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maiamore · 3 months ago

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MILE HIGH CLUB

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 3.3k

Summary: Joel has to fly out of state for the first time in his life and his nerves are frayed. Luckily, he finds a good distraction. You.

Tags: m!receiving oral, deep throating, public indecency, mention of drug use, blowjob on a plane basically, alcohol consumption, nervous old man joel

A/N: maybe i’m just into exhibitionism atp MASTERLIST

Like every other man, Joel Miller had his kryptonite.

It wasn’t the idea of never finding someone to settle with, despite countless attempts—he had his fair share of awkward dates and mind-fucking-numbingly repetitive conversations about what his favourite colour was.

And sure, it could have been having to deal with empty nest syndrome after Sarah moved out of state for college. The loneliness came as a cold wash, but he kept busy enough to avoid spiraling down the rabbit hole of a quiet home. Babysitting for Tommy or tending to work troubles was a rickety solution at best.

But no, that wasn’t enough to rattle the man.

It was the very fact that he was hours away from having to sit in a “flying death machine” as he eloquently phrased it, just so he could visit his daughter.

Joel had successfully gone forty one years of his life dodging air travel. The thought of sitting in a metal contraption, being flung through the skies made his stomach churn. He couldn’t care less about how safe it chalked up to be. A car? He could control. Walking? Reliable.

A plane? Definitely not. A paper airplane for grown-ups, that’s all it was.

The glaring fluorescent lights, nauseating sound of suitcases and tearful goodbyes wasn’t doing him any favours. Least of all the sleaze bag at the counter, who hadn’t even spared more than a couple seconds. Being seven hours early was overkill, but he’d figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Can’t let ya in yet. Come back in a few hours.”

A litany of curses left unsaid under his breath about “dumb rules” and “what’s the point of gettin’ here early if yer just gonna make me wait?”

He shuffles out of the line with the creaky luggage he had with him, finding himself a seat by the waiting lounge next to a girl reading from those gizmos he’d seen Sarah use last Thanksgiving. A scowl crept up his face.

Did they have to invent some gadget for reading, too? Wasn’t that free?

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small black leather bound book. It was worn, the edges were scuffed and the pages slightly dog-eared—a testament to its’ use.

Licking the pad of his thumb, he flips through the pages. There in black ink, lay a list of instructions he prepared prior to coming here. Misspellings here and there—chicken scratch, really.

1) checkin n’ give bags to airport

“Already screwed that one up,” he mutters out loud, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the growing aches.

2) go to gate no. on tikket

Joel peels out the airline pass tucked into his passport and squints at the printed words. “Christ.” He clicks his pen and painstakingly copies the details into his notebook in block letters big enough to read from across the room. “Tiny ass fuckin’...printin’...”

“Don’t travel much?”

Your voice breaks through the haze of uncertainty that had been plaguing him. Joel doesn’t offer more than a quick glance at first, his grip tightening slightly around the pen in his hand.

When he does look at you. You’d made him do a double take.

Despite the sorry state of his dating life–or maybe because of it–Joel wasn’t immune to the kind of attention a pretty thing like you could command. Even if it was just your attempt to be polite. His gaze then falls in disdain to your kindle laying abandoned in your lap.

“Not really, darlin’,” he says, his voice low and rough, with just enough warmth to take the edge off his typical gruffness.

Joel wasn’t big on small-talk, so when silence settled between you both, he didn’t feel the need to fill it. He wasn’t entirely sure why your presence had eased his nerves, even just a fraction, but it had.

And then you spoke up again, your tone uncertain but laced with quiet hope.

“There’s a lounge in the back with a bar,” you begin, tipping your head towards it. “Might be more your speed.”

Joel follows the motion with his eyes, then huffs a breath that sounds almost like a laugh. “Man after my own heart,” he tucks his notebook back into his pocket.

Maybe it wasn’t all too bad that your dad dropped you off at the airport hours too early.

When you’d first seen Joel, you’d nearly dropped your kindle. The heavy thud of his boots on the polished floor caught your attention. You slowly pulled your gaze upward–from the worn blue jeans to the faded grey t-shirt that did nothing to hide his strong forearms. His dark brown curls looked like they’d been through more than their fair share of rough mornings, but god did you want to run your fingers through them.

And then there was his scruffy beard–uneven in an endearing way that somehow made him even more pleasing to the eyes. You blinked, forcing yourself to look back at your screen, but the words blurred into nothingness. The way he sat stiffly on the chairs he made seem so small, down to what seemed to be a checklist for his flight.

“I’m pretty sure more people have died on construction sites than flights, Joel.”

Joel.

Introductions came easy the second the whiskey infiltrated his system, and damn if he didn’t he love the way his name rolled off your tongue.

He drags a palm down his jaw, a dry scoff slipping past his lips. “This your idea of makin’ me feel better ’bout all this?” he counters, half-regretting that he’d let slip what he did for a living.

You weren’t wrong, of course–he’d faced far more dangerous situations on the ground than he’d ever likely encounter in the air.

Still, it didn’t help.

“I ain’t sayin’ m’gonna piss my goddamn pants,” he muttered, shifting in his seat. “Just makes me feel queasy, s’all.”

Joel sighs into the crystal glass, thumb idly tracing the rim as if the whiskey might’ve given him some courage. When he glanced your way again, you were watching him with that look–the one that made him feel exposed and oddly at ease all at once.

He shot you a faint glare, more bark than bite, and nodded toward your drink.

“Drink your goddamn kiddy juice,” he grumbled.

Your lips curled up into a slight scowl, cupping your glass of bellini defensively. Despite your show of annoyance, you did feel a tinge of empathy for him. For crying out loud, he was hunched over the goddamn bar seat, looking at his empty glass like a kicked puppy like he was about to go for a neutering or something.

Gesturing towards the bartender for a refill of his glass, you dragged your bar stool closer to him.

“Look. If you’re up for it. I’ve got a little pick-me-up I take to settle my nerves before a long flight,” you said, fishing a small pill container from your bag. “Works like a charm.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued despite his better judgement. But the second you popped open the lid, his reaction was instant.

“Hard pass.”

“You don’t even know what it–”

“I ain’t about to get drugged up,” he cut in, folding his arms. Your eyes shamelessly trace over the way the sleeves tightened around his biceps. “And besides, I hardly know ya.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line and without missing a beat, you tipped one of the white pills into your palm and dry swallowed it like a pro. Joel’s brow furrowed deeper, his disapproval practically radiating off him. Though that notion had him adjust his jeans discreetly.

“Well, it’s your funeral,” you said with a shrug. Then realizing how that might’ve come across, you raised your hands in mock surrender. “Figuratively speaking! Not literally–”

“Gimmie that damn thing,” Joel huffed, snatching the container from you. He popped the pill into his mouth and chased it with a gulp of whiskey, muttering something under his breath about regrettin’ this already.

You leaned back in your seat, a sly grin tugging at your lips. “You didn’t even ask what it does.”

Joel fixed you with a hard glare, the kind that could silence most people. But you weren’t most people.

“It also gives you a raging erecti–”

“Sweetheart.” Joel’s warning tone cut you off, his glare piercing.

You couldn’t help it–you laughed anyway, the sound earning a reluctant lop-sided smirk from him as he shook his head.

In all his years of living, Joel never thought he’d succumb to relying on drugs.

The idea was irresponsible at best. He’d pride himself on staying clear-headed, the occasional joint in his teenage years being the closest he’d come to experimentation. But that was a lifetime ago, a glimpse of a boy who didn’t have responsibilities or a family to think about. His body was a temple now, for at least a semi-respectable contractor.

Yet here he was, in the fluorescent purgatory of a transit hall, deciding that a four hour stint in a “metal coffin” justified drastic measures.

Your vague explanation on what that little white pill of yours was didn’t help either. You both agreed you were in this together now. He had to admit that it was ironic where life took him. Misery loved company, and you, his current “drug buddy,” were far easier on the eyes than his high school crowd had ever been.

And, well, it worked.

Joel could feel the change, his mind easing from the coiled tension it had been gripping since he set foot in the airport. His inhibitions, usually locked tighter than the pentagon, were suddenly looser. Not reckless, but freer.

If you’d thought Joel wasn’t the clingy type before, that illusion was thoroughly shattered now. He shadowed your every move, from hauling your luggage onto the conveyor belt without you even asking to tapping his card at the terminal before you could pay for yourself.

And then…there were his hands.

At first, they lingered tentatively–a brush of his palm at the small of your back, a quick touch to your arm as he gestured to something in the duty-free window. Testing boundaries. Waiting for a sign.

When you looped your arm through his without hesitation, Joel took it as his green light.

After that point on, his touches became a constant presence. Steady, warm & grounding. A hand resting lightly on your hip as you wandered through the departure hall, fingers curling against your wrist as he guided you through the crowds of travellers.

Joel fully blamed the pill for his current lapse of judgment.

He spit into his palms, smearing the wetness onto the length of his cock. His other hand gripped firmly onto the granite counter. The dull slaps of him fucking his fist filled the small space. Along with his strained grunts.

“C’mon, c’mon…”

Trying damned hard to focus—he thinks of you. How your body felt under the weight of his hands. The way you’d wet your lips before giving your own witty remark to his rants about shit he found ridiculous about Delta.

And he jolts, instinctively tightening his grip around his cock when the announcement rings in the speaker above—some bullshit safety reminder.

“Shit—…shit shit.” He mutters. Willing himself to come so he’d put himself out of his self made torture.

Joel was rock fucking hard the second he seated himself by the back of the plane. Thoughts of the way you’d smiled up at him & rubbing his arm before heading to your seat up front was enough ammo for him to daydream about you for the next hour.

He did think you were joking earlier. But this could very well be the side effect of whatever you’d given him.

Nevertheless, it was pointless. The sterile bathroom was doing nothing but turning him off.

With an annoyed sigh. He’d shucked his half limp cock back into his jeans. Thoroughly scrubbing his hands clean before he heads back to his seat.

He stops short, brows quirked at the intruder.

“Howdy. How ya holding up.”

You grinned. Lowering the latest issue of Baseball Digest that Joel was occupied with from where it covered your face.

“I’m—…what are you…doin’ back here.” He manages. Cursing himself for sounding way off.

“Flight‘s pretty empty, so…Donna did me a solid.”

Joel briefly glances up at the flight attendant that you did a little finger wave to before looking back, nudging his head to the vacant seat next to you. “Scoot over.”

“Jesus. Thought you’d be happy to see me.”

Yeah. I was. And I tried to jerk off to you too, not that it worked out.

“So that I can be tormented for the next three hours?”

You frowned at his words. Flipping through the magazine loudly. “Someone’s panties are in a bunch.”

He exhales as he sinks into his rightful seat. Thankfully, the shock of seeing your face again did a number to deflate Junior Miller.

The combination of turbulence and drinking two glasses of whiskey earlier was a nasty concoction. He thumbs eases the crease between his brows before finally deciding to speak, ignoring your earlier comment.

“Bout’ the side effect you mentioned…”

That causes you to tip your head towards him. You were silent, briefly.

“What about it?”

“…How long does it…last.”

You looked to the side. “Just for a bit.” Though you sounded unsure of yourself. “Why?”

“Nothin’. Suppose I’m gettin’ one of those weird reactions to it.”

“Weird how.” You pressed. Though Joel looked less than pleased about your probing. “Don’t gotta explain it to ya. S’just weird, darlin’.”

You get the memo regardless.

“Well did you try to—“

“I did.”

“And you didn’t—“

“No.”

“You sure you were doing it correctly?”

Joel drags his hand down his face, letting out a muffled, yet pained scoff before he looks at you. He doesn’t speak yet for a couple of seconds.

“Yes, sweetheart. I know how to fuckin’ jerk off.”

Your lips pressed into a taut line. His words stirred something deep in you, fuck if it didn’t make you want to do something stupid right now.

“Obviously you don’t. Wouldn’t be sitting here all wound up if you had.”

Joel’s lips part to shoot something snarky your way.

It’s quickly floored when he feels your fingertips trace past the sides of his thighs.

You look at him. Offering him an opportunity to pull away.

He adjusts his hips to shift lower. A firm tug on your wrist ground your palm directly onto the bulge of his jeans.

A shaky exhale leaves his lips when you knead against his hard on. Tipping his head back onto the headrest. He lets out a soft grunt escaping his lips as you continued your ministrations.

“Feels…real good.” He manages. Barely being able to look at you.

Fuck. You were so warm and you smelled so good. He couldn’t remember the last time he had something that he wanted real bad.

“Told ya, not doing it right.” You leaned in close enough for your cheeks to rest against his bicep. Watching how his grip around your wrists began to falter.

Joel’s breathing became a little more ragged as he started to become more and more pent up with each rub.

With a conspicuous sniffle, you dragged the zipper of his jeans down, earning a jolt from him. He whips his head to look at you as you maneuver his stiffened cock out of his boxers.

Locking your gaze with his, you provide a calming kiss to the edge of his shoulder before you lower yourself.

“Christ. Are you crazy?”

Joel lifts his gaze to scan the surroundings. Considering it was an evening flight, the dimmed overhead lighting provided a more intimate and gentle glow.

The absence of attendants who were likely resting up front, and the emptiness of the last five rows does provide him assurance, even when it shouldn’t have.

He lets out a hiss at a wet glob of saliva trickle down his shaft, stealing his focus once more. Followed by the softness of a smaller pair of hands pumping the wetness up and down.

You feel a strong hand gather your hair up loosely, before the fingertips entangles firmly through to hold your head in place.

He tugs you to meet his gaze momentarily. Eyeing your soft features being reflected with the amber mood lighting.

“Can I?”

You bit the insides of your cheeks. Realising what he’d meant. You nod slowly, kissing the tip of his weeping cock.

“Tap me twice if it’s t’much.”

He mutters with a gentleness that had you rubbing your thighs together, the slick wetness growing in your cunt.

You take him into his mouth fully this time. Feeling his hips jump up involuntarily. The tug on your head encourages you to continue.

“Ah..fuck. Fuck.”

Joel grinds his jaw at a painful intensity. The warmth and wetness of your mouth hollowing around his cockhead was intoxicating. He had to physically control himself from thrusting into your mouth too quickly.

The noises that rumbled from his throat spurs you on. You alternate between deep sucks through your hollowed mouth and stroking his cock. Though the hand holding your head became more of a weak hold than a guide.

You caught the hesitance in his actions. Treating you so damn gently as though you would break. It frustrated you, so you abruptly lowered yourself until you practically swallowed him whole. Nose grinding against the denim.

It catches the both of you off guard.

Joel, nearly lets out a fucking groan at the warmth of your throat convulse around his cock. And you, with your thumb digging into your fists to control your gag reflex.

That was enough for Joel to snap.

His grip around your hair goes taut. “Tap me.” He reminds, before he properly fucks his cock into your throat at an almost brutal pace.

You choked for a couple of seconds, the warm tears pricking your eyes as you gripped tightly over his thigh—essentially using your mouth as his personal fleshlight.

Letting out strained grunts as he quickened his pace, you taste the salty mixture of your tears and saliva. Joel doesn’t let himself go just yet, keeping the rational part of him awake in case you couldn’t take it, which in fairness—most women couldn’t.

But you? You took it like a fuckin’ champ.

You pulled away from his cock with a pop, letting a string of saliva follow as you dragged your lips down to his balls, giving one of them a sloppy suck as much as your mouth could fit before taking his cock into your throat.

Joel shudders at the sensation, It doesn’t take long before his hips stutter, spurting his hot, thick come into your throat.

He pulls you off him with a gentle tug, catching sight of your tear stricken face, lips pouty and reddened.

Joel groans at how pretty you looked like this.

He glances towards the bathroom behind them and back at the serenity of the moonlight illuminating inside the plane as he hastily tucks himself back in.

With a firm hold, he hoists you up underneath your arms to guide you into the cramped stall with him.

“You okay, honey?” He practically whispers. Thumb swiping the strands of your hair that stuck to your sweaty cheeks, tucking them behind your ears.

“Y…eah.” You managed. Voice coming out raspy. His dark brown gaze held nothing but concern for you.

A lazy smile graces your features. You stabilise yourself with Joel’s arms. He doesn’t hesitate as he leans in to lock his lips with yours.

“We can go back. Or continue. Whatever you want.” The gentle curve of nose comes to rub against your cheeks, though you could tell by the twitch of his cock that he was far from done.

You bit down on your lips. Hands travelling lower to let the sharp sound of Joel’s buckle give you the answer he needed.

As you flip over to lean against the counter with your palms flat on the granite—your cheeks presses against your shoulder to gaze up at him through your lashes.

“By the way…that pill I gave you? Just Vitamin C.”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel the last of us #joel x reader #pedro pascal smut #tlou smut #the last of us smut

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yuzuia · 4 days ago

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── ✦ TO FEEL ONCE MORE

sypn. nightmares never come easy for caleb, though the pain eases through you. tags. caleb x f!reader (implied thru usage of meimei), hurt/comfort, for calebs myth drop!!!, not proofred, might be a little ooc, meimei doesn't always mean siblings ok :( wc. ~1k ✦ reblogs are very very very appreciated!!!

"don't go," his calloused hand yearns to hold yours, ghosting over soft skin and pulling away in the moment - you watch as his eyelids clench in agony and his chest heaves. "i'm not going anywhere," your words are bitter medicine; he can't tell if it'd heal the wounded cleave in his chest or pluck the harp of his heartstrings.

it's been far too long since he knew the feeling of your warmth - long nights spent waiting under the covers of his bed for your hallucination to kiss him to sleep, to only find the other side of his bed cold in the morning. abhorrent dreams would plague his conscience day after day; the feeling of you slipping just past his fingers, too liquid to grab and too real to life, was another of those experiences he couldn't relive.

steadfast, you twine your hand with his - scarred and cold - and trace stars across his numb skin like he were the universe.

caleb rouses, his skin bathed in milky moonlight, and envelopes the tips of your deft fingers into his warmly cold ones in an uncertain mimic of a kiss. the cold of his skin soaked into your warmth, a touch only you could feel - he stared at the moment that was his, and not his. the air smelt of unknown stars, his citrus-like ambroxide cologne, and secret unexplained intimacy left to guess. "you didn't leave." a laugh left your lips; you numbly shook your head as you sweep back his bangs, his brows furrowed.

"why would i? it's always been me and caleb since the very start," his gaze drinks in the sight of you. there and real, smiling like he was the sun. "yeah, and it'll stay that way." 'forever, until we both depart the edges of this place.' he swallows his words like a pill.

caleb throws an arm around the spanse of your shoulders, the friendship you've both tended to. another clutches to the curve of your waist, the innate need for each other.

"does this always happen to you? does sleeping cause you pain, caleb?"

"no, don't worry your head about that." he shakes his head and throws you an effortless smile - he couldn't possibly hope to tell you, nor would he dare. his meimei needn't worry about his struggles and nights of agony, his meimei should laugh and smile everyday. to entrust his weakness to your heart; the heart of the person who needed his constant protection whenever danger knocked the crevices of your mind: was an untouched, tethered idea eaten away. "it's fine, as long as you're with me."

the sun relies only itself: nothing can anchor its burden, not even the moon. it struggles eternally so, and no one's a witness - no one can be a witness.

"i'm not a little kid anymore caleb, i don't need you to protect me from the truth. just, let me help you for once." you held that defiant gaze from all those years ago, and his heart aches in synchronisation. his lips part to speak nothing - it was an argument he couldn't win. a match to a fire.

the offer to be selfish tempted him more than he'd admit - to finally take all he ever wanted in this life, you, liquified all his rationality. he'll think about his regrets and lay the truth out for you later.

"then, let me have this." his face inches closer, step by step, but never reaches your lips - hesitancy threatens bubbles over the surface though longing strives further than he could grasp and pull back.

underneath the covers of watery starlight, this moment would be left on the floor and unspoken of; close to the heart but never close enough to the tongue. yearning paints his face, eyes that beg for love meet yours in a silent plea.

it's warm.

it's warm as a kiss gingerly presses itself against the corner of your mouth and pulls away reluctantly, like a child that wants more than it can have. you silently stare as he looks away, the tips of his ears flushed a hue of strawberry, a hue of weakness. you've never realised the vulnerability of the moment - tenderly soft and delicately sweet as caleb's hand smudges off the kiss he planted, his eyes brimming of a dream satiated. tentatively, your hands tug at the hem of his shirt and draw him closer; brushing your lips against the apple of his cheek.

within the afterglow of this delicate memory, you both cast all titles aside and live as one - for tonight, his dreams will kiss his soul; for you are present.

#yuzuia : change of heart #caleb x reader #lnds caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x you #lads caleb #xia yizhou #lads x reader #lads x you #lads fluff #lnds #caleb love and deepspace #lnds x reader #love and deepspace

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gunnrblze · 7 months ago

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Unaffected

Part two of my lil Kick x Hesh nonsense. Except this is 6200k+ words lol. My apologies if it gets a little repetitive, this is why I usually stick to shorter fics hehe. Part one here. MDNI, 18+

CW: blowjobs, two dudes fuck, fools in love, insecure-ish/pining Kick

Tag request for @blacktacmopsi (who’s general hc’s of Kick I’ve based some of this on, thx queen)

Kick could hardly breathe for the rest of the day. His oxygen felt depleted when it wasn't being shared with Hesh’s. When the man's breath didn't fill his space, his mouth, his nostrils, his head. As if his own was somehow lacking in substance, he wonders how he went his whole life up to this point without it.

Like a good ghost though, he persisted. Through the aching need that continued to claw its way into every nerve fiber of his body, through his own godforsaken boring paperwork, through all the hours he had to go before being alone with the younger man once more. He swore he could feel the phantom touch of Hesh’s big hands on his shoulders, heavyweights that he'd willingly let drag him down, even if for only one more fleeting moment of respite against his lips.

The day couldn’t have gone slower, he thought. Or perhaps one's brain just defies time when it's desperate for a different hour. He wondered how many glances at the clock like a jittery schoolboy it would take before the plastic started to crack with the burn in his gaze. He wondered if his heart would similarly crack now that it’d been fed something. Now that his aching, desperate need for the soldier had been tended to, if it would ever be enough to fill that little gaping hole he liked to pretend his work filled for him. He knew the answer and yet it didn't help his overthinking. It was almost unlike him, the amber eyed man much more practical than this. Yet Hesh had somehow, within the span of half an hour spent in his office, managed to level his train of thought like a city plaza. Kick could shudder with the thought of how else the man could pick him apart without even trying, what another taste of Hesh’s firm lips could do to him. Would it hurt less in the end to find out, or to avoid the inevitable like the plague? Surely this wouldn't last, whatever this was.

Kick always had a penchant for the unknown, though. He’d sink to the bottom of the mariana trench with no oxygen tank if it meant he could get even a glimpse at the bottom. So how surprised could he be when Hesh’s not so subtle “you up?” text had his boots nearly bouncing off the pavement to get to his barracks?

He did everything he could to hold onto his air of facetious nonchalance. To pretend that his pining hadn’t reached a fever pitch just from their earlier encounter alone, giving Hesh’s door two firm knocks before the following sight knocked the breath from his lungs.

A freshly showered Hesh stood in the doorway, that familiar scent of pine stronger than usual. His sweats hung lower on his waist than necessary, strung round his hips like a goddamned Calvin Klein model. Prettier than any magazine boy could ever be, though. He wondered how many seconds of him staring at the sliver of skin between said sweats and the tight compression shirt that adorned his upper body went by before the air of Hesh’s voice finally sounded.

“You alright?” the younger man's voice was lilted with amusement, arms crossing over that broad chest as his mossy green eyes similarly roamed over Kick’s body. Was he toying with Kick, or was the guy just effortlessly attractive? The thought was infuriatingly cute.

“Yeah…gonna let me in, Walker?” he tried to retort but it came across much more desperate than he wanted, maddeningly so. How could he even let himself get this way? Near begging to be let into the room of a colleague at least a decade younger than himself, with the intention of what, really? To kiss some more, maybe fulfill those cock twitchingly hot wet dreams he’d been having lately? To pretend his desire, his need stopped there? Stopped short of wanting to crawl under Hesh’s skin and take up as much room as the blood in his veins?

The man didn’t give him that much time to debate though, before stepping aside with a smile that could light up the darkness he felt on even his worst days. Kick felt an insatiable urge to get closer already. To take him by his scruff covered cheeks again and kiss his lips raw. He stepped inside and heard the door close behind him, Hesh’s presence lighting him up so much it almost felt like a fight or flight response. Not that he was nervous, no, just laughably desperate for something, anything he could sink his literal or metaphorical teeth into.

It seemed Hesh was just as needy, the spaces between their bodies already closing up as Kick took quick stock of the man's living space before turning back around to face him. Standard issue military barracks, but with the added lieutenants perk of no roommate. Little personal effects, save for a sleeping german shepherd in the corner and some clothes strung about. Charmingly Hesh, he decided, before being met with those green eyes again.

Suddenly he felt like he was floundering, like he didn't have years and years of flirting experience under his belt. A ship lost at sea, this wasn’t just a regular person he’d met here or there, some place where it didn't matter so much what happened in the end, because he’d never see that person again, no. These were real feelings, for a real man that he worked with everyday. The dim lights of some janky bar weren't there to give an interlude to his feelings, they were threatening to spill out everywhere like the blood of an enemy soldier.

The distance between them only shortened as Hesh stepped forward again, the man's cheeks already adorably heated, a rosy tint crawling up from under the trimmed beard along his jaw. God, he wasn't sure how much he could take. Words were lost on both men, Kick’s body scorching with too many emotions to name. He had Hesh alone. Alone, and all to himself. It would’ve been overwhelming if he were able to process it anymore, but his limbs had a mind of their own. Fingers reaching up to curl around the side of the man’s warm neck, wordlessly pulling him closer as they slid to the back, trying to drown himself in the masculine scent that engulfed the air between them.

Hesh’s own hands found Kick’s waist, a song and dance they'd played earlier in his office, nearly clammy palms sliding down to grip his strong hips, almost tentatively guiding the older man closer. Muscle memory took over as Kick pulled the blushing soldier down to crash his lips firmly against one another.

It was all consuming, both men's bodies acting on impulse all at once, autopilot taking over. Breaths mixing and stuttering in Kick’s lungs as he pulled Hesh impossibly closer, both hands returning to the man's face, cupping him by the jaw as if he were a precious, breakable thing, and not a solid wall of muscle lodged firmly up against his own body, a soldier primed to kill and maim and dominate. Not the kid he was made out to be, no. A man, so full of heat and energy it felt like Kick had been doused in kerosene and set ablaze. As if it were all they knew how to do, Hesh was backed up again against the door of his room, backside thudding against the wood with more force than Kick had intended, drawing a groan from both men's throats. Kick didn’t even need to apologize, it only seemed to spur on the man locked to his lips further. Hesh’s tongue swiped over the older man’s lips only once, and it was all he needed. Almost stupidly, Kick opened his mouth instantly, gasping in the minty taste he was met with before tongues started clashing. It was a heady dance, both men recklessly attempting to consume one another, as if salvation was a finite resource and they had both suddenly found themselves damned to hell for all eternity.

Kick’s skin was prickling with anticipation and that ardent thirst, the desire to be closer, to devour all of the man pinned between his body and the door, to merge with him until they were no longer considered separate entities. It wasn't enough, it was too much, it would suffice, he didn’t know, his brain was swimming and his heart thudding against his ribcage like a beast trying to uncage itself. There was no time to decide before Hesh was thumbing the hem of his shirt, a silent plea that Kick understood too well.

“Take it off” Kick’s voice was deeper, raspier. It wasn't quite a demand, nor a suggestion. A plea perhaps, one that had Hesh scrambling to appease the both of them. Their lips only disconnected long enough for the green eyed man to all but rip the fabric off Kick’s body, tossing it on his floor as his hands found purchase on the broad expanse of chest in front of him. Lips pressed hot against one another again, Kick’s cock responded nearly instantly to the sweaty hands smoothing over his stomach and pecs, his length hardening up as a shiver ran down his spine at the feeling, one infinitely better than any of his dreams. His hips pressed more firmly against Hesh’s, earning a groan from the younger man. Kick felt Hesh’s sweats outlined with the print of his own growing cock, exciting him almost pathetically.

In the back of his mind, he was loosely aware of the consequences this could all have, the ones that swam through his mind earlier while he was desperately awaiting this moment. Hesh was younger, a subordinate truthfully, regardless of any rank. He was fresh, at least to the Ghosts. He felt guilty in the back of his mind, where the rest of his feelings for the man didn't take over. Was he fucking something up here? This was beyond fraternization, but he was more so terrified of what nearly felt like his corruption of Hesh, involving him with a man like himself, despite the both of them coming on to one another equally. He should give the kid a chance, no? To explore something, someone, else. An option that wouldn’t end in the dumpster fire that this one easily could.

With every slow grind of the man’s hips against his own however, any other real thoughts melted out of Kick’s ears, reducing him to something almost absurdly impatient in the blink of an eye. His dexterous fingers found the band of Hesh’s sweatpants, sliding underneath the fabric just enough to feel the heated skin of the man’s waistline. And oh, if he didn’t want to bottle up and preserve the near whimper that slipped from the soldier's throat as the roughened pads of his fingers trailed around to the back, sliding down to grope at his rear, squeezing the plump muscle firmly.

“Kick…more” Hesh’s voice was breathless and so much deeper than normal it made Kick’s cock twitch in his pants, precum already slickling his tip and staining his boxers as he ground himself into the man further, using the tightening grip on his backside as leverage.

Both men panted and groaned as they ground their hardening cocks together, lips connecting in a slower, more sensual rhythm that left Kick just as breathless. Deep and all consuming, their bodies grew hotter, the change of pace allowing Kick to become more fast and loose with his dizzying thoughts.

“Jesus, Hesh…been waiting all day for you, all goddamned day” Kick’s breathing was labored as he muttered lowly against the other man's mouth, grip so tight on his ass it made Hesh unable to think clearly, his fingers digging into the back of Kick’s neck and one of his muscled shoulders. Kick felt like he’d implode at any moment, his wildest little dreams about the soldier he’d sought the attention of for months finally coming to fruition, every kiss Hesh pressed to his lips another douse of gas on the fire, pinning the man helplessly between his body and the hard door.

“Don’t wait anymore, take me” the other man would pant in response, his low honeyed voice laced with a flaring hunger that had Kick pulling away only enough to rip that tight shirt off him. Those amber eyes raked over every bit of upper body Hesh had on display. Course, dark hair littered all over his toned chest and down his stomach in whorls, lining a delicious trail that disappeared down into his sweats. A gift from whoever was up above, Kick decided as his hands lingered near the band of those sweats once more, their eyes connecting long enough to see one another's matching desires coming to a head.

Hesh’s cheeks and neck were flushed, those pouty little lips parted, making Kick dizzy with every exhale that came out of them, washing over him in waves. “Yeah? Sure this is what you want?” Kick had to ask, wouldn’t feel right with himself if they crossed the point of no return without making sure Hesh understood what this really entailed, what he was really getting himself into.

The soldier only grinned down at him, chest heaving a bit as his hand slid up the back of Kick’s neck, carding through his hair and sending a tingle down the man’s spine. Kick’s cheeks were equally pinkened, his lips ghosting over Hesh’s as he waited what felt like too long for the man’s answer, fearing the worst despite the way Hesh’s cock was throbbing against his through their clothing.

“Yeah” the soldier nodded, kissing him deeply, both hands tangling up in Kick’s cropped hair now. “You’re all I want” Hesh whispered against his reddened lips. A sigh of relief, need, and something that felt strangely like ecstasy escaped Kick, his eyes closed in bliss as he took in all of Hesh, his strong scent, the scorching heat of the man’s body against his, the very essence that made up the man. Kick, for a moment, existed on a different plane. One where he simultaneously felt unreal and more alive than he ever had. A third space, one that Hesh was carving out in his soul, slotting himself in whether Kick liked it or not. He wasn't too sure if Hesh meant he wanted him tonight or forever, and he didn't have the heart or capacity to ask just yet. Chickening out, he wanted to take what he could get. If Hesh only wanted to fool around, he’d take it. Take everything the younger man would grace him with until he ran dry, even if it meant he’d always be a little out of reach, even if it’d take all the heart the amber eyed man had left and hung it out to dry. Kick didn’t need complete reciprocation right now, he figured. He just needed Hesh.

One hand slid down the soldier's sweats, palming at his rigid shaft through the fabric of his boxers. It drew a mind numbingly lustful groan from the man, one that had Kick leaking even more into his own clothing, watching the way his pretty lips parted before he took the bottom one between his teeth, grinding into Kick’s hand.

“Tell me…tell me what you want, David” Kick’s voice was husky and torrid, his lips brushing against the younger man’s balmy neck, peppering little kisses all over the skin and up to his jaw while his fingers curled around the length of his dick, stroking easily over the fabric. Hesh’s breathing was raggedy, shamelessly groaning into Kick’s hair as he clutched onto the man’s shoulders, squeezing him like a lifeline, tethering himself to Kick like he was the only tangible thing left.

“Fuck, you, I want you, Kick…anything, please” he grunted lowly as his cock throbbed in the older man’s grip, the plea slipping from his lips as he lost himself in the touch. His breath feverish against Kick’s scalp, nuzzling himself into the man’s hair with a tenderness that didn’t go unnoticed, making Kick’s heart beat what felt almost irregularly. The plea was enough to have his lips slipping away from his neck, free hand cradling Hesh’s jaw to press a kiss to his lips.

Kick retracted his hands and took one of Hesh’s, leading the man over to his own bed like he belonged in the room himself. Sitting Hesh down on the edge, he surprised the both of them a bit as he sank to his knees, fingers curling under the band of his sweats one last time before he started sliding them down, taking the man’s boxers in the same go. Stripping him bare now, Hesh blushed even more, a smile curling on Kick’s face at the precious sight.

Those green eyes stared down at Kick as his cock sprang free, helping to remove his clothing from his long legs. The sight sent a pang of heat coursing through Kick’s lower half, his own cock throbbing near painfully as he tried to commit this moment to memory. A hand wrapped around the base of Hesh’s thick shaft, rewarding Kick with a lovely groan as their eyes met, a silent plea of permission to keep going. Licking his lips as the younger man nodded wordlessly, Hesh was already gripping the bed sheets in an attempt to restrain himself.

It was all Kick needed before he was wrapping his lips around the throbbing red head of Hesh’s cock, tongue swiping over the slit to lap up what had leaked from it. The movement ripped a low moan from the man above him, his hips twitching lightly, head being thrown back as heat began to pool in his lower stomach already. The noises Hesh tried to hold back had Kick’s free hand reaching down to palm at his own crotch as he took more of Hesh into his mouth, a groan leaving his own stretched lips as he filled his mouth up with as much of the man’s length as he could, nearly just as desperate to have him.

“Ah, fuck…Kick, t-that’s, shit-” Hesh’s voice got almost higher in pitch, hips bucking his cock into Kick’s mouth of their own volition. Kick stared up at the man, head bobbing up and down his length as his mind swam. Hesh looked so fucking pretty, his cock twitching and leaking down the hot tongue swirling around it. Like some sort of Greek god, Kick figured, as he savored the taste on his tongue.

It was a blur as Hesh’s hand found Kick’s hair, tangling in the strands, resting near the nape of his neck as Kick tightened his lips around the cock he was attempting to fit down his throat. It pulled a whorish noise from the man above him, and he swallowed every shot of cum that Hesh gave him, watching the man above him clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle his moaning.

The poor man panted as he was situated on the edge of his bed, a slight tremble racking his thick, hairy thighs as they were bracketed around Kick’s shoulders. Kick smiled at the sight, that odd swelling in his heart, the one that felt tender to the touch, was never far behind his lust for the soldier. They were interlinked, mingling like they belonged to one another, creating a heady mix that threatened to choke Kick out if he wasn’t careful.

He gave Hesh a moment to recover, sliding his hands up and down those shaky thighs, fingers curling around his hips as the man above looked down at him, a gaze set with so much reverence it made the older man’s heart stop, he was sure of it. Hesh was flushed, his tanned skin slicked with a sweaty sheen from his neck all the way down his vast chest, the warmth of the barracks in the summertime only aiding the heat the two men were creating between themselves. The younger man’s hands were loosely combing through Kick’s short locks, his cock still hard and throbbing with a need that wasn’t yet satiated.

“God…c’mere” Hesh rasped out, trying to pull Kick up for a kiss, bending down a bit to meet him halfway, before Kick stood up from the cool tile himself. His broad, shirtless body towering over the soldier as he cupped his face in his own clammy hands, lips pressing softly to one another as Hesh started to fumble with Kick’s belt buckle, thick fingers set with a slight shake as he worked the leather through the loops.

Kick smirked against the man’s red bitten lips as he gave soft, sensual kisses to Hesh, letting him taste his own spend. “Eager, huh, baby?” the amusement in his tone almost made Hesh whine, drawing an undying need out from the pit of his chest. The pet name even more so, the foreign word on his tongue releasing a soft moan right back into Kick's mouth, relaxing him almost.

“Shut up” the younger man smiled easily, his tone lacking all its defense as his fingers deftly worked Kick’s belt off his hips, letting it fall to the tile below with the rest of their shed clothes. Kick tried to keep his composure, but a part of him was almost hesitant to let the man see him in a more undressed state. He wasn’t one to be insecure of himself, no. He was well aware of all he had to offer, and he was far from ashamed. And yet Hesh was different in his mind, in his heart. He found himself hoping his body, his abilities, would keep Hesh coming back for more, in case that was all that appealed to the younger man. If he couldn’t offer the soldier a good fuck or a nice, hot mouth to return to, would he come back to him at all? He refused to worry about it at the moment, desperate to commit the scorch of Hesh’s skin and the lingering taste of the man on his tongue to memory. Desperate.

Hesh kept his mouth on Kick’s, the men breathing synchronously as the older man’s button and zipper were undone, pants being slid down the thick of his thighs, revealing the smooth, creamy skin underneath. His skin was more paled than Hesh’s, but littered with enough darker hair, and a deep scar running up the side of his knee. Kick helped shake his pants off, stepping out of them as his hands tightened on Hesh’s warm shoulders. Hesh couldn’t wait any longer to palm at the outline of Kick’s cock, a quiet groan rumbling from the man’s throat.

It felt too natural with Hesh. Too natural as he helped the man slide his boxers off as well, the pink head of his cock weeping down his length. So natural as he maneuvered Hesh up onto the bed, crawling overtop his body, chuckling deeply as their knees knocked together, nearly sending the older man off the edge of the twin bed they both struggled to fit on. “Don’t knock me off yet, Walker, just gettin started with you” The sound of Hesh’s laughter in response to the tease set Kick’s heart blazing again. The two men’s lips never unlocked. Deep, firm kisses slowly being shared as Kick’s defined body pressed against the man’s beneath him, their stiff cocks smushing together, irregulating their breaths all over again.

Sweaty bodies crowded together on the small bed, Kick didn’t mind the position at all, despite the cry from his lower back at the angle he was situated in. How could he care, anyhow? How could he ever care when he had such a godlike man beneath him? Cock grinding against his own, those sweet groans filling his mouth as he smiles against Hesh’s lips. Kick didn’t mind going at Hesh’s pace, he wasn’t sure how much experience the kid had, but all that mattered was that he made them both feel good. Hesh’s sweeter, more tender touches and grasps, his warm skin and hot breath had slowed down Kick’s sense of time. Stuck in an endless loop it seemed, his mind was molten lava, ready to pour from his ears as he grinded himself down on the man, licking his own fingers before trailing them between those thick thighs.

Hesh’s breath stuttered a bit in his throat, Kick’s warm fingertip circling his hole, prepping him. His shuddering breath made the older man smile against his lips, his touch firm but gentle enough to coax Hesh into relaxing more. “Easy, sweetheart… feels good, yeah?” Kick soothed, his little smirk never leaving as he pressed kisses to Hesh’s jawline, opening him up slowly with one long finger as gently as he could, due to the lack of any real lube available. Hesh grunted, hissing at the stretch of his tightness, his face morphing into one of bliss as Kick started to pump his finger in and out. “Y-yeah…feels fucking good” Hesh breathed out deeply, a hand clawing into the older man’s shoulder, groaning into his neck. Kick worked him open on one finger, adding more spit as he pushed another inside of the man beneath him, cooing at him softly, voice deeper as he praised Hesh for taking his fingers so well. The operators sweat slickened bodies kept one another warm, sharing each others air as Kick worked him up, fucking him with two digits, his own cock twitching and leaking onto his stomach at the sounds the younger man made. His grunts and near moans made Kick hungrier for him, mesmerized by the way his thick lashes fluttered.

“Kick, please…fuck I need more” Hesh’s rough voice pleaded with the man, green eyes gazing into his, hips bucking into the easy thrusts of Kick’s fingers. Kick smirked at him as he curled those fingers right into that sweet spot within Hesh, watching the man’s reaction, a gruff moan being ripped from the soldier's throat. The older man pressed more hot kisses to his neck, his roughened voice whispering into Hesh’s ear.

“Yeah? Ready for my cock, are ya? Go ahead baby, tell me what you want me to do with this hole…” Kick muttered, smirking as he teased Hesh just a bit, watching the man get a little more desperate under him. “Yeah…want you, want you to fuck me, please” Hesh groaned as Kick’s fingers kept finding their way in and out of him.

It was all Kick needed, unable to wait much longer himself to sink into Hesh’s warmth. He withdrew his fingers from Hesh, shamelessly licking them to gather more spit before reaching down to stroke his leaking cock. The sight made Hesh groan, his hand reaching up to brush the wisps of hair from Kick’s sweaty forehead, his touch never wavering with its gentleness. The older man positioned himself between Hesh’s long legs, one of them practically hanging off the bed to accommodate him, their bodies contorted on the small mattress without a care in the world. Kick nearly had tunnel vision as he glided his tip up and down Hesh’s puckered hole, breathing heavier as he bit his bottom lip.

“Might burn a little at first, yeah? Sure you’re ready for me?” He smirked down at Hesh, propped on an elbow with one thick bicep steadied next to the man’s head as he ignored the burn in his hamstrings, far too mesmerized by the skin on skin touch and the glitter in those green eyes he couldn’t tear his gaze from. His weeping, throbbing cock provided more lubrication, slickening Hesh’s hole further. Hesh wordlessly nodded, grinning back up at the man as his hands found Kick’s shoulders. Kick chuckled deeply, before beginning to press his hard length into the man’s body.

Hesh grunted, his breath faltering in his throat as Kick slowly pushed the head of himself inside, groaning softly as he kept his eyes trained on the younger man, watching the mixed sensations flood his body, eyes fluttering at the stretch. Kick rasped out his praise as he kept slowly sinking inside Hesh, filling him up inch by inch. The soldier grunted and moaned lowly, fingers unconsciously sinking into the firm muscle of Kick’s shoulders.

“That’s it, fuckkk” Kick grunted as he sunk his length fully into Hesh, stilling to let the man catch his breath for a moment, free hand going to wipe a drop of sweat off the man’s hairline, his cock throbbing inside the tightness of Hesh’s hole. “Jesus christ, keep going…” Hesh breathed out into the crease of Kick’s neck. He obeyed, slowly pulling out a bit just to push right back in, tearing a delicious moan from Hesh’s throat. The pace was easy at first, Kick trying to hold himself back from fucking Hesh too quickly. The moments were a blur, both men drowning in one another's bodies, the moment far more sincere than Kick’s encounters typically were. The man utterly lost in the sensation of his sweat slickened body pressing Hesh’s into the narrow mattress, the feel of his rigid cock sliding in and out of the depths of the man below. He felt as if he were being changed somehow, transformed into a different man. The intimate moment fixing up some broken part of him, as if Hesh had the ability to repair what once was, at some point in time.

Time slowed down for the pair, low grunts and groans flying from Kick’s mouth as his elbows stayed bracketed around Hesh’s head, the eye contact soft, yet intense in its connection. Neither man could speak, both hurtling towards their peak faster than they could control. The mattress hinges squeaked, and Hesh moaned deeply into Kick’s ear, flooding his brain with nothing but the sweet sound. The soldier's nails clawed into the skin of Kick’s back, leaving marks that the older man hoped branded him for life, marking him indefinitely.

══════════════════════

They laid against one another for god knows how long.

Sweaty bodies finally having caught their breath, both men too drunk on the feeling of the other to care about how loud they might’ve been, or how stuffy Hesh’s room was around them. Kick pressed a kiss to the younger man's lips, muttering of his pride in the soldier, how well he did, how fucking perfect he was. Unable to keep the reverence from his voice, he didn’t care how his tenderness for the man displayed itself, unable to be concerned with crossing any potential lines while his head was swimming with endorphins, and that sickly feeling he couldn’t quite name. Or the one he perhaps just didn’t want to name.

It wasn’t love, he knew. Told himself. He was simply infatuated. Obsessed might’ve been pushing it, although the man lying underneath him, filled with his cum, certainly felt like some sort of drug frying his synapses. As much as his mind tried to prevent itself from worrying about the matter in the moment, well, Kick always had been a problem solver. That insatiable need to understand his surroundings, his problems, was nagging at him. His slick chest was pressed to Hesh’s, legs tangled as both men refused to move, both their bodies beginning to cramp up a bit on the narrow mattress.

It was Hesh that spoke first, the man’s face buried into Kick’s neck, inhaling the sweat and musk that wafted from his skin.

“Thank you…” his voice softer now, two orgasms tearing him apart and building him back up while his fingers danced over the fresh pink scratches adorning Kick’s back and shoulders. The older man sighed silently into Hesh’s neck, the warm breath sending a tingle down the soldier's spinal cord.

“Thanking me for stretching you out with no lube? You sure?” Kick muttered frivolously, smirking as he pressed a light kiss to the man’s neck. It earned him a gruff laugh from Hesh, hands smoothing up and down the expanse of Kick’s back now, unknowingly testing the man’s capacity for keeping his mouth shut at the intimacy of it all.

“Yeah, totally, a real gentleman you are…” Hesh echoed his sarcastic little tone, both men’s faces pressed into the creases of one anothers necks, effectively hiding the boyish grin neither of them seemed able to rid themselves of. “I mean, thank you for…” the younger man’s voice trailed off unwittingly, unsure of how to speak his thoughts.

“For being with me…” Hesh finished after Kick’s gracious moment of silence, his voice holding a hesitation, his hands never stopping their gentle graze along the corded muscle of the man’s back. It made Kick’s breath still for a quiet moment, his mind swirling sluggishly with a million different meanings behind the man’s gratitude. He was silent still, hoping for elaboration, if not due to the fear that upon opening his mouth, his own misinterpretation might muck everything up. His careless streak of praise and banter shut itself up momentarily, replaced by a nagging in the back of his head.

When he didn’t get anything, he figured one of them had to speak sometime or another. Although he briefly wondered if it’d be better to die than speak. If he could settle for never opening up the opportunity for David Walker to become a wound. One that he’d no doubt pick at until infection mutilated his bones.

“You’re thankful for getting laid?” Kick wanted to wince as soon as he spoke, his attempt at humor falling flat. To joke through it wasn’t helping a damn thing, he knew that much, but his heart had a thick layer of concrete built around it, the deflection usually bouncing right off.

He listened to Hesh sigh quietly underneath him, the man’s big hands never stilling their gentle caresses. Kick wasn’t sure he could stand the silence, much as he wanted to keep things as neutral, as safe, as possible. His heart clenched in his chest, constricted as he tried to decipher Hesh’s meaning, his hesitation, the fact that he was still content to be crushed into the bed by the sweaty man atop him, long after the sex was over.

“I’m thankful for you, Kick” Hesh murmured into his ear, his voice holding a tone that Kick couldn’t construe over the pang he felt stab his heart. He wondered if maybe Hesh was actually being straightforward, and he was just missing it, or if perhaps the man just spoke in a different language after fucking the colleague he had unnameable tension with, and maybe Kick was stupid for reading to much into that, too. His mouth didn’t want to respond with anything though, still fighting between honesty and evasion.

It was ridiculous, he knew above all else. That the soldier had him questioning his logical reasoning abilities. That he couldn’t snap out of it, of the knee jerk reaction to gloss over everything with a joke, to prove to somebody, anybody, that he was stronger than he felt sometimes. Unaffected, as if anybody in the history of humanity ever had been. Maybe he could be the first, if he’d just get up and leave Hesh’s quarters.

But he stayed, letting the man trace over his back while he quietly avoided himself for a bit longer, feeling the end of something near. Kick sighed, briefly wondering why Hesh would be so grateful for him. Self depreciation usually wasn’t his style these days, but the question, or rather the statement, crept up on him. He let his heart clench and unclench a couple more times, before deciding that bravery was an option. Bravery in the face of danger, something Merrick spoke to him before. Except there was no real danger here, only the green eyed man below him that instilled a sense of peace that’d become foreign.

“Yeah? I’m thankful for you too, David” Kick’s voice was quiet as he breathed into the man’s neck, feeling his heart prepare to drop despite any response he might receive. If vulnerability was a drug, he’d be fine with staying stone cold sober. But he knew more realistically, blockading himself would hurt too. Scared of both receiving and not receiving anymore affection from the younger man was dizzying, and Hesh seemed to just have that effect.

But he could feel the soldier smile against the skin of his neck, warm hands kneading at his shoulders this time. “I like this, y’know…” Hesh muttered, shifting so that he could look up into Kick’s amber eyes, still unperturbed by the large operator's body draped over his like a weighted blanket. Kick lifted his head from the man’s neck, propping himself up on an elbow for leverage as he met Hesh’s eyes, a small smile gracing his lips whether he meant it to or not.

“I like you” Hesh finished, a twin smile on his own lips. Kick stared down at him, a rush, a smack of emotions hitting him like a freight train. His grin only grew, feeling every ounce of uncertainty fall away, shedding itself like the skin off a snake. Kick’s hand came up to rake through the thick beard covering the younger man’s cheeks and jaw, mesmerized by the sight of the pretty soldier, naked and warm under his own body, professing something he’d bullied himself into believing he’d never get, something he wasn’t sure he’d deserve.

“I like you too, kid”

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piepiepiemag · 7 months ago

Text

What Glitters Isn't Mine

Golden Gear Midas (Fortnite) x Young(er)!Montague (Fortnite)

Summary: midas is worried sick about accidentally turning his not-so-obvious crush into gold the first time they share a bed. surely nothing will go wrong

Tags from AO3: Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Horror (???), Touch Starved Midas (Fortnite), Touch Starved Montague (Fortnite), Midague, Proofread (barely), Trans Male Character, Trans Montague (Fortnite), Trans Midas (Fortnite), T4T Midague Real

thank you to my duo for always showering me with plenty of ideas to write about!! <3 this one could work as a standalone story, but i recommend reading (Lighthouse) for full context!

Sleep has always been one of those commodities Midas could rarely afford. He tended to stay up late into the night and wake up around daybreak, running on 5 hours of sleep and an unhealthy amount of caffeine in his system.

It’s gotten significantly worse ever since he got a noisy roommate, who preferred to stay up even later than him, then proceed to sleep through the entire day. He couldn’t get too mad at him for it though.

Montague had it a lot more rough. His vision was healing far slower than his other wounds, and he’s been plagued with nightmares since the day he laid hands on that cursed relic. He never told Midas about it, but it was quite easy to tell.

Most nights Midas would wake up to the sound of him suffering and crying deep in his sleep, all alone on the living room couch he used as a bed. He would wake him at times like this, but it slowly got to the point that Montague would rather sleep during the day when Midas was busy elsewhere. He didn’t want to be a nuisance, he was already staying there rent free after all.

Midas could tell something was wrong even if Montague never spoke about it. He shut himself away most on days, cooking and cleaning to spend his time productively, then latching onto Midas’s Xbox for comfort.

Midas was worried, but he never asked. He didn’t ask him about that night, the night Montague came crawling to his house, bloodied up and on the brink of death. He didn’t ask about the amulet he decided to wear so close to that strange scar over his chest, the one right above his heart.

He didn’t want to bother him, thinking that he would open up with time, when he was ready.

The amulet was concerning, they knew close to nothing about its properties, besides being able to heal people fast, and turning the blood around Montague’s wounds into crystals one time. It was a complete mystery to both of them, but Montague insisted on wearing it at all times, even though he couldn’t explain the reason why.

Montague was hard to read in general, but Midas was getting better at guessing what his actions would mean if he put them into words. Cooking and cleaning probably meant something like “thank you for letting me stay here”, and so on.. This night was no different.

“It’s cold in the living room..” - montague said as he opened the door to Midas’s room. He looked exhausted, even though it was only 1 am. In his arm he was clutching his blanket, looking like a scared child who just saw a monster under the bed.

The gears were turning in Midas’s head, he could vaguely figure what this was about. He was probably just tired and didn’t want to sleep alone.

“Yeah..” - he replied, shuffling around in his bed awkwardly. A sleepover was honestly a pretty terrible idea..

With Montague around, his golden touch was near unmanageable. Pots, pans, plates, silverware, bedding, the couch, even the fridge had to be replaced by this point. He couldn’t exactly figure out why he was losing control this easily.. Well, he had a pretty close hunch, he just didn’t want to admit it outright.

Either way, he didn’t want him to stay, not in the slightest. Just the thought of it was making him queasy, his fists balled up, focusing on not turning his bedsheets gold with every fibre of his being.

“You can sleep here if you want.” - he blurted out without thinking, mentally punching himself in the face in the process.

He’s probably scared of having nightmares again. What kind of asshole would let him stay alone like this..

Montague nodded, quietly walking up to the bed and throwing his blanket down. He began undressing and Midas could feel his blood run cold.

“You haven’t been sleeping in that, have you?” - the question came out far more accusatory than he intended it to, the tone reminding him of his own mother’s. He felt disgusted.

“Ugh maybe..” - Montague said as he looked down at his binder, fiddling with his hands. Even though Midas brought him 12 new pairs as a consolation gift, he still decided to wear that silly lemon pattern hand me down all the time. The one he was given by Midas the first time they truly met.

It was kind of sweet, Midas’s heart would always skip a beat whenever he caught a glimpse of it, peeing out from under his shirt.

“You really shouldn’t you know.. it’s real bad for your health and-“ - midas was so ready to start his lecturing, telling him all about the safety precautions he needs to take and stuff, but he was interrupted.

“You want me to take it off?”

The question hit him like a brick to the face, the room suddenly felt a lot more hot than it did before, and he could feel gold spilling over from his hands, onto the blanket below.

Just how the hell did he get into this?

“I-“ - he began, stopping himself immediately. Yes, he wanted him to take it off, but not in a weird way. More-so in a “hey friend who i like a lot, please don’t destroy your ribs while you sleep” type of way. Nothing more. Nothing less. He started again. - “Y…yes?”

“..whatever..” - Montague muttered, his face visibly flushed as he began to peel the fabric off of himself. Midas looked away immediately, but not fast enough, catching a glimpse of him in nothing but his boxers and that relic around his neck.

This was bad. Real bad. So bad.

When he was done, Montague climbed into the bed, cozying up in his blanket on the other side of the bed.

Midas’s worst fears were slowly coming true as he felt more and more drops of gold spill from his hands. He wiped them off on the bedsheet not so nonchalantly. If this kept up he would run out of bedding.

He was not going to turn anything to gold. Not his sheets. Not the bed. And most definitely not his-

His blood froze the moment Montague scooted closer to him, quietly draping his arm around Midas’s torso, his face inches away from his chest. He could feel Montague’s warm breath on his skin, quickly forming goosebumps all around.

They cuddled before on the couch, at times when Montague had his nightmares, but it was never like this. Those only lasted until Montague fell asleep again, and they were all dressed up. This felt more than friendly, almost intimate. And while he wouldn’t have minded it in any other situation, right now Midas was mortified.

He took a deep breath as he folded one shaky arm over Montague, strategically placing it over his blanket. Midas could see the man’s lips curl into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and he made sure to etch it into his memory.

It was nice. He wished they could always sleep like this. The only sound he could hear were the crickets outside, and Montague’s breathing getting slower and slower by the minute, him falling asleep not soon after.

Midas’s eyes were getting blurry, sleep threatening to take over him, but he just watched as Montague clung to him, his eyelashes fluttering occasionally, his face more peaceful than he’s ever seen before.

He was stupid for feeling like this, but he was beginning to like his roommate more than what you would consider friendly. He would never admit it though, it was clear to him that Montague was not interested. At least that’s what he got from it, him being so hard to read and all.

In a moment of bravery Midas raised a hand and swept it over the man’s hair, ruffling his locks softly. It was fine. Everything was fine. He kept petting his hair with a smile on his face, almost getting lost in his beauty.

Midas was stupid, but it was fine. Just for a short while Montague was his, and that was enough for him. Admiring him like this was more than enough.

Midas’s eyelids slipped shut more and more as time passed, even as he tried to stay awake and be in control until-

Montague screamed, so loud that Midas immediately jumped, confused for only second, as he caught a glimpse of glistening gold under his fingertips, intertwined in his hair.

“Wha- Stop! It hurts!” - Montague gasped and heaved as the gold began to spread, spilling over from his hair, onto his arms and back.

“W-Wait! No! Please-“ - midas pulled and yanked on his arm but it wouldn’t budge, it was like his fingers melted into the flesh of the man next to him.

Montague cried and trashed around in horror only for a short while, within mere seconds his muscles began to freeze up, the gold seeping into his bones and rendering him near unable to move. All he could feel was an overwhelming amount of pain and terror, he felt like his body was on fire and freezing in an ice cold lake at the same time.

Midas tried with all his power to stop, to at least slow it down or reverse it somehow but nothing was working, he grabbed his arm with his other hand but it also began to weep gold, leaving him unable to movie as well. He tried to calm Montague but it was all in vain, he couldn’t even calm himself.

The room was filled with their wails of despair until the gold finally fully overtook Montague. He suddenly stopped all his sounds, staring up at Midas, his eyes full of fear and hate as gold dripped down his face.

“WHY!?”

“Please- I’m sorry I- Stop! No-“ - midas cried out as he tried to free his arms, glistening gold spilling out from them more and more with each passing second. Montague’s whole face contorted from the pain, his jaw looking almost unhinged as he screamed and screamed without stopping for a second. Then gold fully overtook him, silencing him as his expression remained frozen in absolute terror.

Midas stared at him in horror, before shutting his eyes, crying and screaming at the top of his lungs for help, any help, until he felt someone shake him by the shoulders.

Blue and brown eyes greeted him, inches away from his face.

“You kicked me in your sleep..” - montague stared down at him, his face back to normal, completely unharmed. Despite his cold words he had an awfully worried expression on his face.

It took Midas a moment to realise what just happened. He looked down at his hands, looking just like they did before.

He almost felt stupid about it, before lunging forward, hugging Montague as close as he could. He was startled for a second, but he still ended up draping his arms around Midas, pulling him even closer.

“Sorry.. I had a weird nightmare..” - midas mumbled as he buried his face in Montague’s shoulder. He never felt more relieved before in his life.

“Yeah.. i figured..” - montague replied, softly petting Midas’s hair with one hand. Guess their score was settled now.

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meyerlansky · 10 months ago

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twenty questions for fic writers!

tagged by @redbelles AND @inkpot-demigod 🖤💙🖤💙 took me eighteen years but i figured i ought to get it done before the emoji asks >_>

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

39!

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

133,253

3. what fandoms do you write for?

right now it's just masters of the air, because i really only focus on one fandom at a time but i also don't really LEAVE fandoms so much as they go dormant for a bit. in the last year i've at least TOUCHED wips for boardwalk empire and the witcher, and once bachelor route drops i will probably go back to some of my pathologic 2 fics and maybe come up with new stuff. same with HotD s2, although i don't know how much new stuff will come out of that vs finishing up things in metamorphoses.

4. top five fics by kudos

keep safe broad shoulders, warm hands keds and tube socks vestis virum facit denuo

so mostly burakhovsky smut, except for keep safe which is outsider pov nearly-gen lambden (from the witcher and specifically witcher 3) fic, and i have NO idea how it's my most-kudosed fic; and keds and tube socks, which is a long-ass (for me) steddie fic that i WILL finish at some point i am so sorry to everyone who's subbed to that fic /o\

5. do you respond to comments?

I TRY MY BEST ;___; i really like talking to people about fic, mine and others', so every comment i've left unresponded-to haunts me, but sometimes i can't get over my own anxiety enough. the only time it's deliberate is if the only content in the comment is "you have to write more of this" or anything similar and phrased EXCLUSIVELY like a demand, because It's Rude and also i have no idea how to respond to that.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

explicitly angsty is probably with my ash-stained palms or broad shoulders, warm hands because neither ryuzo or daniil get what they want in those ones, though i think bswh!daniil would get what he wants eventually. ryuzo, maybe not >_> dancing cheek to cheek (to cheek) is also probably up there, but that's more interesting because it's not angsty on the page! and i WAS planning on leaving it as is, originally! that's why it has the canon compliant tag! but now i'm 8k deep in a canon-divergent sequel so idk if it counts anymore. genuinely i was planning on answering this with "i don't write a lot of unresolved angst" but. hm.

...wait, also hot blood, deep roots. which is the dark mirror nightmare counterpart of bswh and is... definitely worse. and i have something even worse in my wips okay i guess i write more angst than i thought

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

probably vestis virum facit, since the final section is implied to be far-enough post-plague that they're Gonna Be Okay. but like the angst question, i don't really think of too many of my fics as the And They Lived Happily Ever After, The End type so much as like... they're happy In That Moment and that's what matters

8. do you get hate on fics?

i got put on the patho fandom blacklist for associating with Freaks And Criminals, and then i wrote hot blood, deep roots to cement my spot on it, so if that counts that's the extent of it afaik. i do worry about catching flak for stuff down the line, but honestly haters tend to be cowards, sooo

9. do you write smut?

LOVE WRITING SMUT. LOVE IT WHEN MY GUYS NAIL EACH OTHER. IT'S MY FAVORITE. i had like a year-long stint before stranger things s4 where i only posted genfic and i was SO disappointed with myself, even though the stuff i posted was GOOD genfic

10. craziest crossover:

don't really do crossovers! but entertaining daemon au thoughts is how i know i'm in a fandom deep enough that it's gonna stick for a bit, even though i've only posted daemon au fic for bwe thus far

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

also not to my knowledge!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i'm not opposed to spitballing with people, and some of my best bwe work has come out of very long headcanon exchanges with @goatsandgangsters and @therestisdetail in particular, but i am not a consistent enough writer to saddle anyone else with my habits, so that's the closest i've gotten to cowriting anything.

14. all time favorite ship?

L A N S K I A N O. they are my forever boys. nothing will topple them. ever.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

NONE OF MY WIPS ARE ABANDONED THEY ARE ALL GOING TO GET DONE EVENTUALLY DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT

16. what are your writing strengths?

snappy dialogue and the internal character work involved in a tight third person pov, which is good since a tight third is the only way i like to write

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

speed. if i don't finish something inside of a week of starting it, it will drag out for an infinity and a half and i'll have to chip away at it and hate myself for being slow the whoooooooooole time. i also... i have no idea how to explain this, but i don't consider myself an especially creative person, so i have trouble if i don't have a jumping off point to start with? most of my fics have pretty solid touchpoints in the canon and tend to be one-shots, if not single-scene. coming up with new shit for my dudes to do can be a struggle. which, tbh, adds to the speed thing, especially for stuff that tilts off into canon-divergent territory

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

alright, listen, i might have an entire buryat dictionary database downloaded onto my hard drive to spice up patho fic, but i'm in agreement with previous answers on this one: it can get dicey to write in a language you don't know, and if your readers don't know it it will interrupt the flow in a way that's not usually what i'm looking to do in a fic. that said, most of my fandoms have at LEAST one non-english language involved, if not multiple, so i do end up doing a lot of research into those languages, and i'm absolutely not opposed to pulling out single-words or phrases after either a. checking with someone who speaks those languages, if it's a real one, or b. pulling them from their usage in the canon itself and/or sometimes extrapolating out a bit, like the high valyrian i peppered into chrysalis

19. first fandom you wrote in?

boardwalk empire my beloved 🖤🖤🖤 i played around with some stuff prior to that—i think i'd noodled with what would technically be alice in wonderland fic in high school, although i don't remember what happened in it—but nothing substantial enough to count as Actual Fic, and definitely not anything i have access to anymore

20. favorite fic you've written?

MAN. HOW TO CHOOSE. it's maybe a little bit of recency bias to say dancing cheek to cheek (to cheek), but i think it's a tie between that and junkyard dogs, and both for the same reason, which is that i am really proud of the character work they do with curt and eddie, respectively. i'm not SURPRISED jd is as low on the hits/kudos/etc scale as it is since it's genfic and billy is...... divisive........... but i really think i nailed eddie in it. with dctc(tc) it was fun to get to play with curt, who's... look, i'm just gonna say it, i think he gets mischaracterized in a lot of the other fandom stuff i've seen involving him, so it was fun to get how i read him down on the page. it's also interesting to not only develop curt internally but to look at the buckies from an outsider POV, because they are UNDENIABLY the love story at the center of MotA's narrative, but they're both IN IT so they can't SEE IT. i also don't usually do scene breaks? like most of my fics are single-scene but i dragged dctc(tc) out and shockingly it WORKED? so yeah idk i'm just really proud of it.

OKAY. WHOOF. TIME FOR TAGS. let's seeeeeeeeee i will tag @goatsandgangsters @hosseinis @chirpybirdy @sweaterkittensahoy @reiverreturns

@samuelroukin @stoportotouch @notgrungybitchin @adriennefrombrooklyn and anyone else who wants to, but no pressure as always!

#twenty questions meme #my fic #it counts. why not.#long post #forgot that tag. sorry.

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drabbles-mc · 9 months ago

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20 Questions for Fanfic Writers

thank you for the tag, @spaghettificationandpretzels! 🥰

1) How many works do you have on AO3?: i have 270 on AO3, but i know that that is wildly inaccurate because for a while i wasn't crossposting my tumblr fics on there and i haven't taken the time to rectify that 😂 someday i'll go through and count my fics on here again because i'm overdue for that lmao

2) What's your total AO3 word count?: 1,171,311 the way i'm actually floored by this. i need a moment sksks

3) What fandoms do your write for?: i'll try anything once! 😂 nah but i'd say my big Heavy Hitter fandoms are: Sons of Anarchy, Mayans MC, Narcos & Narcos Mexico, Kingsman, The Bear, Marvel, Top Gun: Maverick, Altered Carbon, Suicide Squad, Outer Banks... although i've written for a smattering of other fandoms when the mood strikes 😌

4) Top 5 fics by kudos: this is so so funny to me because my top fics on AO3 are WILDLYYY different than my top fics on tumblr. but i'll still link 'em!

Stumble (Harry Hary x Eggsy Unwin)- 1495

Lessons in Romantics (Harry Hart x Eggsy Unwin)- 532

Sweater Weather (Harry Hart x Eggsy Unwin)- 344

A Bit Too Much (Harry Hart x Eggsy Unwin)- 281

Just One Week (Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader)- 231

5) Do you respond to comments?: yes! real talk i'm much better about this on ao3 than tumblr just because it's easier on that platform. however now that i can reply from my sideblog here on tumblr i've been trying to stay more on top of replying 🫡

6) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?: i have multiple fics that end with major character death, so i would say definitely one of those 😂 if anyone is looking to get their heart broken like that, drop me a line and i'll rec them to you lmao. but i know off the top of my head i have multiple No Happy Ending Major Character Death Endings for Narcos and Mayans

7) What's a fic you wrote with the happiest ending?: oooo i know i write a lot of angst but i have a lot of fluff for all of my fandoms too. i think that one of my happiest fics is Just One Week. i feel like that's a generally fluffy fic from top to bottom with the exception of a few moments

8) Do you get hate on fics?: not really! i think it helps that these days i tend to write for smaller fandoms.

9) Do you write smut?: i do! for the longest time i didn't, or i'd try to avoid it like the plague. it's still not my strongest suit or necessarily my preference but i've gotten more comfortable writing it as time has gone on

10) Craziest crossover?: ohhhhh i gotta thank @ashlingiswriting for this one. i wrote a Narcos & Suicide Squad crossover and i think about it every day all the time. i also have some other crossovers in my head that haven't made it onto paper yet. but one day! (fic is called Family Reunion and you can find it HERE)

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?: not to my knowledge!

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?: no, but i have had people reach out and ask to. i get kinda nervous about other people posting my fics even if it's just a translation so i usually just air on the side of caution. but i do appreciate people having taken the time to ask!

13) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?: not formally, but honestly between my friends in the narcos discord, and chats with @withmyteeth and @garbinge i feel like i sort of have 😂

14) All time favorite ship?: ohhhhh maaaaaaaaaan. i. i don't know. i think i ship so many people with so many people it's hard to have a favorite 😂 i've clocked a serious number of hours thinking/writing about: Harry Hart/Eggsy Unwin, Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanoff, Rick Flag/Harley Quinn, Sydney Adamu/Richie Jerimovich.....also lets be so real if i've written an OC pairing i still think about them to this day even if i haven't written for them in a while lmfao

15) What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?: that's quitter talk!!! i don't care how long it's been since i've updated i still fully intend to add onto all of my wips and finish them lol

16) What are your writing strengths?: i think my strength has almost always been dialogue. i think the chronic rewatcher in me really lends itself to that haha

17) What are your writing weaknesses?: smut is not my strong suit. never has been. probably never will be 😂 also just to keep it a buck i feel like i don't have the mental stamina for a lot of research to go into my fics. it's super hit or miss. i'm just here to have a good time and i can't always be bothered to fact-check 😂

18) Thoughts on dialogue in another language?: i've written multiple fics that have dialogue in Spanish! it's fun and a bit of a challenge but i very much enjoy it. i have plans for an OC who also speaks in sign language along with English and Spanish. i think that's going to be more challenging as well but i look forward to it!

19) First fandom you wrote in?: back in my quizilla days (RIP to a legend) i was biiiiiig into writing bandfic. however, i'd say that once i hit got towards the end of middle school and really got into writing fanfic, my first fics were Marvel, followed by Kingsman a handful of years later!

20) Favorite fic you've ever written?: oh man. like trying to pick a favorite child! 😂 i do think that Just One Week is always going to be in my top fic rotation. Protective Detail is up there as well, along with really any of my Kingsman longfics on AO3 🥰

thank you so much for the tag!! i'm leaving this as an open tag to any of the writers who follow me and wanna participate! please feel free to tag me in it so i can read and learn things about you haha 💖

#this also has me wondering if i should cross-post my old kingsman fics onto here #i probably won't???????#but like if people wanted to read them here instead i suppose i could #survey says??????#we shall see lmao #tag game

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365runesoftheamalgamations · 1 year ago

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WIP Name Game [ 01 ]

hello and how are you?

Dipping our hand in the Tag Games Hoard once again and here we all with yet another one that we are probably ages late in answering but no one is keeping track, right!?

Thank you to the wonderful @inkspellangel for tagging us! You can find her response right here! :D

Rules: share the titles of WIP docs, whether they’re serious or simply placeholders, so that people can send an ask regarding a title that most interests them, and then share either a snippet of that WIP or something regarding it. Tag as many people as you have WIPs

Tagging with no pressure [ and ignoring the amount of people we have to bc that is WAY TOO MANY DEAR SIRS ]: @saintedseraph | @galactic-mystics-writes | @void-botanist and leaving this as a curious open tag, of course! c:

We have A LOT of Works at the moment - the plot bunnies are horrendous and we tend to definitely write more than necessary so that they can be happy and fed - and so we will include our list of Original Works! If you want our Fanfics or anything else, then tag us again or something, we don't know. ( ◞･౪･)

And all of these are in Alphabetical Order! :D

A Knight's Honor [ Outlined with Random Writes Attached ]

A Magician and A Curse [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

A Siren of a Mermaid [ An Outline and Vibes ]

A System of Corruption [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

An Unfortunate Destiny [ An Outline and Vibes ]

Bentley's Resolve [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

Borders of Eradication [ Outlined to the Infinities ]

Cityscape of Dragons [ A Work, not yet breached ]

Constellations By Orion [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

Elden's Fight for Ebathara [ A Work, not yet breached ]

Eyes of Salvation [ Outlined with Random Writes Attached ]

Garden of Wonder [ Tis A Concept ]

Grayland's Shadow [ The OG Work, here's the tag! ]

Marathon Runners [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

Mitch's Journals [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

The Pacifist's Champion [ Tis a Concept ]

The Plague Begins With Me [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

The Queen & The Heir [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

The Rapunzel Witch [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

The Villain's Hero [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

The Witch's Mage [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

Those Among Us [ A Work, not yet breached ]

To Fall Without Angel Wings [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

Tomfoolery Concept [ Tis A Concept ]

Vagabond Child [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

When Nature Is Left Behind [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

If ya wanna do something and ask us about any of the works, you can send an ask and also something simple to ask! Anything like, "random snippet, plot point, character, worldbuilding point, vibes" and we will answer it! Make it easy for y'all! (*⌒▽⌒+)θ～♪

☕ Natsume Rune, the Natsume Rune System

#rune ⊹ tag games #tag game ⊹ wip name game

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greyfix · 1 year ago

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Children

Title: Children

Ship: Keith Kogane/Lance McClain

Summary: Keith and Lance are children with the weight of the world on their shoulders. At only 16 and 17 years old these children were made Paladins of Voltron, Blades of Marmora, Saviors of the Universe. Those weren’t titles meant for children.

Word Count:6.1k

Requested By: n/a

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Fluff, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Pining Lance, Lance is a mess, Insecure lance, Galra Keith, Keith is bad at feelings, Keith is a mess, Blade of Marmora Keith, Blade of Marmora, Naxzela, pining keith.

Author’s Note: listen, i know i never write anymore. But, shit happens you know?

I’m taking requests and commissions again though so hopefully that will change, i have menus posted on my linktree. You can Instagram message me ( @greyfixx ) or email me ([email protected]) and i’d be happy to write your stories. Thanks guys!

Ao3, Tumblr

Lance wanders the castleship often now. He spends much more time walking around aimlessly than doing anything productive that’s for sure. Hunk and Pidge seemed as though they were always making some revolutionary advances. Always inventing something or tweaking something. Lance could never keep up.

Allura seems as though she always has some diplomatic stuff to tend to with Shiro. If you asked Lance, he’d tell you that’s just an excuse so they can do whatever they do when they're alone. Plus, hanging out with Shiro is like, well it is, hanging out with your commanding officer. It’s hard for me to be comfortable. He would hang out with Coran sometimes, helping with some of the castle maintenance. It almost reminded him of being back home doing the chores. He never thought chores would be something he missed.

Still, when the lonely day was done, he had to return to the cold sterile room. It was so lifeless. Despite the trinkets he’d collected from his travels strewn around the room, the lived in clutter, it still didn’t feel like his room, no matter how hard he tried. Pictures weren’t as prominent in space, he’d noticed, at least not hard copies or for decoration in general. I guess they went completely digital a long time ago. So it wasn’t common for one to have photos of their family hung up around their homes. He wonders if people keep photos of their families outside of earth, or if it isn’t something people generally care about? For Lance, who’d spent his whole life surrounded by his siblings, it was so terribly lonely. Almost like living in a hospital room that never had a visitor.

So he slept in his cold white bed with his thin sheets and flat pillows. He wore his thin pajamas and the unreasonably comfy castle bathrobe. This was his new normal. His new home. He’s always been so grateful for his family, the original one, and the new ones he had created along the way. That’s what made him so sad, that he had a whole family here and he still felt alone.

It wasn’t always like this. Lance suspected that they didn’t really have enough time to worry about it as things changed. Now, between battles, there is silence. What does the silence hold for the soldiers in the war? These are the thoughts that plagued Lance as he fell asleep.. There weren’t many sweet dreams on the other side of the unconscious curtain waiting for him.

This is how he had felt since Keith had left. On the outside they seemed to be all bitter arguments, competitive bravado, and rivalry. They both knew though, that on the inside, they were closer than anyone else on the team. And that was their business. Their banter was just that, banter. It only takes a little bit of care to see the flirting smiles and friendly wrestling through the veil. When the fighting is done and it’s time for the brains behind the scenes, Keith and Lance learned to stay out of the way. They weren’t geniuses, or commanders, or Royalty. This wasn’t their job.

Each evening he spends longing for the company he wishes he had. He wishes for just one night things could be back the way they were. He wishes that if he does have to be lonely, he shouldn’t have to be the only one. . He considers it. He also considers the embarrassment of it. Calling the Blade of Marmora Headquarters to talk to his friend because he misses him? They’ll laugh and hang up. Probably give Keith shit for it, and i don’t want to mess things up for him. We’re soldiers. We’re supposed to be doing more with our time than talking to our friends on secure military lines.

He accepts his fate.

Though it may be silent between battles, for those who are much more than soldiers it was time to make a lot of noise.. Building a good public image. Recruiting to the cause. Diplomacy, gaining allies. Creating a Coalition.. Coran had them traveling to a new planet each and every day putting on shows and meeting people. Selling Voltron.

It wasn’t a big deal in the beginning. Just a script reading here and there, and Lance always loved Drama as a kid, so he was more than happy to comply. It felt like filming a cheesy TV commercial, and it was fun. Over time, as the audience got larger and larger, Coran got more intense. Their characters became perverted versions of themselves. Lance was now “Loverboy Lance.” He was nothing but a good looking airhead. There wasn’t anything more to him than his ability to get laid everywhere he goes. Because that’s all it takes to be a Paladin of Voltron, apparently.

Coran had become increasingly erratic. He’s talking differently, and twitches everywhere he goes. He’s taking dangerous risks, not only with diplomacy but with their safety.

Lance was starting to believe that that’s who he was. Maybe he is the only one who hasn’t noticed yet. He isn’t anything but who they believe he is. Loverboy. What is a loverboy without love? Just a boy. Just a boy in a play. Just a boy with the weight of the world in his universe. Just a boy. Alone. In a hospital room.

When Lance realized that the pressure of being a part of this war drove Coran to believe he needed a brain worm to do the right thing or to be good enough. Coran, the purest being on this ship, resorted to drugs to be as good as everyone else. Lance knew he was lonely too. He wanted it to stop, because though he didn’t care too much about himself, he certainly cared about his family.

So Lance grew angry. He was so angry all the time that his family was diminished into nothing but comic book characters. His best friend is depicted as nothing other than comedic flatulence. Pidge rendered a fraud who uses fake words. They aren’t recognized as the amazing scientists they truly are. They should be. Keith. He made Keith all angry and lonely. Can’t he see, that’s not who Keith is.

Keith has raw power and talent. He’s the potential to do something amazing for the world. He’s an anomaly and he is so important. There is no one more important than him.

Lance is the one filled with anger and sadness and loneliness.

Keith is hopeful.

And things keep piling on. He is lonely. He is sad. He is angry. And Hope is gone.

Laying on his gurney in his cold hospital room, in his magical alien castle, Lance picked up his space tablet and dialed the space number for the secret space soldiers.

DIAL

Lance called the Blade of Marmora’s direct communications line.

“State your Business.” Spoke a dark gravelly voice.

“I’m Lance, Blue Paladin of Voltron. I’m calling to speak to Keith Kogane? The red Paladin of Voltron?” He was shaking. This is pathetic. How could he be doing this right now, there’s no way Keith would want to talk to him. He’s probably got a bunch of new muscle-y galra friends.

“Should I provide you with his direct communications line?”

Lance froze for a moment. Why wouldn’t he be able to call Keith? Why would the Blade stop him from communicating with his Paladins? That would be ridiculous. “Um yeah, yes please, that would be great, um, yeah.” He stammered out in rapid succession.

He rattles off a bunch of numbers and symbols that Lance makes sure to write down before speaking again. “Will that be all?”

“Um yes, thank you so–”

Beep.

He hung up on me!!

Once he got over the scandal that was the rudeness of what could only be referred to as the ‘galra receptionist,’ he sat in silence for a while. He stared at the string of numbers and symbols. “Keith’s Direct Communications line.” He doesn’t really know what stopped him from getting it before.

It wasn’t long before he typed the number into his tablet.

!0070/01812/12-12! → DIAL

He hit the flashing dial button before he could talk himself out of it.. Inter-Galaxy phone calls didn’t have a dial tone like on earth. There’s a loading screen. If the person you’re calling hasn’t answered by the time the circle is filled, the signal will be canceled and the call will drop. Messages can be sent as well but it wasn’t customary to have your tablet on you at all times, as it would be with a phone on earth. It’s more like having an I-Pad instead of a phone. If you really wanted a response it was best to call.

The circle is barely filled in when the screen explodes in color. It was Keith. His brows furrowed and lips pursed for a moment, until his eyes widened and his teeth showed. He smiled. That wasn’t at all what Lance was expecting.

“Hey, Keith. It’s been a minute.” His voice wavers as he speaks.

“No shit! Is everything okay? You’ve never called before-” he started to look concerned again.

“No! No not at all…” He trailed off. He knew if he said this he would never hear the end of it, but he didn’t want to start the call on such a negative note. He went with what can be interpreted positively.. “I missed you man. It’s lonely around here when you’re gone.”

Keith laughed. When he caught Lance’s eyes and realized that he wasn’t smiling with him, his face dropped. “You don’t mean that?”

“Of course I do. Everyone here is so much smarter and more important than me. I hang around on my own most of the time.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the lone wolf. You’re usually a social butterfly.”

“Everyone’s so busy I don't want to bother them.”

“Well I haven't changed from my lonely ways, so you must annoy me like the butterfly you are.”

“...What?” Lance held back his laughter.

“Shut up.”

“The butterfly I am.” The smile seeped through and before he knew it the both of them had dissolved into hysterics.

“Shut up. I missed you too. I don’t exactly fit in here.”

Before Keith could get another ‘shut up’ out Lance teased,“Are you sure it isn’t just because you aren’t purple?”

“I’m pretty sure that was a little bit space racist.”

Lance gasped.

They talked for hours upon hours. They smiled and laughed until they felt their cheeks go raw and their abs get sore. They talked until their faces turned stoick and they had run out of good things to talk about. They talk until things get serious, and then they keep talking.

Keith tells Lance how he feels worthless because he has always been a prodigy at the things the BoM excel at. The things that Earth doesn’t hold as honor the way the Galra do. Now, he’s nothing special.

Lance tells Keith how he feels like he’s been deluding himself into thinking he belongs. He tells him how he doesn’t believe he’s a true Paladin, and that he’s probably just a placeholder for him or Allura. That the persona that the public has for him as ‘Loverboy’ is so entirely impossible because the only person he loves is so far away that he can’t even tell him that every day.

They talk about how lonely they are. And they promise each other that though things can never be perfect, they will always keep each other company.

However, as many hours as they wish they could spend together, everything comes to an end. Keith has private training early in the mornings and the Castleship will be landing in a different timezone. So for Lance, first thing in the morning is about 4 in the afternoon (If you think about earth time, measurements are fine and dandy in altean, but dates are hell.) and he has to go straight to a diplomatic dinner party.

They say their goodbyes, and part with smiles on their faces.

When Lance turns over on his bed, his pillow is wet until the morning. Or 4 O’Clock in the alien planet’s evening He wakes up sore from his hiccupping breaths and dry from the salt on his skin.

Keith on the other hand forces himself to fall asleep immediately. When he wakes up he throws himself into training. He doesn’t apologize to himself or anyone else for the extra bruises he cost that morning. Anyone who spoke to him was met with a scathing comment about their mother. Most stood clear of him that day.

That night was too good to be true.

They spend months in this circle of suffering. Each day they would spend in anticipation of the joy they would feel when they saw each other. By the time they are able to get on the phone, they can’t stop smiling.

The joy lasts for a while. For a few hours. But every night the call has to end. Every night they have to say goodbye again. Every night they come crashing down from their high. They are hit with the weight of the various crises and the pressure only increases with the added emotions. At the end of the call, they have to say goodbye. Every night.

And I can't even say I Love You.

For Lance, the worst part is that no one noticed. He spent his days finally in a better mood, and his friends weren’t phased. It was such a dramatic change, how could a friend not notice the smiles that had grown so scarce. How could they not notice the bags under his eyes were gone, and he was no longer covered in bruises from his early morning training bot sessions. He felt so much better yet to his friends it was as though nothing had changed. Or they didn’t care to notice.

The Blade of Marmora was absolutely baffled by Keith’s change. Though Keith was much better at hiding it, he had learned in his months spent with the Blade that Galra rely on their sense of smell for this kind of thing much more than they would rely on their interpretation of body language. Pheromones change and there is nothing you can do about it. The Galra use it to communicate, though generally in passing the smell is like hearing the hum of conversation in a large crowd.

He didn't notice it at first. He thought he was imagining the stares he could feel grazing the back of his neck. It took one of the other people in his training group giving him shit to realize it.

“You need to learn how to keep your scent under control..”

“... What?”

“You’re scent. We can all tell you’re excited or anticipating, or whatever, you don’t need to broadcast it, have a little control.”

“What do you mean by my scent? You’re sniffing me??”

“Dude what?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Ha ha very funny. Just keep it to yourself man.””

“Seriously, I have no clue what you’re talking about. I’m a little bit concerned because on earth we don’t exactly make a habit of smelling each other.””

“Earth?”

“Yeah? Haven’t you noticed I'm not exactly purple?”

“I mean, yeah, but I didn't realize you were from the middle of nowhere. I’ve never even heard of that country.”

“It’s a planet.”

Keith could tell that he is holding back his laughter now.

“The Empire hasn’t gotten as far as my planet yet, so I didn't know I was part galra until very recently.

“I don’t know if i’m the person to explain it to you, i don’t have the greatest understanding of it myself either.”

“Just tell me before someone else does.”

“I think it’s like pheromones? We can smell the hormones and the smell changes with your emotions.”

Keith sighed, before stalking back off to his room. This was the first time he contacted Lance during the day.

Keith: I just found out galra can sense pheromones.

Lance: You wut?

Keith: Apparently depending on our emotions we smell different.

Lance: Can you? Smell emotions?

Keith: I never thought about it. I definitely smell a lot more than humans can. One of the Blades told me that most galra learn to control it. Maybe humans don’t emit strong enough pheromones for me to smell.

Lance: Is it like, rude to have emotions?

Keith: I wouldn’t be surprised. Galra never seemed like a race of emotionally sensitive people.

There were invisible boundaries. To keep them from having too much hope, too much happiness. At first the boundary was just speaking to each other in general, because of course they couldn’t be happy together if they weren’t together.

Lance, evidently, broke that one. Keith wished it were never there in the first place.

Keith was the one to break the next boundary and Lance was overjoyed. He kept his tablet on him at all times, though he was careful not to let anyone see. He wanted to keep this to himself. Just for now.

Each time he got a message from Keith, he had to force himself to not smile. It was becoming a problem. At least for a while.

Soon, not only were the nights terrible, but the days became just as painful. The light drains out of the both of them as they no longer spend their days in excitement to speak to each other but in increasing agony over their distance. Their feelings for eachother grow larger and stronger. So strong that every moment they aren’t allowed to feel it hurts more.

They lose the time to talk. The war is becoming back to back battles once again. Manpower is needed more than ever so not only is Voltron busy, but so is the Blade. The Coalition is a lot, but there is only so much. It’s difficult to organize universe wide diplomatic meetings, even for Allura.

The lows that follow leaving each other bleed into the days when no time can be found to speak. They bleed into the days where all that can be spoken of us ugly. The days of war. Of death. Of sacrifice. The days where the fight for freedom goes on and the soldiers grow weary.

Still the same problems prevailed. Lance’s turmoil continued to go unnoticed. He continued to be invisible in his own home amongst his own family.

Keith longed for his family. For Lance. He wished he could be with them. He wished so hard that it was very apparent to anyone who had a sense of smell worth their salt knew. He was now considered a flight risk. This he scoffed at. As if I’d leave all of you to die just to go home. That’s the catch. His love for his family and his refusal to allow lives to be lost to an empire as vial as Zarkons. He won’t abandon the war, not even for his own happiness.

Then the day comes. There is a planet called Naxzela. It’s primarily a military outpost for the empire. If the Coalition is able to take and free Naxzela from Empire control, they will have gained control of a third of the Galran Empire.

The entire Coalition is gathered, doing their best to stop the Empire, around a planet called Naxzela. They fight with everything they have. Every second, someone dies. Every second a ship falls from the sky, not only on their side, but on the Coalition's side as well.

Voltron is on that planet. Keith’s family is on that planet. Lance is on that planet. Keith fights harder. Another ship drops from the sky. Another. Another. Another. Another.

Voltron returns. Alive. That’s the good news though, an when it comes to war, it never outweighs the bad. They come back with information. They say the planet had been habitable only because of Altean terraforming technology. Haggar had tapped into this technology and turned the planet into a bomb. The battleship is the detonator. Both the planet and the ship are protected by shields.

The whole Coalition opens fire.

Not a scratch.

“Maybe not with our weapons.”

Keith takes off, dodging the lasers he soars directly towards the battleship. If our weapons can’t take down the shields, we need something more. The full force of a Blade of Marmora fighter ship just might work.

If i don’t succeed we will all die. At least this way only one of us is gone. At least this way the pain will go away.

He didn’t close his eyes as he approached his death. He wasn’t afraid. He knew this was the right thing to do. He chose this, he would not shy away from it. So he looked right at the thin purple glow that would be the end of him. He stared and confronted his death. The veil blinked out of existence.

He jerked the ship away and went sailing just by the edge of the ship. He had stopped listening to the commotion on his audio comm. It was time to tune back in.

Lotor.

Lotor had saved his life.

After the battle, Keith finally was able to return to the Castleship. To return home. Immediately when he steps off his ship a force knocks into him and he nearly topples him over. It’s so warm. He can smell him. He really is home.

“You fucking idiot!” Anyone could tell that Lance is screaming, despite the fact that he’s muffled by Keith’s shoulder. “How dare you.”

Keith doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know which words to choose. He is so happy and so sad. So he is quiet.

He is quiet and so is Lance as they walk to the infirmary. They ignore the aftermath of the battle. They ignore the Paladins, the rebels, the Blades. They ignore anyone trying to get their attention. Hand in hand, they are the silence between the battles. Lance's eyes are soft when the pod closes. Keith is glad that is the last thing he sees before falling into a deep sleep.

It is three days before he leaves the pod. Lance waits there in the infirmary the whole time. Coran says that most of his injuries weren’t from the battle. There were minor bruises, sprains, even some fractures from weeks past littered across his body.

Lance waits for three days and he doesn’t say a word to anyone besides Coran when he’s questioning after Keith’s progress. Even then his speech is limited. This is when his family finally notices they’ve missed something.

Over these three days Lance practically moves in. One of the gurneys is claimed as his. The white floors are littered with the tissues he hasn’t bothered to pick up. The bowls and spoons he used for the occasional food goo have created a pile in the corner. There are five blankets. Two on Lance’s gurney (he’d always thought they were too thin) and three laying on the floor just by Keith’s pod. One to lay on, two to keep him warm when he sleeps on the cold white metal.

He spent a lot of time thinking, while he waited. He thought about a lot of things. Mainly how he almost lost Keith. He almost lost Keith before he was even able to tell him how he truly feels. He spent a lot of this time regretting. He regretted not telling him the most. They both knew. They knew their lives were on the line and they made that their reason to live in fear. They chose that as their reason to not take responsibility for themselves, their reason to run from their own feelings, their reason to punish themselves.

This is war. Lance realized. This is war, and I am brave enough to be fighting it. I should be allowed to love before I die.. Especially if I'm risking my life for theirs. To make sure they don’t have to. If I die out here I don't want to die in regret, never having lived my truth.

The fourth morning he laid awake on his blankets staring up at Keith. He didn’t look ill at all anymore. He must be almost completely healed by now, he looked just like the Keith that had left. Almost. He had grown taller, his hair had gotten longer. He joked about it being a mullet before, but now it was more than long enough to be braided. He wished he could, it was something he did for his sisters back home.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears the electronic schwooop of the pod-shield lowering. He doesn’t have time to get up on his feet before Keith is toppling down.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Lance says immediately, when Keith falls into his arms. He holds him tightly. It isn’t long before Keith does the same. They both know that Coran and Allura would have been alerted to Keith’s discharge from the pod and would be heading down to check on him. They took the time they had alone to hold onto each other.

“Is this real?” Keith asks, his voice is so meek. So thin and quiet.

“Yes, my love. This is real. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Keith melts into Lance's arms. “I’m home?”

“You’re home.”

They hear footsteps outside the infirmary door before they see anyone. They aren’t surprised to see the whole team walk in. They would all want to see Keith when he was better. Lance wasn’t the only one who had missed him. He was family.It would be wrong if they didn’t want to see him after the stunt he’d pulled either.

Shiro is the first to stalk into the room, with his big muscular body and his big powerful steps. “What the hell is going on here Lance? You’ve been uncollaborative and disrespectful for long enough. It ends now.” He shouts in his best commanding officer voice.

Keith flinches. Lance squeezes him for a moment, before standing up. “You lost your right to give me orders. If i’ve been ‘uncollaborative and disrespectful’ then it’s obviously been a long time since you’ve looked in a mirror. Especially when your reaction to seeing your brother for the first time in months fall out of a pod because he nearly killed himself.”

Shiro opens his mouth to speak only to be cut off. This time it is Coran.

“I think he’s right, Shiro.” His voice is tense and serious. This never happens. “Let the boy speak.”

Lance almost smiled. It seemed, recently, that Coran was the only one who truly cared. At the very least, he understood.

“Keith almost dies, and your reaction when he comes out of a pod, three days later probably still coming down from an adrenaline high not only from his near death experience but from the drugs that pod pumped him full of. Your brother comes home from zero contact and your reaction is to storm in and make demands?” Lance speaks to his family. He speaks to his family in a situation other than battle for the first time in weeks. Months. “You really think you’re the one who deserves answers?”

Lance kneels next to Keith once again. “You need food, water, and to relax.” His voice was soft now. “Do you want to go back to the bedrooms and wait for me there?”

Keith stands up. “I’m going to stay here. With you.” Same old Keith he sounds like. Only Lance could hear the slight quiver in his voice.

“Lance?” Hunk spoke, concerned, “Buddy, what’s going on? What are we missing?”

Lance almost laughed. It was a surprise to him. He hadn’t smiled without Keith in a long time. This wasn’t the context he wanted that to happen under. “What have I been doing?” He said decidedly.

Hunk looked confused.

“What do you mean by that?” Pidge.

“These last few months. What. Have. I Been. Doing>”

“The same as the rest of us.” Pidge spoke in that matter of fact way of hers.

“Yeah, you helped with the performances. You're loverboy Lance!”

“Exactly. I was Loverboy Lance. That explains so much.” Lance decides that they won’t ever realize on their own. He must open their eyes himself. He must be the one to hurt them. “When have you ever seen me do more than flirt with someone? When was the last time I went home with one, or brought one here? Hell, when was the last time I went on a date?”

Silence.

“I flirt. I sign autographs, I joke, and I tease. I have never been a player. I’ve never been Loverboy Lance, not in the way we showed the public. That’s not who I am. Just the same as any of you. Hunk, you are so much more than comedic flatulence, Pidge you aren’t a fraud you’re a genius and you know enough words to fill the script with that the audience will go home knowing how to turn their garbage disposal into a roomba. Allura, you’re your own Paladin, not Keith and there are so many amazing things about you that would make you just as interesting as Keith.

“Keith isn’t the Lone Wolf. He’s just lonely, he always has been. None of us ever pur in the effort to change that, so why would he in return?” Lance turned to Hunk. “You were my best friend, Hunk, and this hurts so much. It hurts so much to know that you can’t see me for who I really am. I look at all of you and see my family and then I wonder, where did you go?”

“I spent these last few months in Silence. I knew I wasn't good enough to keep up with you Pidge, Hunk. So I stayed away. I knew I would never live up to your expectations, Shiro, so I didn't bother with you either. I knew you didn’t want me around Allura, so I didn't stick around. I knew i would be left behind.

“Eventually I stopped speaking.”

Lance stopped then. He took a deep breath. “None of you noticed. My own family had made me feel as though I didn't belong, and so I stopped belonging. Of course you guys were so caught up in being amazing that you didn’t notice. That much I don't care about. This is what is important.

“How old are you, Pidge?”

“I’m fifteen, you know that.”

“Hunk?”

“17.”

“Back on earth, none of us would be considered an adult. We wouldn’t be allowed to go through the airport alone. We wouldn’t be allowed to buy alcohol. We wouldn’t be allowed to have an input in our government. We would be children.

“Here, on this ship, far away from our planet. We are war heros. We live in a castle that doubles as a spaceship, or a spaceship that doubles as a castle, and we are Paladins. We fight in battles on a larger scale than any one of our ancestors have ever fought in. We are soldiers.”

Lance could feel the tears streaming down his face. “More importantly though, we are children.”

Lance stalked out of the room.

Keith followed. Even when he’d caught up, Lance didn’t slow down. He was sobbing now. Just like he had each night when they ended their calls. This time, however, Keith was there. This time he could intertwine their fingers. “Lance.”

When they finally arrived at Lance's bedroom, hospital room, whichever you prefer it’s all the same to him,they both sat up on the bed. Keith held Lance as he cried. He cried and cried and cried and cried. They didn’t know how long they’d been there, but it didn’t truly matter. What did matter was that they were together. Between the sobs Keith could hear Lance mumble something just clearly enough to respond.

“I love you too.”

Lance looked up, those deep blue eyes so sad and so afraid, yet so full of hope. He looked intensely at Keith. “We are just children, I did mean what I said back there. We could die at any moment. I don’t want to let that stop us anymore.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I love you Keith, and I don't want to live my life in fear of losing you. I want to use the time we have. This war would last the rest of our lives, whether they end early or decades from now. Why should we waste it?”

Keith had never thought of it that way. He had let the thought of losing Lance consume him so deeply that he’d never thought of how it might feel to have him fully. “You’re right.”

“I want to be with you. At this point I think it’s hurting us more to stay apart than it would to be together. Well I guess it’s hurting me, I can't really speak for you – Wait what did you say?”

“I said you’re right. We should take advantage of the time we have.”

Lance was speechless.

“If you leave your mouth open any longer you might catch flies. I told you you were right, don’t get used to it.”

Lance had been a man of words all night. He was sick of it. He grabbed onto Keith’s jawline and pulled his lips toward his own. He was so warm, like fire against his skin as they kissed. They’d been playing this game for so long. The kiss was the greatest thing Lance had ever experienced, or at least it felt like it in that moment. They kissed for a long time. Longer than they should.

It was Keith that finally broke the kiss. He only broke away for a moment, before burying his face in Lance’s shoulder.

“We have to talk about it, you know.”

“Not now. You make me so happy. I just want to be happy right now. It’s been so long since I've been happy.”

“That’s okay. You’re allowed to be happy. That’s our mission from now on. Happiness.”

They spent the night in Lance's room. They took their last opportunity to relax. After everything that has happened, not only over the course of the last few hours, but over the course of the last few days, weeks, months. They deserve peace, even if only for a moment.

The next morning they walked out to breakfast hand in hand. They had a calm conversation with their team. With their family. They spoke about how they felt so alone. They spoke about how they’ve spent so long being too afraid of death to love each other. They spoke about how they are so scared all the time, but never scared for themselves. They would all die for the cause at a moment’s notice, but they still feared the death of their friends and family.

Everyone shared how they felt, not only Lance and Keith. Pidge shared how scared she was. She was so young. Hunk shared how he felt so guilty for being the cowardly one, and wishes he could be brave like the rest of the Paladins. Allura tells them how she believes that she is only a Paladin because of her father, as though it was some sort of obligation. Shiro expressed that he was so afraid he wasn’t qualified to be the leather of a universal revolution. Coran worries he isn’t useful.

They all feel so alone. So isolated that they couldn’t find comfort in their own family.

They came to an understanding. Allura and Shiro, and Coran realized they were wrong for putting so much pressure on a bunch of teenagers that didn’t know what they were getting into. Keith, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge all realized that they didn’t have to pretend to be braver than they were.

Especially because they were the bravest in the universe.

Even war heroes are allowed to have a weakness.

Especially if they’re children.

#fanfiction #fanfic #angst #fluff #voltron #unresolved emotional tension #pining lance #lance is a mess #insecure lance #galra keith #keith is bad at feelings #keith is a mess #blade of marmora keith #blade of marmora #naxzela #pining keith #keith x lance #voltron: legendary defender

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voidendron · 2 years ago

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Ten Facts: Synnda V'ehsz

Tagged by @swtorpadawan - thank you! 💚💜

Open tag, tag me if u steal it so I can see >:D

Fact 1: Ood Bnar Connections

Synnda took strong interest in Master Ood Bnar from a young age. A scholar, as well as a Master who could study the dark side without ever falling to it, and highly respected by the Jedi of his time? Little youngling Synnda wanted to be like him.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise when he felt a pull to Ossus, and finally went there after dealing with Vivicar's plague - it was there that he was drawn to the location of none other than Ood Bnar's lightsaber crystal, though he hadn't known that'swhat he was seeking out until he found it. It resonated strongly with him, and he felt that his lightsaber was finally complete as he placed it within.

Fact 2: Dark Side Corruption

While he wouldn't fall to the dark side, dealing with the dark side plague left its mark on him. It marred his face in a way not unlike a Sith, leaving his irises too-bright and with a vivid orange creeping from his pupils, a slight glow in the dark, and the skin and veins around his eyes to darken. It caused him a great deal of anxiety when he first noticed it, as well as raised questions from the Jedi Council - but he proved time and again that he hadn't fallen, and it was just an unfortunate side effect of the shielding technique.

Even so, he took to wearing a mask over his lower face, as he found it seemed to soften his eyes and make him, in his own words, "less frightening."

Fact 3: Limited Expressions & Inflections

A contributor to his usage of masks, Synnda is well aware that his expressions and voice tend to be very flat and hard to read. At least with a mask hiding his mouth, others can read him a little easier with just his eyes, showing that he's not actually annoyed or indifferent.

He's trained himself some to fake a smile and more chipper voice for when he has to deal with particularly difficult people for negotiations and such, but he prefers to be more himself.

Fact 4: Prison on Zakuul

Shortly into Zakuul's invasion of the galaxy, Synnda acted as an escort for those fleeing to Ossus - however, as he lured Fleet ships away from the ship Nadia and some others were in, he was quickly surrounded. He and Felix were the only ones aboard the Serenity, and both were captured. They were separated shortly after, and Synnda would have no idea whee Felix ended up until they're reunited years later.

He spent four years in a Zakuulan prison, remaining by choice when he realized some of his guards had loose tongues and he could learn a lot from them. It was only when he learned the location of the "Outlander" that he broke himself out.

He'd lost a fair bit of weight due to Zakuulans not really being familiar with Zabrak diets, and his prosthetics were both in poor shape, but he escaped from right under the Knights' noses. There was only a single casualty: His guard for that day, a very young and inexperienced Knight who let his guard down. Synnda took no joy in killing him, but knew it was necessary.

Fact 5: One With the Shadows

He finds comfort in the feeling of a Force shroud, and is so adept with it that even an extremely skilled and powerful Force-user can have a hard time sensing him while he's shrouded.

He can also extend the shroud to another, though it weakens when he does this and both he and his companion have to step carefully.

Fact 6: Sacking of Coruscant

He witnessed the Sacking firsthand as a young Padawan. He and his first Master were on a speeder, attempting to reach an emergency medical tent so they could lend a hand, when their engine was shot.

They got into a bad crash when she lost control; Master Kila didn't survive, while Synnda was left needing his left arm, leg, and heart to be replaced with cybernetics. He wasn't expected to survive even after receiving the prosthetics, and didn't wake until a few days after the Treaty was signed.

Fact 7: The Barsen'thor's Students

After the Paladins of Odessen were founded, with Synnda becoming one of its heads of leadership, he began keeping an eye on Paladin recruits in an attempt to find some to take as his own students. He wanted some he could trust with the shielding technique, as he had a bad feeling it would eventually be needed again after he was gone, so he needed to pass on his knowledge.

The first to join him was an old acquaintance from Coruscant; he was surprised but not displeased to see Attros Finn among the wannabe Paladins. The two spoke for a while, caught up on the many years they hadn't seen each other, and Synnda extended the offer to personally train Attros to be a Paladin.

Next was Parrakh Djal, who the Alliance had taken in after he led a rebellion against his slave masters. Synnda noticed his interest in healing, and kept an eye on his trials before deciding to take him as a student.

Third was the far younger Hera, a young Pantorran girl Nox's team had discovered hiding out in a tomb. Synnda and Nox more or less ended up raising her, and she was eager to become one of his students.

The three of them, along with Nadia and Lina, learn his healing, shrouding, and shielding techniques so they may continue aiding the Alliance after he's gone. Albeit, Nadia and Lina more so help him with the training of his students, while also picking up on whatever training they didn't know before.

Fact 8: Dark Side Studies

As Ood Bnar before him, Synnda took interest in studying the Sith and dark side of the force. It was a concern of the Council's for a long time, and - as mentioned before - the visible corruption that the shielding technique caused made them worried, especially paired with his studies.

However, he's always carefully walked the line and never been at risk of even using the dark side, let alone falling to it. Instead, it serves as a point of knowledge that not even many Jedi had, allowing him to more accurately judge their enemy, enter Sith tombs without casualty, and even draw a number of Sith to the light.

He tapped into the dark only once: On the Alderaan Star Fortress. Darth Nox doesn't speak of what happened to Exarch Draya (watching someone get crushed half to death then dropped into a sun reactor was horrifying even by what he was used to seeing, after all), while Synnda tries to avoid the subject; his guilt for what happened aboard the Fortress still surfaces when Draya is brought up.

Fact 9: Commander AU Wardrobe Overhaul

In his Commander AU, he abandons his usual white robes and mask for something more practical of a military leader. His outfit takes more inspiration from a Jedi on the frontlines rather than one who focuses on diplomacy: Durable pants, protective armor, a flame-resistent robe.

He also knew white as a military leader....wasn't particularly optimal, so settled with darker colors despite his dislike for wearing them.

The goggles were an addition he settled on later; Valkorian's presense in his mind made his existing dark side corruption have a strong reaction, turning his eyes red-orange and significantly darkening the veins around them.

Fact 10: Role Reversal's Silent Assassin

In the Role Reversal AU, where Synnda swaps places with Qizulth to be the Sith Inquisitor, he begins his "career" as a Sith's personal slave and assassin.

He undergoes a number of "enhancements" as direct results of his aggressiveness toward his master, including the loss of both hands for attempting their murder, and later his tongue for speaking out of turn despite multiple warnings.

It's highly suspected he did eventually murder his former master so he could go to Korriban (as he did his best to hide Synnda's Force-sensitivity so he could keep him), though no proof could be found at the scene that he was involved.

Surprisingly, he mellows out considerably after the fact - though Harkun quickly finds himself on Synnda's short list of people who would lose their head when he got the chance.

#swtor #jedi consular #sith inquisitor #zabrak #tales from the void #voids ocs #oc: synnda v'ehsz #inquisitor!synnda #outlander synnda au #10 facts meme #long post #this was hard to do on mobile sorry it took so long lakskdkd

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bookwyrminspiration · 2 years ago

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Reading your response to my last few asks has left me with more questions than answers

1. Why was Emmet in the egg outfit anyway? Are those actually eggs?

2. In what circumstances would Jacob believe that being naked and shifting in front of Charlie (the dad of the girl he was presumably trying to woo) be a good idea?? Also, as a side note, do werewolves actually need to be naked in order to shift or is they just something the one fanfic that I read got wrong?

3. Can you like give me a summary of all of Edward’s family? Cause like I feel like there’s something going on with that. Also, did Edward’s parents actually die in a plague that led to him being adopted or am I missing something here?

I apologize for my lack of twilight knowledge again. I have plans to go read it, but that might be another 2 years, so for now I’m bugging you about it.

⚙️

That's how it always goes with twilight, dw. Every response opens a whole new can of worms. I'll do my best to answer!

Why was Emmett in the egg outfit? No clue! (and yes they're actually eggs, they're hardboiled). That's just what the costume department dressed him in for that brief scene when filming--also, just so we're clear, the "egg outfit" is this outfit. It's not the outfit Roisin created related to eggs in her twilight drawing. I call it the egg outfit because it's what he was wearing while carrying the eggs and matches in color. As for why the actor was carrying a bag of eggs, it's because the director saw the actor actually doing that irl and was like this is so ridiculous we have to add that to the movie.

Why did Jacob get naked and shift in front of Charlie? It's because he was forcing the Cullens' hands pretty much. This was after Renesmee was born and he was no longer infatuated with Bella; Bella was a vampire now, and the whole family intended to uproot and move on from the area for a few reasons. One, so Bella wouldn't be around humans and be tempted to kill them while learning self control (newborn vampires are supposed to be full of bloodlust, but Bella's disappointingly well adjusted). Two, so that people wouldn't realize they weren't aging or changing at all--especially Bella, because she had active connections to people like her father. They could only keep it from him for so long, and it'd be easier to do from far away. Also wouldn't hurt to get away from the werewolves, as wolves and vampires don't really get along.

However, Jacob is tied to his pack and Forks, and if the Cullens left he'd have to make a choice between them. And he'd choose Nessie, but he didn't want to have to chose--and he wasn't sure the Cullens would let him tag along. He wanted to insure they'd stay. So with the crux of it being everyone worrying about how Charlie would handle it and deciding the solution is to not tell him and leave, Jacob went hey what it I tell him and prove to you he can handle it. And boom now Charlie knows so you don't have to keep secrets and run away, you can all stay here! It did create a tense situation where Charlie rushed over, and it was the first time Bella had been up close near a human and everyone was worried she'd lose control, but she didn't, so that solved the other problem. Bella wasn't at risk of losing control and killing a bunch of humans, so they could stay. That's why Jacob did it

And wolves don't have to get naked to shift, they just tend to because otherwise their clothes get shredded by their expanding bodies and when they shift back they don't have anything to wear and go through clothes really fast. So they wear minimal clothing (that's why they're just wearing shorts and sometimes shoes in the movies), and have a pouch on their ankle they put their shorts in when they shift so they don't have to carry their pants in their mouths.

And now a family summary! There are 7 Cullens (8 if you count Bella marrying in). And I'm trying to encompass everything important while not taking up too much space--considering there's four books I think it's rather condensed

Tw for: violence, death, abuse (including sexual), suicide, illness

Carlise Cullen is the father figure, the oldest of them all (a few centuries, turned age 23ish), and works as a doctor. He's known for his compassion and has legendary self control (only rivaled by Edward post meeting Bella), and has never drank human blood before. His father was a witch-hunter of sorts, and after he took over (though Carlisle was much more cautious about it), he ran into a vampire and was killed/transformed in the 1600s. He was horrified and tried to destroy himself, but couldn't, until he realized he could feed off animals and didn't have to kill people. He roamed the earth very lonely for centuries before he finally caved and created a companion for himself, Edward.

Esme Cullen is the mother figure, the third to join the family, and is known for being very sweet and loving; she's a little over a century old and was turned age 26 in 1921. She was in an abusive marriage and lost a baby in her human life, prompting her to take her own life, where she was then transformed by Carlisle. They are now mates.

Edward Cullen was Carlisle's first family member, transformed age 17 in 1918 because he was dying of influenza. Both his parents had already died from it, and his mother requested Carlisle save his life in a way only he could. He has the special ability to read the thoughts of those around him as though they were broadcast, sans Bella's. he had a phase early in his vampire life where he abandoned Carlisle and Esme and used his ability to hunt evil people, feeding on abusers and villains and the like, but he grew tired of the death and felt immoral, so he returned to Carlisle and Esme. He's very melacholic and generally displeased until he meets Bella and his world is turned around

Rosalie Hale was the 4th family member, transformed age 18 in 1933. She's known for her beauty and being self-centered. She was the picture perfect daughter of a wealthy family during the great depression, happy to be desired and admired, and was going to be married to another well-off family. Her greatest desire was to be loved and start a family of her own. Unfortunately for her, her fiance was actually a piece of shit, and his true colors were revealed when he and his friends got drunk one night, assaulting and killing her. Carlisle found and transformed her, and afterwards Rosalie went back and killed every one of them while wearing her wedding dress. She's also known for being quite jealous, liking cars, and wishing desperately she could start her own family

Emmett Cullen was the 5th family member, transformed age 20 in 1935. He was part of a wild crowd, but also hunted for his family for game. During one unlucky hunting session, he ran across a bear and was mauled to death. Rosalie found and saved him, taking him to Carlisle to be transformed. He's pretty much the only one of them who is happy to be a vampire and has no complaints. He's known for being boisterous, very strong and muscly, loving competition and fighting, and being absolutely in love with Rosalie, his mate. He's a himbo.

Alice Cullen joined the family at the same time as Jasper, but was transformed in 1920 at age 19 before that by someone else. She has the special ability to see the future, but only as the possibilities will play out based on current decisions. If someone changes their mind on what they're going to do, what she sees changes as the future changes. Vampires with special traits generally have hints of them in their human lives, but Alice's was incredibly strong, landing her in an asylum for her premonitions--this is why her hair is so short and spiky, as it was shaved there. She was also being hunted by a vampire tracker, James, because she had appealing blood. To save her from him, an older vampire working at the asylum transformed her, but was killed by James. Alice has no memories of her human life (compared to the vague and fuzzy few others may have) because of her time in the asylum. Once she was out, her visions guided her to Jasper (her mate) and the Cullens so they could join the family.

Jasper Hale was an aspiring military leader in the Confederate Army (yep, he was really a genuine confederate) and incredibly charismatic. He lied about his age when joining and was the youngest general in the army. At the same time, there was a secret vampire war going on in the area, and because of his charisma, he was scouted out by a vampire because she thought his charm would turn into a special ability once he was turned (by Maria in 1863 at age 19)--and it did. He can read and influence the emotions of others. So he served in Maria's army for a while. But he grew depressed from feeling the emotions of the people he was always killing, and his creator was thinking of getting rid of him because of it. A friend offered another way of life and he ran away. A while later, Alice found him (very planned out and intentional), and while she was acting strange (because of her knowledge of the future) he could feel the complete love coming from her. So with Alice they found the Cullens and joined the family. Though Jasper has the hardest time with the vegetarian diet, and while he does love the others, his primary concern is Alice. He has numerous scars and is very formidable in battle.

No one is officially adopted through legal means, all their documents and such are fake. The reason they all have the Cullen last name is part of the ruse--except for Jasper and Rosalie, who go by Hale because people assume them to be siblings and they think its better to let humans make assumptions and follow along. Though they are still adopted siblings with the others in the whole ruse.

I've given you a lot to mull over so I'll stop there, but I hope that helps! If you do read twilight I hope you have fun, but also no pressure to!

#the twilight saga #the twilight renaissance #quil's queries #⚙️ nonsie #my favorites are emmett and alice #though edward's melancholy in midnight sun is top tier he's so silly #but yeah! that's his family #the summaries were longer than I intended them to be #but there's a lot. so even though some are hefty paragraphs I tried to be concise

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chaoskirin · 3 months ago

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The FULL Writeup for Deepcrawlers!

So you all have seen me make a few posts about the Deepcrawler species in the Bestiary Trilogy, but here is the FULL, IN-DEPTH HIT PIECE. Everything you want to know about these underground gremlins but were afraid to ask.

You want lore? You want worldbuilding? Well here's 4,730 words of absolute awesome nonsense FOR YOUR EYEBALLS.

Inside you'll find:

A whole aromatic species!

Eggs? NO. ROCKS.

Two Four Six sexes!

Hive cooperation!

Caste system!

Have you ever wondered what a gridge is? FIND OUT.

Look at these critters:

-- "Grar," probably.

You want more? Oh, I GOT more.

Deepcrawlers are one of the most unique life forms on Erit, and most live underground in elaborate hives run by queens.

Their sight and hearing is very advanced and attuned for living in dark environments. Additionally, deepcrawlers have four pits on their faces, just around their nose, which detect heat and chemical pheromones.

Their hands have three fingers in the middle, with two thumbs on the outsides. Each foot is extremely flexible and padlike, with ten toes on each foot which are suited for gripping and climbing. Most deepcrawlers, as their name suggests, crawl on their hands and feet, as the sensory input from the ground is just as important to them as sight, hearing, and smell.

Within the hive they possess a caste system. Their caste is generally denoted by an ear tag.

Their reproduction process is also extremely complicated, with six sexes: XX, XE, CC, CE, OO, and IO. Culturally, deepcrawlers compete with duarrow for the best underground real estate, and most hives do not have good relationships with duarrow cities. Some live in harmony with their underground neighbors, though, in an almost symbiotic arrangement which benefits both species.

Some hives are extremely talented with plague magic. Unlike other species, they are favored by Xax, and the deity's mark is extremely slow to overtake them. Some plaguecasters might go most of their life without feeling the destructive affect of Xax's mark. Even so, plague magic is holy to the deepcrawlers; if used without Xax's blessing, a deepcrawler may simply be struck dead by the wrath of the deity rather than slowly succumbing to disease over the course of many aurs.

Known uses of plague magic do include some applications which other species may not approve of. Most surface dwellers consider the deepcrawler hives which cull the weak as a form of eugenics. While their are few hives that still perform this application, the stigma still remains, and surface dwellers tend to associate this stereotype with all deepcrawlers.

However, deepcrawlers are also responsible for the ebb and flow of life and death from disease. Their belief system involves a strict tenet that life cannot truly thrive if there is not disease to overcome. This applies not only to sentient creatures, but to animals, plants, bacteria, fungus, and single-celled organisms. Deepcrawlers talented with plague magic are blessed by Xax to create disease, or take it away once it's run its course.

Some deepcrawlers may be found aboveground in hospitals and healer establishments to control disease. However, these healers are rare, as they eventually succumb to Xax's mark even if it is over the course of many aurs, and most deepcrawlers would not choose to live aboveground in the first place. Oftentimes, those with disease which wish to be healed must travel underground to seek these healers out.

Very, very occasionally, a rogue deepcrawler will kidnap surface dwellers and infect them with plagues. As this is not favorable in Xax's eyes, they often do not survive very long. However, this possibility does contribute to surface dweller fears.

Appearance

Deepcrawlers are varying shades of grey or brown. Their skin is leathery, and is often marked with darker grey, brown, or black striping. They are about the size of a large housecat and weigh between 20 and 30 lbs. The larger blan can weigh up to 50 lbs and are naturally larger.

Their heads are humanoid with a more pronounced jaw. Eyes are generally yellow, red, or orange, though a black mutation has been noted. They have short noses, with two pits on either side which sense heat and pheromones. Their mouths are wide and filled with sharp teeth. Ears are long and ratlike. Most ears are pierced with a tag indicating caste and hive.

Their posture is hunched, and most tend to crawl on all fours, though it is possible for them to walk upright for a little while.

They have four digits on each hand; the outer two are thumbs.

Their feet are perhaps the most interesting of any species on Erit. The soles are round and padlike, and are half-encircled by ten flexible toes on each. The entire foot can curl around nearly anything, and is made up of ligaments, fat, and cartilage rather than any bone. This makes them expert climbers.

Almost all deepcrawlers have some combination of spines, ossicones, tubercles, or other such protuberances on their necks and backs. These are often decorated with jewelry or other indications of caste or status.

Sexes Gridge (XX genotype) ~45% (She/Her)

Gridge are the most numerous sex in deepcrawler society. Depending on genetic predisposition, the gridge may be skilled or adept at either plague or earth magic, or may have incredible physical strength.

Most gridge are amicable to queen commands or suggestions within their hive, as long as they believe it is for the common good of the hive. A queen who is kind to the gridge will find the society works much more smoothly than a queen who makes demands or asserts control. Although the queen is fully capable of doing this, revolution will often start with the gridge if they are unhappy.

Non-deepcrawlers often refer to the gridge as "female," as they are the sole sex out of the six which are able to create eggs. However, this process is unlike the process in every other species, and assigning "female" to the gridge is a simplistic view of the process.

When a gridge is ready to reproduce, she will start by finding a suitable rock, which is then placed in a specialized pouch. Over the course of two to three months, the rock becomes hollow and the interior is replaced with the necessary amniotic environment to support the formation of life, plus the gridge's genetic material.

The egg also expands at this point—more for softer rocks, and less for harder rocks, like gems. The softest rocks will often produce four to five young, although the record is ten! While harder rocks will often support a single offspring. (Notably, gem-type eggs carried by royar are known to produce twins and triplets regularly. More on that in a bit.)

The egg types that a gridge is allowed to produce varies by caste. A lower caste will only use softer rocks, like soft sandstones, while the highest caste could carry diamonds.

The genetic material supplied by the gridge for reproduction is the rock egg. A gridge only requires genetic material from two other sexes to reproduce: a blan and a honet. (This is unlike a royar, who requires genetic material from a gridge, a blan, a honet, and a royarnii.)

Less than one percent of the time, a gridge egg will produce a royar, also known as a queenmaker. This has always been thought to be random, but there are certain things a gridge can do to improve the chances—slightly—of hatching a royar. This is still an area of study in deepcrawler society. Currently, is is thought that a gridge acquiring genetic material from a rare purple-striped blan might increase these chances.

Lastly, a gridge will never directly produce a queen. The only sex which can create a queen is the royar.

Royar (XE genotype) <1% (Shee/Herr)

Royar are also known as Queenmakers. They reproduce much less frequently than gridge—usually about half a dozen times throughout their lives—and their offspring are always queens.

As such, they are immediately placed into the Tahsv caste at birth, and will remain there their whole lives. They are the one sex which is actually biologically compelled to reproduce and to seek out members of the other sexes to do so. Although some royar are capable of resisting this compulsion, it is extremely rare.

More royar are born to gridge when there is a shortage of queens in the hive.

Royar do have other interests outside of reproducing, of course. They are treated well by society are are permitted to pursue any interest or career they wish, as long as it does not put them in direct danger. A royar will generally not be permitted to work in construction, for example.

In order to produce a queen, a royar must acquire a rock-egg which has been prepared by a gridge, then must also supply castol from a blan and spermati from a honet. Notably, the egg pouch of a royar is quite small, and can only maintain the smallest, hardest eggs, which will not increase in size during incubation. These are usually gems, such as sapphire and diamond.

After acquiring a genetic pearl from the royarnii sex, the royar will supply herr own genetic material, which is called aminios, and replaces about half of the amniotic environment inside the egg.

Royar are usually incapable of casting any magic.

Queens (OO genotype) ~4% (Rei/Reir)

Queens cannot reproduce and do not supply genetic material. They have a range of characteristics from all other sexes, but will universally lack an egg pouch.

The defining characteristic of queens is that they have the ability to control or influence the other sexes, except for other queens and royarnii. Blan and honet are the most pliable or fanatic to a queen's will, although gridge and royar also generally obey the whims of the queen. Cases of gridge breaking free from an abusive queen's control are not uncommon, and only the most psychically talented queen can bring these rebels back under control.

Some queens are extremely adept at control but are hesitant to use it. Others choose to run their hives like a machine, leaving little individualism among the members. In some rare hives, each member is simply an extension of the queen reirself, speaking with reir voice and committing only reir will.

It is in these hives that a gridge might spontaneously become royarnii, which cannot be controlled by the queen. A gridge that breaks free in this way will become locked in a berserk rage and begin killing other members of the hive. This is referred to as hive collapse, and is a cascading effect which will affect many gridge until the hive is destroyed.

Therefore, a wise queen will not exert more control than rei has to. A queen without a hive is not truly a queen.

Additionally, many all-controlling queens are assassinated by other queens. Queens who perform these assassinations take over the hive by right, but face an uphill battle as they deprogram their hive.

Notably, many queens might work together as directors of a single hive. While most will leave, taking some of the lower castes to begin a new hive elsewhere, it is advantageous for queens to work together, dividing tasks among themselves. The largest deepcrawler city has one hundred and sixteen queens working in harmony with each other.

Queens may be adept at any sort of magic, even beyond plague or earth magic, but most tend not to use it.

Blan (CC genotype) 25% (He/Him)

Blan are extremely physically powerful, and are the largest sex. Although most blan are in the ignit caste, many go on to become vhar, and have a wonderful aptitude for strategy. By no means are blan limited to lower castes, though.

They are also known to have streaks of color on their skin—most often red and orange, although more rarely blue and purple. Color striping does not seem to be genetic, nor is it based on an individual's intelligence, physical strength, or status. It is likely a manifestation of deepcrawler innate magic, which expresses itself in the otherwise rather plain coloring of the species.

Besides their streaks of color, blan are also able to carry ten to twelve times their own weight, or apply force many times their own weight. While a physically powerful gridge might be able to carry twice or three times their weight, a blan is a powerhouse specialist, and the heaviest jobs are saved for them in particular. Those who can carry more, or who are able to apply more force that normal, may find themselves admired enough to belong to the very highest caste.

Blan in lower castes may also make their living in competitions of power, such as weight lifting or fighting. Some may even practice a deepcrawler-specific form of martial arts called kinhest.

The blan genetic material is called castol, which is a thin oil secreted from a gland under their eyes. Blan enter their breeding season three times per aur, though this is staggered for all members of the sex. It is easy to tell a blan who is able to reproduce from the dark, shiny patches around their eyes.

Royar must acquire castol from a blue or purple-striped blan in order to produce a queen. Without the proper genetic material, the egg will die.

Rarely, a blan will have white streaks on their skin. These do not produce any genetic material, but neither do most have any desire to reproduce. Some have been known to adopt and care for young.

Blan generally cannot cast magic, although some have been known to have a little skill with either plague or earth magic.

Honet (CE genotype) 24% (Xe/Xir)

Honet are physically weaker than both blan and gridge (even magic-casting gridge), yet they make up for this by being the most powerfully magical beings in deepcrawler society. Nearly all plaguecasters are honet, for example, though honet can be equally talented with earth magic. Among the species, honet are the only sex in which one individual can cast BOTH plague and earth magics.

The queen will often keep three to five honet close to her within her court. They are referred to as her consorts, although queens do not reproduce. Honet who serve the queens in this way are free to reproduce with gridge or royar.

Honet often find themselves in supervisory roles when it comes to building out the hive. All crews will have several at their disposal; a wise construction operation will have many. Such operations have a lower mortality rate due to tunnel collapse or other such risks.

However, honet are not limited to these two roles. Magic competitions do exist in deepcrawler society, and some honet are incredibly talented sculptors. Many find themselves in the Vhint caste or higher.

Their genetic material is called spermati and is generally collected as the final step before an egg can become viable. This is because it must be injected directly into the egg pouch of a gridge or royar, which ties the honet together with xir partner for several hours. Notably, the honet are the only sex with visible genitalia.

Royarnii (IO genotype) 1% (It/Its)

Royarnii appear to be physically gridge-like, but are unable to create eggs.

It is common for Royarnii to be extremely mercurial or temperamental, and most are prone to fits of berserker rage that they later cannot recall. While some learn to temper these rages, most do not wish to do so, as they claim it brings them closer to the deity, Xax. Royarnii occasionally speak of experiencing a mere fraction of a second of a vision from Xax at the end of their rages, just as they return to conscious thought.

Roynarii cannot be controlled by queens, nor can they be compelled to reveal their thoughts, which makes them distrusted by queens. For this reason, they often live on the outskirts of hive society. They are generally not adversarial to other deepcrawlers unless cornered, and queens would not dare have them killed, as they would almost certainly lose control of much of the gridge and royar populations.

Despite tales told to the young, Royarnii are not mindless, and many are extremely intelligent. They are not part of the traditional caste system, as they are automatically assigned to the reighnnii caste by virtue of their very existence. However, many still pursue personal interests.

While 90% of Royarnii are hatched directly from eggs, any reproducing sex can become Royarnii. This is generally accomplished by strong-willed individuals who reject the genetic programming of hive society. Any deepcrawler who is able to resist the will of the queen is already on the path to becoming Royarnii. This is usually a gridge, but can also be royar, and rarely, blan and honet.

A Royar must acquire genetic material from a Royarnii in order to produce a queen egg. Royarnii produce a deep onyx pearl within a modified egg-pouch four to six times during their lives. Given the rarity, they are generally reluctant to party with it, and once they have, they describe a feeling of incompleteness or emptiness. It is thought that the pearl is what gives a queen the power to control the other castes, and may be a piece of the royarnii's soul.

Requesting a Royarnii's pearl is sometimes enough to send them into a rage, so it is advised to approach them with several other deepcrawlers in a small entourage. This can ensure the safety of the royar requesting to reproduce.

Some Royar have attempted to keep Royarnii captive in the past for easy access to genetic material, however, a captive Royarnii will soon die. No one is certain why, although deepcrawler scholars have spent huge amounts of resources trying to figure it out. Neither can Royarnii genetic material be harvested and kept, as it is extremely volatile.

Outside of the pouch, the pearl lasts about a span. It cannot be preserved.

Deepcrawler Castes

The caste system puts individual deepcrawlers into tiers within their hives. The caste into which you are born is fairly easy to change. Displaying aptitude will generally move you up to a higher class, while displaying incompetence or disdain for your work will move you down. These are not official promotions. Instead, other deepcrawlers will naturally begin to view you in a higher or lower status, and the chance to your caste is extremely democratic and based on some weak telepathic or pheromonal cues.

Caste list, lowest to highest:

Ignit (IG-nit): Assigned the color white. The lowest caste. Ignit are expected to spend most of their lives digging and expanding the tunnels of their hives or hunting underground fauna for food. The Ignit also find suitable rocks for reproducing members of the species to lay eggs. In general, it is the Ignit class which reproduces, as their duty involves "resupplying" the hive.

Ignit may be capable of minor earth magic, which assists in their tasks. Some are also drawn to plague magic, however, plague mages are, in general, immediately moved to the Rxe cast.

In some traditional hives, the Ignit caste is expected to "resupply" themselves. The taxing nature of their generally difficult work may lead to shorter lives, and in hives where Ignit are exclusively set to digging from an early age, inexperience can lead to early death. The average lifespan is much lower, with young dying as early as ten aurs.

However, in more modernized society, the Ignit might be seen as associates in markets, laborers in sanitation or water treatment, assistants in record keeping or collections, or other such endeavors. In these societies, the queens permit the Ignit caste to carry harder eggs, leading to fewer offspring. Offspring from more modern deepcrawler society tend to live much longer, fuller lives.

Permitted egg type examples: gypsum, amber, silver, cryolite, gold, wulfenite, howlite. Permitted egg types in modern hives include the same types of rocks from the Angh caste.

Angh (AHNG): Assigned the color orange. A step above the Ignit are the Angh. Those who show particular aptitude in their duties are moved up to this caste and take on a supervisory or more skilled role. Though not necessarily in charge of others, the Ignit look to them for advice or decision making.

Those who display aptitude for the arts will also find themselves in the Angh caste, whether it be visual or writing-based. Although there are not many art-oriented deepcrawlers, there are a few, and the best become well-revered enough to move up to the Vhint caste, or even to Tahsv. Artists are considered to have a special boon from their deity, Xax, who is said to treasure all kinds of arts. Art-oriented deepcrawlers are not expected to keep other professions.

Deepcrawlers who display high aptitude with earth magic may also be moved up to this caste. Their magic comes in handy in digging operations, where whole crews have been saved due to a talented mage.

Notably, the offspring of Angh will start in the same caste, but it is quite usual for the young to move down into the Ignit caste for a time, as proficiency in Angh duties is not genetic.

Permitted egg type examples: rhodochrosite, dioptase, scheelite, turquoise, wolframite

Vhint (VINT): Assigned the color blue. The Vhint caste are intellectuals and are a mix of Vhint by birth, and Ignit and Angh which have shown aptitude. They are record-keepers, researchers, diplomats, or simply utilized for their ability to keep and maintain information in their memory. Vhint and Vhar castes are considered the same level.

Sometimes this caste is recruited to make things more efficient for the hive, which occasionally means finding ways for the other castes to have an easier time with their duties. Some of the best artists also exist in this caste, and their works often decorate the structures within the hive.

Occasionally, even builders who display a particular flare for architecture find themselves in this caste. Visitors to hives with an art-talented architect speak of the beauty of the city, and how they barely realized they were under the earth at all.

Permitted egg type examples: cobaltite, sugilite, pyrite, nephrite, peridot, jasper

Vhar (VAR): Assigned the color red. The Vhar show aptitude in military strategy, fighting, and defense. They are physically capable, extremely powerful, and serve to protect their hives. Vhar in one hive will often spar or even go to war with the Vhar of other hives, completely separate from the whims of their queens. Like the Vhint, Vhar are mostly born into their caste, as their severe physical strength is quite genetic. However, it is not unheard of for Ignit or Angh to move to this caste.

There are some professional sports leagues among the deepcrawlers, and all members are considered to be in the Vhar caste. These leagues satisfy the natural inclination for the Vhar to battle other hives, which leads to fewer injuries and deaths. This has done wonders for the public relations between hives, as there are rarely situations where one hive demands compensation for the needless destruction of its members.

Vhar also comprise the highest tiers of construction professions, as they are able to carry many times their own weight with ease.

Permitted egg type examples: cobaltite, sugilite, pyrite, nephrite, peridot, jasper

Tahsv (TASS-vee): Assigned the color black. Also called the Highcaste. Generally this caste is made up of the best of the best from the Vhint and the Vhar. Occasionally, Angh are recognized directly to this caste, although Ignit are never welcome directly into it. All Royar who are born, even if it is to the lowest Ignit, are immediately recognized in this caste. Royar born to Ignit generally improve the lives of their Ignit parents, who will often find themselves promoted into the Igon caste by the respect of those around them.

This caste includes trusted advisers of the queens. In more modern hives where the queen is willing to designate work to others, the Tahsv caste will include officials who carry out orders.

Highly esteemed poets and artists will also find themselves elevated to this caste.

Very importantly, a deepcrawler cannot buy their way into this caste. They must be recognized as deserving by pheromone consensus of other deepcrawlers, just like any other caste. However, some extremely controlling queens may cause lower castes to recognize favored individuals as Tahsv.

Permitted egg type examples: topaz, ruby, sapphire, diamond

Igon (EYE-gahn): Assigned the color white. The Igon caste is exclusively reserved for parents of the rare Royar sex. Deepcrawlers remain in this caste until their young Royar is old enough to take care of herrself—generally 15-16 aurs. Ignit recognized into this caste are not expected to perform their usual duties, but are instead expected to dedicate all of their time to ensuring their Royar offspring reaches adulthood. An Ignit recognized to the Igon caste will sometimes be placed into a higher caste than the one in which they started, after they raise their child.

If a gridge in the Igon caste chooses to breed again, she may select any stone she wishes.

Rxe (err-SHAY): Never wear ear tags, but would be assigned the color scarlet. The Rxe caste is extremely talented with the holy plague magic of their deity, Xax. They are slightly shorter-lived than other deepcrawlers; although they still suffer the mark of Xax, it takes much, much longer to incapacitate them than it would other species. In fact, some Rxe never see the effects of the mark at all, especially those who follow Xax's will to the letter.

It is their duty to distribute disease—or take it away—in accordance with the doctrine of their most revered deity. This earns them a healthy fear among surface dwellers, although Rxe are only rarely directed to distribute disease to the sapient species of Erit. Some are even quite talented with healing.

Of course, there are some hives which use disease defensively or aggressively. A surface dweller visiting a deepcrawler hive should be very sure they are welcome, as these sorts of diseases are incurable (except by the Rxe), incommunicable, extremely painful, and slow to kill.

This caste has no "level" among the other castes. Those adept at plague magic simply become Rxe by their very ability, and some serve as priests in the temples of Xax, even on the surface. They are generally respected by other deepcrawlers, and are considered blessed by Xax.

Rxe generally do not breed, as their nearness to the deity will almost always kill the egg. However, as they have a better chance of carrying the egg to term the harder it is, members of this caste will almost exclusively carry diamonds.

Nzet (n-ZET): Children of all castes. Do not wear eartags or have an assigned color.

Reignnii (Rane-EE): Assigned the color purple, but are not expected to wear eartags. Some do, to promote and display their status. Reignii are queens and royarnii.

Hggo (h'GO): Casteless. Must wear a grey eartag and lose many rights in the hive. Becoming casteless is generally considered a punishment for individuals who refuse to contribute and do not become Royarnii. Hggo are permitted to beg for food and shelter, and most other castes will provide for them. Hggo who attempt to reproduce are immediately put to death.

The Hggo status was extremely common in the past, but is generally now only found in more conservative/traditional hives. In most hives, individuals who do not contribute are still seen and assigned as Ignit and have the right to buy/sell, have a home, have healthcare, and have children.

Deepcrawler Age

Gridge, Blan, and Honet live, on average, 70 aurs. Royar and Royarnii live, on average, 150 aurs. Queens have been recorded to live up to 300 aurs.

Deepcrawler Relationships

Deepcrawlers are extremely gregarious and most have an incredibly deep and limitless memory for friends, other hive members, and enemies. They are extremely good at facial recognition and remembrance of names, even among other species. If you meet a deepcrawler even once for a few minutes, it is likely that deepcrawler will remember you, even aurs later.

However, it is extremely rare for a deepcrawler to be in any sort of romantic relationship. Some do form preferred reproductive groups, but in general, they do not have a sense of romantic ties with one, or even a few, individuals. As their memory and ability to form strong bonds with many different individuals is so powerful, one might even consider a whole hive to be one large romantic relationship.

Deepcrawlers who choose to live on the surface are more likely to understand romance, but are not likely to remain in an exclusive relationship for very long. This is not due to a problem with commitment, but simply because a deepcrawler is prone to strong feelings to many people all at the same time. A surface deepcrawler will even refer to their close friend group as their hive.

#fantasy #speculative fiction #fantasy races #fantasy species #gremlins #goblins #modern fantasy #shadecursed #the bestiary trilogy #shadowbind

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evilvillainapologist · 1 year ago

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So I've finished Book Three of 2ha and I have thoughts...

They're going to be negative, so I won't tag this, so it won't show up in the 2ha tag. I'm also putting it under a read more. (It's not about the rape.)

So they're back at that situation. Rip in the fabric of thingie, evil ghosts coming into the world, somebody is getting shanked. Chu Wanning lets Mo Ran bleed out, fixes the rift. Up to here, all good.

And then.

This fucking book.

Ruins everything.

Suddenly, we learn that Mo Ran misunderstood something.

Chu Wanning wanted to save Shi Mei, wanted to save Mo Ran, but he had to stay away for their safety, so it was never his fault. He never did anything wrong!

What kind of lazy, sorry-ass excuse for a plot twist is that, ffs!

CWN was never wrong in the first place! Of course he would have chosen to protect the rest of the world, including everyone from the sect, even at the cost of one of his disciples!

That was the whole beauty of it! That he had to make this incredibly hard decision and he made it and now he has to live with the consequences.

The whole issue between him and Mo Ran has never been a misunderstanding, it has been that they never fucking communicated, never bothered to understand each other, that Mo Ran took that one moment of pain in his life and used it as an excuse to be the biggest fucking piece of shit you can imagine and never even considered that maybe what he did was worse, so, so much worse than what CWN had done.

And now he has the chance to go back and do it better. But he is still stuck in that same fucking mindset, right up until that point he realises it was a misunderstanding.

What were those first two books even for??? What were those two years in which they grew closer to each other, learned to be by each other's side peacefully, that could have served as Mo Ran's character growth, if not a huge slap in the face the moment we learn it was all just a misunderstanding.

No need for character growth then. No need for Mo Ran to learn anything.

It could have been his chance to realise, he did not have to go down that same path again. Maybe have him be in a similar situation. I mean, he was, already, watching Chu Xun sacrifice his own son to save the rest of the people. It could have been his chance to start an actual emotional connection with CWN and outgrow his hatred, not because it was a misunderstanding, but because he learned to forgive. Maybe could have learned that CWN hated himself for that decision, was plagued by it, yet still had to stand by it. Learned to make different decisions, learned to actually talk to that person he had by his side for ten years.

But hey, no need for any of that. After all, it was only a misunderstanding.

Everything, every single little thing they learn about each other in those three books, they learn either while one side is not aware of it (Xia Sini) or from another person (Xue Meng). They never learn to actually communicate with each other; Mo Ran simply holds on to his irrational hatred all this time, without ever questioning it.

And that hatred?

What is the author trying to tell us about how justified that hatred is by turning CWN's decision into a misunderstanding? That it was actually justified? That Mo Ran was right to hate CWN the way he did, if only it hadn't been a misunderstanding?

CWN had to be perfect, flawless, not make a single wrong decision, he had to sacrifice himself and die for Mo Ran, unblemished, for the author to consider him worthy of Mo Ran's love.

What kind of fucked up, lazy writing is this???

There were a lot of parts of that story I still liked. A lot of the scenes were still quite nice, even though the author is clearly not experienced enough to make the story stand on its own without the CP, and even though she tends to overexplain things to the point that they grow tedious. A lot of the NPC dialogue could have been cut. But still, it was a fun read.

But that plot twist? Made me lose all trust that she could bring this story to a satisfying end.

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ruanbaijie · 2 years ago

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Hello Hanyi how are you? Hope that everything is okay and that your days are happy 🩷 You are a huge inspiration to me and I admire you so much. I wanted to ask for your advice or maybe for you to just read this, i need to tell this. How do you find inspiration for a new project (gifset)? Where do you usually find it and what things motivate you? I'm feeling really sad and unmotivated because my sets have less notes every time 😿 the last few reblogs on my sets are self reblogs. I know not everybody has to like what I do, and that I should do it for myself. But one of the main reasons I do gifs is to share, and for the other people to enjoy too. But my last three sets haven't reach 200 notes, the last ones not even 100. It's been weeks since someone reblogged from me, i'm just so sad, gifs is the way i found to express myself and I don't wanna lose that.

hello! I'm doing okay! questioning my life and what I'm doing with it, but what's new (ノ= ⩊ = )ノ

I don't know what to say besides thank you; I'm hardly the most encouraging or talented or patient person around here, and I'd never think I'd be a source of inspiration or admiration for anyone. it really made my day when I saw that!

a lot of (if not most of) the time, I get inspired by other creations I see here! I tag things that inspire me in different ways (layout, concept, typography, quote, etc.), and sometimes when I know I want (or need) to make something but have no idea what to do, I just go back to those tags and trawl around and pray something hits me ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_ a lot of people here are unbelievably talented and I'd kill for even an ounce of that (tbvh it's kind of embarrassing the extent to which I learn from and get inspired by other people, really most of the stuff I make aren't original original)

please, please don't get discouraged! I definitely feel that tumblr in recent days has gotten a lot more... disheartening, in terms of response. when I first started making gifsets a couple of years back in the thick of the plague, it was so much easier to get a really good response and a high note count even though the quality of my stuff back then was absolute trash. these days, getting even over 100 seems like a miracle, let alone 200. it's all the tougher since I rarely do scene-only gifsets as shows air (it bores and stresses me out at the same time), and it's painful and disheartening that complicated edits tend to do worse than scene-only sets, even though they take a lot more time and effort to do.

and you're right! at this point, despite this, I'm doing it mostly for myself too, and I've learned to brush it off and not check back at the notes at all. these days, it kinda feels like I'm tossing my posts into the wide world and after I schedule my self-reblogs, they're just out there fending for themselves (ノ°∀°)ノ⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me, because it did, and sometimes, it still does. but I try to focus more on the few people who appreciate and enjoy the things I make, no matter how few they are in number, and it really, really makes my day when they leave nice comments in the tags, no matter how few notes that set gets ( ´ ꒳ ` )

I don't regret learning how to make and edit gifs, because it has been an outlet for me to express myself as well and I've met a lot of new people through it. but as much as I'd love to encourage you to continue pushing yourself and learning new skills, it's good to also take a break for a little while if the responses gets too disheartening; I'm trying to slow down as well (I haven't been getting much response these days either anyway) and take the chance to spend some of my life outside tumblr and photoshop. maybe, it would help and be a little breather, instead of abandoning this hobby completely just because of the poor response you're getting, which I really hope you wouldn't do especially if it's something that you enjoy and find meaning in

I'm not sure if this will help in any way, but I hope it does give you some solace that what you're experiencing is not something that's happening to you alone; I've seen so many posts by content creators here (gifmakers and editors alike) about how response is getting more and more lacklustre despite all their effort, and the general lack of motivation >_< as disheartening as it is, it makes me all the more appreciative of the things that the people who remain do and the communities that we've fostered here.

if anything, please feel free to tag me in the things you make and I'll be happy to help reblog them (though it might take a while because I run on a queue and it usually takes ~10 days to show), and hopefully that might help give a little boost to your sets └(＾＾)┐ press on! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

#*replies

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 3 years ago

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Gods and Monsters

Marc Spector x Goddess!Reader, Steven Grant x Goddess!Reader, eventual Jake Lockley x Goddess!Reader

Part 2

Greek Mythology Crossover

Part 1

A/N: Hello lovelies! Part 2 is finally here! I apologize for taking a long time to finally update, I’ve been going through a lot lately 😅. But I hope you enjoy! Reblogs and feedback is much appreciated, I love hearing y’alls thoughts! And let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You were sent on a mission to investigate and put a stop to a string of supernatural activities that had been picked up. Using your gifted senses, your trail eventually leads you to the steps of a museum, where you stumble upon the unexpected.

Warnings: language, smoking, violence, sexual themes, plot with smut?

You had just ended the call with your close friend Diana, tapping your phone lightly against your chin as you pondered on a plan. A part of you thought it would be a bad idea, a risky one at that, of what you had in mind. After all, meddling in mortal affairs tended to lead down a winding path that led to no end, not because it was in any way perilous, but because of what you had seen in your years spent walking upon the mortal earth.

Time had taught you that the human race and their rulers had proven themselves to be of a barbaric nature, a species prone to violence and deceit displayed through acts of war and power. A species no different than a virus that only multiplied and multiplied as it plagued upon the earth, consuming and destroying everything that laid upon its path until there was nothing left, not even the dirt and ash scattered amongst the ground. You had seen many wars in your lifetime, each one as bloody as the next, and each the same as before; the powerless against the powerful. And each time, there came only one outcome; the blood of the innocents spilt at the hands of the guilty.

And yet, they were capable of so much more. Like the extent of their compassion in which they would sacrifice themselves for those who needed help, their excellence and their creativity for the arts, their passion in the very things that drove them to their existence. Their many endeavors of exploration and their capacity to push themselves to be the best they can be. Their ability to love and provide joy to those who had none. And during times of hardship and tragedies, their ability to come together and carry so much hope no matter how dark the future may seem. You had once tried to advocate for the humans many many centuries ago amongst the council of the gods, back when you were of a much younger age, back when you were naïve and did not see what humanity would spiral into.

‘The humans cannot change. They are not worth fighting for.’ They’d say.

‘Look at what they do to each other. Look of what they have done to the very earth that they inhabit. There’s no use interfering in their affairs. They’d only revert back to the way they were.’ They’d say next.

But your pleas fell on deaf ears, for they did not listen and only warned you of the consequences your actions would lead to and how your efforts would come bearing no fruit. Many of the gods still despised Prometheus for bestowing fire upon the humans those many millenniums ago, many of whom still believed that man should have been left in the dark. And as time went on, and greed and corruption spread rampant amongst the people like a smokeless wildfire, you found yourself at times losing hope. You began to think the human race to be incompetent and incapable of learning from their mistakes, like an endless wheel of pain and suffering without any chance of recuperation.

How many years has it been? And still one does not see the other as their equal. Perhaps you believed all of it to be true, all those things that you were taught and told back on Olympus since you were a child. Maybe the gods were right and maybe you finally started to see the truth in their statements. And so you began to reflect as years went by, using your own experiences and what you have witnessed as reasons to separate from the human race as farthest as possible. And slowly, with time, the words of others began to transform into an ideology. And maybe, just maybe, the kind-hearted goddess you were once known as was no more, lost to the lack of faith that once brightened her.

You pondered for a moment longer on your decision, biting your lip as you watched Steven from afar. The certain plan that played out in your mind had a chance of not ending the way you had intended it to. But something had to be done, and you were the only one capable of accomplishing the task. You did not know why or how, but something was not quite right with Steven, you had sensed it since he first stumbled into you. Whether he had a direct hand in this otherworldly energy or not was not yet within your wisdom or familiarity. But it was something that you were going to solve no matter what. And if the time came that a choice had to be made between him and the endangerment of others, you knew what had to be done.

“Fuck it.” You muttered to yourself. With your posture straight and your head held high, the mortals around you moved out of your way due to your countenance, your face colder than your very demeanor as you headed over to where the man stood with his back facing you while he organized the different products.

You approached the gift shop with the clacks of your block heels, leaning against the counter as you rested your forearms on the glossy surface. Your pointed fingernails drummed against the top of the white counter in soft clicks as you ran your eyes over the dark curls on his head and down his back. Gods how a part of you wanted to run your fingers through those very same curls, to drag your nails down the back of his scalp before pulling at the hairs of his nape just to see what noise you would be able to extract from those very lips of his as if you were concocting one of your potions. He reminded you so much of your old lovers; of the painters, sculptors, musicians, and warriors of Ancient Greece and Rome that once captured your heart. You watched the man move around for a moment, your thoughts drifting back to the days of old while your eyes followed him around before clearing your throat teasingly. “Excuse me.”

Steven had turned around at the sound of your voice, thinking you to be a customer until he saw that it was you instead, nearly dropping the postcards from his hands in the process as he stuttered out your name. “Y-y/n.”

“Her again? What does she want?” Marc eyed you with distrust. “Steven don’t talk to her.”

“Hey there…Steven.”

“Oh ello. I-uh-I didn see you there.” Steven set the stack of postcards down in fear that he would drop them from the sweat that started to form on his palms as he stepped up to the counter, ignoring the warnings of Marc that rung out in his head. “Was just uh…….setting up these postcards here. You looking to buy something? We’ve got um….little stuffed Tawerets……and uh, these gummies here, which is odd because they didn’ have gummies back in ancient Egypt now did they.”

“No, they didn’t actually.” You chuckled softly, respecting the passion Steven had behind the history of the ancient Egyptians. “Their foods were mostly comprised of breads, dates, figs, lentils, and vegetables and that sort of stuff. They did love their garlic though.”

“Right, yeh exactly. If anythin’, we should be offering dried figs or dates even. Not these….things.” Steven waved the packet of gummies around as he nodded his head in agreement, his pupils ever so slightly expanding in size as he stared at you. He was once again smitten by the fact that you knew these small details, details that he would spend hours engrossing himself in whenever he stuck his nose within the aged pages of an old book. For the first time, he felt as if he was finally able to hold a conversation with someone that would not judge him, someone that he was able to ramble on to about the many magnificent attributes that made the culture of Ancient Egypt so special and fascinating. “So uh, anything here catch your eye? Even with the lack of dried figs.”

“Actually, I’m not really looking to buy any uh…..merchandise.”

“Oh? You’re not?”

“Nah.” You glanced down at your nails for a brief second before looking up at him again. “Unless you're for sale."

"What?"

"Nothing." You corrected yourself. Gods you were starting to sound like someone you once knew. "Listen. You got any plans for tonight?”

“Um….uh…..plans?” Steven blinked, not sure if his ears heard you correctly. Were you asking him on a date? Can’t be. A woman of your stature asking a man like him.

“Yeah. You know, are you busy or doing anything later?“

“Say no Steven.”

“I-uh…..I-uh-“

“Are you always this articulate?” You smirked, quirking a brow in amusement from the way you had left him fumbling for words.

“Steven-“

“Umm….no? I don’ think so, no.”

“Soooo, you got any plans tonight or you just trying to find a nice way to brush me off.”

“Uh no…….nothing like that, just work…stuff really.” Steven glanced over to see that his manager was approaching with her face buried in the clipboard that was held in her hand. Oh god.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner with me tonight."

“M-me?” Steven gulped, pointing at himself as a blush dusted across his cheeks.

"Yeah. There’s this cool place called Fitz’s bar and they’re having a noir murder mystery night, there’ll be jazz and everyone will be dressed in the era. If that’s not your thing then we can go to this Art Deco style restaurant called Bob Bob Ricard and the food is to die for.”

“S-sorry, you want me…to go with you…to dinner?” Steven questioned, making sure that his ears had not deceived him. You…wanted to invite him….to dinner? And not just any dinner, the places you mentioned were exclusive. Steven was almost questioning his sanity at this point. First Marc, now you. Were you a part of his imagination as well? You had to be. Women barely asked him out to anything, much less something like dinner. God, a tux. He didn’t even own a tux or a decent enough suit. What was he going to wear, a jumper?

“Yes you.” You gave a playful roll of your eyes with a small laugh before nodding over to the security guard who had been curiously watching the interaction between the two of you, the one whom you had heard refer to Steven as Scotty. “It’s obviously not Walmart version Larry Daley over there.”

“Walmart vers-you mean JB?” Steven furrowed his brows at your statement before realizing you were making a reference to the film Night at the Museum.

“That’s what I said.”

So he wasn’t imagining it, Steven thought to himself. You really did mean him. “Sorry.” Steven shook his head. “I just…hang on, aren’t those places-you know…expensive, reservations only sort of thing?”

“Steven, you precious little soul,” you sighed with a smile, shifting your weight to rest your hand on your waist, “I’m pretty sure I can afford it.”

“What did she just call you?”

“Right. Sorry, I’ve just….never really been invited to dinner or anythin’ like that. I don’ even really own any suits or anythin’ of the sort.”

“That’s not an issue.” You straightened up, pulling out your phone and running your eyes over Steven’s frame while he blushed under your gaze. “I’ll have one of my men get one for ya.”

“Did she just say ‘one of her men’? What is she, mafia?” Marc narrowed his eyes at you. It was almost as if the longer you stuck around, the more suspicious you became.

“I..uh…..” Steven struggled. The poor soul did not have the capability to say a single word, nor did he even have a chance to take in anything that you had said to him. “Hang on, did you just say you’re gettin’ me a tux.”

“Well yeah.” You quirked a brow. “Can’t have you lookin like that to Fitz's.”

“You hear that Steven?” Marc tried to make a point in order to get through Steven’s thick skull. “Curator or not, she just insulted you. I told you she’s bad news.”

“Sorry, did you just say something?”

“Ain’t no way…”

“No.” Steven shook his head vigorously, his curls falling out of place from the action while his face paled in complexion ever so slightly.

“Huh.” You pressed your tongue against the side of your molars, squinting your eyes at the man before raising your brows in unison with a drop of your shoulders. “Must’ve been the wind, oh well.”

“Wait……don’ you need my size, or anythin’ like that?”

“Nah.” You scrunched your nose, shaking your head in response. “I already have it figured out. Plus, I have the perfect tailor, one of the best.”

“You do?” Steven tilted his head at you. How ever did you manage to get his measurements just by looking at him.

“How does she…..” Even Marc had stood in confusion as he watched you from the reflection of a display case nearby. Here he was, attempting to warn Steven, to tell him to not trust you nor even speak a single word to you. But your actions had managed to catch even the stern mercenary off guard.

“Mhm.” You nodded your head as you typed away on your phone, sending in an order for your tailor before pulling out your business card from your pocket, holding the thing between your index and middle finger as you handed it over across the counter. “Here is my card if you need to contact me. It has my office number at the Louvre as well as my colleague’s.”

Steven took the card from you, his thumb brushing against the textured surface as he glanced down at the gold embossed letters that sat elegantly against the thick alabaster toned card stock.

Musée du Louvre

Curators of Greek Antiquities

Diana Prince and Y/f/n “Kate” Y/l/n

“Steven don’t. She’s most likely a fraud.”

“You got a pen I can use real quick?”

“Umm…….just this one.” Steven pulled out a simple ballpoint pen from the front pocket of his jacket as he handed it to you, his hand nearly shaking from the simple process.

“Thanks.” You took the pen from him with a quick smile, your fingertip brushing against the tip of his. You knew exactly what you were doing.

Steven nearly shuddered at the contact. The touch was like a jolt of ice as he shivered underneath his layers as if a strong breeze had just drifted past him. He wasn’t sure if it was you or the air conditioning of the place that made him want to throw on an extra layer.

“If you are unable to reach me through my office,“ you leaned across the counter to take Steven’s hand, “you can contact me through my personal cell.”

Steven widened his eyes at your move, watching you gently turn his palm facing up. Your hands were surprisingly softer and warmer than he had expected, like they were made of the softest silk known to the world. It was almost as if he was being cradled by a cloud in the middle of spring. And yet, despite the warmth that radiated off you, your touch was like fresh snowfall in the midst of autumn, where frost formed like crystallized mosaics across the delicate petals of a rose.

His gaze fell down to your mouth as you pressed the pen between your lips, pulling the cap off with your teeth and holding it there as you wrote your number on the skin of his palm. He felt as if he were in a dream; his hand held in yours, your warm fingers slightly caressing the skin of his knuckles as you held his hand up to write down your digits. His eyes trailed once more along the features of your face, admiring the curl of your long lashes that fluttered down to graze the top of your cheekbones before lingering on the cap of his pen held between your plump pink lips.

“There you go.” You mumbled out before popping the cap back on his pen and handing it back to him with a soft smile. “Now you have my number. If you have any questions or whatsoever, just give me a call.”

“Oh….ok.”

“See you tonight Steven.” Your lips curled into a smirk as you gave the man a wink, brushing the side of your hooked forefinger gently under his chin before walking away. You could not help but to cross your fingers, hoping that everything would fall according to plan as your mind once again drifted to your dagger that sat hidden underneath your coat, held within the strap on your back. The cold metal antagonized you through the silk of your blouse, its blade sharp and heavy with the burden that carried with it.

Steven had stared after you as you went. Your little gesture had made his face redder than the very packets of the gummies he thought to be useless to the theme of the museum. Did that really just happen just now? And that chin thing. What was it and why did it make him feel that way?

“Did she just….” Marc muttered as he watched you leave out the front doors. His dark eyes were widened in perplexity as his brows furrowed together at the center. Did you really just offer to take Steven out on a date? Steven fucking Grant? The same Steven Grant that the average person would walk straight through if given the opportunity. In fact, now that he thought about it, you had been so confident and forward during the little exchange that you had not even given the poor man a chance to fully process just what it was you were asking of him. You just showed up, gave your number and said you were picking him up later tonight, leaving barely any room for questions.

But the one thing that had Marc completely dumbfounded beyond all his years and all that he has seen as a mercenary and as Khonshu’s avatar, was that you were going to get Steven a tux. What normal person was so willing to get someone that they have just met, a brand new suit. On top of that, the average person usually was not able to afford a tailor, and you had mentioned yours was one of the best. Just how wealthy were you? First the cashmere Burberry coat and the Christian Louboutin ankle boots. Now your own tailor and an invitation to an exclusive bar? Wait a minute. Did he…no, it can’t be. Is this what he thought it was? Does this mean………………did that make them your sugar baby?

“Stevie you rascal.” Donna sidled up to the counter, a hand on her hip as she chewed loudly on her gum, glancing at the ink on his palm. “What was that all about?”

“I don’ know.” Steven stared down at the blue ink on his palm that wrote out your number. He was still in shock as he read over the individual digits and the print across the card held in his hand. It all had happened so fast. “………I think she just asked me out on a date.”

“Think yer bein’ funny do ya? A girl like her with the likes of you?” Donna looked him over with distaste.

“Well that’s rather insulting innit.”

“It’s the truth Stevie.”

“Well it didn’ seem to bother her. She gave me her business card and-“

“Her card?” Donna scrunched her nose. “Whatever for?”

“She said she was a curator at the Louvre.”

“A curator at the Louvre?” Donna scoffed. “She’s definitely pullin’ your leg, that one.”

“Well it didn’ seem like she was pullin’ anythin’.” Steven sassed slightly. “Said she wanted me to accompany her to dinner at The Fitz’s or Bob Bob Ricard tonight.”

“Fitz’s? Bob Bob Ricard? Tonight?” Donna let out a laugh, not believing a single thing that flew out of Steven’s mouth. “What’re ye, a bloody idiot? Only thing you’re on tonight is inventory.”

Steven’s face dropped at the mention as Donna walked away, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. The poor man had been so caught up with being in your mere presence that he had completely forgotten that he was working late tonight. How in hell did you manage to have such a hold over him where neither time nor reality seemed to exist. Should he let you know? Maybe he can ask to leave a little early. Or maybe if he worked fast enough, he would be able to get off in time. And as Steven stared down at your number that you had written on his palm, the dark blue ink almost taunting him, he could not help but think about what Donna had just said, her words sinking into him like the stones cast out across a lake. Perhaps she was right. Maybe you were ridiculing him.

You could not help but squint against the bright sunlight with a small hiss once you had exited the museum, its bright rays seeming to pierce right through you. Pulling your shades down over your eyes, you had half a mind to go out in the sun more after being cooped up in the dark for so many of your days as you reached into your pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. You had stood at the top of the small set of steps next to one of the pillars, shrouded underneath the shade with a cigarette between your lips as you pulled up your lighter to the end, cupping your hand around the flame until someone came to stand beside you nearly causing you to drop the thing.

“I thought you were going to handle it.”

“Shit!” You hissed, nearly biting through the cigarette held between your teeth as you turned to see the familiar god of the underworld through the tint of your purple sunglasses. “Fuckin hells. I thought you went home.”

“And I thought you were going to fix the situation.”

“I thought I already told you. I am.” You dropped your arms in exasperation before lighting up your cigarette in another try.

“Oh? How so?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all worked out. I’m going to keep an eye on him tonight.” You put away your lighter with a click of the metal once you lit the end.

“By keeping an eye on him, you mean asking him out on a date."

"What, you eavesdropping now?" You blinked, turning to face the tall and grim god. "Did ya hear anything else worthwhile while you were SNOOPING around?"

"No not really, except for that you're taking the mortal out to, what was it, dinner?"

"And?"

"Hekate, my sweet, my little raven, my little.......accomplice," Hades lowered himself to put his arm casually around your shoulder while you only rolled your eyes, "when I said to do what it takes, I didn't mean SLEEP WITH HIM!"

“Yikes. Since when did asking someone out to dinner mean doing the devil’s tango.”

“The devil’s tango?”

“You know, COPULATING.” You shrugged his arm off your shoulder.

“You know what I meant Hekate. He’s a mort-“

“And if I did? Not like I haven’t done it before.” You raised a brow as you held your cigarette between your two fingers, blowing smoke from your lips and surrounding your area with the scent of lavender as you pulled it out.

“You wouldn’t.” Hades widened his eyes.

“Relaaaax big guy, don't get your chiton in a twist. I’m not going to do anything you wouldn’t do, until the time comes that I decide to do what you wouldn’t do.”

“You wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t-“ Hades tilted his head with a scrunch of his nose, scratching the stubble on his jaw as he repeated what you just said to him with a mutter. “Is that some kind of code?”

“No. It’s English.”

“Very funny.”

“Geez, what crawled up your ass and died, huh? You’ve been acting cranky all day.”

“Nothing crawled up my ass and died, thank you.” Hades clenched his jaw.

“Then what?”

“………..Nothing.”

“Uh huh, sure. Listen, HADES,” you brushed the dust off his expensive suit, “why don’t you take a little vacation huh. Kick your feet up on the beach, go get a martini or something and go home to your wife before she gets worried. And maybe even get a tan while you’re at it, you’ve been looking a little pale these days. And most importantly,” you tightened your fingers around the collar of his suit with a sweet smile before yanking him down to your eye level, “LEAVE ME ALONE.”

“Yeah that’s brilliant. Why didn’t I think of it before.” Hades rolled his eyes in a monotone voice. “Oh wait that’s right, I have a full-time gig in the land below while the other gods lounge about in the sky.”

“Just take a break will ya.” You let him go before taking another drag of your cigarette. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“………..So what now?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna linger around a bit, see what else I find.”

“You really feel he has something to do with this don’t you.” Hades watched you put the cigarette out.

“Uh yeah. Or else I wouldn’t go through all this trouble.”

“Is there anything else you noticed?”

“Well, he comes on with his big, innocent-gift shop-boy routine, but I could see through that in a Peloponnesian minute.” You scoffed.

“What makes you say that?”

“Voices.”

“Voices?” Hades furrowed his brows with a grimace, glancing down at the cement before staring at you in a combination of concern and unease. “You’re not hearing-“

“Tsk. No not me. I meant Steven.”

“Steven who?”

“Steven from the gift shop. The one mortal who’s been the topic of our conversation. Keep up will ya.”

“So what…….like ‘Son of Sam’ voices or that one bald guy?”

“You mean Charles Xavier? That’s called telepathy. And no, wonderboy here is different.”

“Wonder boy?” Hades scrunched his nose.

“As in Steven, Hades. STEE-VUN. For the love of Dionysus’s wine. Like I said, this one is different.”

“Different HOW, exactly?” Hades placed both his hands on your shoulders and squeezed the muscles there slightly. “Different as in I need to bring in my minions? Or different as in you’re gonna pull apart that little brain of his.”

“Different as in I’ll have it figured out by tonight.” You snarked as you peeled his hands off your shoulders. “Just don’t loose your curls over it yeah? Besides, I’ve got him wrapped completely around my little finger.”

“What, did you hex him or something?”

“Nope, just the good ole fashioned charm and my very irresistible personality, of course. Something that you yourself need to work on.”

“Irresistible my rear-“ Hades rolled his eyes before stopping abruptly. His head slowly turned to look at you for a moment, his eyes wandering over your form while a sly smile slowly crept its way onto his lips as a thought popped into his head. “Ohhhh.”

“What?” You made a face at the way his eyes ran over you. Sure, the two of you were close friends no matter how many times you both managed to get on each other’s nerves, but the way he looked you over made you jump back and forth from wanting to either gag in repulsion or turn him into a toad. “The hells are you looking at me like that for? You tryna catch a whammy or wha-“

“That’s perfect!”

“What?!” You growled between your gritted teeth.

“YOU, my little fiery goddess, can use your BEAUTY to lure him in!”

“Are you always such an idiot, or do you just show off when I’m around?”

“Huh-“

“What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time huh? Selling car insurance?”

“Look, all I’m trying to say is keep up the good work.”

“I can’t believe I put up with you.” You muttered under your breath with a roll of your eyes. How ever did you manage to run the underworld with him after all those centuries.

“You got a dress picked out?”

“Noooo.” You rolled your eyes sarcastically. “I’m going to wear my jammies.”

“You’re mocking me aren’t you.”

“Then don’t ask stupid ass questions.”

“You’re a real pain you know that.”

“And I’m good at it. Listen, the dress part is easy: a quick flick of the wrist and I’m done. The hard part is figuring out what the hell is wrong with Wonder Boy back there.” You cleared up before letting out a short whistle to summon your Doberman. You waited for a couple seconds, your face stern and your arms crossed over your chest until a smile formed on your lips once you saw the familiar black and brown fur approach in the distance, weaving his way through the crowd with his tail wagging in the air as he went up the stairs to stand at your feet. “There you are! Good boy!” You cooed with small kissing noises, squatting down to cradle the sides of your dog’s face and giving him a scratch behind his ears.

“Wait, you bring your dog with you?”

“Well yes. I’m always taking Aragorn and Hecuba for a walk.” You turned to look up at Hades from your spot near the floor. “Though I don’t think the humans would be accustomed to seeing a three-headed Rottweiler roaming the streets.”

“But Cerberus doesn’t bite.” Hades frowned, the ends of his lips pulled downwards. He wished he could take Cerberus for a walk like you did with your own two dogs. But you were right, the world has changed. He could not just bring Cerberus out from the underworld like he used to.

“Try telling the humans that.” You straightened up. “Listen, I’m going to grab something to eat. You need anything?”

“No…….but thanks.”

“Get some rest ok.” You told Hades before heading down the stairs with your dog Aragorn, stopping at the middle to turn back to the god. “Just make sure the humans don’t see you alright. I’m not tryna cast a bunch of memory spells today. I mean it!” You called out out before watching Hades walk away with a wave in your direction to make sure he did not pull any tricks, his tall and dark figure disappearing into the bustling crowd. As you headed back towards your car, working your way through the bustling crowd of people much too preoccupied with the screen of their phones to pay any real attention to the world around them, you pulled out your own phone from your pocket to see if Steven had sent you a message, only to be met with the blankness of your lock screen. Nothing. Not a single call nor a single text.

“Don’t fail me know Steven.” You muttered to yourself with a sigh, going to put it away until you felt it vibrate in your hands. Lifting the device back up with a furrow of your brows, hoping it was who you thought it would be, you saw a new number appear at the center of your screen, Steven’s.

It was not long till day had turned to night, when the bright golden rays of the warm sun transformed into shades of magentas, corals, and lilacs that painted across the sky like brushstrokes of acrylic across a blank canvas before being claimed by the dark indigos of the night. During that time in which you had distracted yourself with activities like getting a cup of coffee and taking Aragorn for a walk around the area and finishing a few chapters of the book you were currently reading. But now, the area that was once swarming with tourists and locals alike that came to visit the museum, had now died down to the remaining employees and the few people that were just passing through outside the museum gates to get to whatever their location may be.

A few hours had passed after the sun had already set past the horizon, when the skies became dark and Artemis’s silver chariot darted across the heavens to pull with it the celestial body of the moon that came to take its place amongst the stars, a time where your magic and your powers were at their strongest. You had always cherished the moon, using its luminescence to light your path during those many nights where you spent wandering about the woods and forest barefoot, savoring in the feeling of your toes sinking into the soft moss and the night breeze brushing against your cheek.

It was a full moon tonight, the silvery orb perched high above you, nestled between the shimmering of the stars that tried so desperately to surpass it. There was something different about it tonight, a slight change in its color that casted the earth below in somewhat of an ominous glow. And though you were unbothered by energy such as this, there was this certain eeriness that clung to the atmosphere that a mere mortal would find unsettling. And with a full moon out, its brilliance displayed for all to see, who knew what lycanthropes lurked about at a night like this.

Perhaps that could have been the cause of the supernatural activity that was picked up and why you were sent to investigate it. Maybe a few of them had escaped. Being the goddess of the creatures of the night, most of the demons like the Empusae fell under your command, but the Lycanthrope; known for their bloodthirst, were another story. And if that were the case, you had better keep a careful watch. The last thing you needed was a lycanthrope running wild and risking exposure to your kind.

The music of soft rock had been playing through the speakers of your radio as you laid back on the cherry red leather seat of your classic black convertible, a hand folded across your stomach as you stared up at the night sky. Aragorn on the other hand had fell asleep, his head nestled upon your lap as you stroked the furs of his head, your eyes searching for whatever few constellations you were able to make out due to the pollution that concealed the wonders of the worlds that lied beyond.

You began to miss the view from back home on Olympus, the way the stars blanketed the night sky as if someone had scattered mountains of diamonds into the heavens in order to form the galaxies that you were able to see with the naked eye. Gods were they a sight to behold and oh how you wished to share it with someone.

Some time had passed as you waited for Steven to clock off after he told you that he would be getting off late, a bit to your inconvenience though you did not mind. After all, time worked differently for you and the gods. A year for the humans was like the blink of an eye for you. And as you lingered, waiting patiently, you could not help the lids of your eyes that became heavy with your relaxed state, threatening you to a state of slumber until the buzzing of your phone jerked you awake. As you pulled it out, the brightness of your screen nearly blinding you, you saw that Steven had sent you a message. He had just gotten off.

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath from the notification as you shifted in your seat in an attempt to get up and unfortunately woke up Aragorn in the process. You muttered out a few apologies to your dog as you straightened up and reached over to open your glove compartment, checking to see that your two essential items were still in there, the two things that you would soon have to choose from in order to decide how this night would end. The silver glint of your dagger and the golden glow of the lasso that Diana had sent you after you had called her for a favor. “Gods help me.”

Closing your glove compartment, you clumsily got out of your seat with a grunt as your dog straightened up, watching you with curiosity as you flicked your wrist. A glowing shimmer of a mist-like cloud the shades of amethyst and violet formed around you as your hair styled itself, forming into curls, and your current attire materialized into something more formal; a pair of Art Deco style diamond drop earrings, black lace peep-toe Christian Louboutin heels, and a Prada dress, the one that you had chosen to wear for your “date” with Steven.

It was a simple dress, elegant, with just the perfect amount of skin where it would not be considered immodest, but it also matched the theme of Fitz’s noir murder mystery night. But most importantly, it was enough to get Steven entranced with your presence. The dress itself was of a deep wine red, the fabric made of the finest velvet that hugged your waist perfectly without having to be too constricting, allowing movement on your part. And the design was that of the evening dresses of the 1930’s, from its asymmetrical/one-shoulder long sleeve that had a slit down its middle starting from your shoulder and stopping above your elbow, to the slit of the ankle-length skirt that ran up your leg and ended at the middle of your thigh. The dress was beautiful nonetheless, and as you ran your maroon nails over the softness of the velvet, you couldn’t help but feel like those old Hollywood actresses you so adored.

“How do I look?” You turned around with your arms out spread to show your dog, who only looked up at you with his big brown eyes and a tilt of his head before giving you an excited bark in reply.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You muttered out, looking at yourself through the side view mirror of your car and fluffing your hair before letting out another hiss. You had been so focused with what you were going to wear, that you had completely forgotten about your makeup. After rummaging through your small makeup bag and doing a quick winged liner and painting your lips a carmine red, cleaning up the edges with your pinkie finger, you turned towards the museum to see that Steven had just now left the front entrance and was beginning to head your way.

“Shit.” You turned back to your dog. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to go Aragorn.” You sighed, kissing your dog on the head before moving your hands in a circular motion and teleporting him back home in a quick flash of purple. Gods you hoped that tonight would end well, you thought as you quickly straightened yourself out, putting away your things to make room for Steven before leaning back against the hood of your car, arms folded across your chest as you watched Steven’s form become bigger and bigger the closer he came.

Meanwhile, as he headed your way, Marc had been arguing with Steven ever since he clocked off, the two of them caught up in a verbal battle. The poor fellow had been fending off the mercenary’s protests in regards to how you should not be trusted and how your intentions were deceitful towards him. Steven had tried desperately to ignore the man, but it was hard to turn a deaf ear to someone that practically lived inside his head.

“Steven, I swear if you don’t turn around and go back home.” Marc fumed.

“Or what? You gonna take over and catch a cab back to your miserable little life? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date.”

“Steven. STEVEN!”

“You’ve made it.” You gave a smile once you saw him approach. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up.”

“Sorry bout that. I sort of forgot I was on inventory duty tonight and-“ Steven had his gaze lowered to his bag, his hand rummaging in there as if he were about to pull something out until the black shine of your car caught his eye. “Bloody hell, is that a-“

“1968 Corvette L71? Sure is.”

“This,” Steven stared wide-eyed at the black beauty parked before him, his eyes glazing over the body and the red interior as he bent over to get a closer look. “This is your car?”

“There’s no way.” Marc shook his head, refusing to believe that you drove a car like this, though he himself could not stop from appreciating it. Sure, the car was nice, and there had even been a brief thought that flashed in his mind about getting his hands on the steering wheel, but that did not change his opinion of you. How did you ever get the money for it? You had to be in league with the mafia.

“Yup. This is my baby Roxanne. Ain’t she a beauty?” You straightened your arms down at your side, sliding your leg out from under the slit of your dress before crossing your ankle over the other. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you watched Steven admire your corvette like a small boy who saw a fast car for the first time, watching the way his eyes took in every detail.

“She’s fantastic.” Steven straightened up with a grin, taking one last look at your car before turning towards you. There was a certain pause in his motion, a skip in the beating of his heart as he took you in as if he was seeing you for the first time. God you looked amazing. The poor man nearly fell over his own feet as he stared at you, his mouth agape and not a single thought formulated within his head as he uttered out the first thing that came to mind. “Wow.”

Even Marc, the oh so serious mercenary that had been wary of you ever since you first stepped into the museum, was silent now. As much as he refused to admit it to himself, you looked stunning, like one of those femme fatales of the noir era. Both men were trapped within their own form of awestruck as they gaped at you, their dark eyes running up the length of your exposed leg from under the slit of your dress, to your bare arm and the curls of your hair and how your diamond earrings sparkled against your neck, before lingering on that enticing shade of red lipstick. There was no way that Steven was able to pull you. No way.

They could not fathom just what it was that made them so attracted to your being despite not having the slightest knowledge as to who you were. It was as if you had bewitched the both of them since the very beginning. Perhaps it was the dress itself, the way that deep shade of red looked against your skin and how the soft velvet fabric draped perfectly on all the right areas, drawing wandering eyes where you wanted them most. There was just something about you that brought out the primal instinct deep within them, and oh how it tore them apart from the inside.

“You….” Steven gulped against the lump in his throat as his knuckles turned white from twisting the strap of his bag, “the dress looks amazing….I mean…YOU look amazing.”

“Steven for the love of-“

“Thanks. It’s Prada.”

“Prada?”

“Well I only wear the best, sugar.” You quirked a brow in reply before stopping, a surveying look in your eyes as you fixed your gaze upon Steven. Did you hear that right? How peculiar.

“Is…..is something the matter?”

“No.” You lied with a gentle shake of your head, pressing your tongue against your back teeth in deep thought. “No, not at all.”

“Steven…..Steven listen to me-“

“I uh…” Steven suddenly remembered as he reached into his bag to pull something out. “I almost forgot. This is for you.”

“For me?” You blinked, staring at the single red rose held in his hand.

“I know it’s not much,” Steven blushed, “I meant to get y’know…more of em during my lunch but….this was all they had left.”

“You got me a rose?” You took the flower from his hand, staring down at the bright red petals. You almost did not know what to say or do with it as you swiveled the stem around between your thumb and your index finger. It had been so long since you were given a flower, the last one being from your past lover. It almost felt awkward in your hands, the beauty of its red shade and the meaning behind it a stark contrast to the motive that drove tonight.

“You…..you don’t like it?” The slightest frown appeared on Steven’s face as he tried to get a glimpse of your reaction, any reaction, but your expression remained the same.

“No, I do like it.” You gave him a smile. “I just…..didn’t expect to be given a rose.”

“Oh…are roses not your thing?”

“See what I mean Steven? Now turn around and walk the other way.”

“No!” You remarked after hearing what was just said before composing yourself, remembering to not give out too much. “Roses are nice, it’s just that…oh never mind.” You placed the rose down on your dashboard, it’s scarlet red petals complimenting the interior of your car. “Thank you Steven, I appreciate it, really.”

Damn you Steven, you thought with a clenched jaw. Gods was he making this harder than it should be. First that damn face and that damn politeness of his and now the cursed rose. Was he doing this on purpose, making you soft? Had he somehow caught on to what you were doing and this was his way of breaking through that iron wall of yours to gain sympathy on his part? He’s a mortal, you reminded yourself, he’s nothing more than a mortal, and you’re here on a mission.

“Before I forget,” you cleared your throat, regaining your composure as you went around to the back of your car to pop open the trunk, “here is your suit.”

“My suit?”

“Well I did say I was getting you a suit didn’t I?” You handed Steven a 1930s style charcoal-grey 3 piece suit with a maroon tie.

“Oh um…….” Steven did not know what to say as he stared down at the suit you had just given him, the plastic cover crinkling in his arms. The suit was well tailored from the looks of it, expensive even, telling from the quality of the tweed fabric. It was nice, too nice, and the longer he looked at it, the more he found himself not fit to wear it, thinking he would only end up looking like a complete plonker. And as he glanced over the suit jacket, his eyes running along the stitching, he caught the brand name printed on the tag. “But this is Prada.”

“Yeah.”

“Well….isn’t it like….expensive yeh?”

“I mean, its about $4,000.”

“Four thousand?!” Marc exclaimed with widened eyes. Why would you just throw four thousand dollars on a simpleton like Steve? There had to be an ulterior motive.

“Sorry….four….did you say four thousand?”

“Steven listen,” you gave a smile as you brushed off the dust on his jacket before straightening his collar, “it’s no biggie, like I said, my treat. Now, we should get a move on before the place closes.” You walked over to your car before getting in the driver’s seat.

Steven was stunned as he stood there on the sidewalk, eyes distant and cheeks red from the way you stood so close to him just now, remembering the way your knuckles brushed against the skin of his neck when you were adjusting his collar. And that perfume, god that perfume.

“You gettin in or nah?” You started up your car, the rumbling of your engine startling Steven back to reality.

“Steven don’t. Don’t you dare-“

“Leave me alone Marc.” Steven muttered under his breath before going around the back of your car to get in the passenger seat.

“So, anything you wanna hear on the radio? Lana Del Rey? Arctic Monkeys? Fleetwood Mac? Amy Whinehouse? Depeche Mode? Nine Inch Nails? Classic rock?”

“Lana Del Rey? She’s bad news Steven.”

“Oh um-not sure really.” Steven gave you a shy smile. “I suppose your choice is fine.”

“Very well.” You kept the radio on, turning up the volume as one of your favorite songs by Donovan played through your speakers.

You've got to pick up every stitch

Mm, must be the season of the witch

Must be the season of the witch, yeah

Must be the season of the witch

Something twitched at the back of Steven’s mind, something other than the nagging of Marc’s voice. Perhaps it was his instincts or a gut feeling, or maybe even the lyrics of the song, as ridiculous as it sounded. But something seemed to be forewarning him about tonight, about you. And as he turned to face you, watching you reach out to adjust your rear view mirror, his eyes caught a tattoo that sat on the skin of your arm near your shoulder, a dainty symbol of the triple moon. His thoughts drifted back, to the flash of the ring that was nestled on your finger when he first met you at the museum, the silver triple moon with the moonstone at the center, the very same ring that still sat on that exact same finger even now.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” You turned to face the man whose expression remained fixed on you, his eyes ever so slightly widened in size as if he were second guessing everything and doubting your entire existence. “Hey, Steven, everything okay?” You softened your voice before placing a careful, methodical hand on his shoulder only to feel him jump slightly underneath your touch. You moved back in your seat, surprised to see such a reaction from him, the same man who was fawning over you not even a second ago. The hells had gotten into him?

“Steven get out of there. Now!”

“You know what.” Steven let out a nervous laugh as he set down the suit you had given him before attempting to get out of his seat, a hint of panic evident in his brown eyes. “I-uh…….I think I uh left the keys to my flat back at the museum.”

“Wait what?” You scrunched your nose as the man fumbled out an apology. With your hand resting on the back of the passenger headrest, you shifted in your seat to follow his form as he avoided your gaze before quickening his pace back to the museum building. “Steven!” You called out to him, confusion written on your face as you watched him disappear through the front doors. What was all that? You turned back to the front, your eyes darting in thought while your knuckles turned white from gripping your steering wheel. Shit. With a string of curse words spilling from between your clenched teeth, you hit your palm against the steering wheel before unbuckling your seatbelt. Gods damn it. Why did this have to happen right when everything was going according to plan. It was absolutely crucial that you put an end to this, right here right now, or else you would never hear the end of it.

Popping open your glove compartment, the two distinct items once again stared back at you, the two items that you knew you would have to choose from since the beginning. And as your eyes darted between the two, one outweighing the other, your head shot up at a monstrous howl that echoed through the emptiness of the night, a howl that was unlike anything you had ever heard.

“What the-“ You breathed out, turning towards the museum from whence that unnatural sound came. And as you kept a sharp ear, your body upright and your eyes narrowed as you tried to sniff it out, there it was again, that same exact howl. Grabbing the only thing that came to mind, the only thing that would prove itself useful at a situation like this, you sprinted out of your car with your silver dagger held tightly in your hand. This was no Lycanthrope.

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goldenkirstein · 4 years ago

Text

i've been on fire, dreaming of you

or alternatively, when both you and jean thought you lost each other

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anonymous requested: hello there! I love your stuff. if requests are open, may I request a canonverse post-rumbling jean x fem reader where y/n is wounded + passed out from exhaution after the rumbling and wakes up warm and safe, with jean tending to her wounds. Y/n is shocked bc she remembers how she almost lost Jean (she didn't get turned into a titan, maybe she isn't Eldian?) and she just shoots straight up to embrace Jean without realizing the intensity of her wounds. Jean gets extra worried so he has to gently guide her back to lying down on the bed because she has a fever and her injuries aren't all better yet 🥺👉👈 maybe they cuddle afterwards until she falls asleep or smth aaaaaa 🥺 pairing: jean x fem! reader wc: 2.7k+ tags: angst to fluff, cursing, female reader, mentions of death, blood and violence, hints of blasphemy (?), mentions of injuries, aot manga spoilers.

a/n: sorry this took so long, (i was shadowbanned) i changed up the request a teensy bit but otherwise i hope you enjoy !!

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Hot, burning, searing pain is the last thing you remembered before your vision went black.

That and the sight of the man you loved transforming into the one thing you feared the most.

Whether it was the heartache or the open wounds on your body that made you lose consciousness, you don’t know.

Truthfully, you were angry at Jean.

It was a whispered confession on the Azumabito airship. You and Jean sat in the corner, Captain Levi and Pieck in front of you, eyes cast away. The rest sat in silence, reeling from the situation that had played out on the ground below, quietly preparing themselves for the hell that awaited them at Fort Slava.

Jean’s hands were trembling; you would expect that after years of seeing your comrades die at the hands of humans and titans alike, you would get used to the death.

This wasn’t that, though; this was a different fear and anxiousness. Jean’s hands were clammy and his face pale; you could gauge that from one look at the man next to you, whatever worries were bubbling inside him were the accumulation of all the events from the past couple of days.

Jean was a collected man most times; as commanding officer, he didn’t have a choice but to be stoic and calm in the face of danger. But when that facade began to crumble, you would be there to ground him, remind him of why he was fighting. You knew that if you locked eyes at that moment, Jean would be able to see right through the front you were putting up, see the fear etched into your irises as you all were hurtling towards your deaths. So instead, you made the executive decision to swallow that panic and be that rock he needed, offering him your hand.

You took hold of his hand, staring ahead, and squeezed it three times, a reminder for both him and you that at least you still had each other. You could feel his eyes on you after you performed the simple gesture, but you continued to look ahead, focusing on the clouds, knowing that a couple of meters below, havoc was being wreaked by those mindless titan drones.

He said it so faintly, so lightly that you barely heard it past the sounds of the engine reverberating around the metal cabin.

“I’ll love you now and forever, even when I’m a pile of burnt bones.”

It’s like he knew. It was his way of saying goodbye to you. And you ignored him.

You clenched your jaw and pretended that you didn’t hear, pushed it to the back of your mind because this was no place for hushed confessions of love and, even more so, goodbyes. You were sure as hell were not letting Jean say goodbye to you. There would be no reason to, not if you had it your way. The both of you were bound together, and goodbyes were never to be uttered between the both of you.

Even when I’m a pile of burnt bones.

Is that what remains of him now? The muscle, sinew, and skin that pieced Jean together all reduced to ash and soot? The body that you had spent hours tracing, memorizing every detail of scattered in the wind. You would never feel the weight of his body on yours again, be able to graze your fingers over the scars littered on his torso, feel the way his heart would beat against your hands.

Jean Kirstein would only exist in your mind from now on.

He had left you alone with nothing but his memory, but even then, it was plagued by the image of a senseless titan taking the shape of Jean.

You wished to go back and tell him to shut up, never to utter those words again. Tell him to get those foolish notions out of his head, slap your hands over his mouth, silencing him, so that you could continue to live in your deluded reality that both of you would make it out alive. Tell him that he was selfish, of leaving you here to endure this torment by yourself.

Would that stop the scathing agony you were feeling?

Maybe this was hell you were in, you thought. That you were being punished for ignoring him, that you were the foolish one. Perhaps you should’ve held him tight to you, found a way to fold himself into you, so you wouldn’t have to suffer alone. Were you angry at Jean, or was that resentment directed at yourself?

The pain spread from your chest to your arms, down your legs, coursing through your veins.

You should have looked at him, told him that you were just as scared; maybe that could have changed his fate. If only you repeated those words back to him. He would still be here now.

I’ll love you now and forever.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Bring him back to me.

The silent prayer came from the depths of your heart; whether God or who knows what would hear it, you didn’t know, but the thought of having to live with this ache was enough for you to continue repeating the mantra in your head.

Jean looked at your unconscious form that laid next to his seat. If it wasn’t for the gentle rising and falling of your chest, he could have sworn you were dead.

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Jean had made peace with the fact that he would die when he transformed into a titan. Seeing you, like this, however, barely grasping onto your own life, made his body ache; he was okay with dying, but the thought of having to live without you was a fate worse than death.

He reached over to grab your hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of your palm before grasping it and squeezing it three times. He let go of it, placing it back gently over the top of your torso.

It was time to change your bandages and clean your wounds. Jean was a strong man; he had seen firsthand what a titan could do to one’s body, but his hands quivered as they unwrapped the bloodied bandages from your thigh. One singular thought overcame his mind.

Was he the reason that you were injured this badly? Did he hurt you?

Jean had spent many nights tending to your injuries, his hands careful when it came to you. However, the cuts and gashes he would tenderly patch up would always be inflicted by other humans or titans. Never did he think that his hands would be capable of hurting you. Jean was disgusted with himself as he stared straight ahead at his hands, now covered in blood.

The worst part of this, Jean thought, was that he couldn’t even remember if he was responsible for this, or maybe, that was a blessing. Recalling the situation would drive him into madness. The man winced at the thought of his arms tearing up your body.

He reached over to the tiny side table holding the medical supplies, grabbing the antiseptic solution. Dabbing it on a cloth, he attentively cleaned the wound, instinctively checking for your reaction. You would always make a fuss when he would apply it, but Jean averted his eyes once he realized that there was no reaction from your comatose form.

Usually, he would scold you when you would pull back from his hands when he tended to your wounds, but now any response would be better than having to tolerate the silence in the tiny room.

Jean got up to clean his hands in the basin, warm water turning red once he dipped his hands in. This was his punishment; he would have to suffer the consequences of his actions. The both of you were alive; Jean knew that he should be grateful, get on his hands and knees and thank the gods above. However, why should he be thankful? It was cruel. The both of you were not alive by the grace of God; this wasn’t mercifulness or benevolence.

What good is living if you have to sit and watch the one you love the most deteriorate in front of your eyes.

“You need to sleep; this isn’t healthy.” Connie was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. Although he was speaking to Jean, his eyes were transfixed on you.

Jean didn’t need to look at himself to know how terrible he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his face pale and gaunt. He spent his days and nights in your room, never wanting to miss the moment when you would wake up.

If. If you woke up, not when. Even that was not guaranteed.

“I’m not leaving her side, Connie.” Jean dried his hands on the cloth next to the basin. He turned his head to look at his friend, whose eyes were now staring back into his.

Connie understood the situation; he wanted you to wake up as well, but it pained him to see Jean suffer like this, “Spending your days sitting next to her waiting for her to wake up won’t help her, Jean.”

“You don’t think I fucking know that?” Jean slammed his hand down on the basin, hair falling in front of his face. Connie’s eyes widened at his friend’s action; to say that Jean was frustrated would be an understatement.

“You got your mom back, Annie got to see her dad, even those damn kids found each other. I got her back, but it’s my fault she’s like this.” Jean gritted his teeth, lip quivering.

Connie’s heart sank; he had seen Jean at his worst, but this was almost unbearable to witness. He made his way over to the hunched-over man and squeezed his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault Jean. This is difficult, believe me, I know, but you can’t be blaming yourself.” Connie’s eyes flickered your form, and he clenched his jaw.

Jean shifted his head, sullen eyes peering at your face through strands of hair; the man shook his head as a sob escaped his lips, “I need her to wake up Connie. I can’t live without her; I don’t know how to.”

You felt a gentle breeze on your face and an odd pressure around your ribs. Laying still for a moment, you waited for the pressure to subside, but instead, it made its way down to your thigh. You tried to open your eyes, but it was as if they were glued shut; there was no strength left in your body.

How many days had it been? Where were you?

Questions circled amidst your clouded mind as you lay immobile. You realized that the pressure you were feeling on your body was the weight of someone’s hands. How badly were you injured?

Memories flooded into your mind as you became aware of the situation you were in currently. Someone had rescued you at Fort Slava, and you were being treated at a medical facility by nurses. No, not nurses; the hands felt oddly familiar. They were careful and precise in their movements but carried tenderness as well.

You tried to take a deep breath in, to gather strength to move any one of your limbs, but paused immediately as the pain in your ribs was far too great. Shallow breaths would suffice for the time being. You began to focus on moving your fingers, channelling whatever energy you had left to at least get them to move.

The sheets underneath your fingers were soft as you gently moved your digits along the fabric. The hands on your thigh briefly paused before continuing their movements. You waited a minute before moving again, this time lifting your hand.

You couldn’t feel the hands on your body anymore.

Whoever had been treating your wounds whispered your name. It was a man, but you weren’t able to recognize their voice as everything was still groggy.

The man sharply inhaled, his voice shaking as he said your name once again.

You mustered the strength to open your eyes; your eyelids were heavy and hard to fight to keep open. The room was blurry and far too bright for your liking, but you continued to blink, and soon, the details surrounding you came into focus. The figure was still, waiting for your next move; you lolled your head to the side to get a better look at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He slowly came into focus; he was holding your hand between his and planting kisses on the back of your palm.

Why was he apologizing? Who was he?

Your heartbeat quickened as his voice became more apparent; this had to be some sick nightmare. You slowly sat up and reached out to him to cement the fact that this couldn’t be real. Your hand made contact with his knee; he was warm, he was alive.

Tears were running down your cheeks as your eyes scanned up his frame until landing on his face. Jean stared back at you, eyes wide, your hand still held in his.

Your face contorted as you took in the sight in front of you; you were so sure you had lost him, and yet here he was. Sitting up fully, you used your free hand to grip on to his white button-down and pull him into you with whatever remaining strength you had. Jean dropped your hand, and you swiftly wrapped both of your arms around him, eyes fluttering shut to take in his presence.

A pile of burnt bones.

It wasn’t a dream; you could feel his heartbeat against your body, feel his hair against your cheek. You sobbed into the crook of his neck, ignoring the immense pain you were feeling, scared that if you let him go, he would scatter in the wind.

“Jean, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you-” Your voice was scratchy and hoarse, still weak from the slumber which had woken from a few minutes ago.

He brought a hand up to rest against your head, “I’m the one who’s sorry; why are you apologizing?” Jean pulled away from you, causing you to wince.

You furrowed your brows in confusion; he gently laid you back down on the bed before continuing, “I hurt you when I transformed into a titan; I’m the one who’s responsible-” Jean paused, his eyes landing on the gauze on your upper leg.

He wasn’t making any sense to you; shaking your head, you frowned at him, “What do you mean? I saw you transform before I passed out; I got injured by the rubble falling from the fort.”

“I should be apologizing, not you. When we were in the airship, you told me you loved me, and I ignored you, Jean, and then I thought you died and lost you. I’m terrible-” You looked up at him through teary eyes; Jean wiped your tears before kissing your cheeks.

“All this time, I was scared that I had almost killed you, and here you thought that I was dead.” He whispered, hands caressing your cheek.

“You’re not dead right; if I close my eyes, you’ll still be here?” You brought your hand up to hold his, letting out a shaky breath.

“No, my love, I’m not dead, and I’m not going anywhere.” Jean pressed a light kiss to your forehead. You cautiously sat up before moving over slightly to make room for him on the small bed.

“Can you lie here with me? Don’t wanna let go of you yet.” He nodded his head before getting up from his seat to lie next to you.

You placed your head on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Your hand traced the buttons on his shirt, slowly getting lulled to sleep by the sound of his steady heartbeat.

Jean’s fingers skimmed your side; overwhelming happiness filled his chest; he was relieved that you were alright and that he hadn’t been the one at fault for your current state. He felt you press a kiss where his heart was, and his lips curled into a smile.

“You know why I said what I said on the airship?”

“Hmm, why?” Your ears piqued in interest.

“Because I knew that even if I died, I’d find you again, somehow somewhere.”

You let out a sigh, silently thanking whoever it was that answered your prayers.

I love him and you brought him back to me.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this !! any feedback is appreciated !! i tried something a little different than how i usually write, so please don't be shy to tell me if you liked it or not and what could be improved !!

also i apologize for not being active these past couple of days, my tumblr went haywire and i was shadowbanned, its all fixed now but again super sorry !!

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