touch-hungry, and was practically a giant dog in that he would accept any and all kinds of petting.

And as Logan regulated, he found he was even more ready to give touch than to receive it. Roman flopping onto him after ‘terrible and glorious battles’ became a regular occurrence, often ending with Roman falling asleep, Logan gently scritching at his scalp.

Walks with Patton became something they both greatly enjoyed and looked forward to. Sometimes they could only link pinkies, sometimes holding hands, sometimes even walking arm in arm.

And Virgil was always ready to do something of his own near Logan, a limb draped over him or pressed up against him.

Logan found himself repeatedly thinking back to that one afternoon in the memory library, incredibly grateful that Virgil had asked, and that he had said yes. He could see so much in his life that was better now.

And he was really, truly happy.

[kth1]

Dream [KTH]

Dream [Taehyung x Reader] ⟶ Credits: @kimtaehyunq​ ⟶ Genre: Soft Smut | 21+ | Boyfriend AU | First-person Oneshot ⟶ Warnings: use of vulgar language, adult content, foreplay, creampie, fingering, soft, strong/mature theme, unprotected sex, bed sex, etc ⟶ WC: 3.3k+ ⟶ Summary: Your subconscious was messing with you a little too much, leaving you restless, nervous, and weary. Taehyung is here to reassure you though. ⟶ Teaser: My mouth parted once he put strong pressure against my spot, holding it there while intensely focusing on rolling my bud around his fingers. My toes curled up the same time my back arched, gasping “D-Don’t stop!” ⟶ Author’s note: One morning I woke up really early and got pretty upset by a dream of mine, causing me to not be able to fall back asleep. Since I couldn’t sleep, I decided that in the hours of the wee morning; I jotted down some drabbles/wips and somehow… I made a really soft oneshot. Ta-da! These stories are just pure imagination, nothing to do with actual life of whom it may concern. Hope you like it! 😊

I was tossing and turning in bed all night, not being able to comfortably fall asleep. My boyfriend, Taehyung, knocked out relatively fast after watching a movie with me. I just couldn’t get tired, I was restless. I was going back and forth with shutting my eyes closed for what seemed to be hours, only to find out it’s been a few minutes. Checking my phone out of boredom multiple times and placing it back on the bedside table.

It had to of been after 3 AM when I finally had some shut eye. But it didn’t last long.

I woke up overheated, panicked. My dream woke me up and gave my body full adrenaline, heart racing and everything. A dream that upset me and I was glad I woke up before I encountered anymore saddening thoughts.

Lazily, I threw some of the covers off my legs to expose my skin to the cool air outside of the comforter. Sweat accumulated behind my neck causing my hair to damp up and making me toss to the side with a huff. What was causing my sleeplessness? I checked my phone once more and noticed the time, 5:30 AM on the dot.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Why?” I said in a low whisper.

It was mid-November and it was way too early for a sunrise at this hour. I stared blankly at the curtains hanging in front of the window, trying to peer through the sheer fabric of it and watch the tree’s leaves move with the wind. I can hear the light drizzling of rain hitting the clear glass.

A weight shifted on the bed, indicating that Taehyung was moving around in his sleep. I turned my head to face my handsome boyfriend who was clutching to a pillow and laying on his stomach, face turned towards me with his lips parted. His eyes closed shut; I listened to his light breathing.

He looked so peaceful and calm. His facial features were relaxed and looked soft to the touch. I smiled to myself, thinking that I was so lucky to have someone like him in my life. So happy I can see him in this state.

My hand slowly made its way to gently cup his cheek. Taking my thumb and caressing his soft tanned skin as I continued to gaze at his features. My touch caused him to grumble in his sleep, wincing a little bit and moving his mouth around to re-comfort himself. My lips curved into a smirk, because he looked so cute. So soft.

It was when I pulled my hand away from his face where I unexpectedly heard, “Why’d you stop?” In a deep raspy tone.

Eyebrows raised in surprise and feeling a little guilty, “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said.

His eyes remained closed as he communicated back to me. Exhaling deeply as he was slowly waking up out of his sleep. “You ok?” He reached out slothful-like to find my arm and rub up it in a comforting way.

I hummed, assuring him I was content. “I just couldn’t really sleep,” I mumbled.

Heavy-eyed Tae swiftly move the pillow that was under him away and latched onto me, moving my body facing away and spooning me from the back. He dug his face into the back of my head and softly placed a few sluggish kisses.

Tae’s body radiated with heat, causing me to shift the covers down a bit more. He smelt so nice though. His groggy behavior was super adorable, and he was definitely making me feel more at ease with his arms around me.

“Did you have a bad dream, Jagi?”

How did he know? I closed my eyes after nodding my head yes, trying to stop any type of tears from forming. I didn’t particularly want to talk about my dream at this very moment because it still seemed so fresh. I sighed heavily and pulled Tae’s hand up to my face to give a peck to the back of his mitt.

“Tell me about it.” His breath hit the back of my neck as his chest vibrated along with his baritone voice. He nuzzled his nose into my shoulder, I could feel the air exit his nostrils on my skin.

I felt my body get heavy all of a sudden, a weight I wasn’t aware of but now it made its visit and I had to deal with it before I bottle it up. “I-I lost you,” I hesitantly spoke, nearly choking back on my tongue as the words left my mouth.

A few moments of silence enveloped the room, allowing the trickling of the raindrops against that damn window becoming boomingly loud. I could feel my own heartbeat quicken at the anticipation and stillness.

“What do you mean?”

“You left me.” My stomach churned as a reviled the plot of my nightmare. My grip tightened around Tae’s palm, not wanting to let him go.

Peppered kisses contacted my shoulder briskly as Tae let out a displeased grunt. “No. No.” He spoke in between. “Don’t dream about things like that. I’m here, I don’t want to leave.”

That’s what got me. That last sentence got me to break. My emotions got the best of me and trails of tears escaped my ducts and flowed down my face. It would have been fine because I had my back towards Tae and he couldn’t see my face, but it’s my sniffling that blew my cover.

I knew Tae was on full alert now, probably with eyes wide open and trying to calm down his sobbing girlfriend. I just buried my face into the pillow and reassured him I was ok, before he could even ask again.

“I’m sorry. I swear I’m okay, Tae.”

“Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re allowed to feel the way you’re feeling.” His soothing voice caused my heart to ache even more. This man was so kind, so nurturing, empathetic and it made me vulnerable against him. He knew exactly how to handle me, how to make me feel good about myself. I really couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

“I just really, really, really love you, Tae.”

“I love you too, Jagi. You make me so happy; you have no idea.”

Taehyung squeezed me against his chest, smushing us together in the act of being cute and trying to lighten up the mood. I heard of soft chuckle behind my back, causing me to smile at him.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” He whispered into my ear.

“Tae—”

His actions interrupted my sentence when he leaned up and kissed in the crook of my neck. His contact was abrupt but soft. Scattering his lips along the column of my neck. His hand that I had clutched released from my grasp and made its way down my side and onto my hip, stroking the area slowly.

I inhaled sharply when Tae found my sweet spot under my ear. He began sucking on the skin and grazing his teeth, making me heat up more under his touches.

My hand instinctively made its way in his hair as I lightly pet him, slightly tugging at some strands that got intertwined between my fingers. He was making me feel in bliss. My negative mind was being transported over the moon with his arousing behavior.

The hand that laid on my hip slowly dipped into the elastic of my shorts, slithering through my undies and making contact with my folds. I could feel my face blush the second he started humming into my ear and nipping at my lobe.

My slickness was present, there was no denying that. I felt completely comfortable with Tae, I was willing to be as defenseless as possible with the man I fell in love with. His finger pushed into my slit, collecting my self-lubricated sap and slipping his finger up and down my wetness.

I jutted my butt back into him out of pure reaction due to the flick over my sensitive bud he did with the pad of his finger. My breathing hitched, while Tae’s was still steady and in control. When my ass pushed back into his hips, I could feel the slight erection he had going on under his briefs. He used his positioning to his advantage and put pressure back against me, while he toyed around with my clit.

Tae’s fingers expertly fiddled around my core, making my eyes flutter shut and my head rest back against him as he inserted a digit into my center. My teeth took in my bottom lip. Slowly fingering up into me, he added another finger. My hand reached down to his wrist and gripped onto it, not trying to stop the sensual pleasure, but to help guide him in the way I wanted to feel it. “Tae—” I breathlessly spoke out to him.

In a low husky voice Tae responds to me, “Yes, Jagi? Do you like this?”

My face flushed quickly, making me feel embarrassed that I was so engulfed by this sensation. But I didn’t feel shy at letting him know, “Yes.”

He removed his fingers from me, allowing me to take a breath that I didn’t realize I needed. Tae’s hands made their way to the band of my shorts and started tugging them down pass my knees along with my panties. He slightly pushed my lower back, giving me the hint to arch my tailbone towards him. He shuffled around, lowering his briefs to set free his member.

His dick made contact between my thighs, making me grin with excitement. He teasingly trailed his hard-on up and down my legs, tapping at my folds and then removing it just to repeat the process. Eagerly I tried pushing myself back onto him when he contacted me at my core again, causing the head dip in my slit and instantly getting polished with my juices.

Tae smirked as he leaned back to my neck with his dick positioned at my entrance. With his hand he drew circles with his stick, guiding it up, down, and all around.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.” He slowly entered me from behind.

Inch by inch Tae took his time easing into my walls. Allowing me to feel everything and adjust to him at a comfortable pace. Pulling back just to shove a bit more forward, until he finally sank his girthy dick all the way inside me. His lips made contact with my neck once again as I let out small moans.

Like music to his ears, my moans encouraged Tae to continue his work. He pumped into me at a slow pace, filling me up and pulling away. Making my body ache for him just to fill me up again. Small grunts escaped his throat, notifying me that this also feels good for him.

His fingers found my exposed bud again, this time without fabric constricting him. The double sensation shot a surge of pleasure up my body and my face glowed red. He was taking his time, loving me slowly and fully, showing me what it feels like to be together.

The tip of his member constantly skimmed against my g-shot, my pressure point. Not only his fingers were flicking around my swollen bean, but his dick was squishing up into my wall causing me to feel a strong coil build up deep within me.

My mouth parted once he put strong pressure against my spot, holding it there while intensely focusing on rolling my bud around his fingers. My toes curled up the same time my back arched, gasping “D-Don’t stop!”

The power was so much that a wave of electrifying sensations rippled through my lower abdomen and my body started twitching around Tae’s sunken cock. He kept a firm hold on me, making sure my hips didn’t pull away from him as I rode my orgasm.

Tae continued sliding his dick deep inside of me, pushing as deep as possible and holding me there. “I love you,” he repeated.

Coming down from my quick high, I tried twisting my body to meet his face. Locking our lips together straight away. “I want to look at you,” I stated sheepishly.

I felt his gaze on me, an endearing look. I looked back into his dark eyes that had a tint of seriousness to them, “You can always look at me,” he said smiling. I was completely captivated by him.

Tae pulled out without hurry, pulling my body to lay on my back and pushed my legs aside so he can fit back in place. Now I was able to see my boyfriend, watch him just like how I was when he was asleep. This time I get to see his features, his mannerisms, everything. Tae reached at the hem of my shirt and gently pulled it up and over my head, uncovering my bare torso to him. He leaned down to meet my face with a smile, giving me a warm kiss.

Both of my hands had made it into his hair, keeping him there to deepen the kiss. I moved my legs alongside his body, giving him friction against our skins. When we disconnected, we both stared back into another’s eyes, getting lost into our own world. We were both sleepy, tired, but still very much in love.

“God, I love you so much.” I blurted out.

He chuckled lightly, biting on his bottom lip. Placing one more peck on my mouth, and proceeded to my cheek, my jawline, down my neck, to my clavicles. His hands massaged at my breasts when his lips continued making light purple marks across my surface.

When he finally reached down to my boobs, his mouth hovered my right puffy nipple. Poking it with his wet tongue, forcing the area to harden. My hands ran up and down his arms, tracing his biceps and deltoids as I hummed in response.

I lifted my legs up and over his waist, wanting him closer to me. Leaning back down, he slid his dick back in, with my wetness giving him an easier time to enter. My hands gripped his arms for more support, while he thrusted deep into my cunt. Using his lower back, he bucked his hips up into me, forcing me back into another haze of what felt like heaven. He didn’t go slow this time, but he also wasn’t going fast. It was an immersed speed that made the both of us satisfied, enough to show how much he cares to make love to me.

Our moans together were a symphony. Trying to make this session last as long as possible, but also trying to make another feel as pleased as possible. We were determined for both.

“Ah Jagi, I’m close!” Tae panted. I can see a bead of sweat drip down the side of his forehead. I was in shock with how well he was holding himself back. How calm he was. But his orgasm was creeping up on him, and it looked like he really wanted to show me everything he’s got.

“Babe,” I whispered. I pulled him close by the back of his neck, linking my arms behind him and secured our lips together in a very passionate, sloppy kiss. I tightened my legs around him, limiting his space from pulling out all the way.

I believe Tae realized what I was doing, he caught on pretty quick to most things anyways. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, trying to last as long as possible. But I knew he was caving in to the feeling of his dick being hugged by my warm, damp walls.

“Show me how much.” I whispered into his ear, letting out a whimper once he fastened his pace into quick sporadic strokes. Forcing himself deep inside me before releasing his warm load, letting out an exhausting throat grunt. Holding me close to him.

We both were panting, catching air as quick as it left our bodies. Tae laid on top of me, dick still submerged into my cunt. I could feel his member twitching ever so slightly, probably rocking down from his climax.

We held another during this time, until Tae was ready to roll off. He leaned up with a grin and glossy eyes. About to detach from me, I quickly gripped onto him and rolled the both of us over, so I was straddling his crotch as his member was practically glued in me.

“Y/n…” his croaky voice sent a heart welching feeling to me.

I kissed at the tears that broke free from the brims of his eyes. Wiping them clean from his now rosy cheeks. “Please don’t cry!” I said worriedly. Making him lightly laugh.

“It’s ok, Y/n.” He smiled with his eyes as his teeth beamed at me. “They’re happy tears.”

Even though these were tears of joy, it still hurt my heart. Not in a negative way, in a warming sensitive way. It ached; my heart was swelling up for Taehyung. And I would not have it any other way.

All my passion amped up in the spur of the moment and I leaned down kissing all over Tae’s face, leaving no section un-kissed. His hands made their way to my waist with his thumbs rubbing circles into my skin. He made an attempt to lift me up off of his sensitive member, but I refused. Instead I forced myself locked down on him, rolling my hips in circles. Using his shaft for my personal pleasure and his pelvis as an optimal place to stimulate my clit.

Tae’s head cocked to the side as his face skewed with hypersensitivity running through his strong figure, parting his lips and knitting his brows together. Both of our breathes picked up fast, our chests heaving as I helped get us to our next high, together.

We were more vocal now as we chased our climaxes, “Ah-ah Jagi! Fuc-,“ Tae moaned out loud. He groaned out in awe, watching me rocking around on top of him, riding him. The puddle of mixed liquids pooled between us, seaming through the connection we had and drenching everything in its path.  

I rapidly grabbed Tae’s hands in mine, lacing our fingers together as my body got shot with a rapture of pleasure, tightening my walls around Tae’s swollen dick. He choked back on his moan; the feeling so intense to him causing an orgasm to pop up out of nowhere. We both let out a high-pitched moan as we hit our peaks; him shooting more seeds up into me as I leaked all over his thighs.

This orgasm felt like I was swept from my feet, goosebumps all over my body, my body on an all-time high and trembling on him. Causing me to lose balance on top of Tae. He was quick to catch hold on me and lay me on my side by him.

We laid there, in our mess. A messy pile full of love. We embraced another, caressing whatever body part that was available to us.

“I hope you don’t have any more dreams or worries about losing me,” he placed a sweet and tender kiss to my forehead. “I love you too much to leave.”

I wrapped my arms tighter around Tae’s torso, cuddling up close into his chest. Shaking my head, “I won’t. I want to stay like this.”

“We need to clean ourselves and the bed up though.” Tae admitted, giggling.

“Another 5 minutes then?”

He smirked, reaching over to my phone on the bedside table and checking the time. “Ah, it’s 6:13 AM.”

I looked up at him, feeling a bit guilty on how early it was. Knowing we will probably have a very lazy day ahead of us. But I smiled when he spoke up.

“I’ll set a timer. 5 minutes. Then we’ll shower, grab some food and hot cocoa, throw these sheets in the washer, and watch the sun rise through this rainy weather. Deal?”

“Deal.”

© All rights reserved under @kimtaehyunq​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This tumblr is the ONLY place my fics are posted.

[1-1snailxd-art]

Sanders Sides oneshot fic - Magic Beans

Type: Magic au (kinda...like my own magic universe)

Characters: Logan Sanders, Remy/Sleep, Virgil (Patton and Roman are mentioned)

Relationships: I’m tagging losleep put it’s mostly platonic cause they’re roommates (oh my god they were roommates) and analogical because that’s the bit, implied royality.

Warnings: Remy swears...he said b**ch.

Words: 2032

Summary: Remy steps in when his sleep deprived roommate wants to quit magic school before even attempting to learn magic. A visit to his favourite coffee shop seems like the best way to snap Logan out of the funk he’s in.

Authors note: Look, I was sad, I watched @blinksinbewilderment stream on instagram and they mentioned a losleep/analogical magic coffee shop au (no angst) and I tried something. 

General Taglist (let me know if you want on or off): @thequeensphinx @ollyollyoxinfree @celeste-tyrrell @pumpkinminette

Bonus: @aowrot did some art of Remy (click to see). I approve of his style and floating hat. Honoured to have fanart done for this little tale. 

———————————————

“Girl, you know there is a bed right there for a reason.”

Logan sat up stiffly when the sound of Remy’s voice filled his tired ears, along with the crinkling of paper as he moved.

“I am…aware.” He said, squinting up at the man highlighted by his desk lamp. “I did not intend to sleep here.”

“Well, you did, and if that schedule is correct, you have class in an hour.”

Normally that comment would have caused Logan to bolt upright, but instead he slammed his head against the desk and groaned in frustration. If Remy’s statement on time was correct, he’d probably managed a maximum of 2 hours of uncomfortable sleep and was nowhere near ready to give his presentation on wand construction.

“You learning through osmosis now?”

“If it were possible, I would.” Logan mumbled into the paper before sitting up to rub his forehead. “I shouldn’t even bother. This whole thing is pointless. I’m not going to get into the magic course anyway, so I might as well give up and go to sleep.”

“Right, bitch, we’re out!”

Logan gasped and fumbled over his words as Remy suddenly pulled his chair back and pulled him up by his arm.

“Wha-where are we going?”

“We need a magic elixir to find my annoying, magic obsessed, roommate because that ain’t you right now.”

“That is ridiculous.” Logan huffed, unable to pull out of their friends firm grip. “Even if some personality changing elixir did exist, you wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

“True, but you don’t gotta bring it up.”

Remy was kind enough to at least grab Logan’s satchel as they left their tiny dwelling and headed into the town centre; leading the conversation so Logan could walk in reasonable silence. When the pair had first moved in together, they had hardly interacted beyond cleaning and rent day. Remy was either working or out at someone’s party until the early hours, while Logan filled his daily schedule with work, class and study. At one point, Remy questioned if the man ever slept or understood the meaning of free time. However, over the past month, Remy noticed a shift in Logan’s behaviour that he couldn’t ignore. Dishes were left piled into the sink more often, curse words penetrated the thin walls at all hours and he found an empty jam jar left on the count with a spoon in it. The jam was the final straw for Remy because it was too weird to be considered normal for his formally perfect roommate.

 “May I ask where exactly we are going?”

The further they walked into the busy centre, the more Logan wanted to return to his room and forget the real world existed.

“I told you. To get an elixir.”

“That was a joke, so what is the truth.”

A sideways glance with a raised eyebrow was the only response Logan received as Remy took his hand and quicken their pace down the street. Rounding the corner Logan groaned as he saw the painted sign for ‘The Magic Beans’ and understood what his black jacket clad mate had meant by elixir.

“Coffee? Seriously?”

“Serious as a heart attack, babes.” Remy said, holding the door open for Logan to walk inside. “Trust me, this will perk you right up.”

“You’ve been partying with Patton again haven’t you?”

“I will not apologise for appreciating Roman’s poppin’ parties with that puffball dancing around. That kid has more energy than 100 shots of espresso.”

Shuffling awkwardly around the couch in the stores centre, Logan watched as empty cups levitated their way into the kitchen and laughter echoed from full tables and booths. Jealousy gripped his gut as he watched how effortless some of the workers made magic seem. Clearly, they had been blessed with strong magic in their families, unlike him. Remy may have been perfectly content with a magic-less existence, but Logan wasn’t. He wanted nothing more than to point his finger at a book to guide it to him, or even just be able to use a wand. Anything that would make him more than what he was.

“This way bookworm,” Remy guided Logan to a secluded booth in the far corner of the store and ushered him into the seat. “Let me introduce you to my magic elixir of life.”

“I don’t understand the allure of a beverage brewed from bitter tasting beans.”

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Remy beamed, hiding his face behind a menu.

“Doubtful. I’ve tasted coffee before and it was far from an enjoyable experience.”

“Haven’t tried magic beans then, have you?”

Suddenly Logan understood why Remy was hiding his face, because he was sure he was trying to compose himself right now. The voice belonged to a man that made Logan’s brain come to a sudden halt; eyes lined black, purple highlights peeked through black hair, and glossed lips were pulled into a half smile that Logan couldn’t take his eyes off.

“He hasn’t.” Remy cooed, lowering the menu and leaning back now he could maintain a cool expression. “Logan is a hard one to coax away from study hall and your parents don’t allow take away.”

The worker chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, giving Logan a peek of his hip as the black uniform lifted behind his apron.

“Yeah, they are very protective of our recipes. Better safe than sorry though. You just want the usual, Rem?”

“Cheers, babes. You know how I like it.”

“Sure thing. And what can I get - ah, Logan, was it?”

Worry danced across the server’s eyes when he was met with only a stare in response. Upon releasing he had been asked a question, Logan cleared his throat and forced his mind to function enough to grab a menu without showing just how shaky his hands were.

“Ah-um-yes. Logan is, well, me.” Cheeks burning, Logan cursed his sleep deprived brain for being unable to form coherent sentences and tried to read the jumble of letters in front of him. “I’ll have a…um…”

With a sigh of defeat, Logan dropped the menu on the table and hopped he didn’t look too ridiculous smiling up at the other man.

“I don’t know what to have. I’m sorry. This isn’t really my…”

“Cup of tea?” He offered, seeming to immediately regret the comment as Logan blinked back.

“…ironically, I’m not a tea fan either, um…my apologies, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Oh, sorry. Virgil.” Quickly scrapping his hand down his pants to dry it, Logan shook the hand Virgil had extended. “So, you’re a real newbie to this scene then. How have you survived studying?”

“He isn’t surviving, which is why I’ve brought him here.” Remy offered before he had to watch another awkward pause.

“Right.” Virgil let out an awkward chuckle and ran a hand through his fringe as he thought out loud. “So, coffee noob, not a tea fan, study-aholic. Do you prefer sweet or savoury flavours?”

“Oh, Logan is very salty.” Logan’s head snapped round and glared at his friend opposite him. “Girl, that look only cements my point. What do you recommend, Virge?”

“I think I’ve got an idea. I’ll be back.”

“Take your time,” Logan called after him as he watched Virgil walk back towards the counter.

 “You’re so gay-ow!”

Logan kicked Remy under the table and spoke in a hushed tone.

“What the heck was that?”

“You’re smitten, kitten, that’s what.” Remy said, rubbing his shin under the table. “Thank Mama Remy when you get his number.”

“Falsehood. I’m going to kill Mama Remy while he sleeps.”

“Good luck with that, you’ll be too preoccupied to even think about me. So, what’s the most powerful wand core?”

“Phoenix feather strands with northern tree sap.” Logan replied without thought; resting his elbow on the table so he could comfortably massage his left temple. “What exactly is your plan here?”

“To find the nerd that wants to put magic into the Sanders name despite what his parents say. Should I buy a wand or make my own?”

“I seriously doubt I will ever be able to learn magic at this rate… and if you’re born with magic, and the wand is just for show, buy it; but you’ll need to make it if you’re not.”

“I think you’re gonna blow them away when you pass this course and get to make a wand. I can see you now;” pushing his glasses up onto his head, Remy gestured an invisible wand out to the side. “Wielding a wand crafted from a fallen elm.”

“Based on previous encounters, I’d say that is more likely Roman’s style. Given my birth is in the later part of the year, and my reduced sight, oak would be a much better fit.” Yawning, Logan fiddled with the corner of the menu until he froze at Remy’s laugh. “What?”

“Girl, you are going to ace that test.”

“Falsehood.” He said with more force than earlier. “With an infinitesimal amount of sleep and limited knowledge, it will be impossible for me to achieve a passing grade.”

Leaning onto folded arms, Remy locked eyes with his friend and smiled. “You just answered 3 key wand questions without batting an eye. I think you’ll be fine.”

Logan raised a pointed finger to rebut the statement, before realising what Remy had done.

“You are one bad elixir away from an evil genius.”

“I was born without magic because I would have been too much for this world to handle.”

“I will concede to you this time, but even if I do go to school, I will still need to stay awake for the test and practical examination. I don’t think I can function for another 3hours.”

“I’ve got you covered,” Virgil beamed, placing a tall dark mug in front of Remy and holding another out for Logan. “Chilled to help you wake up. Mild bean blend with a salted caramel mix; extra salt to balance out the sweet. All the buzz of Remy’s coffee, without the bitter bite and some cream on top just for show.”

“That hasn’t been on the menu,” Remy grumbled as he reviewed it one more time just in case he’d missed a new addition.

“I know.” Logan noticed Virgil shift nervously on his feet after placing the beverage down before him. “Thought I would make something special for the beginner.”

“You never did that for me!”

“Don’t act so offended. You were already a veteran drinker when you first came here.”

Tuning out the other voices, Logan glanced sadly between the clock on the wall and the personalised drink in front of him. He considered what Remy had just demonstrated and made a decision before speaking again.

“Thank you, Virgil, but unfortunately I can’t stay.” Two sets of eyes snapped to Logan as he carefully shuffled out of the booth. “Remy believes I can pass this test, but if I don’t leave now, I might not be able to even take it in the first place. I’m sorry.”

A smile crept back onto Remy’s face as Virgil grabbed Logan’s hand when he turned to leave.

“Wait…you said you needed something to help get you through the exam, though.”

“I-I-I’ll just have to…push through it I guess.”

“No. Here.” Grabbing the cup from the table, Virgil held it out for the other. “Take it with you.”

“But… you don’t do take away, here. What about your family recipes?”

“Yeah, well…this is my recipe a-a-and I want you to take it.” Cautiously, Logan took the cup and Virgil released his other hand. “Besides, when you return the cup…I’ll get to see you again.”

Logan almost let the beverage slip through his fingers in shock but nodded and hurried out of the store. Remy chuckled before carefully taking a sip of his own drink.

“The only thing that would have made that gayer, would have been if Pat and Roman were here sharing a rainbow unicorn.”

“You planned that whole thing, didn’t you?” Virgil breathed, not taking his eyes away from when he last saw Logan.

“Not entirely,” he sighed and dug into his back pocket. “I thought for sure the bitch would have paid.”

———————————————

What else have I done?

Writing masterlist / master post thingy

Check out my main blog @snail-giggles for random fandom reblogs and stuff

[98prilla]

To The Dead

Next

Previous

AO3 

...

“Patton?” They both looked up at the sound of the door opening, Janus slipping inside, surveying the scene. Virgil was still curled against Patton, eyes red and hands a bit shaky, though he seemed alright otherwise.

 “H-hi." Virgil managed, voice hoarse, though his sobs had died out hours ago.

 “Virgil. How are you feeling, love?” Janus asked, voice warm with relief and concern.

 “better. I think.” He mumbled, fidgeting with his hoodie strings, dark eyes barely visible from the depths of his hood. “which isn’t really saying much, considering anything is probably better than where I was.”

 “Any progress is progress, darling. It doesn’t have to be a huge revelation, to be important. Sometimes, you hear something so often it becomes a fact of life in your head, regardless of the truth of the matter. Sometimes you just need to hear the opposite enough times from enough people to start believing in your own worth again.” Janus said, leaning in the doorway. Virgil huffed, looking away.

 “you’re all so much… smarter, than me. No wonder I stayed with Him. I’m so… just… stupid.”

 “You’re not, love. You’re not the only one, who died because of an unhealthy, abusive, relationship. You’re not the only one who loved someone who wasn’t good for you. If I seem smarter, it’s only because I’ve had longer to comes to terms with it. I’ve had the others, to help break down all of what was taught to me. There’s nothing stupid about it, Virgil. People like that… they know what they’re doing, when they manipulate you, and they’re damn good at it. It isn’t your fault, darling, and you aren’t stupid for it. You’re just… human.” Janus smiled wryly, and something about his words struck so close to home that Virgil almost burst into tears again, barely containing them with a deep breath and hard swallow.

 “Do you wanna go properly meet Roman and Logan?” Patton asked softly, and Virgil seemed to shrink in on himself more.

 “He’d add Remus to the group of people you need to ‘properly meet’, but you’ve met him at about his best.” Janus added dryly, half smirking in victory as Virgil let out a small, shaky laugh.

 “ok. If… if you’re sure they don’t h-hate me. For h-hurting them. Hurting you.”

 “They don’t, honey.” Patton reassured, kissing the top of his head, before helping him to his feet, Virgil a little wobbly, though he waved away Patton’s concern.

…

Roman was pacing the living room once more, unable to cease his motion or risk flying  apart at the seams. He knew, it wasn’t Virgil’s fault, but that darkness, that power… it scared him.

 And now Patton was alone with him, alone with the being that had very nearly sapped him dry. He was so conflicted. On the one hand, he felt sorry for Virgil, he had watched him, after all, they had, seen how he struggled with depression and anxiety, and on top of that an abusive relationship. He knew Virgil didn’t mean any harm, was extremely strong to have pulled back from the brink.

 But the protective side of him was screaming that Patton was in danger, they were all in danger, as long as Virgil stuck around. At least Janus had left, a few minutes ago, to check on them.

 “Roman. Would you please cease?” Logan asked, looking up from his book, frowning slightly at the noise of his pacing.

 “How can you be so calm about this?” He asked, rounding on Logan, who merely raised a brow.

 “Virgil has agreed to let Patton, at least, help him manage his issues, and Janus has personal experience recovering from the kind of trauma Virgil has endured. I am confident that we will not have another issue. Why are you still panicking?” Logan’s tone made him want to scream, so frustratingly even, and he threw up his hands.

 “Why wouldn’t I be? He nearly destroyed us, Logan, and he wasn’t even trying! We both know he’s prone to fits of panic! What if during one of them he snaps, and hurts all of us? What if he loses control? It wasn’t even fully formed, and it nearly-“

 “Roman-“

 “And he wasn’t even trying, Logan! What happens if he decides to use it? He has almost as much power as Remus, what if he decides he wants the place to himself, what if he decides he’s tired of us, what if he decides to hurt you, or Patton, or Janus? He could end us, Logan, and I refuse to let that happen. I won’t sit idly by and let him tear all of this apart. We have to… to do something! Something to make sure he can’t!”

 “Roman.” Janus’s voice, sharp and cold as ice, and it cut him to his very core. His eyes widened and he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what he would find when he turned around. He desperately met Logan’s eyes, who shook his head, disapproval written across his face. Slowly, he turned, taking it in one at a time.

 Janus, face cold and eerily impassive, eyes burning a hole through him, with how hard and sharp his gaze was. Patton, mouth open in a silent O, turning to Virgil, who was squeezing his hand as if his afterlife depended on it.

 And Virgil. Virgil was shaking like a leaf, face pale and eyes wide, starting to fizzle into darkness at the edges of his being.

 “Virgil I-“ He took a step forwards, eyes wide and pleading, trying to meet Virgil’s. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry- That’s not-“ Virgil shook his head, stumbling back a step for his one forwards, arms wrapping around his middle.

 “it’s fine. It’s… I g-get it, I…”

 “Virgil. Please. It is alright. He was just worried.” Virgil laughed at Logan’s words, a harsh, gasping thing, that shook his thin frame harder.

 “Right. Worried. Ab-out me. H-hurting you. All of y-you. And you know what? He’s right! I c-can’t control myself, I p-anic, I-“

 “Darling.” He looked up at Janus, who was reaching out a beseeching hand, asking him, begging him, with his eyes to take it.

 The moment seemed suspended in time.

 Logan was watching him carefully, calculating odds in his head, he could see it. Roman was struggling for words, trying to find something to say, stance defensive. Patton was looking closely at him, eyes echoing Janus’s sentiment, warm and soft and kind. Janus was almost desperate, almost… afraid.

 He could see it. He could see it in each of their eyes. No matter what they said, no matter how much they wanted to help him, wanted to trust him, each of them were afraid of him. Afraid of what he could do. Afraid of what he would do. That’s the only reason Patton and Janus were reaching out, the only reason Roman had stepped between him and the wraith, the only reason Logan had gathered the others to come help, the only reason Remus had let them all in.

 Fear.

 He was all too acquainted with fear. And for the first time, he wondered, what exactly that fear would lead them to do to him, if he lost control once more. He had the suddenly sinking feeling that he knew, that Roman, at least, wouldn’t hesitate, and Logan wouldn’t be far behind. They would do what they had to, to keep their family safe, and if it destroyed him, then that was the cost. He found he couldn’t blame them. Not when Patton and Janus were so… good.

 “I’m sorry.” He whispered. Then he was gone.

…

“No!” Janus cried out, lunging forwards, but he wasn’t fast enough, his hand closed on empty air, and he spun, punching the wall with a curse, head hanging low as he tried to fight back the upwelling of emotions, the desperate crushing defeat filling his chest. “dammit.” He whispered, spinning at a hand on his shoulder.

 “Dammit, Roman! He was listening, he was understanding, he was letting us in, and who are you, who are you to make him more afraid of himself than he already was? You think he doesn’t know, what he’s capable of? You think he doesn’t know what’s at stake? And you… You!” He growled, stalking forwards, not sure what he was moving towards, perhaps punching Roman in the face, but Remus caught his arm before he got there, and he hissed at him, trying to pull out of his grip.

 “Janny. Don’t. It won’t fix anything. It’s not what you want.” He nearly pulls away, snarling, surprised as he finds himself folding against Remus instead, angry tears slipping down his face.

 “we had him. we were so close, we had him.” He whispered, voice hoarse and drawn, as he felt Remus hug him tight.

 “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… God, I’m sorry.” Roman, voice cracking, looking helplessly between Patton and Logan, shame and self loathing welling in his chest.

 “I know. I know, kiddo. I know you’re just worried about us, and I understand. But… but you have to give him a chance. We almost had a chance.” Patton whispers the last sentence, his own tears slipping down his face. He had a feeling Virgil wouldn’t be so easy to find this time, that he’d hide away well and truly.

 But at least they’d gotten through to him. At least he was thinking on it, on his relationship being unhealthy, at least he’d gotten that far. He hoped it was enough.

...

@fortheloveofjanus

[holylulusworld]

Lead on – Part 8 - Strike One to Ten

Request: I had this idea of reader going to Stanford and liking Sam and he kinda leads her on knowingly but goes for Jessica and then years later Sam and Dean meet her like killing a vampire nest by herself with a samurai sword made with vampire blood and she looks so badass with an awesome tomb raider kinda get up and then she’s Crowley’s daughter with an angel and lucifer’s granddaughter so half angel/half demon

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Crowley, Jody Mills, unnamed demons

Warnings: angst, half angel-half demon reader, pissed Crowley, arguments, possessive Sam, light smut, fluff, unprotected sex

A/N: I used the spell Rowena used in the show but changed the effect it has. 😉

Lead on Masterlist

“Daddy, daddy…daddy…” You chuckle circling your father, your Katana in your hand. He tried to attack Jody to make you obey, but this time the Winchesters and you were way faster, due to the fact you used your wings instead of Dean’s beloved car.

“Dude, never again…” Dean groans. “You are flying way to fast…”

“I’m an excellent flyer!” You retort pointing a finger at Dean who is holding his stomach, shaking his head furiously. “No, you’re not. Castiel was way more…careful…”

“You want careful, Deano? The man wearing the Mark of Cain and driving a death trap without airbag is lecturing me about safety…” Grinning you blow Dean a kiss before you slide your sword over your fathers’ cheek, cutting deep into his flesh.

“Can we get back to business, daughter? I want you to come back or I’ll kill all your friends.” Crowley warns unimpressed by your sword or Sam’s boring looks.

“Daddy, you don’t get it. I want to stay at the bunker. I want to be a hunter, that’s what I’m good at and I want to be with Sam.” You mutter wielding your sword in front of your father’s face.

“That’s impossible! The daughter of the king of hell can’t be a hunter, Y/N. Follow my orders!” Crowley is glaring at Sam, ready to attack the tall hunter but you push him away, snapping your fingers to keep your father in place.

“I have to show you my powers in that case.” The demons holding Jody and one of the girls in a tight grip start smirking as Crowley nods, but you snap your fingers once again and they turn into dust.

“No! Not again. Do you always have to kill my best men?” Your father groans. He’s not amused at all, fighting against the invisible restraints holding him.

“Daddy, I don’t want to kill you, but you have to stop going after my friends. I’m happy and I don’t want to come to hell. Let me shine, let me be the way I am for once. Sam makes me feel good…happy. I want to be close to him.” You whisper releasing your father. “Please don’t force me to kill you, dad. I’m still mad at you but in the end, you are my father. For once, act like one…”

“Y/N…” Crowley’s eyes dart between you and Sam who is moving in front of you, ready to defend you against anyone, even against the king of hell.

“She’s my only daughter, Winchester. If anything happens to her if you hurt her again both of you will die. I’ll drag you down to hell and make your life … well hell.” Crowley states and you squeal pecking his cheek.

“Awesome, daddy. Now go back home and maybe I’ll visit you soon.” Your lips curved into a dirty grin you jump into Sam’s arms, biting his neck playfully. “I guess this means I can have you anytime, Samuel…”

“Sam…it’s Sam…” The tall hunter groans and you chuckle into his neck, biting his neck harder to the point of pain. “Brat, stop biting me.”

“Make me, Samuel…” Dean shakes his head, scrunching up his nose as you start grinding against Sam once again. “Or you could just spank my cute ass and give it to me good.”

“Hmm…later. Do you want to let Crowley get away with his threats or shall I end him?” Sam whispers into your ear and your core aches. “You would kill for me, Sam?”

“I would to anything for you, Y/N. Your decision…” His hazel eyes search your face as you kiss the corner of his mouth, humming against his skin. “Let him go. This is daddy’s last chance; he won’t get another.”

“You heard your daughter, leave and stop acting like the selfish bastard you are. For once, act like a father and stop forcing your daughter into something she doesn’t want to do.”

After your father disappeared you give Sam a cracked smile, knowing Crowley will never change, not for you. “Let’s get rid of this ugly Mark now, Sam. I want Dean to be free of the little devil.”

“I got a little devil too, but I like her,” Sam smirks waiting for your reaction but you just look at him for a while. You didn’t recognize it so far, but Sam became a man. The boyish young guy is gone and got replaced by a man with scars and wounds that never healed. “Something wrong, Y/N?”

“No, just checked your ugly face. Not bad for an old man…” You tease gently cupping his cheek with one hand, stroking the skin with your thumb. “I’m sorry for what gramps did to you, Sam.”

“Don’t go all soft on me now, my little brat.” Sam smiles letting you capture his lips in a soft kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck as you press your body against Sam. “Not bad either. We should get going, Sam…”

“Yeah…little devil needs to go to bed earlier tonight,” Sam whispers between kisses. 

Nipping along his jawline you feel his heart beating faster and his mind cloud with images of you naked underneath him as he makes love to you, not just rails into you.

“You little sap, Samuel. Maybe I have to rethink my decision to keep you as my sex slave.” You chuckle.

“You’re mine, brat.”

“You kept on telling so…let’s see if you can keep up with me, Winchester…”

----

“This might hurt a little.” You tease preparing the spell to free Dean of the Mark. “This spell will send the Mark to its origin. It was created to keep the ‘Darkness’ at bay. Means God’s dark little twin.”

“Wait…uh…god has a sister?” Dean cocks a brow as you nod thoughtfully.

“Yeah. It was only them back then. Before anything else existed. The big shiny guy created the world, humans and all. His sister got jealous, wanted to destroy his new ‘toys’. He locked her away with Luci’s help. Gramps got the burden to carry the Mark and it changed him.” Dean nods lost in thoughts.

“You mean Lucifer became evil due to the Mark of Cain?” Sam asks glancing at his big brother. Remembering how he acted as a demon.

“Got no clue if gramps was an asshole all the time, but the Mark of Cain didn’t help, I guess. Now let’s do this and later I want to ride you hard, Samuel…”

“That’s not a spell from the Book of Damned.” Sam’s eyes meet yours and you sigh, nodding.

“If we use the spell from that book we might free ‘the Darkness’, ‘k. We don’t want risk this shit to happen so we ‘give’ the Mark back to Luci…” Smirking you grab Dean’s shirt locking eyes with the tall hunter. “No more playing with dangerous things, big boy.”

“Promised.”

“Good, now I need the ingredients I prepared over there and your blood, Sam.” You explain and Sam cocks a brow. “Why?”

“Don’t act all shy now. I saw your cock, ass and everything in between, give me your blood.” Rolling your eyes, you cut Sam’s finger when he’s not looking.

He’s cursing, giving you a hard look. “Tell me about the blood and this spell, now!” Sam orders and you lick your lips. “Fuck, I love your dominant voice, Sam. Now let me finish this and we can fuck…”

“Guys, not right now.” Dean groans but you ignore his outburst, simply mixing the ingredients.

“Y/N…?”

“Fine, I have to sacrifice a part of the person I love, satisfied, Winchester. I could’ve cut your hair or something, but I thought blood is way more effective…sexier.” Muttering you check the spell once again, ignoring the smile all over Sam’s face.

“Love…huh?”

“Don’t annoy me right now. I have to concentrate to get this right…” You hate the smile on his face or the way he leans closer to place a soft kiss to your hair. “Winchester, last warning…”

“Go ahead, princess.” Sam whispers and your core aches. “Not now…”

----

Ab manu Dei! 

Ab manu hominis! 

Ab cruore cordis mei ad fusuro in aeternum! 

Tolle maledictionem tuam, ab hoc viro! 

Ending the spell Rowena translated you watch the Mark glowing before it disappears. A smile crosses Dean’s face feeling the darkness fade.

“I feel…like myself again.” He says hugging you tightly only to earn himself a glare from Sam. He doesn’t like seeing his brother touching you a bit.

“Dude. Calm your Alpha instinct down. Hell, you make me all wet when you act like a caveman, Samuel. Go to your room and get naked. I’ll conquer your cock in a minute or three hours.” You chuckle and Sam relaxes, not stopping to watch his brother, tho.

----

Your eyes darken seeing candles lit all over Sam’s room. Smooth music is playing and rose petals lie on the bed.

“Dude, did you watch too many rom-com movies?” Grinning you start stripping your clothes off. “Going to fuck you so hard, Sammy.”

“I want this to be special, not just fucking, Y/N. I want to feel you and want you to feel me…” Sam says, and you roll your eyes but your heart flutters.

“Strike one to ten for being a love-sick puppy. Now let’s see how I can cure you from being all cutie pie. Want to devour your sexy body right now.” Lower lip trapped between your teeth you crawl toward Sam, dragging the blanket off his naked body. “Hmm…hard for me as always…knew you can’t get enough of me…”

----

 “She made it?” Castiel asks. “Without side-effects?”

 “So far…none. Y/N mentioned the Mark will return to its origin. I hope nothing happens, Cas. Luck was barely on our side over the last years.”

----

Sam’s body is draped over yours like a warm blanket. He’s a completely different lover tonight. There’s no rush, no roughness only the feeling of Sam holding you tightly and the slow strokes of his cock.

You wanted to flip him over and ride him hard but his eyes, his goddamn hazel eyes kept you from doing so. Now you wrap your legs around him, grabbing his biceps to meet his agonizedly slow thrusts.

“I love you, Y/N.” Sam moans into your neck, leisurely rocking into you. You remain silent for a moment, just letting his words sink in. “Y/N?”

“For fuck's sake, I love you too, asshole now shut up and let me enjoy this rom-com sickness.” You curse moving your hands to his back to press his firm chest closer to your breast, causing Sam to shudder on top of you.

His lips nip at your neck, sucking another mark into your skin as he feels your walls tighten around him. “You like it, all the rom-com sickness…” Sam whispers and you paw at his back, cursing his name when he fills you with his spending’s.

----

“Will you stay with me and show me your deep love?” Sam chuckles as you snuggle into his chest. 

“Dude don’t think I will not slap your ass. Now shut up and let me sleep, asshole…”

“Brat…”

“Pervert…”

“I love you ...”

“Same...”

SPN Forever Tags

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If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason. Sorry.

Sam/Jared Forever Tags

@moosekateer13

Lead on Tags

@tiffnguyen853 , @colsons-crue, @xcastielbabyangelface

[thatonebirbnerd]

All Those Chains You Bear

Word count: 1417

Trigger warnings: Violence, injury/blood, death, goes into detail re: effects of (ritual) self-poisoning

So, this is a new fandom for me! I've loved LoL's lore for a long time, but never thought I'd be able to write fanfic for it... and then Aphelios came out. Something about him and Alune drew me in enough that I made a cover of their theme and finally wound up smashing out the first draft of this story in a clearly lunar (read: stayed up til 5am) frenzy. Now it’s polished, and I hope you enjoy the results!

The title’s from Aphelios and Alune’s aforementioned theme.

AO3 link

Breathe.

Come on. I've done this dozens of times. Have to just - breathe -

Dammit. 

Every time, I seize up and let go of the bowl. That moment of weakness could kill me. Can't let that keep happening.

But it's too late to try again now.

A familiar surge of energy rushes through me, forcing every muscle in my body under its caustic, unforgiving whim. But that's the price I pay to... not even to speak with her. Just to be with her.

As much as the poison shakes me to the core, it cuts deeper that I may never see my sister again. Our orbits, our paths in life, led us to separate realms, with this ritual the only way for her to find me.

I drop to the ground, catching myself with one hand. My throat tightens, and my breaths become shallow. It’s almost over. A voice creeps into my mind as I cough and sputter, no longer able to cry out. It is faint and distorted at first, growing ever clearer like the moon emerging from behind clouds. 

Aphelios. 

I'm here. It's okay.

I just wish I could talk with Alune for a while. I try to say her name, but I can only choke out a pitiful noise.

It always starts with pain. I'm sorry.

I kneel, letting myself recover between gasps for air. Another moment of vulnerability, but one I can use to collect my thoughts.

We have work to do. Raiders took one of our relics. Show them the moon's light.

If only I could answer. I must do that through action.

I stand up, as tense as a drawn bowstring, and leave the gloom of the temple. Every movement I make is awkward, but… I’ll get used to it. 

After all, I have to.

---

They're camped near the Rakkor, hiding from their wrath. Would-be climbers of Targon, carried away by their own greed. Even the Solari can't pardon thieves.

I'm not far now, but traveling around Targon’s slopes like this is deeply exhausting - more than fighting. But I never know what could ambush me in the night, and I need Alune. I can fight without the noctum, but not without her.

The dull ache breaks my focus and overwhelms my senses. I have to force myself to track a lone, unfamiliar war whoop, echoing from the valley below. My quarry.

There they are. Take this. 

Calibrum.

Gleaming stone and metal work their way into the physical realm, taking a slender form in my outstretched hands. The rifle Calibrum is all too familiar, a weapon I can use for anything. I can probably get a good angle from that ledge a few paces away. The brigands are downhill.

Breathe, focus... fire. A bolt of magic flies from my weapon, piercing a man who was standing close enough to my perch that I can see him bleed silver. They'll be looking for me now. I need to enter the fray.

You're fading a bit. Our thoughts separate.

I rarely dread words. These, however, the thought of having to take more noctum… I feel a pang of fear, through the numbness.

I crouch out of view, and take just another sip. The liquid glows like moonlit waters, even more than the night-blooming flower from which I distilled it. It is at once my strength, and the single thing most likely to end my life.

The fresh wave of agony always stops me in my tracks. But this time, I collapse. My limbs jerk, and I’m breathing hard, too hard. I lose control of myself, convulsing as my body rails against the poison in my veins. And then I panic, a primal terror that cuts through even the strongest of my walls.

Even if there were help nearby, I couldn’t scream for it - the best I can do is grunt. I can’t die like this - 

Steady, Phel. I’m still here. Starforger’s claws, you’re foaming at the mouth… Breathe. Let it pass.

I think it’s only been a few seconds, but it seems like an eternity before the spasms end. It’ll be a while before I can take on even one attacker, but I don’t know if that will mean minutes or hours. I rest, curled into a ball, recovering what little I can as the noctum urges every fiber in me to move, to fight.

The outlaws still haven’t found me, even after all this. Did Alune misdirect them, or are they merely so stupid that they can’t check the high ground?

Regardless… I wish I could thank her, that she could hear me.

At last I rise, still trembling, and head downhill.

---

Crescendum.

The firearm fades, and I reach for another - for Alune. The next weapon to enter my grasp is a chakram, round as the full moon.

There are only six people left in the camp. They're clearly confused. And no wonder; the Burning Ones stamp out whatever they can find of my people.

Of course, they finally grasp what happened when they see me striding toward the windswept clearing they’ve staked out. They cease their fireside chatter, and walk over to meet me. They expect a bargain. After all, one man cannot stand against a group - in their homeland.

"Whaddya want, kid?" The leader's Targonian is... shoddy at best.

I still try to give ultimatums sometimes, out of habit. This is one of them. It’s… embarrassing, not being able to force out a single word when I need it.

"Wildclaw got your tongue?" I don't understand the turn of phrase - it's not in any dialect of Targonian - but Alune laughs as she translates it for me.

Unlike my sister, I don’t have time for jokes. I look the ringleader straight in the eye, and with a flick of the wrist, I send the blade flying.

I'm still stiff, sore, exhausted. But adrenaline is stronger, and I need to stay alive. 

I weave between the warriors. They seem clumsy, and they all wield slow, heavy weapons that they now have to reach for. And like most foreigners, they’re unused to the thin mountain air. In seconds, the leader is on the ground, his blood shimmering just like his friend’s.

But the rest are ready now.  I've taken on more than five before, and the chakram easily leaves wounds in every one. A woman with a club covered in ice tries to swing at me. She misses, but her companion's axe lands low, grazing my leg.

Severum? Yes. You’ll need it.

I catch the chakram in my left hand, and it disintegrates, leaving this realm. The scythe that forms in my right hand is even smaller, but it fires a spread of magic that saps the life from the hooligans. I feel better, and my own wound shines as it knits itself together.

They're faltering. You can do it, Phel - watch out!

Her voice becomes urgent, ringing in my head, and I realize there's a greatsword headed for my neck.

Time slows down.

Only one way to save myself - 

I am with you.

- with the only words I wish I could see her say to me.

I throw my head back and let out a guttural roar. My throat burns from the effort, a feeling that spreads through me. Lunar power surges outward, staggering the few barbarians still standing.

But when the searing sensation ebbs, and ceases to cloud my vision, the cowards lie dead around me.

It’s over, Phel.

Give them traitors' burials before the sun rises. Their supplies will feed the Lunari.

I'm sorry it has to be this way, brother.

My muscles relax as Alune speaks, and her voice begins to fade from my mind. I call out for her - she might be the only one who understands whatever came out -

And she's gone.

The moon is cruel, to keep us so far apart.

For a moment, my mind swims, trying to think of a way to get her back, get her out of that lonely temple beyond this world… no. I can’t give in to that.

I'll bury these friendless fallen, and take back the stolen symbol of our faith. But perhaps I’ll do that closer to dawn. For now, I sit and reflect, surrounded by the carnage I wrought. To ground myself.

To remember the pain, to relive it, to force myself back to reality - away from her.

To feel anything else beside that pain, to hear my own voice again as the noctum releases its stranglehold. 

To mourn.

[tsundanire]

The Foley of Spring

Paring: Firenze/Whomping Willow Rating: E Summary: Firenze follows his herd as they head into mating season, but something rather unconventional awaits him. Tags: Tree sex, is tree impregnating a thing?, crack, what Have I done?, intreeguing uses for sap, tree hugging of a whole different nature Notes: Thanks to the incredible @keyflight790 for the beta-work on this insanity. I also blame like, a million people for this. I'm not sorry.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21444916

Or Read below~

The herd trampled through the forest, moonlight highlighting their path. Firenze typically avoided herd activities, preferring to remain alone or apart from the horsemen he called family.

But the season of Spring was upon them once more. The season of frivolity and frolic, of the males battling each other in feats of strength, showing off their skills in front of the prancing females…

The entire thing filled Firenze with disgust. They were beings of high intelligence, regardless of what the human ministry would dub them. They were filled with knowledge that others could only dream of. And yet, once a year they debased themselves like young stallions seeking a hole to pleasure themselves with. The whole thing was disgraceful, and yet, when the moon hit its peak in the sky on the eve of the Spring Harvest, none of them seemed capable of stopping themselves.

The mares were particularly graceful and lovely this year. Some sat at the river bank, brushing out their hair, plating each other’s tails with flowers, bathing even… They called to the galloping herd with their siren songs, pulling the males in with their lustful glances.

Firenze shook out his mane as his hooves dug into the dirt, eyeing the herd as they pared off. As much as he despised the rituals, Firenze couldn’t help but feel the need race through him. His body was on fire, eager and ready for mating, but without an eye for anyone of his herd. Their voices sang together in harmonies that he barely understood. None of them were right for him. He’d always been different, so why would the Spring Harvest be any different?

And then he heard it. A song carried on the breeze in the distance. Firenze frowned, shifting his footing back towards the direction they had come.

His ears perked up again as the flow of melody beckoned him. How odd. He’d never felt the pull like this before. Perhaps it had been too long since he’d released? Or was he being driven mad by the lust pouring off the others in his herd?

“Where are you?” Firenze called out, pushing into a canter. He followed the song as it led him closer to the edge of the forest. Which of the females had wandered off so far? Why was she so close to the humans from the school?

Another push of his legs sent his body into a full gallop, the flair of his thick cock-head already starting to peak from the shaft. Her song filled him with heat, made him want desperately.

He could see the forest’s edge ahead, which filled him with deep concern. He had to bring her back to the safety of the forest. Out there, humans could catch them, could bind them with spells, and force them to do their bidding. But as he launched his large frame past the tree line, Firenze saw no one. No students milling about, no Hagrid tending the grounds… Only the castle in the distance and that odd tree that often flailed about.

The song came to him again, but from the direction of the tree. How odd.

The closer he got, the more odd it became. There was no female there, and he was practically atop the tree.

“Who calls for me?” He groaned, feeling as if he’d been slighted.

“I do~” Came a voice as soft and sweet as honey and bells. Firenze looked up and saw a figure in the trees. She was there but also not, a figure of smoke and light.

“What magic is this?” Firenze pounded his front hoof into the dirt. He was irritated and overwhelmed by his own need—which was fully hard and throbbing at this point—desperate to lose himself inside somewhere warm and wet.

“Silly man. This isn’t magic. I am a sprite. I live within the tree they call “Whomping”. She is me and I am her.” The sprite floated down from her place in the branches, the swinging arms flying all around him but never touching him.

“What is it you wish then, Sprite?” His voice was gruff, his legs kicking and pacing in frustration. He needed to mount.

The sprite giggled and waved her hand, allowing Firenze to get closer. As he did, he saw a portion of the trunk that was shaped much like the sprite. As if several versions of her were melded into its bark. One part in particular was shaped into the roots, moulded perfectly as if the sprite was bent over at the waist.

“Look closer, Centaur. See what I’ve got for you.” Her voice twinkled like a thousand stars.

Firenze did as he was bid, looking over the lump growing within the tree. To his surprise there was a hole that almost mimicked what he knew of female caverns. His mouth filled with saliva, his cock dripping at the tip. It would be so simple.

“That’s right, Firenze. You know what you need to do…” The sprite sang into his ear.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Firenze grasped the two closest branches that protruded near the hole, reared back and mounted, thrusting his equine cock deep within the tree. He grunted loudly, as he felt the tree hole almost suction him in. It was warm, strangely warm… Were all trees warm like this at their core? And sticky… The sap. That had to be the tree sap.

The knowledge of how the tree felt internally made him whinny with excitement. His hips bucked forward excitedly, unable to stay still for even a second, and the flair of his tip was teased by the bumpy texture within the tree.

Of all the ways he’d expected this day to go, mounted over the lump of a tree, sinking his massive flared cock deep within the sticky, sappy hole of the Whomping Willow, was not one of them. The cooing moans of the sprite spurred him on faster, as if she could feel everything he was doing to the tree. His hands grappled for purchase on the bark, while his front legs locked around the protruding branches, almost pulling him deeper into the squelching hole. All the sounds now filling the air were so lewd, so arousing that Firenze’s whinny’s also grew louder, mixing with his heavy grunts, and the sprite’s growing moans.

Her sap completely covered him now, around the tip, dripping down his bollocks to the ground. His need to mate was nearly satisfied, but first he had to spill within her, marking her as his. The call of the Whomping Willow was more seductive to him than any female of his kind. She was perfectly shaped for him, and so completely wet for him. Though his mind was clouded, he knew that he would ensure he was the only one filling her like this, pleasuring her like this, and with a loud cry, he felt his hips bucking forward as he came. The flow was so forceful that as he pulled back, more jets of come continued to splash against her rough bark. The hole was over-filled with spunk and sap, dripping out all sides and down the base of the tree.

His breathing slowed, but Firenze wanted more. He wanted to fuck her again, already. Too long he’d forced himself to a life without pleasure, to focus on the stars and their signs, but one taste of the Whomping Willow’s roots had him crazed like a mare in heat.

Unfortunately, a bell sounded within the castle, signaling the end of classes. Firenze snorted angrily, ready to fight anyone who came near him and his tree.

“Go, my Centaur. It’s not safe for you to be here now. But come back to me tonight. Fill me up again, my stallion, for I am thirsty and you quench my needs.” The sprite’s sing-song voice danced around him. She was right; he would be back that night. He would be back every night, and damned would be the Centaur or student who would try to stop him.

[mittensmorgul]

Today on the TNT loop, we went through 9.10, 9.11, and 9.12, and it was a lot, considering the themes of what’s happening in current canon while waiting for 15.05 to air tonight.

Full disclosure, I started typing up this post this morning while watching 9.10, and then my computer helpfully did a windows update and restarted itself, so I lost everything I’d been typing. It wasn’t too much, but heck if I can actually remember what I’d written exactly, but I think looking at all three of these episodes together is possibly more useful anyway, so here we go.

We’ve just been talking about 9.10 and the “imaginary” cheerleader case Gadreel had Sam working on inside his own mind, in relation to the vampire case Sam and Dean worked in 15.04, so we’re already primed to look deeper at what was going on in this episode. For anyone who doesn’t recall, this was ALSO the episode during which Dean completely confessed to a freshly re-angeled Cas exactly why he’d kicked him out of the bunker back in 9.03.

At that time, Dean was being horrifically manipulated by the angel he’d trusted on false pretenses and Cas’s word, in a perfect storm with his own desperation to do anything to save Sam. It took this long for Dean to realize the full extent of Gadreel’s betrayal, and it led directly to Kevin’s death.

So we have manipulation, a larger cosmic power essentially holding Sam hostage, Dean and Cas finally mending this situation between them and confessing the truth and the reasons behind the lies and anger. Obviously the situation is not exactly the same in s15, but the themes are all there. Here, have a few quotes from the episode to show you what I mean.

[DEAN stops his packing and his face melts in emotion as he looks to his friend. Camera pans behind CASTIEL's back and when it comes out on his other side the men are sitting at the table and DEAN has just told CASTIEL the long, hurtful story.]

DEAN:Sammy was dying. What was I supposed to do? CASTIEL: You let an angel possess him? DEAN: He said it was the only way, and I believed him. Now Sam's gone. Kevin's... CASTIEL: Dean, I'm sorry. DEAN: Yeah, well... Sorry don't pay the bills, does it? It sure as hell ain't gonna bring Kevin back. We got to find that son of a bitch. CASTIEL: Dean. If the angel possessing Sam isn't Ezekiel, then who is it? DEAN: A dead man walking. CASTIEL: What, you're gonna destroy him? DEAN: Damn right. CASTIEL: You kill an angel, its vessel dies, too. DEAN: Think I don't know that? If I don't end Sam and that halo burns him out and I... God, I was so damn stupid. CASTIEL: You were stupid for the right reasons. DEAN: Yeah, like that matters. CASTIEL: It does. Sometimes that's all that matters.

They’re still not completely getting to the heart of this issue, though, because there was still Plot™ to deal with that would require them to have this unresolved-- Dean would need to continue to blame himself for everything, Cas would need to feel compelled to stay by Sam’s side to ensure his healing, feeling that he could be “useful” to Dean by taking over Sam Protection Detail, and Sam will need to fully feel the betrayal and not even begin to understand the core issue that led to all of this in the first place to drive that wedge deep enough for Dean to take the Mark, sacrificing himself to protect the ones he loves.

Which is thematically what Cas felt he did trading his own life for Jack’s in 14.08, which of course Dean still doesn’t know about. But the most important thing underlying all this s9 drama is the element of manipulation. Because Dean (and Sam, and Cas) right now believe they are making their own choices in a world without Chuck’s influence, and yet the narrative as a whole is probably being more actively manipulated by Chuck than at any time in their history. It’s this unawareness that’s giving Chuck’s influence the power to manipulate them in the first place.

GADREEL spits out angrily:  How many more lives do I have to take? METATRON: It's not your place to ask questions. It is your place to obey. You want to be my second in command? Prove you're ready. Prove you're loyal. Or don't. Walk away. Go back to being Gadreel the traitor, the sap, heaven's longest-running joke.

Aah, and all along Gadreel had been manipulated by Metatron, s9′s answer to s15′s Chuck.

GADREEL: You have changed, Abner. ABNER: Yeah, well, I was a crappy angel. I was petulant. I deserted my post. I spent 700 years in heaven's lockup. I... No. Doesn't matter. We're a long way from Thaddeus now. GADREEL: I killed him, Abner. I got our revenge. ABNER: I w – I wish you hadn't done that. GADREEL: But why? He tortured us – you most of all. ABNER: I remember. And I remember you were always there to put me back together. GADREEL: We were friends. ABNER: We are friends. And the fall, it's our second chance. We can forget our old hates, who we were. GADREEL: It's not that easy. ABNER: Yes, it is. Look at me. I'm happy. GADREEL: And your vessel – is he happy? ABNER: He was an abusive ass. But I love my family, and they love me. I'm not a wise man, Gadreel. But I know this. The key to happiness? It's getting the one thing you want most and never letting it go. GADREEL: And what if there's a price? ABNER: There's always a price. But it's worth paying.

Abner paid with his life, because Gadreel had been manipulated and lied to by Metatron. Gadreel thought this was part of a grand plan, but it had been Metatron’s demand for loyalty and obedience, forcing Gadreel to literally kill possibly his only friend in the world, the one angel who knew his true story and loved him anyway. TO MANIPULATE GADREEL SPECIFICALLY into doing Metatron’s bidding, cutting off all other avenues to freedom and vindication.

Which... is kinda what Dean’s going through right now, you know? He thinks he’s free, and has cut ties with Cas in a horrific way. I mean, he didn’t literally kill Cas in 15.03, but tell me that wasn’t a metaphorical stab to the heart?

DEAN: Why are you doing this, huh? We fought together. And I trusted you. I thought you were one of the good guys! GADREEL: I am doing what I have to do. DEAN: Well, so am I.

Poor Gadreel, like Dean now, was doing what he thought he had to do. Like Rowena dying to heal the rift into Hell, because she thought it’s what she had to do-- right down to her belief in the prophecy that Sam would kill her being the entire reason the spell worked at all. Like all of them believing that Chuck is gone, because it’s what they feel they have to do to “move on.” And AAARGH.

*hears Dean’s voice yelling in the distance from 4.22 IT’S ALL A BUNCH OF LIES, YOU POOR, STUPID SONOFABITCH*

CASTIEL: Uh... I'm okay. DEAN: Good. Good. That's, uh... So, what, you just change the batteries out, power back up? It's that easy? CASTIEL: It wasn't easy, but I didn't have a choice. DEAN: Yeah. Well, that's usually how it goes. Cas... I'm sorry. CASTIEL: About what? DEAN: Kickin' you out of the bunker. That's, uh... You know, not telling you about Sam. CASTIEL: You thought his life was at stake. DEAN: Yeah, I got played. CASTIEL: I thought I was saving Heaven. I got played, too. DEAN [with a weak smile]: So you're sayin' we're both a couple of dumbasses? CASTIEL [gently smiling back]: I prefer the word "trusting." Less dumb. Less ass.

And then Cas learns the truth of who Gadreel is:

CASTIEL: It's his fault – all of it. The corruption of man, demons, hell. God left because of him. The archangels – the apocalypse. If he hadn't been so weak, none of it would have happened. [CASTIEL gets white hot with anger and starts to shake the unconscious GADREEL] You ruined the universe, you damn son of a bitch! DEAN [grabs CASTIEL and swings him around to face him.]: Cas! Cas! Hey! CASTIEL: Dean, he – DEAN: I get it. But you got to chill.

And obviously NONE OF THIS was actually Gadreel’s fault. He was manipulated by Lucifer, and really, who among them HASN’T been directly manipulated into doing terrible things by Lucifer? And really, can we now say that all of this-- every last bit of it-- was Chuck’s original manipulation, and just another go-around of his favorite horrific story?

Because Gadreel may have been the one to stand aside for Lucifer to enter the garden, but in addition to all the pain and guilt, this was the beginning of Humanity making their own choices and bearing the consequences of those choices. You can’t have true joy without true suffering, and only humans can experience either. The “paradise” of the garden that Metatron had used to lure Gadreel into his service, the promise of the return to that idealistic utopia, was about OBEDIENCE and never about FREEDOM. This is what Abner had tried to show Gadreel, and he was killed for it. And isn’t that just the way Chuck’s stories always go?

Crowley tells Dean that he’s not willing to die for any of them, but then... he literally stands between Sam and Gadreel:

GADREEL: Hello, Sam. SAM: Who are you? CROWLEY: His name is Gadreel, the original chump. GADREEL: Was a chump. And now? I'm going to be the one that leads my kind back to heaven. I'm going to be a hero. But you, demon, for all your chatter, you will always be a coward. You should be running. [CROWLEY punches GADREEL in the face and GADREEL swings back hurling him over the table. GADREEL starts to kick him and SAM comes to his rescue only to be thrown backwards over the table himself. GADREEL straddles him and starts to strangle him.]

Gadreel tries to manipulate Sam, warning him that he still might die if Sam casts him out, but Sam does it anyway.

SAM: So what? I was willing to die. And now... Kevin... [His eyes fill with guilty tears] DEAN [strongly]: No. That is not on you. Kevin's blood is on my hands, and that ain't ever getting clean. I'll burn for that. I will. But I'll find Gadreel. And I will end that son of a bitch. But I'll do it alone. SAM: What's that supposed to mean? DEAN: Come on, man. Can't you see? I'm... I'm poison, Sam. People get close to me, they get killed...or worse. You know, I tell myself that I-I – I help more people than I hurt. And I tell myself that I'm – I'm doing it all for the right reasons, and I – I believe that. But I can't – I won't... Drag anybody through the muck with me. Not anymore. [DEAN looks pleadingly at his brother] SAM: Go. I'm not gonna stop you.

And there we go, in a season that began with Charlie’s voiceover saying something to the effect of, “There’s nothing the Winchesters can’t do if they stick together” over the opening chords of “Who Do You Love.” Which, at this Midseason Finale point  had to be so completely broken. Dean is convinced they can’t work together.

Wait, who wrote this episode? OH RIGHT, ANDREW DABB DID.

Can we see his pet themes at work in s15 yet? I think we can.

With the MoC apparently set to make a reappearance in 15.05 tonight, I’m thinking 9.11 will offer us some valuable insight into what Chuck is up to here. But also we know that Sam will be working with Cas even if Dean is still too messed up for a while, and this was the episode that really began to establish a friendship between Sam and Cas outside of Cas feeling responsible for Sam because of Dean.

And 9.12? Garth had abandoned them, abandoned Kevin, because he’d been bitten by a werewolf on a hunt and had been prepared to give in to that fate. And yet he’d been saved, found love, and found a family and purpose despite having believed he’d lost everything. He was still one of the good guys, even if he was a monster. And we saw the beginnings of the family theme that wouldn’t really have a chance to flourish until Dabb era:

Garth: Um...I know this may sound a little crazy, but... Maybe I could come back and hunt with you. I mean, with my werewolf mojo, we'd have an advantage. Dean: Yeah, look, Garth -- Garth: No, Dean. I want to make this right. I never should've left you guys, especially Kevin. Kevin was my friend. Friends don't do that. Dean: Well, hey, you said it -- you know, who cares where happiness comes from? Look, we're all a little weird, we're all a little wacky -- some more than others -- but...if it works, it works. You got something here. Okay? Even though they are werewolves. Or lycanthropes -- whatever. Don't let that go. Okay? You'll never forgive yourself. Besides, somebody's got to live to tell this damn story someday, and who better than you? Now shut up and come here.

 There was more I wanted to say as I was watching, but I think this covers most of the important stuff for now.

[adventuresloane]

you still got that story, tell it every morning

Read on AO3

As always, she woke with the sun. That wasn't a dryad thing, had nothing to do with the fact that she had a sixth sense--and a seventh and an eighth--about the natural world nowadays. It was a her thing. Hurley had been in the habit of it long before everything that had happened. It just so happened that now, when the honey-colored light of dawn dripped in through the blinds, she felt flowers unfurl around her head, and the sap beneath her skin ran warmer.

Her mother used to call her Sunshine because of it. Sloane still did, but only in Elvish. Aure. Though that was only when she felt particularly generous. Mostly, she called Hurley crazy for getting up so early on purpose.

Aside from the sunlight, Sloane was the first thing she saw when she woke. Of course, she was still sleeping. She was never the first up if she could help it. (And if she was, it meant she was still reeling from a nightmare.) One of her arms was at her side, the other stretched above her head and sprawled over the pillow. Hurley smiled as she saw the new day's soft rays touch her cheek and give it a sheen like that of polished walnut. Sloane's chest did not rise and fall, because none of them needed to breathe anymore. (That had taken some getting used to. In the first few weeks after the change, panic had risen like water to fill up the cavity in her chest every time she woke to find Sloane not breathing. Then she would remember.) But Hurley saw her feathery lashes twitch and flutter as she dreamed.

She couldn't resist moving aside some strands of hair that had fallen over Sloane's right eye. Sloane's nose wrinkled as she lightly brushed against it. She sniffed, made a ridiculous noise in the back of her throat like something halfway between a groan and a purr, and nestled her face deeper into the pillow. Hurley breathed out the quietest laugh she could.

Before, she would have been out of bed by now, already dressed for a jog. These days, she lingered in bed, in the shared warmth of two bodies. She stayed long enough to watch the golden, molten rays of dawn solidify into the sharper, brighter light of day. When, at last, she decided to get up, she shifted her body slowly until she was out from under the covers, careful not to make the mattress squeak.

She had one foot already on the floor when she felt a hand in hers. Turning around, she saw Sloane peering at her, eyes half-lidded and still cloudy with sleep. Hurley smiled and went over to her, touching their foreheads together. She felt Sloane's contented sigh against her lips when they kissed. "Good morning, beautiful," she whispered after they pulled apart. "Sorry if I woke you."

Sloane brought their lips together once more. The kiss was languorous, her eyes still closed, and she was slow to pull away. "Babe," she mumbled, "come back to bed."

Hurley chuckled and gently touched her nose to Sloane's. "Nah, I'm gonna get some exercise." Then she added with a smirk, "Unless you want to come with me."

"Ew," she answered, voice heavy and sluggish with exhaustion.

Hurley snorted. "That's what I thought." She pecked Sloane on the forehead one last time before turning away. "Then I'll see you in a bit."

Before Hurley could fully sit up again, a pair of long, thin arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her back down. She landed on the sheets with a soft whump and, before she could protest, had her cheek smushed unceremoniously against her girlfriend's side. "Sloane!" she screeched in between the giggles that bubbled up out of her. "Come on, let me up!"

Sloane nuzzled her neck, which was already flushed with laughter. Hurley noticed that her skin, at the moment, did not have the rough feeling of the bark that sometimes grew over it. Instead, she felt more like the new wood of a young tree, flexible and supple. "Stay here," she said in an almost-whine, squeezing Hurley to her like a teddy bear as she settled back onto the pillow. Hurley would bet every cent in Goldcliff's bank vaults that she was playing up her sleepiness for sympathy.

"Why?"

"Still tired."

"So go back to sleep."

"Can't, unless you're here."

Hurley rolled her eyes, still jittery with laughter. "You don't need me to go to sleep." She squirmed out of Sloane's grip and tried to move away again. "Anyway, you know I can never go back to sleep again once I'm awake. Now I'm--Sloane, seriously, don't--" And like that, three times her weight's worth of half-elf flopped over on top of her and successfully pinned her to the mattress. "Oh, you fucking asshole."

Above her, Sloane chuckled. She felt the laughter resonate inside herself. "I let you get away with murder," she grumbled, grinning.

"You always did."

Hurley turned back to look at her. "Listen, if I'm staying in this bed, we're going to do something more fun than sleeping." To her satisfaction, for the first time all morning, Sloane's eyes snapped open fully. All of a sudden, they looked awake.

She turned onto her back so she could look up at Sloane more easily. Smirking, she reached one hand up to rest on the back of Sloane's neck. The other slipped under her lover's waistband, her finger trailing lazily along the line of fine hair that started at her navel and ran down. Sloane shut her eyes slowly and let out a breath that shuddered slightly.

And then, while she was distracted, Hurley wriggled out from under her and scurried out of the bedroom. "I win!" she called lightly from the hall.

"Hey! That wasn't fair!"

Hurley laughed as she walked away. It was, in fact, a little unfair, but she would make up for it later. They both appreciated delayed gratification.

She stepped into the kitchen that they never used. Neither of them had any reason to eat, and food lost all its taste on their almost wooden tongues. She stood for a few minutes in the square of sunlight cast from the window onto the tile. Energy tingled in her limbs and leaves sprung from the tips of her fingers.

She glanced at the couple of small, potted saplings sitting near the windows. They were originally cuttings from the towering tree in the city center--their tree--that Hurley had magicked into growing up quickly. It hadn't taken them long to realize that, as dryads, they would become weak if they spent an appreciable amount of time away from the ever-blooming cherry. She and Sloane had taken one look at each other and one look at the threads of dusty road that stretched miles into the desert and had known that wouldn't work. They got creative. So long as they were near a living part of the tree, or an offshoot of it, they would be fine. (Sloane had figured that out, but she had asked Hurley to use her powers to make the cuttings grow.) They always took a pot with them when they went out in one of the wagons, and by now had almost gotten over the silliness of strapping a tree into the backseat. Another stayed in their house, which they had selected specifically because it was in a quieter area of the city, away from the bustling center at the meeting place of the rivers.

She could hear the potted plants. They whispered with voices like wind hissing through long grass. Trees told stories all the time, quietly recounting all that they had seen in their many years. She had learned that, since the change. She shushed the saplings gently, and they quieted. The ability to understand plants didn't bother her, but Sloane disliked their murmuring. One late night, she had told Hurley, not making eye contact, that the Sash had sounded the same way. Susurrus.

Footsteps padded up behind her. "Hey, you got up!"

Sloane came up next to her, and Hurley had to bite back a laugh at the overdone pout on her face. "That really was a dick move," she grumbled. But she still stood close enough to Hurley for their arms to touch.

Hurley was about to make a retort when she looked back at Sloane and saw the scale-like patches of bark growing on her body. They would form a tough outer layer for protection, only there was no clear danger here. It was an expression of anxiety--she knew her lover well enough to know that. It was just like Sloane's other, equally subconscious habit of wrapping her arms around her belly when she got nervous as though to shield her core. She was doing that now, too. A defensive gesture, albeit one that would have no effect against the threat of her own thoughts corroding her from the inside.

"Are you okay?"

Sloane did not respond for awhile, simply furrowing her brow at the window. Outside, the city had woken fully. Bits of muffled conversation could be heard over the constant din of footsteps on the sidewalk and carts rolling in the street. Without warning, she blurted at last, "Are you happy?"

"Yes." Hurley's response was instantaneous.

"I was just thinking...you didn't have much of a choice in all this. Up to and including being, you know, immortal. Well, sort of immortal."

"Alive as long as the tree's alive. Which--" She paused to tap her knuckles against her head. "--it will be for a very long time."

"Did you just 'knock on wood' by knocking on yourself?"

"Too much?"

"Terrible. That was maybe your worst joke ever." Nonetheless, Sloane's lips, which had been pressed into a thin line, loosened into a smile. "What I'm saying is our entire lives changed in a literal flash, and now you're spending sort-of forever as a lady with tree powers, and you didn't really have a say in your whole fucking existence being turned on its head."

"Being a tree-powered sort-of immortal is objectively pretty fucking rad, you know."

"Has its downsides," Sloane murmured. "You know that."

"So did my old life. And I can't even explain to you how happy I am to leave that behind."

There was quiet for another few long moments. She almost thought that Sloane was ready to drop it when she said, in a near whisper, "And you're okay being stuck with me all that time?"

"What?"

She took a deep breath and went on, "We're sort of...bound, I guess? We're going to go through our whole lives being connected, since we're both tied to that cherry tree. And that's...I know that's what I want, definitely, but it's kind of a lot to ask of you..." She trailed off. Hurley stared at her for awhile, at the long and dextrous fingers that still set her off tingling when they brushed her cheek, at the downcast eyes that were the same color as the leaves peeking out through the dark hair.

Then she shook her head a little and playfully shoved Sloane in the chest. "You dumb lesbian, I drove off a fucking cliff for you. Did you really think I wasn't in this for the long haul?"

Sloane laughed, loudly, partly out of something like relief. Her expression relaxed instantly. Hurley grinned and wrapped her arms around her, standing on tiptoes enough to bury her face in Sloane's chest. More quietly, Hurley continued, "Listen, what you're saying isn't true. I made the choice to change my whole life when I decided I wanted us to be together, way before any plant magic. And gods, Sloane, you have no idea how happy I am that everything in my life got turned around. I...sometimes I just stop in my tracks and think about whether it's really possible that I can be this lucky, or if I'm imagining it. I never even thought we'd be able to live together and be open like this, let alone have all the time in the world to enjoy it. It's like it's too good to be true."

"I think that too," Sloane said.

"I know." And she did. She sometimes ribbed Sloane over how clingy she'd gotten since the incident with the Sash. How, whenever they were in the same room, they had to be touching. How she became disappointed even when Hurley left the bedroom in the morning. It seemed that, for Sloane, feeling Hurley solid against her was like pinching herself to ensure that she wasn't dreaming, that both of them were, really, still there, despite everything. Hurley knew, because she felt the same way.

"Well, it is true," Hurley said. She held on a little more tightly. "I've got you now."

(Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments help me a lot!)

[yarti]

[ Yarti and Snake ] [ A Little Safer ]

Story Below:

On this particular evening, we found ourselves lounging about in Granitehall Inn. I sat at the table, content to relax here for just a bit longer before making retreat to our rented room. Snake stood at my back enjoying his pipe as we took in the atmosphere of the tavern. Behind us two of the waitresses made idle gossip, though I could hardly make heads or tails of their conversation from such a distance. Toward the bar, an elderly man had downed yet another tankard and began begging for another much to the barkeep's disapproval. The man had grown quite loud over the last half hour or so. He seemed a few sips short of having an run-in with the town guard. Snake and I had just finished our meal moments before, leaving naught but a loaf of untouched bread and a bit of lettuce. It sufficed, but it paled in comparison to what I could have thrown together with the same ingredients. Not to brag, mind you.

A raucous voice then caught my attention.

"Aye Snakestone"

Just across the room, an Altmer lady waved to us with a wide grin. Even from here I could take note of her blind eye and it's eerie white tint. I didn't recognize her. I looked to Snake and he seemed confused as well. We thought to just walk over and see what she wanted, and so we did. Passing the bar, the drunkard had grown more restless, drumming his empty tankard across the counter. The barkeep stood, slamming his palms down. "I said you've had enough. Now get out of that stool before I call the guards". As we walked, I concentrated, trying to put a name to her face. By the time we got within an arms length of her, I was fully certain that I didn't know her. Taking the seat across from her, Snake let out a low "Hello". She then sat back, stretching her legs out beneath the table.

"It has been awhile hasn't it?"

My brow arched at her tone and scent, a subtle clenching of fist. She reeked of alcohol. Wine. I glared at her out of the corner of my eye, eager to hear what she would say next. Snake nodded, shooting a quick glance in my direction. The scene then grew awkwardly quiet. I walked to the other side of the table and rested my hip against it's side, looking back and forth at them. At last she looked up at me and spoke.

"And who is your frie-"

"Wife", I barked, cutting her off and putting an end to her obnoxious smile.  Snake had rose from his chair at the sound of my voice, his hands darting up to his mouth to hold back a chuckle. Silence again. I backpedaled, coming to rest against Snake's back as things again grew awkward. This time, Snake broke the silence.

"You know, I don't think we have met, actually."

"Oh we have, you did some work for me a few years ago. You made these halls a little safer." She turned her gaze from Snake to me. "For a time."

Shifting her gaze back to Snake, she began again.

"They ran me out of my own house just yesterday. Three of them. Told me if they caught me back there again it'd be the last thing I do."

"Are you in town on business or pleasure?", her white eye glaring at me from beneath her heavy brow.

"A bit of both", Snake mumbled.

"Well, if you could just have a look and see if they're still hanging about. They've been terrorizing the old folks for a year or so. The guards won't touch them. I know you're a capable sort. It's the last room, last row on the North side. Past the grating."

Her fingers dug about her waistband seemingly in search of her coinpurse. "I'll try to have a little reward for you when you get back." Her tone pushed me over the edge. Practically grating my teeth, I growled. "We'll have a look in the morning." And with that, arm outstretched, I waved goodbye to her. Taking Snake by the hand, we made way toward our room.

Just down the hall, I took his hand across my waist, cupping it with my own. On the way to the room, we discussed the woman.  He didn't remember meeting her before, but we had done plenty of work in these parts over the years. It's not really possible to remember everyone that you come across. I apologized for losing my temper, but I suppose he is used to it by now. In the privacy of our room, I set aside my skirt and sandals and helped him out of his armor.  I crawled onto the bed in nothing but my top and hose and pulled him close for a kiss. It was a good night.

In the morning, we had a light breakfast before heading out. Last row on the North side. It was a relaxing walk. I always enjoyed this town, but I say that so often. I mostly enjoy our footsteps echoing through the halls. It soothes me. Just the two of us, the sound of our presence. In but a few short minutes, we had arrived. Last row, last house. The grating clanged ever so loudly, despite the gentleness of it's closing. Stepping up to the doorway, Snake gave a stern knock. No response. He then pressed palm against it, as if to push it open. It would not give way. Lastly, he tried the handle, again, to no avail. With a violet flash, I had the door opened and we proceeded into the black unknown.

The light of my hand grew outwards again, but before I could cast, Snake had already prepared his lantern, so I let it dissipate. The place was ransacked. In the back room, someone had built a bonfire and burned some books and clothing. The smoke hung low, just off of the floor and the embers shone dull. It had smoldered for just over a day from my reckoning. Though, the place was empty. She could probably return and get it back into working order in no time at all. But then we heard it. The metal grate outside. A resounding clang, the accompanying echo. The room trembled in tune with it. I looked to Snake with a degree of worry, finding a similar look on his face. I held Snilla-Nilyn aloft. One woman, clear enough through the door. At least we had some idea of what we were in for. Snake hefted Hilde high atop his shoulder as I poured my being into my glimmering palm.

We were greeted by three. A woman in Dwemer armor, an axe in her hand. An archer in common clothes, bow at the ready. And lastly, a tall man, also clad in Dwemer armor. A closed helm atop his head and a flaming greatsword in his grip. The woman spoke first.

"I told you holding out for another day would pay off", she leered at the taller man.

Without warning, I released the spell in my palm. A cursed rune fell at their feet and with that, this fight was already decided. It was just a matter of time. With the blue flash, Snake flew forward, low then high. Befuddled by the rune, she had no chance to react. His robust form moving like lightning, his coat bottom fluttering behind him. Soaring from beneath the woman, he lifted her along Hilde's length, entering in her abdomen and exiting out her back, beneath her armpit. I turned my attention firstly to the archer. He drew and fired, an arrow gliding past my hip. My rune sapping his mind and essence, his next arrow fell from his hand before he could nock it. I countered with a Force Wave. It's vibrant pulses crumpling him against the cavern wall. Snake slid Hilde from it's new sheath, letting the woman fall to the floor. With a flick of his wrist, he cleaned her edge along his coat before joining me.

One left.

In unison, we leapt at the final man. Hilde and Snilla-Nilyn lashed at his blade, a sizzling sound from his enchantment muffled our labored breaths as we pushed against him. Step by step we pressed him on, toward the back wall. Snake looked to me and I to him, then we released, letting him stumble backwards and re-position himself. Another emerald surge left me exhausted, but it shook him to his core. He recoiled, and with that, Snake dove forward one last time. In slow motion to me, his body lurched, curling back at the last second. Again low and then high. Hilde erupted upwards, emerging from the man's back with a sickening crunch. Snake bore him atop his shoulders, the echoes of three heaving breaths becoming but two. Then left him fall. Those that prey on the weak, are ofttimes weak themselves. I find it hard to believe that the guards would have had any issue settling this. How unnecessary.

We checked their pockets but found nothing of relevance. Snake covered them and pulled them over into the pathway so the guards could find them and care for their remains. We then set off to notify a guard and return to the lady in the tavern. The aftermath of fights like this are always an emotional mess. Whether it were a difficult thing, truly dangerous and life threatening, or a thing as simple and saddening as this one. The emotion runs the same. Our client sat in the same chair, a half gallon wine bottle in her lap. She seemed saddened by our return. Her pale eye followed us across the room. At arm's reach, she spoke.

"Good news or bad news?"

Snake took lead, "The house was ransacked, some of your belongings burnt in the back room. The house was empty, but we were attacked on our way out. Three of them. They won't be troubling you any further."

She sloshed the bottle back and forth, lost in thought. At last she spoke.

"I thank you, again. Snakestone and wife."

With a heavy sigh, she extended her arm, motioning for me to take the wine bottle.

"They got just about everything I had, eye included. I really don't have anything to offer you. I thank you, but I am sorry for promising a reward. You can have this wine, I spent the last of my septims on it thinking you wouldn't look into it for me."

I looked to Snake, then took a small coin purse from my belt. It held a few hundred septims at the most. I tossed it onto the table and turned to leave.

"That should get you started. Tomorrow, we'll see about getting things back into order. Tonight you should feel a little safer"

[tisfan]

Holiday Spending

All I Buy For Christmas - Renting in the New Year - Will you Steal My Valentine - Up for (Mardi) Grabs - Hopping Down the Money Trail - (In) Memorial Day Sale - (Folding) Paper Anniversary - (Financial) Independence Day - Back to School (Fundraiser) - Fruit of our Labors 

A/N: Contains unbelievable amounts of sap. Sorry.

Chapter 12: (Giving) Thanks

“Yaaaaaaasha!” Nat was yelling as she pounded up the stairs and into the little flat. For someone who was a dancer and supposedly graceful, Nat often sounded like a herd of very small brontosauruses. “Yaaaaaaasha!”

She stopped dead two steps into the living room, scowling. “You’re not Yasha.”

Tony laughed, cynical. “How observant of you, dear sister.”

“You’re not my brother-in-law yet,” Nat said, hands on her hips. “Where’s Yasha?”

Tony flipped the channel on the television. Oh, look, something with a gun fight. Flip. Something with a man forcing a woman into a kiss to shut her up. Flip. More gun fighting. Flip. Tony sighed. It’d be nice to watch some television some time without feeling like he was being personally attacked in high definition. Oh, cooking show. That might be okay.

“He went out to get some take-away,” Tony said.  

And Tony was doing his best not to panic about everything. It’d been a bad day for both of them, starting out with a stupid argument about whose turn it was to do the dishes (for the record, it was Bucky’s turn and Tony was feeling both petty and guilty about feeling petty) and then they’d attempted to have some make-up sex that had gone terribly wrong when they discovered someone (Tony that time) had left half a bottle of juice on the bed and it spilled, soaking the comforter and sheets with orange juice. They’d had to put sexy times on hold to wash the linens, and by the time they were done with that, neither of them were in the mood to do more than try to be decent human beings another day.

Logically, Tony knew that Bucky wasn’t going to leave him over stupid fights. Logically, he knew the people on the television weren’t going to shoot him, either. Didn’t help with the stupid brain.

And the more stupid things happened, the snappier and uglier and prone to picking a fight Tony got until Bucky had grabbed his smokes and headed out to get dinner, rather than dealing with Tony and his attitude any longer. Tony wasn’t going to admit that his first reaction to that was “and stay out.”

“Hmph,” Nat said, flouncing into the kitchen. She pulled the vodka bottle out from under the sink. “I hope he brings enough for me. We have a celebration, tonight.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, mister pouty-pout face,” Nat said. She poured two shots and handed him one. “Drink with me.”

(more below the cut, or read the whole thing at A03)

“What are we celebrating?” A little good news might help get Tony and Bucky out of their funk.

“Wait,” Nat said. She knocked back the shot and licked the droplets from the side of her glass. “I will not tell you first. Yasha would be cross with me.”

“We could form a team,” Tony said, a touch bitter. He drank down the vodka she poured for him. “People that your brother is pissed with.”

Nat gave him a sharp look, refilled the shot glasses. “You are arguing?”

Tony shrugged. “It’s not even important, you know. Just…”

“The pain of a dozen blisters,” Nat said.

God, Tony hoped not; he’d seen Nat’s feet after some of her bad rehearsals, nights where the director made them do it again, and again, and again and she would drag herself home, feet bleeding and heels red and raw.

“I’m not that bad,” Tony protested.

“You are not,” Nat agreed. She poured them more shots.

“Just feel… shitty,” Tony admitted. “That I’m pissed at him about stupid shit.”

“Make a gratitude list,” Nat said. “My therapist tells me to do this every day, but that is ridiculous. If I must make a list every night, it becomes work, and I am not grateful for the things I have and love, I resent making the damn list. But sometimes, especially when I am feeling out of sorts, I sit down and make the list.”

“Coffee,” Tony said. That was easy.

“No, no,” Nat said. “We will make a written list.”

“You expect me to write after you dumped four shots of vodka into me?”

Nat’s look was so flat it could have served as a level. “Yes.”

Nat fetched notepads and ridiculously colored gel pens -- Tony’s was brilliant emerald green, hers was eggplant purple -- and an old-fashioned hour glass, the kind that actually had sand in it. Tony hadn’t seen anything like it in… well, maybe even ever, except on television and Nat actually slapped his hand when he tried to inspect it.

“Make your list.”

Nat’s ridiculousness Coffee Waking up before the alarm goes off and being able to go back to sleep Bucky loves me

A small wince there, because Tony hadn’t exactly been loveable recently, but he supposed that was what unconditionally meant. I still love him, even when I’m mad.

loving Bucky Believing both of those things are true The money

Another flinch, because he also felt guilty about the Stark fortune; he hadn’t done anything to earn it except being born to the right parents. And having those same parents die unexpectedly. Because of the fucking money. He resented it even as he was grateful for the comfort it provided, for the fact that he didn’t have to worry. That he could pay Bucky’s hospital bills. All the things that the money could purchase, without consideration for all the things the money was. He made a mental note to get with his accountants and look at the current charity donations. Surely there were things he could do to even the score a little bit.

The ability to make other people’s lives easier

People, yes, he had some people in his life that he was grateful for. Rhodey Pepper Jan Bruce

Tony made a note to call them all and get together for a lunch or dinner or something. He’d been neglecting his friendships. He wasn’t quite sure why, maybe something to do with Jan’s party and not wanting to look at his friends and remember that they’d seen him in the aftermath and fucking resenting that they’d seen him that way. You won’t get past it unless you deal with it.

He was grateful for his mom, much as he missed her.

Mom teaching me to play piano. The times she took me to the ballet.

Maria had loved the ballet; she was thrilled when she found out that Bucky’s sister was a dancer. They’d gone to the Nutcracker every year until Tony went off to college, and even then, she’d asked him every year if he wanted to go. He nursed a small regret that he’d said no last year, too eager to avoid questions about his lack of significant other. On the other hand, that had lead him to grabbing Bucky’s advertisement.

Bucky’s ridiculousness Bucky’s patience Bucky’s terrible bedhead

That had given him a bright spurt, first thing in the morning, on so many days. Bucky’s hair was shoulder length, thick and silky-soft, prone to curling up if it was humid or drizzly, and after sleeping on it, the whole thing had a mind and life of its own. Tony was almost convinced that Bucky’s hair was what lead to tales of the medusa with her crown of snakes.

Bubblewrap

Tony was prone to abusing his Amazon Now account and the last batch of stuff he needed without bothering to get the fuck off the sofa had come wrapped in yards of it. Tony’d put the widget aside without even playing with it, just so he could snap a few dozen air pockets.

Doughnuts. Grapes. Peppermint frappuccinos. Good beer. Bad vodka. Really terrible marshmallow flavored vodka. Cold pizza for breakfast. Bucky’s tomato soup out of a mug when I’m not feeling well.

Cheese.

Cheese whiz.

Stop judging me from across the living room Nat, I can feel the judgement here.

Roller skates.

Bucky’s kisses. Blow jobs. Sleepy morning sex.   

There were a lot of other sex things to be grateful for, but he wasn’t sure if he and Nat were going to be exchanging lists, and Nat had made it perfectly clear that while she didn’t care that her brother was having sex, she really didn’t want to hear about it (or hear it) in any great detail.

Metallica. AC/DC. Black Sabbath.

Baby Metal.

Guilty pleasure that, and he was sure there were hundreds of hard-core metal fans that were going to come for his head-banging card for admitting it, but the Japanese jpop/heavy metal group were weirdly… cute, for lack of a better word. Like shiny, sparkly vampires, he couldn’t help but love it, even if people with sense, taste, and dignity thought they were awful.

Tony thought dignity was over-rated anyway.

Bucky’s eyes. The way he looks at me The way he looks at kitten videos The fact that he shares stupid kitten videos with me Because he knows I won’t look at them on my own

Bucky. Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky.

November was a good time to take a cool down walk.

First, it was cool -- cold, even. Walking angrily while bundled up in sweatshirts and a hoodie and a coat and a scarf, with gloves and hands shoved in your pockets was oddly satisfying.

Sweat formed and dried against Bucky’s throat, keeping him mostly comfortable. His chest ached as he dragged in cold air and expelled it in a puff of steamy condensation. Like being a dragon.

All he needed was claws and the ability to fly away from his problems for a while.

Which just got him feeling weirdly guilty because there were so many people who would commit murder (not funny, brain) to have the kinds of problems that Bucky had. Smokin’ hot boyfriend who was smart, funny, and rich? What was there to complain about?

The fucking dishes and who left their trash around the house?

Like, what even was that?

Of course, Tony’s desire to throw money at problems was a bit annoying. Bucky’d taken the phone away from him at one point in the middle of calling a plumber for a loose flap in the tank that had taken Bucky all of fifteen minutes to fix.

Except Bucky could kinda see Tony’s point.

The kind of money Tony had, the kind he made just existing, it seemed a little silly to waste his time putting in new toilet guts and saving a hundred dollars on a plumber fee. Bucky wasn’t even sure why they still lived in Bucky’s tiny, overcrowded flat. Tony’d never even brought it up, but after seeing where Tony had grown up, it was strange that Tony didn’t seem stifled in his place.

Didn’t really make Bucky feel better about the situation. It was a little easier, back when he was bodyguarding for Tony, but that had gone over like a lead balloon. Epic fail.

Bucky didn’t like feeling useless. It bent back to the times when his father had yelled at him about dreaming his life away. The military had gone and shattered that dreamy boy, left him with a man who needed work to have worth.

It wasn’t fair to take it out on Tony, though. Bucky’s ego problems were his own damn problems. He shouldn’t need Tony to prop up his self-esteem, or worse, trying to make Tony feel small so that Bucky could feel better.

That wasn’t the man he wanted to be.

Of course, he didn’t know who he was. He hadn’t been Sergeant Barnes since an IED had tried to erase half of him from existence.

He’d been a bouncer, a bodyguard. He defined himself by what he did, and now that he wasn’t doing anything, he didn’t know who he was.

Tony, at least, had school, and eventually he’d have a company to run. He had court dates and therapy visits.

Bucky had four walls and an inferiority complex.

Fuck.

What… what the hell did he do now?

“Hey, man,” someone said, and Bucky jerked to a stop. People didn’t usually talk to him, especially when he was walking with his resting bitchface on. “Spare a dollar?”

Bucky blinked, suddenly aware of how cold it was. Looked down at the man sitting in the lee side of a staircase. Hard to tell how thin he was, bundled up in a bunch of discards. His face was covered in a thin beard, but he smiled when Bucky actually made eye contact. It was a harsh sort of smile, the guy had a face like a brick wall.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He dug into his back pocket for his wallet. He didn’t have anything smaller than a twenty in there. What the hell. Bucky thumbed out three of them. Twisted into a squat. Handed them over.

The guy had a young man’s face but old-man hands, the knuckles swollen and bent, fingers red and peeling.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. I’m Bucky, it’s nice to meet you. Cold out here, today, yeah?”

“Oh, man, yeah,” the man said. “Name’s Frank Castle. An’ it’s one of those days, man. Fallish wind is blowin, and it finds the hole in your pants, blows straight up the crack of your ass, don’t it just?”

Bucky couldn’t help a rueful smile at that, pretty damn good description, really. “When was the last time you had a warm bed?”

Frank shrugged a shoulder. “What, man, you writin’ a book?” Bucky couldn’t imagine how bad things had to be to sit on a street and beg for cash, what people probably said and thought and knowing that no way in hell it was ever going to be enough. Little booze to cut the chill, let you forget about that empty feeling in your stomach.

“No,” Bucky said, honestly, “just… come into some money recently and I want to help.”

Frank gave him a sharp glance. “Havin’ a crisis of conscience man, wanna pay back karma by doing a good deed. Fuck off, dude.”

“The room’s no less warm if I’m getting feelgood points out of it,” Bucky pointed out. His father had never held any traction with beggars and homeless before. Bucky’d given a dollar to a wino one day and his dad had yelled at him about it. You feed a homeless guy, give him shelter, and what happens? Well, you just have to feed him again tomorrow. You got extra money, put it someplace where it’ll do some good, kiddo.  

Frank tipped his head. “Yeah, truth.”

“Come on, then,” Bucky said, offering a hand up. “I’ll buy you dinner and get you a room for the night.”

“I ain’t gonna blow you,” Frank said, scowling.

“I’m not asking,” Bucky said. He shuddered inwardly. What a fucking world this was, that even something as simple as giving a hungry guy some food was suspicious.

Frank scorned the offered hand up and scrambled to his feet.

“Christ, you’re a big guy.”

“Don’t you forget it, neither,” Frank said. “Street people go missin’ all the time. I ain’t gonna be one of ‘em.”

Bucky nodded. He pulled out his phone, popped off a brief text to Tony to let him know he’d be a bit later than expected. Checked the map to see what food was nearby.

Chinese take-away acquired and it wasn’t too far for a Day’s Inn. He got a room for two days while Frank lurked under the staircase, aware that any hotel check-in manager wasn’t going to want a streeter in their room. Bucky cringed a bit; he knew what Frank must be thinking, must be worried about. How easy it would be for someone like Bucky to make someone like Frank vanish.

“So, what now?” Frank asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Bucky put his load of food down on the tiny table near the television. “Now nothing. You can eat. Have a shower. Get a few night’s sleep. Here’s my cell number. You can call me if you want.”

“You just doing your good deed, and poof, vanishing?”

“I ain’t gotten that far in my head yet, pal,” Bucky admitted.

“Well, whoever you killed that you need this much redemption, I hope he was an asshole,” Frank said.

“Take care of yourself, Frank,” Bucky said.

Frank was already deep in a paper container of Kung Pao chicken. “Thanksgiving came early, got it.” He gave Bucky a thumbs up and turned his attention back to more important things. Like food.

Tony wasn’t always as good with people as he thought he should be. Genius, right? He should be able to figure things out, except the one thing that he had figured out was that people didn’t make sense. They weren’t like circuits that traveled from A to B to C neatly, and they weren’t like science, where doing the exact same thing got you the exact same results.

“Biology,” one of his teachers had stressed, “is not chemistry.”

A biological system could mutate. Could randomize. Could end up being purple for absolutely no reason whatsoever, and sometimes you could track that reason down, and sometimes you just had to throw up your hands and say “magic.”

People were huge biological systems. Not just the meat and bones parts, either. He’d taken a few classes on human bio, just to round out his education a little, and just the basic studies of pharmaceutical science made his head hurt. Nothing in pharma made sense at all. Theory, where everything worked, except medication, where none of it did what it was supposed to and things that did were nonsense and should not have done that at all.

But even Tony could tell that Bucky was in a vastly improved state of mind by the time he got home. He hugged and kissed his sister and then hugged and kissed Tony with a little more heat. Apologized for the take-away being cold and needing to be microwaved, and Tony might have raised his eyebrows a little when he realized that Bucky had walked all the way to Genghis Connie’s rather than grabbing the slightly less expensive and much, much closer (if not as good, Genghis Connie’s made the best egg rolls!) No1. China.

“Well, this explains where you’ve been,” Tony said, taking his chicken and cashew out of the microwave. He was reminded, stuffing a mouthful of saucy chicken into his mouth, that Bucky paid attention. When he’d stormed out to get dinner, which was code for I need to not throw something at you right now, he hadn’t taken an order, or gotten Tony’s opinion on what to eat. But Bucky knew… he knew Tony’s preferences, had remembered them. Sure, Tony sometimes liked to wander off the beaten path and get something else -- particularly at No1, which did not do very good eggrolls, and he usually got the crab wonton there instead -- but he’d commented aside once that Connie’s did the best chicken cashew.

And after a fight, where they’d yelled at each other and gotten exasperated and had to stomp off to sulk like recalcitrant toddlers for fuck’s sake… Bucky had remembered. Had, as the phrase went, gone the extra mile (quite literally) for one of Tony’s favorites.

Tony was honest enough with himself to know that if he hadn’t been doing gratitude exercises with Nat, he might not have fucking noticed.

Bucky warmed up hot and sour soup for himself, handed his sister a packet of crunchies for her egg drop. “Yeah, I was thinking. Sorry it took me so long.” He gave Tony a long, significant look. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Which was code for I don’t want to talk in front of my sister. Which was understandable. Having an audience for those kind of conversations was awkward at best. Tony stuffed another mouthful of chicken into his face and sat on his mental hands to keep from dragging Bucky off to their bedroom and demand to talk now.

“So,” Nat said, running her spoon up her chin to catch bits of spillover soup. “If you do not want to talk, I will talk. I have news.”

Oh, right. She’d come home with good news, she’d said. “Spill, Nat,” Tony encouraged. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Nat put her food down, finished chewing, and wiped her lips with her fingers.

“I am going to be Clara,” she said. “Dottie Underwood’s pregnant.”

Nat had been Vivandière at first, one of the doll-toys, and also a snowflake, and a Marzipan dancer, but she’d been understudy to the lead-dancer’s role, the child Clara, to whom the Nutcracker Prince was given. Dottie, who was lead, had been prima donna for a long time. Nat had barely been even looking at the role, because no one expected anything to happen to Dottie.

Bucky practically knocked over his food getting up to hug his sister. “Oh, Tash, that’s… that’s a leading role! That’s great!”

“It is… a great opportunity,” Nat said. “She is pregnant with the producer’s child. There have been rumors that she will not be coming back after the baby. We shall see about that, but in the meanwhile, I have this role. And if I perform with excellence, I may be prima dona for the spring show as well. But I must practice, all the time, now. There will be no second chances.”

“Anything we can do to make it easier,” Bucky promised.

“Yeah, congrats,” Tony said, and he joined them in the group hug, happy for his little family. Happy for his to-be sister.

Just… happy.

Grateful.

[winedwords]

Seven| Fade |Dunne

Title: Fade

Pairing; Past Trent Seven/Reader, Pete Dunne/Reader

Words; 2457

Summary; Now all I can do is say congratulations and fade into the background.

Warnings; Mildly NSFW. ANGST. Brief description of oral sex. Unhealthy coping methods. Minimal editing, because I will die like a boss. Drabble.

 A/N: repost from the old blog

Why was I even here?

I had been standing alone outside the church for thirty minutes, trying to collect myself.

My hands were shaking and clammy. My head was filled with ghosts of another life. It felt like there was an iceberg in my stomach, chilling me to the bone. Every part of my body felt like it was filled with slowly drying cement.

It was going to start soon.

I thought I had put this all behind me. I thought I had left the feelings for him in my early twenties. We were ancient history, better off as friends he said. And maybe we were, but my feelings had apparently never died. They only went from being a roaring bonfire to a dull ember. I was too selfish to actually let him go, accepting the friendship he had offered as a pale substitute for what I wanted.

Then that delicate cream and ivory invitation had turned up in my mail, stuffed haphazardly between a Vogue magazine and my light bill.

And now five years later…

I was woken by the warmth of the sun on my face, the smell of brewing coffee, and the feel of his mouth on my core, beard scratching at the delicate flesh of my inner thighs. My back bowed involuntarily and my hands travelled down underneath the sheets to grasp at the long hair between my thighs. He chuckled, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through me and my heels digging into the mattress.

“Trent…”

I was knocked out of recollections of lazy Sunday mornings past by a small silver flask being pressed into my hand.

“The ceremony starts in ten. Figured you might want some liquid courage before you go to your seat.”

God fucking bless Zack Sabre Jr.

I glanced gratefully at him as I took the flask and worked the cap off of the silver container. He looked sharp, the tailored suit of a groomsman fitting his long form perfectly. Without asking what mystery liquor was in the flask, I tilted my head back and took three hard pulls, the liquid searing my esophagus.

Whiskey.

God, I was turning into a regular American country song.

I was silent for another moment, savoring the almost unpleasant burn of the alcohol, and wiping my lipstick from the mouth of the flask.

“You’re a treasure Zack. I appreciate this.”

The lanky man’s face was soft, his eyes understanding. I frowned at the look, shaking my head. I handed him the flask back and turning on my heel.

“Don’t. Let’s just get this thing done.”

The eyes of our friends and the bride and groom’s families were like lasers as I walked in to the church. The chatter went from a dull roar to a murmur, the sound of my heels clicking against the stone floors echoing through the chapel as I took a seat in a pew towards the back. The mother of the bride had barely concealed her sneer at my appearance.

Momma Seven though… It was her eyes that were the hardest to meet. Even from my seat to the rear of the church, I could see the subtle quiver of her chin and the suspicious brightness of her eyes. She gave me a watery smile with a discreet nod and it took everything I had to force back the tears I could feel burning at the back of my eyes.

I didn’t know if I could do this.

“I’ve never seen my boy like this with anyone. You must be something special.”

I smiled, flushing from the roots of my hair to my chest. “You raised an excellent man Mrs. Seven, I’m just lucky that he chose to spend some time with me.”

The older woman leaned in close, the delicate scent of her perfume tickling my nose, her hand clasping mine.

“I look forward to the day you become my daughter.”

I was forcibly jarred from memories of the past by the music starting to announce the entrance of the bridal party.

I turned to face the bridal party a beat after everyone, the whiskey dulling my response time by just a hair. I was thankful that Zack had provided me with the whiskey before the ceremony because facing the faces of friends from both the present and the past before the love of my life’s wedding was going to be rough.

Scurll.

Nods exhanged.

Andrews.

More nodding.

Sabre.

A small smile was met with a weak one of my own.

Dunne.

A barely concealed snarl? Curious.

Bate.

His arched brows were met with a glower.

Then there he was.

Trent.

He was perfection in his tuxedo, his chest puffed out with pride as he began to walk down the aisle. The grin on his face was a mile wide and he was glowing as he looked over the gathered assembly of his family and friends. Then our eyes locked for just a second and I could feel my skin heat and the hair raise on the back of my neck before Trent continued down the aisle. It was the sight of his back to me that dispelled the warmth his look had inspired in me, leaving me cold and my stomach roiling.

“I love you (Y/N), I always will…”

The opening keys of Here Comes the Bride and we all stood. She was radiant in all white, the delicate veil pulled over her face, and my heart sunk at the stony look in her eyes as she saw me. She knew all about who I was and what I used to be. That it could have been me instead of her. That she might have been me, sitting in the pew.

And just as quick as the stoniness appeared, it disappeared. She was all grace and polish as she practically floated down the aisle, her arm hooked with that of her father.

“But I’m not in love with you anymore.”

I tuned the opening remarks of the priest out, staring unblinkingly at a spot just beyond where the bride and groom were now holding hands and staring lovingly at each other. If I were to glance to them, even for just a moment, I don’t know if I could keep it together.

“ If anyone feels this couple should not be united in Holy Matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Tension tore through the chapel. Some people not so discreetly turned their heads in my direction and I steeled my eyes, my lips pursed. The bride herself had turned her head ever so slightly in my direction and Pete had clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.

Time slowed.

I loved Trent. I loved him like a sailor loved the sea. I loved him like the sun loved the moon and the stars loved the sky. He was lazy Sundays spent in bed wrapped around each other. He was the dark, smoky nights in a pub, hunched over a beer with our thighs brushing against each other and hands clasped tightly together.

Trent was simultaneously this wild, passionate, all consuming love and steady, soft, comforting love. I respected him like one respects a force of nature and like one respects a healer.

A small, vocal part of me wanted to object loudly and vigorously. This was the little torch I still carried for him, five years later, that wanted to rage and riot and do everything in its power to convince Trent that he was making a mistake, that we still belonged together, that I wasn’t just a friend.

He’d made his choice.

And that choice wasn’t me.

I stayed silent, my eyes firmly on my shaking hands, and just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. The priest seemed to let out a breath of relief, before continuing on.

Pete’s heated eyes didn’t move from my form, the look on his face unreadable.

I owed Zack. The whiskey had been drunk on an empty stomach and the pleasant buzz in my veins had made a ceremony that should have left me broken and sobbing pass in a blur. I was still helpless to the way my breath hitched and my body seized when the priest announced them man and wife.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Trent, that sap, grabbed his new bride and dipped her into a deep, borderline inappropriate kiss.

He wasn’t mine anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time.

There had been a little bit of hope for that little candle I still carried for him. But now?

Trent Seven belonged to someone else.

Mamma Seven had come by the apartment I had shared with Trent before… everything fell apart.

I was just coming down the stairs, another box in my arms to load up into my little car. I’d seen her approaching and I tried to walk faster to avoid what was coming.

“(Y/N)?”

My shoulder shuddered, but I kept going.

For an older woman, she was fast and she had caught me by my elbow. I turned to look at her, my vision bleary from unshed tears.

“Oh sweetheart I am so sorry.”

It was when she wrapped me into a warm embrace that a wet sob wracked through my body.

“I told ‘im to not do it, y'know.”

I had been essentially hiding on the outskirts of the reception, sipping on my third Jack and ginger, waiting for an appropriate time to say my congratulations and goodbyes and leave. If I was going to be the most miserable person at this party, I was going to at least take advantage of the open bar. Pete, who had spoken was to my left, his expression inscrutable.

“Told him to not do what?”

I took a long pull from my drink, knowing exactly where this conversation was going to go and keeping my gaze away from his sharp face. If the younger man was going to bring up what should be ancient, buried history, I’d need something to make the dull the ache in my chest.

“I told ‘im not to send ya an invitation. Told ‘im it was fucked up.”

I snorted, shaking my head a little too long before sipping again at the near empty drink.

“We’re just friends, Peter. We’ve been just friends for a very, very long time.”

His laugh was condescending and harsh, head shaking. I glowered at him, as he took a sip of his own dark beverage. The smirk on his face made me want to hit him with something heavy.

“Yeah, darlin’ yer not foolin’ me. What ya feel towards Trent is the furthest thing from fuckin’ just friends.”

My knuckles were white from gripping the tumbler as hard as I was. I had to grit my teeth and employ every bit of willpower I had in my repertoire to keep from flinging the glass into his face. Pete’s smirk widened by just a fraction at my silence, leaning in much closer to me, his gray eyes darker than charcoal and almost predatory. Some primal portion of my psyche was very, very responsive to his body language and the way he was looking at me.

“If ya need it, ya can use me (Y/N). Ta get Trent out of your system. What he asked ya ta do was fucked and ya don’t deserve that. Ya can take it out on me. Ya might even enjoy it, I know I would.”

My cheeks filled with color at his words in a way that could be misconstrued as embarrassment or anger, but the way my thighs clenched involuntarily. I had been with other men since Trent, sure, but there was something about Pete…

“Put your money where your mouth is Peter.”

He looked triumphant as he stood, an arm proffered to me to bid our goodbyes to the bride and the groom.

I was guided by him to the table on the dais where the bride and groom were holding court over the reception with the bridal party.

“I’m gonna take off Trent. Congratulations.”

My smile was so much more confident than I actually felt, but the whiskey provided a false light to my eyes.

Trent’s face was soft and warm as he stood to hug me.

Fuck he even smelled the same as he did back then. The embrace was a long one, so much so that I could feel his bride shifting next to him.

“Thank you for coming, (Y/N). It really means a lot to me that you were here.”

I could feel my eyes going glassy and I had to blink rapidly to prevent them from filling.

“Anything for you Trent. I wish to you all the love and happiness in the world.”

His arms dropped away from around me, leaving me cold.

Pete’s jaw was tightened again, his eyes dark with something that most definitely was not the predatory lust from just moments earlier. He nodded his farewell to the bride and the groom as I spoke to the new Mrs. Seven.

“You looked beautiful. Treat him well would you?”

She nodded stiffly, her smile wooden and eyes sharp with distaste. Not that I could blame her.

Pete was practically glued to my side as we said our goodbyes to other friends. Mama Seven seized me into a firm hug and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek.

“Take your happiness where you can find it, (Y/N). You’re allowed to be happy.”

We turned to leave.

I didn’t see the steely glare that Trent sent to Pete, who had only responded with a victorious baring of his teeth.

I didn’t see Trent’s clenched fists as I left with the younger man’s thick arm draped dangerously low across my hips. I didn’t see Mamma Seven place a hand on the newly married man’s arm, her look stern and fiery. I didn’t hear her murmured words.

“You don’t get to have that feeling anymore, Trent. You made the decision.”

I did catch Zack’s disappointed stare and sober me would spend entirely too long dissecting that look and the consequences of my decisions.

I was going to lose myself in Pete and I was going to leave Trent and everything I had ever felt for him here at the reception hall.

The cab ride back to Pete’s flat was spent in his lap, the kisses feverish and desperate, the windows fogging. The cabby had grumbled about horny kids and Pete had just barked back to “Drive, old man.” before returning his mouth to mine, a hand disappearing up the hem of my dress.

If that took just one night or multiple nights, Pete had made clear that he was game for however long I would have him.

Maybe… just maybe.

[zealoptics]

The Outsiders by ZEAL Rider Ian Wood

Words by **[Ian Wood](https://www.instagram.com/eanwood/)** | Photos by **[Jordan Ingmire](https://www.instagram.com/jordaningmire/)**

The sound of explosions stir me from a deep slumber. The bombs may be going off thousands of feet away but the blasts shake me from my dream world. Barely awake I sit up to investigate the violent action, bouncing my head off the bunk above. The “rude” awakening knocks me back down, a dry mouth from the propane heater running off and on all night reminds me where I am. Rubbing my eyes to adjust to the light, and a quick pull of the window blinds, reveals a winter wonderland. The bombs that stirred me from my fantasy world are the result of hard working ski patrollers doing their best to keep us safe from avalanches in the available side country. Comfortably nestled in my 16 foot tiny home, I am amidst the cascade mountains in Washington state. From the looks of my neighbor RV’s we have received a healthy amount of fresh snow over night. Rolling out of my bunk and placing my feet on the noticeably cold floor sends a quick signal to my brain that its going to be nice blower pow. Where are my slippers?. . . It’s 7 o clock in the morning and the chairs don’t start spinning until 9. With the resort lifts and split board trails being accessible out my front door I have plenty of time to get ready. Living in a trailer in the parking lot of a resort, you build morning routines. So much time spent by yourself allows you the freedom to do what you want, when you want. Meditation has made it into the start of my day, followed by a nutrient packed fruit smoothie. Somedays I listen to an audio book or inspiring tunes, maybe a quick stretch, and then I put on my space suit for the wild frontier. Isn’t this what we are striving for our whole lives? - Complete freedom, nobody telling us what to do or how to live. Shouldn’t we be fine tuning physical/mental health with joy, adventure, and a lust for life? I chuckle to myself as I ponder the perspective of my life, how did I get here? - 32 years old, no kids, no wife, no mortgage or salary career, living in a trailer that is smaller than some peoples closets. If you were to write this down and read it to someone, they would feel sorry for me. If they were to see my smile or feel my energy as this pervasive lust for living, they just might question the way they look at life.

Growing up in a capitalist nation where economy is god, and success is based upon the amount of things you possess, I had all the proper training to be a compliant citizen. In the West at 5 years old we are shuffled through a school system that is based more on conforming than education. It appears to be preparation for the 9-5 world with a vibrant brochure selling the restricted life of a weekend warrior. All the tv shows portraying the “happy” rich people with all their possessions, living in big mansions, surrounded by “beautiful” people, contribute to a thorough brain washing. The deep irony is when these movie stars, symbolizing the ultimate success of the american dream, often end their own lives in misery. I can’t say how this country is viewed from the outside but it seems that a lot of foreigners come here in hope of acquiring financial wealth and pursuing this illusion. Interestingly enough this nation is comprised of foreigners. We are all immigrants except for the few indigenous natives who have almost been entirely snuffed out. The trouble begins when necessities are far surpassed and endless desires are sought one after the other. The core issue is these desires are never filled and endless consumerism runs rampant. A bi product of this foolishness is a nation that suffers from severe obesity and malnutrition simultaneously. Unfortunately the PNW of the United states is a major influence in this worlds over consumption. Amazon, Microsoft, Starbucks, and Costco are just a few of the fortune 500 companies located in Seattle. A city surrounded by natural wonder, with the pacific ocean on one side and the cascade mountain range on the other. I was right on track to be another cog in the wheel, another poor sap in debt living pay check to pay check. Buying a bunch of things I didn’t need, to fit in or look good in some one else’s judgement. This is one ideal this nation whole heartedly promotes. This constant hunger for more leaves the blind consumer in debt regardless of socioeconomic status. It’s easy to get lost in this society living beyond their means. Look at our national debt for reference as to how we are taught to spend money. From this path… I slowly strayed. The mountains called and as the famous John Muir quote states; I had to go!

Hindsight is always 20 20. Looking back, I can see the friends that pulled me back into the mountains saved my life. Being a product of the NorthWest was a blessing that was hard to fully realize. Some of the greatest outsiders and heroes to exist in the snow world, come from this area. Humans that forever changed the snowboarding world were located all around me and leading lives way outside the norm. They were more like professional dirtbags than Olympians. The skills to be trained into super athletes were there, but they chose to live a life of freedom and self expression. These professionals were less about selling out and more about expressing themselves freely, on their own terms. You don’t have to be a legend to enjoy a similar lifestyle, boarding as much as you can and working as little as you have to. The locals shaped me even more so than the legends. “You work - I ride”, so the saying goes. The slogan “work to live, don’t live to work” comes up often. These people that surrounded me spent their money in a very different manner. Extravagance was a “new” used vehicle that handled the snowy roads in a supreme way, or a rig that could transform into a sleeping domain. Maybe a new gizmo for snow camping or a fancy sleeping bag that packed small and was light. Simultaneously we were becoming more self sufficient and learning how to spend money wisely. I didn’t know it at the time, but these people I like to refer to as the outsiders, were shaping me. As I became an “adult” (I put it in quotations because I think it is absolutely insane that someone being an adult is based on age and not life experience) I came to realize that most people were lost. Year after year, the older they got the more confused they seemed to be. Their connection to what mattered in life slowly dwindled as they bought into the game. Work beat them down and a diet of processed food provided them with no fuel. Coffee delivers a quick blast of energy for a long drawn out day. The ever growing list of how society tries to fill the voids will leave your head spinning. For many years I have pondered, and even now it seems, that kids have it much more figured out than adults! Youngsters are happy chasing dreams and living for the moment. The beliefs that create their realities are still uninhibited, so they are able to enjoy the little things. Snowboarding takes me back to that mental clarity. Every time I strap in, my mind grows a little more silent as the moment zooms in to capture my attention. Pushing skills to a new level can cloud the mind with fear. Making the decision to trust in your ability clears the sky and locks you in where time stands still.

The people I meet in the NW have inspired me to leap into more than just snowboard specific adventures. Every aspect of one’s life effects the other and it’s best to be well rounded. Adventures of every kind can be linked to snowboarding in one way or another. Learning how to navigate the world and trust in your life skills to get you where you need to be is one example. From Yoga, to skateboarding, even dancing, it all can help you with self expression and in turn improve the picture you paint on a board. I started the winter season going to a 10 day silent meditation retreat with photographer/best bud Jordan Ingmire. This shared wisdom solidified the lessons learned from snowboarding. The present moment is the only reality. As soon as we add thoughts or words to things, we have strayed. Our minds are trained in this society to constantly be thinking about the future or the past. Focused on likes or dislikes, we form a craving for the things we desire and try to avoid the things we dislike. So constantly we are planning for the future, or revisiting the things that have already happened. We want more of the things we like and are upset when we get what we don’t want. Both of these judgements are illusions. The images with attached emotions either no longer exist or are an interpreted creation of the future. All of our thoughts around experiences are not truly reality. They are a merely a projection of the mind which in turn creates what we believe to be reality. So those moments while ripping down a line, or riding through a technical part of the mountain, are actually creating the silent mind that brings us closer to the truest reality. Wether you are taking a conscious deep breath sitting in a cross legged position or standing on top of a glorious mountain top, you are training the mind to be aware of what is going on inside of it. Slowly bringing awareness to our daily actions muffles the constant brain chatter and creates space for the only true reality- the present moment. Any one that has been terrified by the raw elements of a mountain has lived through this mind altering experience of a silent mind.

For the last several years I was caught in a whirlwind of dreaming and creation. Desires of achieving fantasies began to develop in my mind and expanded as I shared them with others. The winters had been very active with traveling, working on video projects, and getting caught up in the go go go, do do do. This winter I set out to focus on “being” more than “doing”. Starting the season off in meditation had a huge impact on how I wanted to spend my winter and what I felt was important to focus on. I decided I was going to spend the entire winter at home in the PNW. No distant travels, no video projects, and nothing more than immersing myself in the art of snowboarding. Whether it was with my best friends, the local community, strangers, or by myself, I found room for growth in all relationships. With the climate pattern rollercoaster ride we have been locked into in the NW, it was a risky move. Travel has always been a back up plan for winters that never show up. Japan in January, Alaska in April, the interior mountains of BC , Montana, Wyoming, allow for plenty of Plan B options. With travel comes planning, and with planning comes extensive mental activity. I wanted to get rid of all the things that add to the mind game of winter. That way I could find my place in the mountains with clear thoughts and tuned senses. We are constantly searching for connection to the moment as boarders and one of the best ways to help that process is to alleviate as much mental chatter as possible. I deliberately decided to put all of my eggs in one basket and whether winter came as I desired or not, I was staying and making the best of it. Worse case scenario you can always go adventure on your split board, walk for miles and search around corners you haven’t looked past before. The stars aligned as it became one of the best winters for Washington in many years, with cold temperatures and big storms that seemed to never end. The snow just kept stacking and the energy was high in the PNW. It was a season for the soul. One of those winters where you run into all your buddies on the hiking routes or skin trails. I found myself greeting friends with big hugs and thinking “you know what. . . there are friends on a pow day.” We were riding as many of our favorite lines as we could in one day. Lines that you sometimes only ride once a year because the conditions have to be just right, were getting ridden several times a week. No video cameras, no waiting to get the shot, no worries about landing a trick or how your style was; just pure intimacy with the mountains and the people sharing them with you.

As the planet rotates around the sun the seasons will change here in the PNW. Spring time comes with longer days and stronger ultra violet rays. The rivers flow with snow melt as photosynthesis sprouts new life on the hillsides. T shirts and open vents become common on the touring trails and chair lifts, as winter pow turns to spring corn. Fresh snow can bless us all the way into May, providing up to 7 months of possible fresh snow adventures. The park rats and split boarders rejoice as their favorite season is upon them. In the same day you can lap the park with friends and in the evening tour up to soak in breathtaking views. In strong winter seasons, such as this past one, you can extend your snow season year round. The list of volcanos in the area is long and the adventures bountiful. “Variety is the spice of life”; one of my favorite expressions. Living in the PNW I can’t help but completely agree with this notion. Summer comes and the thoughts of the year ahead are born in the stillness created in the absence of daily snow obsession. Sometimes I worry about what the future holds for the PNW snow lovers. Big money is pushing hard to suck the life out of the mountains. Solace and solitude are being replaced with high speed quads and 4 star hotels. Seattle is growing and you can see the reflection of it in the traffic to all of the hills. Will we just become another destination resort? Will the dirtbag locals living in their cars at the mountain be run off by people commuting 2 hours everyday? Only time will tell. I reflect back on lessons learned in the meditation hall. Be present here in the now, and let the thoughts pass like clouds in the sky. My judgement of what is best is just a figment of my imagination. For now the mountains in the PNW are full of life, love, and soul. Explorers, adventurers, athletes, party people, weirdos, musicians, artists, and of course the city people, all share these beautiful mountains. I hope that one day you have the opportunity to visit this majestic place I call home. We can easily be considered outsiders In a world where so many equate success and happiness to financial status. Every day we strap in we are representing the importance of something greater than that. Outsider: “a person who does not belong to a particular group.” There are enough of us here in the PNW that have formed a group of our own. We are the outsiders and you are welcome to join us.

Ian’s Top Picks

[SHOP ACE](https://www.zealoptics.com/en/shop/sunglasses/lifestyle-collection/ace "SHOP ACE") [SHOP FARGO](https://www.zealoptics.com/en/shop/goggles/select-series/fargo "SHOP FARGO")

Want more? Check out the below and follow Ian’s journey this winter @eanwood.

[turtlesoupstories]

In the Depths of the Sea- Chapter 3

Hi friends, it’s Marlo here! I know you are all probably a tad bit confused as to why the third chapter of a fic is going up on here, but I have made the decision to move In the Depths of the Sea, my Pirate!AU,  over here to Turtle Soup Stories, rather than leaving it on my personal blog. There are a myriad of reasons behind this shift, more than I can list here, but if you would like more information, feel free to message me on my main blog ( @marlosbooknook ).

As always, a massive thank you to my Kilt Kult pals for their constant support and advice, and an extra special thank you to the always lovely @bonnie-wee-swordsman, who actually saved this chapter.

To read the previous chapters, be sure to check my ao3 here!

Thanks and lots of love (as always)

-Marlo

Previously…

In the distance, she saw a dark mass on the shore. A piece of driftwood was not unusual on the tropical coast, but something deep in the pit of her stomach told Claire that there was something more. The invisible tether continued to pull her forward, and she didn’t feel herself break into a run, hiking up her skirts as her feet pounded into the damp sand. Claire stopped in her tracks and stared at the sight before her. A flash of fiery red. A subtle movement. A limp hand.

Jesus H. Christ…. Claire thought as she stared helplessly at the man lying motionless in the surf.

Claire rushed forward, stumbling over the shifting sand before falling to her knees in front of the mysterious figure. He was laying on his back, a thick coating of sand masking his features, save for his russet curls.

That bloody hair may very well have saved his life! Claire thought. Had the crimson spot on the shore not caught her attention, she would never had been able to distinguish the figure in the distance, and identify it as a person. She brushed the damp curls out of his face, but it was nearly impossible to discern any obvious injuries with the mask of sand blanketing his face and exposed skin.

He was breathing, that much Claire was sure of. She could see the rise and fall of his chest through the soaked layers of clothing clinging to his muscular frame. There was no way she could lift him, and she couldn’t send back for help without leaving him to the wrath of the ocean. It was impossible to tell whether he was going to wake up or not, no way of knowing what trauma he had faced at sea before arriving on the Barbados shore. Her repeated attempts at rousing him failed- her shaking, pinching and gentle murmurs of encouragement eliciting no response. With no signs of active life, Claire’s hope was beginning to falter, as the mental images of disastrous accidents danced across her thoughts Was he a sailor? Had he slipped from the riggings and been swept away under the masses of foam, assumed to be dead by his friends and crew? Did he have a family, a wife, children, someone wondering where he was or if he was alive?

“Oh, bloody hell!”

So caught up was she in her examination of the mysterious castaway that she failed to to notice the arrival of the storm, which had been ominously looming in the distance. Only the sharp darts of rain against her skin and the vibrations of the clapping thunder alerted her of its presence. It only hastened the importance of getting her unconscious companion to safety.

“Come on you bastard, why can’t you just wake up?!” Her attempts at restoring consciousness became increasingly more desperate. Urgently she shook him, praying internally that the  jarring motion would restore some semblance of activity to the man’s limp form. His face in between her hands, Claire let out a tirade of every curse she knew, in English and French, any and all expletives she picked up from Uncle Lamb and his consortium of world travelers she knew. Fear made its home in the pit of her stomach as he remained unresponsive.

She stood up, grains of sand cascading off her skirts onto the unconscious man in front of her. Exasperated by her failure and the increasingly antagonistic circumstances, Claire ran a hand through her salt- licked curls as the cool sea breeze caused her to shiver. Below her, her unexpected companion shuddered, and Claire noticed his face pale beneath his sandy armour as a concerning blue tinge seeped into his lips.

A sigh of relief. He was moving, breathing, and it appeared to Claire that he was slowly inching towards life. But the initial joy at his movement was quickly replaced by dread as the reason for his sudden stirring became clear in Claire’s mind.

Jesus, he’ll freeze to death if I don’t do something! Claire realized with a shock. How could she have been so careless? So concerned had she been in her search for superficial, visible ailments, that Claire failed to realize the more pressing and life-threatening chill that was seeping into her patient’s bones. He was soaking wet, and the icy rain and sea breeze were sapping away any of the heat that remained in his body. For the first time since arriving in Bridgetown, Claire was unsure of what to do.  Never in her years in Barbados had she dealt with someone suffering from the cold. She knew of no medicinal herbs and no immediate cure for heat deprivation, other than to get this man to safety and warmth as quickly as she could. In her heart, Claire felt like she had failed in her sole mission. In an existence devoted aiding those in need who had nowhere else to turn, she had never held a life in her hands: a fragile, temporary, fleeting, human life.

She spared a panicked glance in the direction from which she had come in the unlikely hope that Frank had followed her, yet he was nowhere to be seen. The one time the man chooses to mind his own bloody business! She was utterly alone, save for the man clinging to life before her.

She felt something wet lapping at her toes through her stockings, looking down to realize the tide was quickly coming in. A flash of lightning illuminated the roiling sea in the distance. Looming waves towered into the air, creeping steadily closer to the shore. The fear of drowning gripped Claire and rattled her to the core. She had to get out- quickly. But she couldn’t just leave this man to his death; she had to act.

Soaked to the skin from ocean water and rain, Claire secured the arms of the red-haired giant; noticing quickly as she secured hold that his shoulder was dislocated, Claire weighed her options. There was no other way of getting them both to safety. So,  gritting her teeth and sending a mental apology to her companion, she began the arduous process of dragging him back from the surf.

The castaway’s face contorted in pain.

“I’m sorry–really, I am, but I’ll have you know that this isn’t a picnic for me, either…” Claire responded pointedly, as pins and needles sent a painful reminder of the strenuous task before her.

It would be impossible for her to transport him all the way back to her makeshift clinic, but she spied a lone palm tree back against the rocky cliff face. There, they could wait until the storm passed. She tugged, and the man gave a pitiful groan of discomfort, the only sound he had made since his discovery.

“What else would you like me to do?” Claire muttered, heaving with exertion. “It’s not like you can walk your damn self to the doctor. I am the only one here to help you. So you’re just going to have to bloody cooperate!” With each word she tugged, and Claire could see the heavy track of the man’s weight tracing their path. They had made progress, but it wasn’t enough.

Claire’s stomach turned as she remembered the people she had been unable to save, her parents, who vanished into the mist and never came back. The ocean had taken them from her, deprived her of a life with them. But perhaps she was being given another chance with this stranger. And she would not, could not, let him down.

Pull yourself together, Beauchamp. Do it for him.

So she pulled. Her back ached from the strain, and sweat dripped from her brow, mixing with the rain and clouding her vision.

“Come on, you brute. Just a little bit farther.”

By the time they reached the palm, Claire’s arms were numb and her back was screaming in pain. But they had made it. Safely sheltered from the rain under the green fronds, Claire pulled the thin kerchief from around her neck and gently dusted the wet sand off of his face, slowly revealing a sculpted jaw, coated with a layer of soft orange stubble. A strong nose and gently bowed lips followed.

I’ve found myself a bloody Adonis…

It was impossible not to admire the beauty of the man before her. His whole person was sculpted and angular, and Claire could see the taught muscles underneath his damp clothing.  She felt a slight twinge in the pit of her stomach, but it vanished as quickly as it came. An unsure pause followed as Claire gathered herself. She needed to focus on the task at hand. Her own feelings, whatever they were, could not interfere. This man’s life depended on it.

His face clean, Claire assessed his form for any other injury. The dislocated shoulder was a concern, but it wasn’t life-threatening. The onset of hypothermia proved to be her chief concern. She realized that his clothing, saturated with seawater, was keeping the chill to his skin. It was risky, and improper to be sure, but Claire knew that body heat was the surest way to restore warmth into his body.

Propriety be damned!

His shirt was already tattered, she observed as she carefully tried removing it, no doubt torn up from his time in the water. Her fingers fumbled and stumbled on the laces, a mixture of cold and nerves. After a brief struggle, she decided at last to just rip the thin fabric, exposing the toned torso beneath. A thin layer of soft red curls danced across his chest, sneaking downwards over his stomach before vanishing beneath the black waistband of his breeks. Claire could feel a flush creep up the back of her neck at the sight.

I’m a bloody fool… She mentally admonished herself.

She had seen men shirtless before, it was a common sight along the harbor, as sailors went about their business in the tropical heat. But again, she felt herself stir at the sight. Yet despite his outward appearance, and the powerful effect felt by Claire as she gazed upon his half dressed form, something about him radiated youthful innocence. Claire felt a sudden urge to protect him, despite never having spoken a word to him. She couldn’t discern what it was about his man that created such a stark duality within her, but the hard angles of him masked a vulnerability that instinctively made Claire reach out to stroke his cheek.

As she lay her palm upon his face, the faintest hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, and Claire couldn’t help but grin in turn. The world seemed to freeze. The rain stopped beating above their head and the waves ceased their endless attack against the shore. For one, utterly perfect moment, Claire felt at peace, alone with the man she pulled from the sea.

The moment shattered as the stranger’s eyes shot open.