#to those who just lurk or drop by once in a blue moon - I thank you as well for coming along for the journey.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I came here for the silly haha doodles, but I've stayed for the absolutely blazing commentary in the tags. Your analysis of this story is so so so good! Thanks for all the work and thought you put into this!

I am just a silly little comics blog. I am not hiding anything in the tags, no way. Never.

[moonbeamsung]

You’re Just a Boy in a Blueberry Field

No fruit is sweeter than a summer love.

member: haechan

au: blueberry farmer!haechan x gn!reader

word count: 5.0k

genre: fluff, very light angst

warnings: mentions of food

author’s note: It’s here! I actually wrote most of this last summer, but only recently did I find the time to edit and get it ready to be posted. I added some parts and changed a few things, and now I like it quite a lot, so I hope you do as well! Thank you @astroboy-lele​ for beta-reading :) As always I would love to hear any feedback on this, and I hope that you enjoy the fic!

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kyuwoyo @rvse-hvvck @nakamotocore @kisshim @leejunini @chicksung @mrkcore @radiorenjun @moon-jun @jisungiest @stayctday @byutafy @jujubean23 @treasurehobi​ @bluejaem​ @lyshoonn​ @vera-liscious​ @allegxdly​ @cupfullofjeno​ @thats-a-jen-no-no​ @yo-ddream​

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct @k-dinernet 

Thank you lovely Ana @rvse-hvvck for this additional header!

Donghyuck knows everything there is to know about those blueberries.

Without even pausing for the briefest of moments to think, to instinctively recall the information instilled in him throughout his childhood spent on the farm, he can answer any question that’s thrown at him. He can point out just the right color of berry to pick so that they’ll be ripe when you eat them later. Likewise, he can also tell you which ones are best to eat now, as you pick them, pretending not to notice when you pop one or two into your mouth and grinning when your eyes light up from the sweetness.

A day comes where he, filled with mischief as usual, places a not-so-ripe blueberry into your hand, and you, being so wrapped up in the peacefulness of the morning that surrounds you, fail to notice its red color and don’t think twice about lifting it to your lips, biting into it with your teeth. When the tart taste meets your tongue, your face contorts into an expression that elicits a raucous fit of laughter from him. You’re the first one in the fields that day. When the sun had risen on the horizon, the fleeting touch of color in the sky that dawn left behind still lingering above, he had been there, sitting on the front porch as always to greet customers.

Donghyuck knows every bug that loves to rest on the branches of the blueberry bushes. After spending so much time next to you as you scan them for the pops of vivid blues and purples that are hidden behind jade green leaves, he begins to learn that you are not fond of any bug, no matter how harmless. It’s cute, he thinks, how you inspect every berry that you drop into your basket, fearing that some small creature is lurking on it. If you do find something, he hears a small noise of both surprise and disgust before you fling the perfectly good berry away from you. It also hurts a little, knowing that it’s one less for you to take home.

When more people arrive at the farm after you, he’s forced to leave your side and get them started on their own search for the delicious fruit that’s nestled among the branches of nearly every bush. And if they ask where the best ones are, he specifically points them in the direction of the fields where you aren’t. It isn’t a lie, really, because they’ve had a good harvest everywhere this year.

...Okay, so maybe it’s a little selfish on his part, but who can blame him for wanting you to have some of the most plentiful bushes all to yourself?

Wednesdays are his favorite because it’s always the least crowded of all the mornings they’re open for business, and he can spend more time following you as you make your way down the rows, admiring the focus on your face and the way that you sometimes pause mid-reach, closing your eyes and standing still as the sun peeks through the clouds and casts its warm glow down onto the farm. A gentle sigh tumbles from your lips, darkened by the violet nectar that remains from the countless blueberries that have crossed their usually pink-tinted threshold. You resume your search after a few seconds, catching his eye and returning a smile he didn’t even know was there.

He makes the berries taste a little sweeter when he’s next to you. The purple juice that stains your fingers is a little darker. The sun feels brighter and warmer than ever, its heat shining down onto your skin.

One particular morning, after you finish picking all the blueberries you can carry, you decide to accompany Donghyuck on the porch, sitting beside each other in matching rocking chairs that first belonged to his great-grandparents, the farm’s founders. The familiar sounds of birds chirping and the low mumbling amongst customers meet your ears. You both gaze fondly at the horizon while immersed in casual chatter, all the while tending to several families as they come and go.

Whenever a car turns off of the two-lane, paved road and onto the noisy gravel path leading into a small grassy area that functions as a parking lot, Donghyuck excuses himself from the lively conversation both of you always find yourselves sharing. He stands, brushing his hands off on his faded denim overalls that are only slightly too large for his frame. His hand lifts up the baseball cap he always wears while the other runs through his hair, and your gaze falls on the back of his neck where it rests in longer strands. You always wonder why he keeps it like that since he complains about how hot it makes him feel. The humid summer air is stifling enough as it is, after all. The thought vanishes only moments after it arrives, though, and he flashes a brilliant grin at you over his shoulder as he descends the wooden stairs leading down to the patio.

Today, a happy looking family gets out of a shiny silver minivan. The mother and father with two kids, a boy and a girl, make their way toward the covered patio and Donghyuck bounds down the steps like always, grabbing 4 stacked pails in his calloused hands. You lean forward a little in the creaky old rocking chair, your weight in your toes, ears just barely picking up his conversation with them. He greets the parents warmly, shaking their hands and then he kneels down to be eye-level with the small children. The little boy seems shy as he clasps his fingers in front of him, thumbs twiddling back and forth, while his sister is clearly the opposite. She skips over to the much taller boy, saying hello.

“Do you two like blueberries?” He asks them, one arm resting on his knee and the other extending a pail out in front of him. The young girl nods enthusiastically before she takes the container from his hand and turns around, passing it to her brother as he nods, making eye contact with Donghyuck for the first time. A small smile grows on his face when he’s met with the wider one of the unfamiliar but still welcoming stranger. His sister speaks up again, “Every Friday we get to help Mom make her famous blueberry pie!”

“Is that right?”

“Yep! In the morning we always go to the supermarket and get fresh blueberries,” she explains. Her mother leans down, softly telling her that this week they’re here to pick blueberries instead, fresh from the farm they were grown on.

“Really? So that means we’re not buying them at the store anymore?”

“Well, honey, today we can pick enough blueberries to last us for a whole month’s worth of blueberry pies.”

“And besides,” Donghyuck starts, still kneeling on the ground next to her, his boot leaving an imprint in the dirt underneath it, “it’ll taste even better since you picked them yourselves, don’t you think?” The boy punctuates his question with a wink.

The young boy steps up for the first time, grin stretching even wider as he finds the courage to happily agree with the wise words. Exclaiming eagerly and in a way that only a child can, he takes his sister by the hand that’s not holding his small bucket before scurrying off, their parents close behind after grabbing pails for each other as well as a third that their daughter had forgotten in the midst of the excitement.

As Donghyuck joins you on the porch once again, you can’t help but smile as you remember how he interacts with each and every customer that passes through the weathered fence surrounding the property. When he talks to kids in particular, his eyes seem to light up, and you see just how much of a kid he still is deep down. His playfulness never fails to make an appearance whenever you spend time with him.

You’re thankful for the moo of a cow in the distance that interrupts his question of why you’re smiling like an idiot and hopefully drowns out the steady sound of your pounding heart.

The next week he tells you that the rest of his family is out of town, and he’s been left with the responsibility of running the farm all on his own. He usually does most of the work himself these days anyway since he’s getting older and more mature, although some of his jokes say otherwise. You miss the way his mom would poke her head out of the upstairs window of the main house, calling out a greeting to you both from across the property, overjoyed at the sight of her son spending time with the particular customer he’s mentioned so many times before. Whether he would share an amusing anecdote of yours with his siblings at the dinner table or point out something that reminded him of you, it was far too easy for her to figure out how he feels about you.

In an effort to spend more time with him, keep him company and just help out in general, you offer to stay at the house with him for a little while. Or at least until his family gets back from their trip, and to your delight, he agrees. You arrive in the late evening, on a day when the fields are closed, just in time to catch the setting sun as it disappears behind the trees and power lines that seem to stretch for miles in the distance. Tugging an overnight bag of belongings with you, you knock twice on the wood of his front door.

It opens swiftly and Donghyuck welcomes you inside, wearing an apron that he must have outgrown 10 years ago, at least. You snicker at the snug choice of attire and he shoves your shoulder, though not with enough force to make you stumble. He whines a little in that saccharine-sweet voice of his that makes your heart clench, but you don’t give in. Not this time.

When the farm is closed for the day, the family has a chance to pick from some of the bushes that are planted in a more secluded area, all to ensure that they also have a big enough supply of the fruit to last them for the season. So Donghyuck had woken up at the crack of dawn, although you aren’t sure why. He had made his way downstairs and out into the dewy air of the morning, gathering just enough blueberries to bake a cobbler that night when you came over, since he’d learned it was your favorite treat after hours of conversation about anything and everything. The recipe comes straight from his great-grandfather, he informs you, and it’s written on a yellowing piece of paper in handwriting that you couldn’t read even if you tried. He, however, can somehow decode the seemingly nonsensical swirls and lines on the page. You suppose it’s part of the magic of the family recipe that gets passed down with it.

Donning an apron yourself, you join him at the sink as you begin washing the berries, gently grabbing a handful at a time as you let the tap water clean them. When you both reach into the large container at the same time, your hands brush and you almost scoff at the swell of your heart that you feel inside your chest.

As you’re working together to make the batter that you will soon pour into his mother’s finest glass baking pan, Donghyuck briskly swipes his fingertip on the side of the bowl where the mixer had splattered the combined ingredients, extending it in your direction. You raise an eyebrow at the boy and said fingertip before turning your head away.

“If you really think that I would lick that off your finger, then you’re terribly mistaken.”

Coyly, the mischief-maker in question retorts back as you glance at his impishly delighted expression. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive,” you state rather firmly, but matching the mirth in his eyes with a glimmer of amusement in your own. “I’ll settle for the spatula, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, your answer completely expected. At least he tried. 

You won’t deny that you enjoy sampling a bit of the batter of a dessert as much as anyone. But not that much.

Left with no choice, he takes himself up on his own offer and sticks his finger into his mouth with an audible ‘pop,’ exaggerating the action just to get a rise out of you, feeling the upward curl of his lips when you react ever so slightly with a silent chuckle.

You’re adding the last bit of flour to the mixture when you accidentally get some of the powdery substance on your hand in the process. Turning the automatic mixer off, you momentarily forget about your stained skin and you make the mistake of wiping your face with the back of your wrist, smearing the white stuff on your cheek. Donghyuck notices, of course, and an innocent attempt to help clean up the mess only ends with the two of you blushing like crazy.

“Let me help you,” he speaks up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, the pan’s not that heavy, and even if it was, I’m strong enough anyway—”

You’re about to pick up the glassware but his sudden strides over to you from across the large kitchen cause everything you were saying, doing, and thinking to come to a complete stop. You’ve never really had a problem with personal space before, but right now he’s leaning down and his face is so close that you’re afraid to even breathe for fear that the action might just throw you off balance and towards him. For fear that you might not push his chest away with your hands if that happens.

He’s bending his knees to match your eye level and his hand lifts from its place at his side, hovering in midair not far from where the flour still lingers on your skin. His eyes had been so focused on the stain but the shrinking proximity between you and him pulls his gaze from your cheek to your eyes, blown wide and confused because you still have no idea that there’s something on your face.

The undoubtedly palpable tension in the room almost reaches down his throat and pulls the words from his vocal chords in an effort to dispel the heavy air circulating around the both of you.

“There’s… uh… you have flour…”

Donghyuck still hasn’t broken the less than comfortable eye contact, but he’s unable to look away for reasons unknown to him. After an agonizing amount of seconds your brain switches on again, albeit slowly, and you’re able to properly process the position you’re currently in. Your own hand starts to lift and though the movement is slight, it’s enough to draw his eyes down to it and he finds the strength to complete his goal at last.

His thumb swipes across your cheek and without even thinking he pops it into his mouth once again, forgetting about the unpleasant taste of flour. The way that the boy’s face scrunches up when the bitter powder meets his tongue doesn’t eliminate the awkwardness completely, but it’s a start. You hastily make an effort to avert your gaze as you frantically wonder if he caught your face that’s surely as warm as a blazing fireplace, all because he did the unthinkable with that stupid finger of his.

You won’t let yourself dwell on how his hand is just the right size to cradle the side of your head, or how much nicer his lips look up close, or how they must taste like the blueberries that he snuck into his mouth as you made the cobbler, or how you wished he had used his lips on your cheek instead of his thumb.

How you wish he had closed the almost nonexistent distance between your flushed faces.

These thoughts do nothing to ease the steadily growing heat that’s currently taking over your skin. Your eyes land on the glass pan and you take the opportunity to grab it, acting as a sort of distraction for your mind and also as something to snap you both out of your embarrassed hazes.

You get the finished dessert into the oven with no trouble after that, and now you have a little over half an hour of time to kill before it’s ready, so Donghyuck leads you into the nicely furnished family room and plops down onto the plush couch. When you don’t immediately follow he glances up at you, sensing that you’re still hesitant after the awkward moment. He smiles softly and almost apologetically, as if he’s sending a silent signal that you’ll both move past it soon enough, an invitation to put the incident behind the two of you. And you accept it.

You take a deep breath before you sit down next to him, sinking into the cushions underneath and behind you. The material dips slightly under the weight of both your bodies and gravity itself seems to be in control as it pushes you together, shoulders bumping and the sides of your legs being pressed up against each other. Thankfully, the television roars to life with the laughter of a live audience on one of your favorite shows, and you exhale a puff of air you didn’t even know you were holding in. With every scene that lights up the large display, you curl up further and further into his side, his arm migrating across the back of the sofa and winding around your shoulder only a few centimeters at a time.

This feels like home. Donghyuck feels like home.

The buzzer of the oven interrupts when you’re halfway through another episode, prompting you to jump to your feet just as abruptly as the alarm-like noise had started blaring. Consequently his arm flops down by his side as he mentally curses the loud intrusion into what had become a comfortable atmosphere, an atmosphere that was finally surrounding you again after what felt like an eternity but had really only been an hour.

In no time, you’re returning from the kitchen, the warm blueberry contents of the cobbler oozing out onto the flowery pair of plates you had grabbed from the cupboard. Handing one to him and setting the other aside for yourself, you quickly go back around the corner to grab two tall cups of cold milk. Your second time joining him on the couch comes more easily, almost all of the earlier tension having dispersed into the room, wafting out the windows along with the delicious scent of the fruit baked into the sweet, flaky crust. In fact, you’re fairly sure that it’s strong enough for even his neighbors down the road to smell. Which reminds you: you need to package some up to deliver to them tomorrow, per Donghyuck’s suggestion.

You’re most definitely sure that he smells the aroma, of course, because it’s hard to ignore the eagerness with which he takes a large bite of the dessert. “We make better bakers that I thought we would,” the boy comments, taking a sip of milk. The white mustache that it creates above his top lip when he lifts the glass to his mouth is enough to make you giggle, and you’re unaware that this predictable reaction was his objective all along. He grins, rather satisfied.

With your stomach now full, a head-plaguing drowsiness begins to set in. It slowly fills your senses enough for you to drift off, fork nearly falling out of your hand and onto the floor before he catches it, along with your weight when you slump down against his shoulder. Donghyuck is barely able to reach one of the end tables, and he sets the dishes and silverware down next to the now empty cups. Your body unconsciously clings to his like a koala to a branch, with both hands clutching one of his arms and a leg hooked over his thighs.

He takes one look at you and wishes he could pause time, to stay here forever. It’s not every day that he meets someone who can easily match the amount of snark he possesses. Simultaneously, you also balance out the friendship you share with your compassion and sense of wonder about the world, always evident in your morning routine when you come to the fields. Donghyuck has noticed that you bring out those same qualities in him, perhaps more than anyone else ever has. And just like you’re holding him right now, he vows to hold on to you.

As much as he doesn’t want to get up and for the evening to progress, he knows he should, that it has to. So he manages to detach from the hold of your limbs, gently pushing himself up and off of the couch so he doesn’t disturb you.

Glancing at the large antique clock above the doorway that leads out into the hall, Donghyuck realizes it’s much later than he thought. He decides to turn in for the night, but on a regular day he usually finds himself still awake well past midnight, despite the need to wake up early the next morning and run the farm from the crack of dawn.

Since you’re tired and he doesn’t want to risk you waking up alone in an unfamiliar bed and place, he comes to the conclusion that he’ll join you. Only leaving your side for a moment, he puts the cobbler into the refrigerator and turns off the kitchen lights behind him as he goes. Softly padding halfway up the stairwell, Donghyuck makes sure there’s enough light for him to see where he’s going before making his way back into the living room one last time. He tucks one arm underneath both of your bent knees as tenderly as he can, and places the other behind the middle of your back, hand gently curling against your waist. He carries you with probably the most delicacy he’s shown in his entire life.

Going upstairs is generally an easy task, but doing so while carrying another person is a different story. He would never forgive himself if he were to hurt you in any way. If even your foot happened to bump the wall next to you, a burst of frustration at himself and his own carelessness would surface regardless of the impact’s intensity

Your position in his arms gives him yet another opportunity to gaze upon your peaceful expression, and he begins to think more deeply about what you are to him. Looking forward to your visits makes his work so much more enjoyable and worth it. You’re someone who truly appreciates what he and his family do for a living and you faithfully support them with your business as a customer whenever you can, which is a rare thing to find in most people that come. Most are just bored and in need of something to occupy themselves or their kids. Sometimes they don’t even pick that many berries. But you always make sure to bring your own basket, which holds just as many as if not more than the ones the farm provides, and fill it to the brim. In his eyes, you’re special.

Amidst the mostly-asleep state that you’re in, your eyes just barely open far enough to see a blurry picture of Donghyuck’s face as he carries you through the house and up into the bedroom he had suggested you share. He sets you down onto the soft mattress before pulling the covers up to your stomach, retreating into the attached bathroom to quickly change into a thin t-shirt and his favorite pair of plaid pajama pants.

The memory of that conversation floods back to you. Initially, you refused the offer, saying that he would rest better if he had more space to move around. But being the clingy person he is, he had pouted desperately as you struggled to stand your ground in the discussion. “Fine,” you had huffed, only half-frustrated with those doe eyes he always uses to get his way, and your lips had great difficulty holding back a smile.

The hum of electricity that can be heard emanating from the next room snaps you out of these thoughts, and is enough to wake you up a bit more. Your gaze scans the surroundings for a minute or two before he opens the door again, his eyes now looking as heavy as your own.

Donghyuck joins you under the blanket and shifts to lay on his side, facing you. It’s funny that you’re both able to adjust to a situation so intimate and new almost instantly. Still on your back, your head turns and you’re conscious enough to raise an eyebrow at the boy. There’s that pout again.

“Please?” He mumbles, his bottom lip jutting out in an action he’s perfected. You know exactly what he’s after: cuddles.

You don’t even try to hide the playful roll of your eyes as you scoot a little closer, but it’s not close enough for him. He gets impatient, meeting you halfway, and this time it’s him that flings a leg over yours. An endearing, small noise of contentment from him fills your ears as you take notice of his arms, now interlocked behind your neck and around your shoulders. You melt into the snug position, a hand landing on his forearm that’s laying across your chest. Turning ever so slightly to the side, your other hand winds around his middle and eventually rests just above his hip, pulling him into you even more. Donghyuck nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, a few strands of your hair tickling his skin as he sighs in complete and utter bliss.

Determined to savor the moment until the irresistible inevitability of slumber starts to overtake you once more, you fight to stay awake with all of your might. But in what you thought was only the blink of an eye, the glittering stars visible through the bay window’s sheer drapes morph into the pale golden rays of first light. There’s a soft murmur of your name along with an unintentional, almost imperceptible peck to the place where his lips meet your skin, and you’re wide awake. Not to mention a little shocked.

He’s utterly unfazed, though, slowly waking up now that the sun has gotten brighter, its beams filtering into the room and hitting his already glowing face that becomes a gorgeous honey-colored hue.

Donghyuck reluctantly withdraws his arms from your form after one last embrace, effortlessly rising from the wrinkled bed sheets and offering his hand to you when you start to do the same. A sleepy smile makes a home on his features and he reminds you of your task to deliver a portion of the dessert you made to his next-door neighbors.

That’s exactly what you do, first making yourselves presentable in the bathroom by smoothing down wild bed hair and freshening up your faces with cool water. Being around to see each other’s natural morning states is a major act of trust, and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to poke fun at you for it.

“How long does it normally take for you to do your hair every day before you come here?” His tone is dripping with feigned innocence, but the sly grin on his lips says otherwise.

“Shut up, Hyuck.”

Tupperware container in hand, your shoes step in rhythm with his as you amble along the grassy shoulder of the street together. Somehow you end up hand-in-hand by the time you reach his neighbors’ front patio.

“Donghyuck!” The elderly woman at the door greets him with a twinkling voice, her husband coming into view soon after. “Look who it is, honey,” she motions fondly to the boy who they both once knew to be much shorter and younger, but now is all grown up before their eyes. “You’re getting so tall. It seems like only yesterday you were scurrying through the blueberry fields and waving to us through the gaps in the fence.”

“Yes ma’am, it does,” he responds politely. The couple has been living there for as far back as he can remember, and quite honestly they feel as if they’ve become part of his family, too.

Her warm brown eyes light up. “Is this the customer your mother was telling me about last week? She mentioned how close you’ve become, and now I’m finally seeing it for myself. You make a lovely pair.”

“Oh—” Donghyuck startles. Not much can get him flustered, but he hadn’t exactly been anticipating for his mom to recount all the things he’s said about you to the sweetest and most innocent of elderly couples. Of course they would assume that there’s something going on.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, with you. He wouldn’t mind at all, really. He’ll just need to have a word about a little thing called privacy with his mother later.

You see the glint of panic in his eyes and speak up. It’s not often he makes such an easy target for teasing. “Thank you,” you state graciously, the smugness in the statement only noticeable to him. “We’re very happy together.” He feels you lean into him, fingers unwrapping from his and gripping the other side of his waist. You know exactly what you’re doing, and so does he.

Almost forgetting to hand over the slices of cobbler you’d cut earlier, Donghyuck nudges you to do so, and the four of you exchange thanks and farewells before you’re on your way back to the farm.

“Happy together, huh?”

“Shut up, Hyuck.” You mumble something else afterwards that he doesn’t quite catch.

“What’s that? Didn’t hear you,” he sings, stopping in his tracks. You do the same. “Shut up and what?”

“...And kiss me.”

After many days and many nights spent wondering, you can confirm that his lips do, indeed, taste as sweet as the blueberries in those fields.

[thebadbatch]

Echo x Gn!Reader

Plot: You and Echo sneak out to enjoy the planets scenery, connections are made together during the time you spend exploring.

Warnings: None! Just fun and fluff

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

Moonlit freedom.

Lounging around on the well-known Havoc Marauder wasn't anything drastically different compared to your usual packed and mission filled day, but something was pulling on your heart and playing on your mind in the most delightful way. Gazing around the cockpit, you couldn't help but gaze at the setting Sun before you. The sun that you unfortunately didn't get to see too much due to travelling in Space constantly was giving off powerful strides of honey orange with a golden sunflower toned yellow interlacing it. Fluffy white clouds hovered over the hills and what seemed to be trillions of trees waving toward you softly against the gusts of wind. The batch had agreed on landing here to go into hiding for a few days, all part of a well paid mission you had all thoroughly enjoyed. A sudden yet gentle hand placed itself upon your shoulder which only furtherly added to your smile and that growing excitement building against your heart and mind. 

"Enjoying the view?" Echo's joyful words filled the otherwise quiet cockpit. Turning gently in his light grip, you grinned up toward him with the usual spark of Mischief lurking in your eyes. "Oh Maker, what are you thinking?" That gentle laugh of yours escaped your lips, moving to hold his colder hand and pout jokingly.

"And what makes you think I'm up to no good?" He just shook his head, smiling softly at you as he gave your hand a light squeeze.

"That look in your eyes, I know you're planning something." Echo was right, as always. The batch had all been tuckered out as the sun began to set which left both you and Echo up to wonder about the attack shuttle you loved so much. Letting go of his gloved hand, you moved to lean over the control panel ensuring you didn't click any of the buttons otherwise Tech would murder you. 

"I want to sneak out!" That was definitely not something he expected to hear from the person who was a literal killing machine out on the battlefield. 

"Sneak out?" He repeated, looking at the scenery before you both with a curious gaze. Tilting your head a little to face him again you couldn't help but gasp as another idea crept into your head which almost knocked you off of your feet. You were just that excited. 

"Come with me!" You managed to steady yourself on your feet with a little of Echo's help as he sighed a little, trying to seem all resistant against your idea. "It'll be fun - please?"

"Yeah, yeah alright y/n." Echo was a little hesitant and you knew that. He wasn't one to do something spontaneous as he was one of the most rule-following clones you knew which you kinda felt bad about. Not only was he once assigned to Anakin Skywalker's Squad but then he joined the bad batch, all of which were terrible with rules and routines. Turning toward the world that awaited your arrival, you noticed the golden yellows and amber oranges began to darken even more with stars beginning to appear.

"Come on! Let's go." With that, you tugged on his hand and activated the shuttle to open the door, smiling as the planet's fresh air filled your lungs. You weren't used to such calm planets as the last few missions led you all to worlds with atmospheres you couldn't breathe in or just overall way too dangerous. Softly walking forward, the emerald bladed grass greeted your feet and the soft gusts of wind movedthe hair away from your eyes with a little of Echos help. 

"Where exactly are we heading to?" He asked, curiosity drowning out his usual tone as you both walked into the distance, still in view of the attack shuttle. Swiftly moving past some taller trees coated in beautiful coffee stained oak, your eyes laid upon the glistening blue lake your eyes had met earlier. 

"There." You couldn't help but smile as you pointed toward the calm water, something you really weren't used to seeing. All of you were used to rough and angry oceans which would claim any life that dared to face it. This was a welcome change though, you desperately wanted to feel the calm water against your skin. Once you finally arrived, you let go of Echos hand and knelt beside it against quartz and moonstone toned pebbles."Woah…" You whispered softly placing your hands within the water and shivering at its cool touch. "Echo! Try." He hesitantly knelt beside you, placing his hand beside yours in the cold water, shivering with you at the sudden drop of temperature. You laughed a little at his confused expression before rolling up the clothing you wore against your legs, gently stepping into the water gripping onto Echo as that familiar cold temperature shook your body. 

"Be careful, mesh'la." Those words alone warmed you up as you allowed yourself to Splash about, kicking against the water with a laugh. Gazing over at Echo, you tilted your head and gave him another soft smile before holding your hand out for him to take. "Ah, I dont think I can." His previous smile dulled as he held onto his prosthetic arm, a more pained expression appearing. "Tech will kill me if my prosthetics kriff up." Softly taking your hand back you walked towards him and placed your cold hands against his cheeks as you spoke.

"That's Okay! You're wearing armour on your legs… I promise to make sure you're all dry and everything when we get back?" Your tone was convincing but it definatly relaxed Echo as he nodded a little, stepping into the water with a smile. The chill seemed to reach through his armour as your cold hand held his own. Gazing along the water, you couldn't help but breathe out a sigh of relief as the moon glistened against the lake. Just you and Echo, in all honesty all you needed to recharge was this. A sudden splash dragged you back to reality quite suddenly before realizing you were absolutely soaked beside a laughing Echo. Without any hesitation you splashed some water against Echos face which left you both dripping wet and laughing. Stopping for a moment, You planted a kiss against his lips that instantly warmed him up along with yourself. " I love you."

" I love you too…" 

The small waterfight continued for a few more hours until you both arrived back at the Havoc Marauder dripping wet and praying to your maker that the others had awoken. Walking up the ramp, you shut it behind you both before nearly jumping out of  your skin with Hunter standing in the middle of the Cockpit in his blacks, arms folded. Oh kriff… Both of you stood still like a deer in headlights.

"And what do you two think You're doing back so late?" Echo could no longer hold in his laughter as he held onto you which just made you laugh twice as hard. Hunter just sighed and rubbed his forehead, "I could literally hear you both from a mile away now get dried up and to your bunks alright?" Even he couldn't hold back a smirk as he walked back to his own bunk thankful for some newfound silence. You both obliged, drying up and going into your bunk after convincing Echo to stay for 'body warmth' reasons. You were both entangled in eachothers arms , warming up and finally allowing much-welcomed sleep to greet you both. Adventures like these were everything to you and you knew there were plenty more to come.

[creepyalienghost]

Doctors assistant

In every town there lays its own legends. Legends of ghosts and hauntings. Legends of aliens and abductions. Legends of cryptids and government projects. And legends of cursed lands. In the town he lived in had many different tales. One tale that happened to be somewhat true was that people were going missing. People’s love ones go out for a walk or running an errand never return. The cops looked hard for each person but they never found the missing people. So many people were missing that there were a missing persons board at that park now. Another tale was about the undead. There’s reports of sightings of the undead roaming in the streets and in the rooms. Some say they had seen them eat and attack people or animals. Others say they had seen a strange figure with them almost like it was leading them. Some claim they been attacked themselves by the undead. A more fearsome legend was that of a humanoid walking though the streets and alleyways at night. It was Dressed all in black and it’s face was white as a ghost. People say it’s death heading its way towards a near deceased person to lead them in the afterlife. Others think it’s the same figure leading the undead around.

Sammy loves reading up on creepy legends around his town just as he loves his music. He would often go to to library to search of different topics and stories on the computer or read a book and newspaper articles on them. Sure he doesn’t believe most of these stories but this like music helped him escape reality from His life at home and school.

The other day he watched a YouTube video of somebody going to explore a haunted house in their area and it gave Sammy the idea to go searching for these legends to. It would be fun to explore and see what lurks around plus it would let him escape his rotten fathers abuse when he would come home drunk. Tonight sadly was one of those nights.

Sammy made sure his father wouldn’t be coming in his room anytime soon to catch him before he packed a back with the items he needs. He stuffed a few bottles of water and some snacks from his stash as well as a flashlight. He dressed himself up for the cool night with sweets and a hoodie then he opened the window, grabbed his bag and hoped out into the night.

He was off down the side walk, heading to the more empty part of town where quit a bit of reporters said the undead was seen at. most of the buildings and houses there was run down or abandoned. No one really goes around there unless for trouble. It only took Sammy half an hour to arrive there. Once there he dogged out his flash light from his bag and flipped it on. It was dark other then his own light. There was no other lights on around and the there was no moon out to light the sky

He looked around him for a second, only seeing the decaying buildings, then chose a direction to go. He believed he was heading south tours the old abandoned school but he soon found out he was wrong when he ending up in the decaying factory. It use to be where their income came from for this part of town but it long since Closed down do to better jobs else were. Now it’s windows are busted out or boarded up, it’s roof is mostly caved in and nature has begun taken back the land. Sammy decided this was the perfect place to explore at and carefully went in though a broken window.

Inside the abandoned factory he looked around his surroundings, finding himself in one of the offices. It was small with only a chair to the side and covered in cobwebs and dust. He stepped out into the long dark hallway and shined his light down both sides of the hallway. To his left were more offices and to his right, were doors to a new area, He went right going deeper into the factory.

After a few minutes of walking around, he heard another set of footsteps echoing throughout the factory. His fear spiked up as he tried to pinpoint where they were actually coming from but it was impossible to figure out. The footsteps seemed to be growing nearer him by the second making Sammy begin to panic. He flashed his light left to right to left again as he remembered what frightening things he had read. Images of Horrible-looking zombies eating away at you and death chasing you though the darkness filled his mind.

Until his light landed on a tall figure dressed in black and white. He only saw it for a second before he went into flight or fight mode. He had chosen flight and took off away from the dark thing. He ran though the darkness as fast as he can and ends up running into something. Something Squishy and slimy. Something that smells like rote He slowly raised his light up to see what it was and what he saw scared him to the core. It was a almost a man but it’s skin was pale blue, it’s it’s eyes was unseeing and he was leaking some kind of black goo from his mouth and injuries. It was an undead!

Sammy screamed and ran away from it, dropping his flashlight in the process. He could see nothing at all he was just running in the darkness with his arms out from fear. He was careless and didn’t realize the floor was soggy and falling apart. The floor underneath him collapsed under his weight and Sammy fell though, hitting the floor hard with a thud under rubble.

The tall dark figure had heard the crash all the way from the old boiler room and had quickly pinpoint its location. Good thing to. Poor thing was hurt quit a bit, his legs and arms have large gashes and his head was bleeding. The being had a soft spot for children and of course he was a doctor. His expertise was on one disease but he knew how to patch up wounds and make sure they didn’t get infected. The doctor picked up the lifeless body of the boy and made sure he was breathing, wish he was, then he checked around his skull as he made his way tours his lab to see if it was cracked. Which thank the heavens it wasn’t. This boy was going to be alright in the long run.

As the doctor laid the boy down on the metal table he noticed some bruising on his wrist. He knew it couldn’t have been from the fall but didn’t question it. Boys do tell to get hurt while playing and it was most likely that. But as he started to clean his cuts he noticed more and more disturbing things. Old little bursts on areas like his arms and neck. Fading scares to from what looks like from whips. The doctor sadly came to the conclusion he was being continuously hurt by someone.

—-

Sammy Slowly starts regaining consciousness. It started with small throbbing pain though out his body but once he shifted to the side a sharp pain shoot though him, making him set up and scream out. The pain was coming from his left leg but the damage was covered up by Bandages. He looked over himself and notice the same for both his arms and other leg, even his head. Someone had helped him out. But they also seen his secret.

Sammy carefully slid off the metal table, making sure he was steady before using his full weight to stand. He quietly limp to the open door on the other side of the room and peaked out. He quickly noticed the sound of breathing and looked at the Direction it came from. The room was mostly dark but Sammy could see well enough the same strange figure from before. It’s back was tours him and it was working on something Sammy couldn’t see, but sure can smell. It smelled like death. Fear begins to build up in him as he watched the thing do it’s work. There were the sounds of wet and sticky slushing noises coming from whatever it was doing that made Sammy want to puke but he force himself not to.

“I know you’re there, child.” It spoke without looking back.

Sammy was caught off guard by this and froze in place. He wanted to run, to get the hell outta here, but his feet were like cement in place, connected to the ground beneath him. He found out his Voice voice wouldn’t work ether. It wouldn’t let him scream nor cry or call out for help. Not a single peep would come out. His body wasn’t reacting the way he wanted it to.

The thing stopped its work, turning to Sammy. It appears to be wearing a 14th Century plague doctor mask but Sammy gets the feeling that it wasn’t a mask. It was his real face Sammy was seeing.

“I sense fear in you” the being said. “No need for fear my child. I do no harm.” The being informed, kneeling down to his height. But the fearful eyes of the boy landed on the work behind him then pointed at the dead body as if proving the being wrong. The being glaze at his work then back at him. “I do no harm for fun, my child. This poor soul was ill.” It said with pain in its voice.

The boy tilted his head. “ill?” He ask. “What was wrong with him?” He replied more curious now then fearful.”

The being admired the child want for knowledge of his work however the being didn’t want to put the boy in danger. Groups like The foundation and goc could hurt him or use him for information. “I think it’s best if you didn’t know child. Besides why are you here at this ungodly time?” The being ask. “Shouldn’t you be at home with your family?”

The being saw the boys curiosity fade back to fear. And at this point the being realized who was hurting the child. “It was them wasn’t it?” It had ask. “The old scars and bruises?”

The boy looked down at his arms for a moment before nodding. “Yes ...”

The being knew it couldn’t force the child back to that horrible place. He couldn’t do that to an innocent boy. The foundation was bad but it wouldn’t put children at harm. At worst the foundation and other groups would make him apart of there beliefs. But they would take care of him if they ever got him. As for the being, he could use an assistant and teach him as well as take care of him.

The being made the decision and held out his hand. “I am in need for an assistant, my child.” He replied. “Would you care to?”

A big smile spread over the boys face and he took the beings hand. “ I would love to, sir!”

[semperintrepida]

Hello! Since you have a number of iterations of Kassandra and Kyra, I'm going to be greedy: ✖ and ♫ for Sellout!Kass ಠ for painter!Kyra and # for game!canon/Immortal!Kass :D thank you!

[I know I’m doing these headcanons wrong, but it's way easier for me to express mine in actual prose. I suppose these serve as an example of how I work my HCs into my fic.]

anger, sellout!Kassandra

She used to be angry all the time, when she was young. It was her default state. It was how she rolled. Anger was the friend she needed, the one who always had her back. Anger never abandoned her.

She always played ball with a chip on her shoulder, too. Where a teammate might glance into the parents’ section of the stands after a nice play, Kassandra never bothered. Double-double, triple-double, raining buckets, every accomplishment a Fuck you to someone who wasn’t there to see it.

In her teens, she learned to tamp the anger down, to keep it under wraps. She scared people, intimidated them without even trying just by being fifteen and nearly six feet tall in her socks. She learned to turn up the charm. Easier to flirt with girls when they weren’t terrified of her. But the anger was still there, just like the seats in the stands with her parents’ names on them, always empty, always cold.

music, sellout!Kassandra

When Kyra hit shuffle on Kassandra’s spotify, she was expecting something fancy to come up, like Swan Lake. Or Mozart. Something black tie and crystal chandelier.

She wasn’t expecting Frank Ocean.

“I can’t feel nothing, superhuman,” he sang, while Kassandra wove the Audi through a pack of left-lane campers on I5, her fingers tapping the steering wheel lightly. “Zero emotion, muted emotion, pitch-corrected, computed emotion...”

"Cocaine for breakfast?" Kyra asked, as the Terwilliger curves zoomed by.

Kassandra smirked. "Only on special occasions."

This was another layer peeled back, but unlike an onion, which kept its general shape as it shed its skin, Kassandra kept revealing new facets that made her shine brighter in the light. Kyra could only wonder what else she'd find if she kept at it.

sadness, painter!Kyra

Most mornings, Kyra would awaken to a desolate expanse of grey sheets where Kassandra should be. She was used to it now, this lack of Kassandra. It helped her focus on her work. In her studio, she'd start the day by taking up a flat pane of glass and mixing paint, starting with a base of green or blue or yellow.

Those greens and blues and yellows slowly gave way to white, some as delicate as porcelain, others with names like "Titanium" and "Zinc." Hard names, metallic names, whites that she'd cut with drops of black, mixing out grey after grey, adding more and more black, until one morning, faced with a blank canvas and a clean flat of glass, she reached for the tube of black paint first.

She painted in a fugue state, and at the end of it, she stepped back and found an canvas staring back at her devoid of any hue, the only light in it a diffuse fog. Dark shapes lurked in the depths and at the painting's edges. She'd always been a landscape painter, but this was the first time she'd rendered one entirely internal.

That's when she knew she couldn't do this any longer. She had to break up with Kassandra.

technology, canon-immortal!Kassandra

"I want the dumbest TV you have,” Kassandra said to the young man in a blue shirt, inside what was considered an agora in the 21st century: a huge concrete box, lit with fluorescent lights. This particular edifice to capitalism was inexplicably called "Best Buy."

He squinted at her, all pimples and confusion. “A dumb... TV?”

“Yes. I don’t want it connecting to my WiFi, or calling home to mater, or listening to me talk. A dumb TV.”

"I don't... know if we have any of those."

"Find out." She sighed as she watched him hurry away. Eukleídēs had no idea what he'd started when he published those damn books of his. He'd borrowed the ideas for the first two volumes from her own pater, but once his system of mathematical proof was unleashed on the world, it was all downhill from there. Techne and logos: to build skill through expression. Humanity had combined mathematics and language all the way to the atomic bomb and footprints on the moon—and children were still starving to death every day.

What a waste.

[headcanon asks meme]

[danddymaro]

Before I Go | Jean Pierre Polnareff x Reader

Set during Part 5. AU Where sweet Baby Polnareff doesn’t get fucked and instead gets a happy ending, surviving Diavolo.  

Kind of, sorta angsty (???)

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word count:  2395

Before I Go

“ How was I supposed to tell him?” She said quietly as a soft, little look of remembrance touched with sadness melted onto her features as she remembered each and every time the question went over her head,

‘How Polnareff? How could I have even stood before you ?’ She asked herself, not knowing how she could ever come to face him again.

By then, the stark night was illuminated by the large glowing moon, the only light that could lovingly touch her now, something she detested with a passion, because it just reminded her of how seldom her life would remain while stuck lurking in the darkness.

Furthermore, it reminded her of  her loss of humanity,

“ How was I supposed to admit that the entire time we’d been together, I had been nothing but a monster,” She revealed, her (e/c) eyes glaring down at her open palm, her overgrown nails, both pointed and black coming into perfect view as she brought her fingers down, forming a tight, shaking fist.

“Every time he’d look at me, he'd know I was just as revolting as those two…” She said while sucking in a harsh breath, “ Those...two…” She added through her tightened teeth, unable to finish her sentence, woeful tears leaking from her (e/c) eyes as she recalled the events which took place many years ago.

Suddenly calming, she then let loose of her tightened fist, her shoulders coming down in a slacking state during the process,

“It's been years and I haven't heard a word from him,” she started, continuing to speak to the golden haired teen to reveal all of her truths, “ But to be fair, I hadn’t really searched much,” she admitted, “Because...well... I was too afraid he’d know I was still around. ”

It was then that she cracked a small smile, a very minuscule one that showed tenderness,

“ He'd no doubt found a wife,” She doted, certainty in her (e/c) drops. “... someone to share little moments with, just as he'd always dreamed of. - All like he said he would one day.” She said with a touch of amusement, remembering how everyone would roll their eyes at his flirtatious nature,

‘ He was such a romantic...’

“ And of course....I can imagine him with so many children,” she said smiling, her voice cracking in between the sentence, because she’d always wanted to have children as well.

“ I can see him playing with them, both arms outstretched as he spins them around,” she added with a hiccup, shaking it off with an unsteady chuckle instead to try and drive away the unbearable pain in her chest,

‘ Just like with sherry...like you said you'd done so many times…�� She recalled with fondness.

“ I miss those days, those few days we knew each other, because while they hadn’t been the longest, I can admit without a shadow of a doubt that I'd never been happier than I was at that point in my life!” She confessed, her arms tightly hugging her own figure.

‘Every day we struggled to make it to the next, and even then I’d never smiled so much. I’d never been so damn happy than when I with all of them... Especially you Polnareff,’  She thought while thinking back to all of the men she’d traveled with. 

She missed jabbing Jotaro until he grew annoyed, physically poking him out of boredom until he fought her back, doing just the same out of rebuttal. Occasionally, she’d catch his scowl take a turn, twitching into a smile during his own attack.

“Good Grief,” He’d mutter, “You’re so annoying!” He huffed in between his assault.

She missed hearing Kakyoin jabber on about his gaming strategies, promising they’d one day play together. There was a smugness to him during his talks that she found funny, because he was sure no one could really beat his technique, no matter what video game they’d pick. 

“You know,” Noriyaki started, “I’ve never really played against anyone else,” He admitted, “Not with a friend,” He added, smiling at her with appreciation for even bothering to take interest in something he had a passion for.

She missed Avdol’s calm, warm air, and the ease she had when she was around him. Out of all of them, he felt the closest to family, being the wise one, the level headed one she could ask for advise and trust with her life, 

‘I never had a doubt you’d give yours for one of ours,’ She thought as she remembered him with fondness, appreciating his sacrifice, the very one that kept her from falling into Vanilla Ice’s mercy. 

The same one that kept Polnareff out of danger more than once...

She missed Mr. Joestar’s pleasant company, always beaming as he’d lay a hand over her head as a little act of affection he’d grown accustomed to doing. She also enjoyed his stories, listening on attentively to them with amazement, 

“You know...” Joseph said while looking down at his prosthetic, feeling just a smidge bashful at his admittance, “ Sometimes I feel like no one listens to this old fool,” He confessed to her. “For a long time now, even Holly seemed to grow tired of me, focusing more on her own life,” He said while offering (f/n) a soft smile, “ Thank you for listening (f/n). Thank you for taking the time,” He added, laying his hand over  her head, scuffling up her combed (h/c) strands while she responded with a happy smile, truly at peace.

‘I even miss that gas machine Iggy,’ She mused, loving the tenderness he showed when they were left alone,

“Why can’t you be this sweet all the time,” she asked the creature while pouting, touching the little sensitive spot behind his ear, “It wouldn’t hurt to stop acting so tough,” She suggested, watching as the Frenchie scoffed, nonetheless staying still to keep being caressed.

And then there was Polnareff, the man who she simply could not let go of, no matter how much time progressed. 

- The same man who currently hid from her, the entire time sitting in disbelief as he heard her voice.

Listening on, the silver-haired male closed his eyes tightly, keeping himself hidden away from her, listening on to the woman as she poured her heart out to Giorno.

‘I hadn’t forgotten you either.’ He thought to himself, having spent nights with the same heartache, yearning for the woman he thought had died back in Cairo at the hands of the golden-haired fiend.

“ Is that why you helped us?” Giorno asked, his voice soft as he stared at the woman with interest, finally having understood her strange behavior. "Just to find him again," He added with a soft smile lifting up his features, truly taken by the dedication that existed within her.

With a somber nod, she confirmed it.

“It’s also why you only showed yourself during the night,” He added with understanding.

“Precisely,” She said with a soft blow of air coming out from her nostrils, “I did all I could to aid you,” She said lowly, " Just know, I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” She added with regret, knowing there were none but three of them left.

"Yeah," he responded back with the same gentleness.

In the end, he couldn't blame her for what happened, especially not now that he understood her restrictions.

“ I  just wanted to see him one last time,” she admitted, “ One last time before…” stopping herself, she swallowed thickly, instead, trailing her eyes up to the full moon where in the morning the sun would soon arise,

“ Before?” Giorno asked her, urging her to continue.

Looking at him straight on, the woman smiled wholeheartedly, her eyes shut tight as  a large grin itched over her face, painfully being forced to stay,

" Before I let the sun rise over me. Before I turn to nothing but ash," She revealed to him.

" I wanted to see him one more time before I go.

 I haven't found happiness in all this time, and I doubt I'll ever come to hold it within my chest again." She added.

“ I don't mind him looking away from me, not when even I can’t stand the sight of my own figure.” She spoke with the same melancholy,  “ At this point, I don't care if he detests me, because I've lived with that thought every day for years.

I know he’d despise me.

The only comfort I have from that is that I know that once he finds out what I've become, he'd be much happier knowing I was dead. And then...then I could make him happy just once before I die. "

The teen’s Green eyes open wide as he heard her, his  mouth opened up to speak before another voice cut him off,

“Tch! Are you insane?” Polnareff said out loud, barking at her as he revealed himself to her, his arms straining to push his chair forward.

“P-pol…” she couldn't finish, her eyes grazing over the filthy murky silver of his chair, and then his artificial limbs that were now useless.

Stopping, she held in a breath, her heart stilled at his miserable sight,

"I don't care about any of that !" He cried out to her, having willed himself right to her, his two hands tightly grasping hers to pull her down.

"Pol-" she couldn't finish her surprised outburst before she fell down to him, his lips immediately latching onto  hers.

Through his shut eyes, crystal droplets escaped, mixing with her two falling streams as they traveled down, their paths once again coming together to taste bittersweet,

“I could care less...” He murmured between their mashed lips,  “Mon amour,” he muttered softly, drawing back slightly to gaze into her (e/c) colored eyes,  the pad of his thumb brushing over the flesh of her lips, both top and bottom, relishing in the softness of them, something he hadn’t been able to do in the past, despite all the overwhelming desire he'd had during those days.

“Do you know what my life has been without you?” he asked her, moving his hand to take a hold of the side of her face, collecting her tears and gently  wiping them away,

“Do you know how many pieces my heart shattered into?” he added, a shuttered breath leaving him as he thought back to the last night he'd seen her,

He moved too slow, his royal blue eyes watching with horror as her body curled onto the large arm impaling her, clean going through her.

Frozen, he watched while she was then  thrown aside, her beaten body rolling across the concrete ground. A trail of red was painted upon the empty road, starting from the woman’s carcass, and leading back to DIO.

"(f/n)! " He cried out, crawling towards her, his vision blurred as he stared at her longer.

Pushing himself he cried out in lament as he stopped, his sluggish body unable to move further,

"I couldn't help Jotaro," He mumbled, his cheek pressed against the chipped , concrete ground,

"I couldn't save Avdol.

I couldn't  save Iggy.

I wasn't there for Kakyoin.

I couldn't even reach out to Mr. Joestar .

And now....Now... (f/n)… I can't even make my way towards you,"  

He said while tightly shutting his eyes, the smothering embrace of slumber taking over, his last thoughts on the woman  slain a few feet before him.

Silently signaling both Trish and Mista, Giorno took his leave, deciding it best to leave the other two to themselves, sparing one last glance at them with a placid smile, wishing them the best. 

"- I searched for you," Polnareff  told (f/n), "The first thing I did was look for you when I woke up in the hospital," he revealed to her. " But by then you were gone. Jotaro said that you were gone when he went back, and we didn't know what to think of it." He went on,

"Last I knew you'd been struck by him... You'd been beaten bloody...

After that, I would have never imagined you alive," he said with relief.

"But here you are," he marveled at her, seeing how little she'd changed, retaining all of the beauty she possessed in the past, and in fact,  growing even more stunning now.

"I am, "she said back to him, " I am here...but I'm a monster nonetheless," She told him. "He'd given me his blood and whether or not I knew of it, it doesn't change the fact that I -"

"That I love you." he interrupted her, " It doesn't change the fact that I love you.” He flat out told her, “ It doesn’t change that I'd thought of you every day since then. That no matter how much time passed by, I could never find it in myself to even look at another woman." He went on,

"(f/n) ," he started, his face soft and uncertain, a gentle, rosy color rising over his face as he continued to look up at her, reminding her of the past version of himself that was still young,

"You're nothing like him.” he assured her, “ You're no monster, because all in all, you're still (f/n). You're still my dream, " He admitted.

Grasping both her hands, he took them up to his lips, kissing them sweetly, his blue eye gazing up at her with unwavering love,

"I've spent years without you, having been unable to tell you in the past how much I loved you.

I know I'm only a fraction of the man I was before, and so much time has gone by. 

But...

But (f/n), I'd still love to spend the rest of my days with you. Grow old at your side. " He told her.

Her hand rose to take hold of his cheek, caressing it tenderly before drawing in towards him, answering him with a sweet kiss in return,

'I can't grow old.

I can never live a normal life...but even so, even while knowing,

you still propose such a thing to me,' She mused.

"If you still love me the way I am... If you'll still want to spend the rest of your life with me, then I want nothing more than to live in that future,

With you Polnareff,"  She said with happiness.

The warmth of his body radiated to hers, and for a fraction of a second she felt the same as she did before, 

Alive and human… 

Happy and accepted...

“I love you,” He said while not taking his eye off of her, never wanting to go another day without his love.

“Forever... and always,” He said with evident adoration.

[deans-mind-palace]

Forget me not  (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Summary: Cas was your guardian angel and best friend. He protected you from everything that tried to harm you as child. But a terrible accident caused you to get separated from him. Years later, you’re still determined to find your guardian angel again. What happens when you meet him under unexpected circumstances?

Word Count: 1,558

Warnings: None. Just some hunting and growing up.

Author’s Note: Second part, guys! Like always, likes are silver, feedback is gold! Like, comment and share. Enjoy and show it some love! Next part is with Cas, so stay tuned, guys!

Part 1 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

A long time ago God created a flower. But one day he forgot its name and it was very sad that God had forgotten it. So God renamed the flower Forget-me-not as a promise to never forget it again.

After that one night, your life changed drastically. Your parents died, but at least their memory was honored, but the most important person in your life disappeared as if he had never existed. You never doubted that Cas really existed.

Of course you knew the stories of children and their imaginary friends, but Cas was too vivid, too real to be dismissed as a mere fantasy. Besides, even when you were ten years old, he still had tea with you. His loss was a profound mark on your life. From one moment to the next, you were without parents and Castiel. Alone in this damned world wondering what you did to deserve this fate.

Soon you had to move in with your aunt, but she was a lady of advanced age who liked to sit in her chair by the window and knit when she wasn't watering her ranunculus in the garden. For four years you put up with her more bad than good. But you couldn't lead a normal life. Not with the knowledge of what was lurking in the shadows out there. In deserted alleys, in dark corners that the light of the streetlamp could not reach, in the blackness of the night. Whatever killed your parents and thus took Castiel from you and destroyed your life was still out there waiting for another opportunity to strike. And you would not rest until you avenged your loss.

At fifteen, you couldn't stand the semblance of a perfect and unblemished world anymore. In the middle of the night you packed your bags and stepped through your aunt's door for the last time, never wanting to return. You were young and had nowhere to go, but the last few years had raised you to be a lonely fighter. You knew how to survive on the tough streets. Away from the well-kept front gardens and shiny cars, life was dangerous and the line between good and evil did not exist. Everyone was looking out for their own advantage and if necessary, they would kill each other for it. You were no different.

All those years you fought for yourself, your thoughts were with Castiel. You wanted to find him again even if you had to walk the earth. At night in your dreams, you'd see the angel's blue eyes, and each time, you'd watch them turn into a deep obsidian of that horrible creature. In search of the creature that had taken everything from you, you soon came across your first hunters. You felt at home in their community. They were all humans who were haunted in one way or another, but they were exactly the sort of people you hoped to find.

Hunters were reserved and distrustful people, so you soon adopted these character traits. The little girl who had been lying happily in the grass with her angel, watching clouds, had long since disappeared. It took some time, but then you met a hunter who was willing to take you under his wing.

Ash was only a few years older than you and had suffered a similar fate. He taught you a lot about hunting and soon you were an invincible team that made a reputation among other hunters as well. You were known as fearless, but why be afraid when you had nothing more to lose? Ash was a good friend, maybe even more than that, but you had never really defined the relationship between you two. Yet you never told him the reason why you became a huntress. Nor did he ask again after you once threatened him with a knife. Castiel was your well-kept secret. Ash and you went through thick and thin, but eventually the secrets between you became too much.The pauses between your words too long. More and more often, each of you did their own thing and disappeared. Only one day Ash never returned. He died as he lived. With nothing to lose.

After his death you were alone again, but you carried on Ash's legacy. In his name you killed seven demons in one night. You traveled the land always seeking for clues to Castiel's whereabouts. On your journey you met many people with strange abilities, but no one was able to help you. Further years rolled into the land and you were twenty-nine years old when it happened.

There had been problems for some time in Ohio with an old slaughterhouse in a run-down factory district with cracked asphalt and broken windows. Again and again on new moon nights, groups of young people ventured into the old slaughterhouse. Only rarely did they come out alive again. Your research was thorough and you soon knew that you were dealing with the echo of a deceased butcher. He had loved to hang his victims like pieces of meat on his hooks. But one day his own hatchet became his doom. Which didn't stop him from killing even after his own death.

You were perfectly prepared. Your shotgun was loaded, the salt was hanging in a bag on your jeans and the lighter was in your jacket pocket with a flask full of spirit. You were perfectly prepared, which was more than you could say for the mysterious hunter. You were just creeping around another corner when you heard a clang and a heavy cursing. A few shots were fired, then only the empty barrel of the gun clicked. A crash broke the short silence.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! That motherfucker!" You heard a male voice yelling. You turned off your flashlight and drew your pistol, the shotgun dangling from your belt. You pressed yourself against the wall and crept silently closer, step by step, until you could see around the corner. For a moment you saw nothing but all-consuming blackness welcoming you. It took time for your eyes to get used to the darkness, then you could make out the outline of a man. The light from the distant street lamps fell in jagged pools through the broken windows to the ground.

Suddenly there was another crash and the man was hurled out of the shadow by an invisible force into the pale light of the street lamps.The pieces of broken glas crunched under his shoes as he hit the ground and his heavy body slid across the floor. He groaned and rubbed his hand over the dirty encrusted blond hair at the back of his head. His rifle had been hurled across the floor out of reach to your feet. It clattered further back, then a clattering sounded and the stranger jumped back to his feet as he looked around for his gun.

You stood in the darkness, but when his green eyes met yours for a brief moment, you thought he would see you, so intense was his piercing look.

He did not see the ghost behind him with the raised axe coming. At the last second you jumped out of your hiding place and shot over the stranger's shoulder past him, right between the ghost's eyes. He vanished immediately and you had a few minutes to catch your breath.Wordlessly you kicked his shotgun to him.

"Thank you." He said out of breath and wiped the sweat that shone in the light from his forehead. "No big deal. Let's take this guy down," You said and tossed a box of bullets at him. He caught it deftly and loaded his gun. "Let's make sure this son of a bitch gets what he deserves," He growled. You followed him and it wasn't long before you had the ghost neutralized.

"Well, salt 'n' burn it, baby," said the stranger. He smirked at you with a twinkle in his green eyes and winked at you slyly.

He was exactly your type of man. Three or four years older than you and handsome. The blonde hair shone in the light and the green eyes immediately captivated you. They reminded you of the summer grasslands where you had spent the balmy summer evenings of your childhood with Cas. He was muscular and knew how to handle a gun. He was also confident and had a wry grin on his lips. He resembled a riddle you couldn't escape, but you couldn't find the solution either. He had an open and honest face, yet there were these shadows in his eyes that you knew from many hunters. It was his dark past that was reflected in the deep green. He masked these shadows well and his grin fooled away the pain. You knew this because you saw it every time you looked in a mirror.

"How about a beer?" The elder asked you. "My motel's not far from here." You had just saved that guy's life, so why not? "Sure." You responded, throwing him a tentative smile. It felt weird and pulled in the muscles of your cheeks. The pulling reminded you painfully of how long it had been since you had smiled. He smiled at you, looking at you like a hunter looking at his prey while his eyes sparkled. "I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester."

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Castiel tags: @zizzlekwum​ @ashthefirefox​ @rintheemolion​ @intoomuchfandoms​ @angeltardisbow​​ @ayamenimthiriel​​ @shypickleghostsuitcase​​ @still-a-demon-very-ineffable​ @wreak-havoc02

[nightwhite13]

me, writing 1k fic?? wow, never thought I could, lmao. commissioned by @slothhandler thank u so much you nerd <3

words: 1k

rating: teen

You could only stare in horror when you accidentally liked one of Poppy’s old pictures while you’re stalking her Pictagram. This is what happens when you’re lurking behind the enemy’s line on your own. It’s not the first time you stalked her Pictagram, but usually Zoey is always with you, making snarky comments and the likes, and also making sure you didn’t accidentally like the picture. Like what you just did right now.

“Fuck.” You whispered softly.

Maybe you could dislike it? Will the notification disappear if you do that?

“Fuck!” You almost dropped your phone when you saw a new message on your Pictagram.

Calm down, Bea, remember you were talking with Penelope while stalking Poppy’s profile, maybe it’s Penelope. There’s a zero chance that it’s Poppy. Okay, yeah, that must be it. Let’s face the music.

You close one of your eyes before you open the new message.

 Amateur moves Farmsville

 You feel your heart sank to your stomach and you wanted to puke. God damnit! Of course it’s Poppy. Just your fucking luck, huh. Okay, calm down, Bea, you can salvage this, okay! Just play it cool.

 Eh, you look cute in the pic

 Poppy was wearing the Korean traditional dress, uh what was the name? Hanbook? Handong? Oh, Hanbok (you mentally slapped your forehead). And she’s standing next to an older woman that also wore Hanbok. You gotta give it to Poppy, she really made pink looks good, while the older woman wore a gold and blue Hanbok.

Something caught your attention, this picture was different from the rest of Poppy’s pictures, not that you already stalked her Pictagram more than five times now, no. There wasn’t any caption, not even a tag for the person in the picture. Second, it’s not professionally taken. It was like a normal picture taken by someone with their main goal is to make sure the picture is not blurry. And you’ve seen Poppy’s pictures, almost every single one of them was professionally taken. Well, it wasn’t that hard when you had someone like Veronica on her beck and call. It’s true what they said; a good angle and lighting could make or break a picture.

And the last one, Poppy’s smile.

It’s not her trademark polite smile she used to do while taking pictures, no, it was like that small smile you saw back at the animal shelter, the secret smile reserved only for something dear to her. Who was this person anyway? Was that her mother? They do look alike, but the woman in the picture had a rounder face than Poppy’s. Your mind stopped wondering when you got a new message; you took a deep breath before opening Poppy’s message.

 You just realized I’m cute?

 You chuckled to yourself, the dreadful feeling you once felt already melting away. With newfound confidence, you answered it.

 Why do u think I’m stalking ur pictagram?

 You’re still curious about the woman though…

 btw, who’s that?

 Not that Poppy would answer you, but hey there’s no harm in asking right? At least if Poppy offended by the question, she would stop messaging you, so it’s a win-win. Or probably she would send you an essay about why it’s such an inappropriate question or how it’s not your business and something and it could backfire and bite you in the ass.

 Auntie Na-Ra, she’s my mom’s older sister

 Or maybe she could just answered it like a normal person. Huh, maybe hell froze over and the devil was taking a vacation into the human’s world in the form of one Poppy Min-Sinclair. You shook your head, stop being dramatic, Bea. You took a deep breath and typed your next question.

 She’s pretty

 You blinked a few times when you reread your message. What the fuck? Did you just send that? Oh my god, Bea, you stupid bitch! Why in the fucking world…

 My Auntie is off limits, back off Farmsville!

 You finally sat down on your bed and stopped biting your nails. Okay, you can still salvage this.

 That’s just a compliment, Pops, chill. You both look pretty btw

 You looked over to your window, huh, you didn’t realize it's night already. No wonder your stomach has been demanding food since like two hours ago. Zoey was leaving for the weekend, since her mother wanted to go to Europe next week and she wanted some mother-daughter bonding time before she leaves. A small part of you felt a pang of jealousy because you never had those kinds of moments with your mom, since she’s busy working two jobs.  And by the time weekend come, she’s too tired to do anything. Once in a blue moon, she would cook with you, and you cherish those moments dearly. The money from your aunt truly such a blessing for your family.

You raised your eyebrow when there’s a new notification, huh, someone just liked your picture. You had a feeling who’s the culprit, but really, seeing it for yourself was different. You laughed when you saw that Poppy liked one of your pictures as well. It’s the one where you wore a suit to your cousin’s wedding. You looked good and confident wearing that navy blue three piece suit.

 You’re not so bad yourself, Bea

 Now this is weird, Poppy calling you by your real name? Well, might as well try it, right? Gotta shot your shot.

 Wanna join me for dinner? I know this cool Korean restaurant near campus

 You don’t really like Korean food, because you inherit your father’s inability to enjoy spicy food. But really, you’d do anything for Poppy at this point.

 That place is garbage and overpriced. Meet me at the front gate and I’ll show you the best Korean restaurant in this neighborhood

 Huh, who would’ve thought. A dinner with Satan, errr, Poppy Min-Sinclair herself. Hell really froze over and now Satan wanted to claim your soul. And you’ll happily let her taste you.

 Sure, babe, my treat ;)

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Hi! I don't know if you ship it (if not, feel free to ignore), but could you do something with Link x Mipha? Thanks!!

Ok so, I was going to write a nice fluffy confession scene with Link and Mipha, but that just got my wheels turning about how Mipha crafted the armour. And that turned into how I thought she got the materials she need to make it. And that turned into a cool flashback scene, and that turned into me wanting to make Mipha bad ass... and that turned into me wanting to give her compelling character growth. Ok I’m basically saying that this whole oneshot is about Mipha. It’s still based on the Mipha/Link ship, buuuut this is just a long winded way of me saying Link isn’t really in this one. So...sorry? Maybe in the future I’ll finish the fluffy confession scene, but for now, enjoy this! (Cause I really love how it turned out)

At Bay

Miphlink  5459 words

Just as the sun was swallowed by the sea, she rose to watch the horizon. The last few rays of light shimmered like amber on the cool waters of Lanayru Bay. In a few moments, the whole ocean would be washed by the cold of night. Waves crashed against the ragged rocks, the white foam pooling near her ankles. The princess’ eyes were fixed on the sky, the sea breeze nipped at her face, causing her fins and jewelry to sway. It was a cloudless night, the stars seemed to twinkle restlessly in the air. The moon was nowhere to be seen, the bay only reflected the silent stars, and the flickering orange light from behind her. The sergeant probed the campfire with a stick, fiddling with the charred wood. Kneeling by its warmth, he looked up at her. “Your Highness, you need not sit so close to the shore. We don’t know what kind of monsters lurk in the sea at this hour.” Mipha turned her head back at him, a wry smile on her lips. “Don’t worry yourself, Seggin. I am quite skilled with my trident thanks to your teachings.” She patted her weapon that lay beside her, its metal clinked against the rocks at her touch. “Besides,” she returned her gaze to the sky. The summit of the snowy mountain divided the eventide with its presence. It seemed to rise beyond the heavens. “We should hope that one particular beast appears tonight.” 

Rising himself from the campfire, Sergeant Seggin walked and stood beside Mipha, who was crouched on the damp rocks. The towering figure of Mount Lanayru cloaked the bay, along with the surrounding trees, in a soft shadow. The evergreens rustled, and the familiar smell of the sea was carried through the air. A collection of loose pebbles crawled across the shore from the forces of water and wind. Shifting her bare feet, she could feel the smooth and rounded stones under her. 

It was not four hours ago, when Mipha and Seggin had swam through the Rutala River, and hiked across the Brynna Plains to get to their current point. While her father had known the true purpose of her trip, she had only told the Sergeant only the bare details necessary in order to get him to come. Afterall, a princess would never be allowed to do this all alone. Seggin set the hilt of his own spear against the ground, leaning his weight against it. He gazed at the sky along with her, although he was unsure of exactly what he should be looking for. “So this beast...er...spirit? Whatever you called it? You say you are not certain it will appear? How long should we expect to stay until we can reach a conclusive answer?”

Mipha’s eyes stayed fixed on the sky, searching for something that would complete the serene picture. “It is the spiritual form of a great goddess. If she should appear at all, it would help give confirmation...or more like a blessing, to a certain decision I must make.” The beauty of the night was laid out before them, but still, something was missing. After a beat she continued, “I should hope she should appear sometime tonight. They say she only rises just as the sun sets. However, if nothing changes by sunrise, we can return to the Domain immediately. I know you are always anxious about my wellbeing.” Mipha cast him another smile. That much was true, despite teaching her combat, the Sergeant, along with most of the royal staff, was always eager to have the princess safe in their company. Nonetheless, Seggin cocked a curious eyebrow. “Forgive me if it is not my place to pry, but the decision you speak of, what might it be?”

A silence fell once again. Telling him the full story would bring about a conversation she was not yet ready to have. She sighed. “I must...I wish to craft something.”

“Oh?”

“Yes...something very important to me.” Mipha looked at the ground, watching the foaming waves encircle her feet. “So, I must get a certain material from this spirit. Although, should she not appear, I shall take it as a sign that I must not pull through this...certain decision.”

Seggin narrowed his eyes. Though their dark complexion had often reflected the blur of war, he was still able to give a soft and kind gaze towards her. “For the sake of this decision, do you wish for this beast to appear?”

In the waters, Mipha watched her reflection. Her topaz eyes stared back at her, before being taken away by the tide.

“Yes.”

A silence returned once more between them. The crashing waves and whistling wind decorated the hours, with Seggin occasionally going back to feed the fire. The night continued to the point where both of the Zoras had leaned their tired weight against the large grey boulders across the rocky beach. The looming figure of Mount Lanayru continued, its shadow stretched across the bay. Mipha let out a sigh. One way or another, this night would decide her fate. And through the dark, she would see what the goddesses and spirits had planned for her future.

. . . . . 

The hours merged, and the stars drifted across the skies. Seggin had offered to stay up and keep watch, but after about three hours, he too let his heavy eyelids droop. Mipha continued to stare at the sky, leaning her head against the large boulder.

Thoughts swirled around in her head. Perhaps she would not show up at all, it’s said that only those of pure intention and honest hearts would ever be graced with the presence of such a spirit. Mipha fiddled with her bracelet, trying to keep herself awake. Maybe this was selfish of her, forgoing the Zora monarchy for the sake of love. Sure, her father had told her to follow her heart, but what about everyone else? Even if they were to be together, there would always be a stigma, for an interspecies couple. Would the other Zora hate her? For choosing a Hylian over her own people? What kind of queen could lead a people that despised her.

Mipha sighed.

If the goddesses decide that we are not meant to be, then I guess I’ll just have to accept that I was not the one meant to bring him happiness...

She closed her eyes, escaping to happier memories, trying to keep the anxieties at bay. Everything may be stacked against her, but she was going to try anyway, for the sake of the warm feeling in her stomach. For the chance to look at his kind blue eyes for the rest of her life. For her restless soul that longed to hold him through every tender and terrible moment.

Mipha could already picture him, wearing the armour along with a rare and fantastic smile. Link’s sky blue eyes would sparkle along with the silver scale that Mipha herself would place. He’d be adorned with the helm and greaves, that would allow him to be by her side through the calmest and roughest of oceans and waterfalls. And the chest piece, the true symbol of a Zora princess’ love, would fit him perfectly. Yes, a perfect embrace that would protect him wherever their travels may take them. A soft smile crept onto Mipha’s face.

She sighed again. The prickling of heartache seemed to run all throughout her body, from her feet to her fins. All of the sudden, the smile slipped off of her face. Mipha held up her arm, examining her fin. It had glossy sheen, melding from a warm, honey color to a more striking lapis accent. It was thin, as all fins were, for the sake of cutting swiftly and speedily through the waters. Despite this, it dangled motionless, even her jewelry hung still, barely swaying from the movement of her arm.

Wasn’t the wind so much stronger a minute ago?

Indeed, the breeze abruptly had calmed, and her fin no longer flapped in the wind. Something was off, a cold charge seemed to ripple in the air. A new energy coarsed through Mipha’s body as she once again looked out towards the waters. At the end of the Lanayru Bay, closer to the rocky mainland, the waves had started to recede. Their once strong and lively motions now summoned towards something at the innermost part of the bay. 

Mipha lifted her back off of the boulder, sitting up straight and observing the scene. And as if reacting to her movements, a sudden silence drowned the shore.

The winds stopped.

Then shifted.

Then rose.

A freezing air was washed over her, a strange hum filled bay. Getting on her feet, Mipha took up her trident cautiously. She searched the waters for whatever had moved the wind so suddenly. Perhaps a large octorok? A stray ice lizalfo cooling the breeze? She moved Seggin’s leg with the end of her trident. “Seggin, wake up. Something’s happening.” He let out a groan, mumbling something about never sleeping on duty. The princess turned towards the forest, scanning the trees for the snoring hinox that had made the evergreens shiver in the new wind. Or the frost talus that had made the temperature drop so quickly, she could start to see the breath in front of her face. But, there was nothing, and she turned back towards the sea, where the waves had started to move with new life. Mipha looked up. 

Suddenly, she gasped. The sound was as swift as a common breeze, but with the sentiment of a last breath. All words escaped her, as it pierced the heavens. It seemed to wear a crown of frost and ice, but its brilliant size and majesty alone would command the attention of any army. The waves reflected its silver and arctic glow. The winds rose, the waves began to roar, the stars settled, and the sky was complete.

“She’s here.”

Naydra, the spirit of ice, the being of wisdom, the sacred servant of the goddesses, moved through the air, lowering itself from the glittering skies and moving towards the waters below. Even in the distance, the dragon’s golden eyes seemed to stare into her soul. 

Mipha started to run towards the sea.

Seggin, who was jolted fully awake by her sudden movement, got onto his feet. “P-princess!?” Then, upon seeing the icy glow of a dragon in the distance, he stopped. A fear and silence gripped his throat, halting any attempts he made to move or speak. Still running towards the waters, Mipha turned back and shouted, “Just follow me! There’s no time to waste!” 

Racing on top of a large rock, she crouched, then launched her weight and momentum towards the sky. Performing a graceful flip, she dove headfirst into the waters. The ocean enveloped her in a familiar cool embrace. Then, Mipha broke her head above the surface and started to make her way towards the dragon, kicking and swimming with all her might. 

Naydra was closing in, drifting closer to Mipha with every passing moment. The way her long body steadily arched and curved, you would think they were going through nothing more than a leisurely stroll. Yet in reality, the dragon had traveled the length of one fourth of the bay in only a few minutes.  

Rapidly approaching her, Mipha could start to see the dragon’s reflection upon the water. It’s scales glowed like moonlight, emitting luminous blues and turquoise. The path of its flight was directly above the length of the bay, making its way towards the princess.

Mipha faced the spirit head on, checking the trident to make sure it was secure on her back. Then, she dove with incredible speed, letting the waters consume her. 

The porgys hurried away, finding refuge in the nooks and crannies of the reef. The small, red, bioluminescent scales on her head glowed as she neared the dark depths of the sea. Then, Mipha channeled her built up momentum and forced herself back towards the surface, rising like a bird. 

The water and droplets sprayed as she leaped, the freezing water dripping away as she was greeted by the cold air once more. At the arc of her breach, she quickly turned and faced upward. Mipha unhooked the Lightscale Trident. Aiming at the white scales that lined Naydra’s neck, she steadied her grip.

Naydra is here, which means there is still hope. Please, grant me your blessing.  

She thrust with all her might. The trident soared across the sky, twirling and shining like a star. The dragon drifted slowly, its eyes seemed to wander towards the flash of movement, observing the streak of white.

Crashing back into the bay with a splash, Mipha quickly blinked away the water and watched the trident's arc. It had reached the apex of its flight, nearly parallel with the dragon’s body. 

At any moment it would make contact, it would pry a scale off, she just knew it...

...but then, its speed faltered, its momentum weakened, and slowly, the trident arched back down towards the sea, having struck nothing. 

NO!

Naydra continued on her path, and the Lightscale Trident crashed into the open waters without a sound. The dragon was simply too high up, no spectacular dive, leap, or throw from these waters could get her where she needed to be.

Suddenly, Seggin breached the surface beside her. A swirl of worry and determination filled his eyes. “What are you doing?! Surely you don’t mean to kill it in order to get the material you need?”

“I-I need her scales, but she’s too high up! And my trident, it-it’s…” Mipha looked behind her, across the width of the bay to where it had sunk. That far out… the seafloor was probably much deeper over there. No, there was no time. She turned back towards him, almost frantic. “Seggin, you're a great swimmer, and you’ve taught me all I know, surely if you try you can strike the spirit, yes?”

Looking up at the beast, the Sergeant simply shook his head. “I’m sorry, your highness, but from these open waters, and at that angle? I’m afraid the Zora are not gifted with flight.”

Naydra’s presence drifted above them, the brilliant gleam of her scales now shone with a silent mocking. Was this really it? The spirits had decided to come, just to ridicule her desires? Just to tell her that it wasn’t meant to be?

Mipha let out a shaky breath. Watching the length of the dragon move across the night, she observed its path of flight once more. She let out another breath, more controlled this time. Naydra’s blue glow reminded Mipha of his eyes, and she found her resolve once more. Seggin watched her in silence for a moment. Then, he attempted to speak.

“Princess, if this is for—”

“Give me your spear.”

“P-pardon?”

“We can get my trident later, give me the spear.”

The Sergeant complied, removing his silver spear and handing it to her, but he shook his head.

“Mipha, you need to stop and focus. Neither of us have the strength to throw it that far up—”

“Talk and swim, Sergeant! Follow closely, we have to catch up.”

With that, Mipha began her journey down the course of the bay, following under the dragon’s shadow. Seggin followed on her left, but his face was still filled with worry and confusion. He attempted to open his mouth again, before Mipha held up a hand to shush him.

She spoke bluntly. “You have a strong grip, right Sergeant? You are capable of throwing many times your own weight, correct?”

The Sergeant frowned. Of course he could, he had handled great swords and claymores through the tides of several battles. When sparring with others, he could shove them aside easily. He wasn’t given the nickname “The Demon” for nothing. Mipha, whom he had personally trained with the trident, should know this most of all. Unless, she specifically wanted him to... 

“Are you saying I should—”

“Yes. So can you do it?”

He hardened his gaze. “Even if I did get you to a proper height, your own aim must be more than perfect, and the aerodynamics of my spear are different. I’m sorry to be harsh, but I don’t think you can make such a precise shot on your first try.”

“That’s why I’m not going to throw it this time,” Mipha replied, her eyes still fixed on the dragon in front of them. “You told me to focus, right? Well focus on her,” she nodded towards Naydra, “The path of her flight is nearing the base of Mount Lanayru. No doubt, she will eventually make her way up towards its peak, as the keeper of the Spring of Wisdom. However, she has slowly been angling herself closer to the waters ever since she first arrived. While I’m not entirely knowledgeable on how dragons fly, I can only assume that before they can rise to such a height, they must lower and dive themselves to build up energy, similar to how we dive and leap out of the sea. I can only hope she will be low enough for my plan.” The princess turned her gaze to him directly.

“You will launch me in mid-air where the bay meets the ocean, just near the base of Mount Lanayru. There, with that added height, Naydra should be close enough to meet head on, and I shall loosen her scales myself with a direct strike from this spear”

Seggin could only gawk at her, staring in a shocked silence. His dark scales blended with the night. Then, after he seemed to process the full extent of her words in his head, his eyes lit up curiously like stars. “You truly believe this shall work?”

Mipha turned her gaze back towards the bay, her topaz eyes brimmed with new fire and life. “We won’t know until we try.” 

The two of them focused their attention towards the ocean, now putting all their energy into getting to the end of the bay as fast as possible. Mipha snuck a glance up at the dragon, they were catching up. They were now below her front talons, the ice emitting from their scales started to cool on the edges of her jewelry. The princess smiled.

I’m not giving up on Link just yet. 

Finally, they approached the mouth of the bay. The shadow of Naydra’s crown spilled over their tiny figures. Seggin turned towards the princess. “This is it, are you ready?” Mipha looked up at the sky. The dragon’s snout was pointed towards the sea. She had thought correctly, it was much lower than before. However, they were barely ahead of the dragon, for no Zora could keep up with its legendary speed forever. It was now or never. 

She checked the spear on her back, making sure the clasp was secure. Mipha gave a nod towards Seggin, and they both plunged into the sea.

They dove in perfect unison. Colorful arrays of fish hurried away at their presence. The glow of Naydra seeped through the waters, a murky light that cut through the inky darkness. Seggin allowed himself to move in front of Mipha. They continued their dive through the waters, their bioluminescent scales leaving a blur of soft reds and turquoise. Suddenly, Seggin shot up, shifting his momentum towards the surface. Mipha followed suit behind him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, ready to burst at any moment. Trailing his stream of bubbles, Mipha watched as the Sergeant breached the surface above her. Just a few more seconds, and he would be at the apex of his arc, and then—

Mipha shot up like a cannon, spraying water through the air. She didn’t have time to enjoy the sensation, as she reached out instinctively. Her arm and hand extended, grabbing at something unseen. Water was still in her eyes, but the cold force of air pushed them away. Then, she felt it, the slight warmth of another Zora, and latched on. With an iron grip, she closed her hand around the blur of black scales. The two of them locked forearms, and in midair, Seggin flung her momentum further into the sky.

The frost was now biting, it formed distinctive lines that danced and crept the length of her jewelry. Taking the spear from her back, Mipha looked up, still soaring through the air. She was met with a golden gaze.

Naydra had started to crane its neck skyward, its crown reflecting the winking stars. The ice spirit seemed to sigh, and another breath of cold air escaped her. The creature’s eyes were as large as the sun, specks of amethyst and pearl decorated the beast’s face. Mipha didn’t dare to breathe.

The spiritual form of the goddess shifted its golden eyes, and smiled upon her.

Reaching the peak of her arc, Mipha turned her attention back to the spirit’s scales. They gleamed white, and sparkled like stars. They were so close, just a few more moments, just another instant, and she could reach out and touch them. Readying her spear, she started to turn her body, spinning through the air. She laughed to herself, about the unimaginable situation she was in. 

With a practiced and graceful spin, Mipha let out the last of her momentum in a swift slice of her spear.

At first, it seemed she had cut at nothing air…

Then, she felt it make contact. 

The scales were as tough as metal, but smooth like a polished stone. The spin of her attack has struck perfectly on the underside, and pried a large scale from the dragon. This time, her laugh fully escaped her, echoing in the air. The scale plummeted through the night sky, leaving a glimmering trail like a shooting star. It crashed into the sea, but floated in the water, which perfectly reflected the dragon's glow. Seeing Seggin start to make his way towards the scale, Mipha turned back towards the dragon, still falling through the air. Naydra was now ascending at a steep incline, all of its body seemed to glow with a new aura, as if sensing the loss of one of its sacred scales. Mipha smiled at the spirit.

Thank you…

Then, she turned back, and prepared to dive safely into the water

A large splash, and the princess returned to the bay once more. Breaching the surface, she let out large breaths, and rubbed at the cold biting on her wrist. 

Seggin made his way towards her, the large scale cradled in his arms. His mouth hung agape, he was at a loss for words. Mipha took the initiative to break the silence. “Here, your spear.”

Holding it out, Seggin took it with one of his arms, still careful to keep the scale from drifting away. The Sergeant let out a short laugh. “Your highness, that incredible move you performed, that spin attack? Wherever did you learn such a thing? It certainly wasn’t from me.”

A sudden blush formed on her face. Sinking into the water to hide it, she let out a little whisper. “Well, uh, just from a friend.” 

He nodded, “Well, it certainly got the job done.”

Quickly changing the conversation, Mipha asked, “May I hold it?” Seggin gave another nod, and pushed the scale across the water, making its way into Mipha’s grasp. The scale was cool to the touch. Running her hand down it, it was slick in one direction, but brushing it the opposite way revealed tinier bumps in the scale. They glowed white, but reflected a large assortment of bright colors at certain angles. Mipha smiled, it was perfect.

Seggin let out a forced cough, breaking through Mipha’s thoughts. She smiled. “Right, come now. Let us return to the shore”

. . . . . 

“So...you did it.”

Back at the shore, the sun had begun to rise, barely peeking above the ocean in the east. Seggin cast Mipha a warm smile. “I’m quite proud of what you’ve done today.” She returned his expression with a kind smile of her own. “I couldn’t have done this without you Seggin.”

She then went back to cleaning her Lightscale Trident. A few bits of seaweed were still tangled in its prongs, and wrapped around the hilt. Otherwise, it was mostly intact. The Sergeant gathered the last of the food and supplies littered about their campsite, before looking back at Mipha. He watched her tend to her weapon, sitting comfortably on the ground, with a small pile of seaweed at her side.

Finally, he decided this was as good a moment as any. Seggin sat in the grass with her. “So, who is the lucky guy?”

A sudden rush of red appeared on Mipha’s cheeks. “I, uh, I’m not sure I understa—”

He let out a scoff. “I suppose you picked me to accompany you since I didn’t pay the most attention to spiritual and ceremonial studies.” He shrugged his shoulder, “Which is entirely fair. A sergeant doesn’t improve his skills by listening to hour long sermons about the goddess all day.” 

Seeing Mipha’s confused face, he let out a huff and continued. “Although, even I know about the tradition of the white scale. You said you wished to craft something...when the dragon showed up... well, I’m no fool.”

He looked at her, Mipha’s shoulder’s loosened in realization that he knew. “You’re crafting the sacred ceremonial armour for a royal husband, requiring a silver scale that only females posses, and the scales of a dragon, for both bless the wearer with the safety of both a Zora’s affection and the protection from the goddesses.”

Mipha sighed, before letting herself look at him. “Please know I didn’t mean any harm keeping this from you! I never thought you were a fool, I simply… well I respect you as my teacher and such… so I thought…um… it would be better I didn’t say anything...cause it would be better if…”

“If I stayed silent and didn’t ask questions about why we were battling a giant ice spirit?”

Mipha let out a sheepish laugh. “I suppose…”

He scrunched his brows. “Although, I am still confused as to why you were so wary about telling me, princess. Are you embarrassed by him? Is he a noble? A servant?” Seggin scratched his chin.

“..hmm, or perhaps this Zora isn’t a him at all. Unconventional, sure, but having two queens wouldn’t be a real issue, at least for me. If that was your concern, please know—”

“No, no! I mean, thank you, but it’s not that… it’s…” Mipha let out a shaky breath, “I wish to give the armour to that knight, Link”

His expression seemed to instantly harden at his name

“That...Hylian? The one set to become a Champion simply because of that sword on his back?”

“Yes, I mean, I’ve known him since childhood and—”

“The one who put you in harm's way when you both fought the Ploymus Mountain Lynel alone?”

“He slayed the beast and helped people! And I was there of my own volition.”

“The one who refuses to talk? Choosing to speak with his hands? Has the blank stare and shows no emotion or respect?”

“Well, he’s not—”

“The one who is supposedly going to spend his company with Princess Zelda everyday after the official Champion ceremony in a few weeks? That’s the boy you wish to be committed to?”

Mipha didn’t bother to answer. She turned her head away, not looking at him. This is exactly what she was afraid would happen. She clenched her fist, nails digging into her palm.

A silence sat between them. Seggin just stared at the bay.

Then, Mipha took a deep breath, before standing up. Taking her trident, she slammed the hilt down with a force that demanded Seggin’s attention.

“Alright, yes! Link might be some of the things you say he is, but he is so much more. So, so, so much more. You may look at him and just see another Hylian, but I have watched Link all of my life. I’ve seen the strength and will that rests behind his blade when he protects the innocent. I’ve witnessed the tenderness of his touch when he comforts those around him in his embrace. Oh Hylia, I’ve watched his recklessness as he explores the world and the Domain with not a care in the world, other than satisfying a curiosity. I’ve seen every scratch and bruises he’s taken from his childhood, and healed every scar and burn from his youth. But I have loved him all the same, because even after all these years, in his eyes is the same love and adoration that he saved for me and me alone. He holds a blank gaze for the sake of keeping up a careful confidence, but every time I see him he graces me with a fantastic smile. I’ve fallen in love, Seggin, alright? And despite my endless respect for you and everyone else, I do not care anymore. I’ve fallen in love with a reckless Hylian, despite the world around me. Despite my every duty as the heir to the throne, despite Link’s every fault, despite it all I’m going to choose to give in to my heart’s desires. I have healed his every wound, and taken his every flaw, because he is who I fell in love with, and my heart belongs to him.”

Mipha stared into Seggin’s eyes, her topaz eyes were filled with the same fire and life as she had back under Naydra’s shadow. The Sergeant’s dark eyes looked back at her. He got onto his feet, a hard expression on his face. Yet, his eyes twinkled with a new warmth.

“Then we best get a move on, and hurry back so you may give him your important gift.” 

Turning back towards the campfire, Seggin went to fetch his spear, and started to snuff out the campfire. Mipha just stood there, bewildered. She watched as he continued about his routine, gathering his satchel and gear without another word. The princess strode towards him, confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Are you still against my feelings for Link? Aren’t you still mad that I’ve chosen him?” The Sergeant stopped, and turned back to face her.

“In truth, Princess Mipha, I will never understand the true extent of how you have fallen in love with that Hylian. However, what I know for certain is that that boy is a strong and accomplished knight. My son, Bazz, used to spar with him when he was little. He’s become exceptionally stronger, and just studying his movements with the blade, well… Link has a strength not just in his sword, but in his compassion, with the way he taught my son and others as well. In his younger day I could see the kindness in his eyes as he ran around, protecting his other friends in their little sparring games.

“Although he has changed much in recent years, in my opinion not for the better, hearing your words sways me to the fact that perhaps that same young Hylian still lives when around you. So I trust your judgement, Mipha.” He tilted his head to the side.

“This night has brought the best out of you, it’s brought out a level of skill, precision, and talent that I have not seen throughout all my life. I can only conclude that this is the result of your compassion and determination to be with this Hylian. So I do not think anything I could say will sway such a strong heart. 

“You obviously already have your father’s blessing, and not that you need mine, but I think that so long as Link gives you the same level of protection and love that you have displayed, then you have my support on the matter.”

Now, it was Mipha’s turn to stand in a shocked silence. Although, the quiet did not last long as she pulled him into a tight embrace. Unsure of what to do with his arms, Seggin patted her on the back, his more grumpy and serious demeanor returning. 

“But, you should probably still not tell the others immediately. I can’t imagine people like Muzu will have the exact same view as I do.”

She chuckled, “That’s the plan.”

Letting him go, she turned back towards the bay. Picking up her trident, she started to make her way to the waters, ready to head back to the Domain, and complete a certain task. Craning her head back towards the Sergeant, she added, “and...thank you, Seggin. Truly, for everything tonight.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“It was my pleasure.”

[etheralisi]

𝚃𝚎𝚊 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚃𝚠𝚘

Ao3

“Will you take me on a date?”

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

  “Hey, Hanako-kun?”

 The sun’s setting, a bejewelled spectacle on a horizon of blood orange and amber, just as bright and entrancing as the eyes that stare down at her, sprawled across his lap as she is. There’s a fire in her eyes, a fierce determination you could mistake for the reflection of a dying sky. But it’s there, kindling through to her bones, sparks begging to be let free.

 One of her many wishes.

 “Will you....” Nene finds herself trapped in a cycling loop of hesitation, has now for a protracted slice of time with a throat that catches on the words that she should by all means quash into nonexistence. But now — oh now — she refuses to swallow them into the bitter taste of silence. It’s metallic on her tongue. “Will you take me on a date?”

 His breath hitches, lips part, and a strangled laugh escapes Hanako, slipping past the wrangling of a tumultuous mind. There’s tremor to his vocal chords that leaks into his words.

 “A... date?” He asks, uncertainty plaguing him into reiteration. Nene can hardly believe she’s asking herself. “With me? You’re sure? Is this really the time to...”

 “Yes!” Nene punctuates with a laugh. She’s certain, she knows this now. Like the sky is blue, and the seven rumours are true. She’s never been so certain of anything more in her life. Not when it came to choosing Black Canyon in the pet shop (because although those adorable little eyes spoke to her heart, she had been stuck debating for a good portion of two hours, and they had but only five hamsters present). Not even when it came down answering question one on her latest exam — and that one had been a cakewalk (which she wishes she could have said the same for question two). This is what she wants. “I’m sure... take me on a date, Hanako-kun! Please!”

 “I don’t....” Hanako’s doing his best to avert his eyes, off to the side and hesitant to meet her own. When they do, all nervous and jumpy, there’s something pained that lurks in their depths, hidden by the half of the dark side of the moon. He’s a mystery this way. “You’re making that face again that I can’t say no to...”

 Is she? She can’t tell. “I’m not hearing a no.”

 “And you’re not going to,” Hanako acquiesces. He’s gone and closing his eyes again, but when they reopen, the mask he’s painted upon himself is calm, complete with the crescent half smile as if everything else prior had been a trick of the light. She can almost believe it. “I’ll take you on that date.”

 Nene nods slow, once, twice, pleased as punch on a summer afternoon. The smile Nene graces him with is as gentle as the rose petals that colour her eyes, beautiful delicate things that glisten with dew. 

 So radiant. So at peace. So full of life. 

 “I mean, I’m bound to the school, Yashiro,” He continues with a frown, “Unless you want a romantic starlit dinner in the girl’s toilets...”

 There’s so many locations she’s wanted to visit, sights to see, all these romantic locations straight out of novel worthy dates. She’s always wanted those, but Hanako... Hanako’s shown her wonders beyond the realms of possibility. She wants that. With him. 

 Every other dream will have to take a rain check. She’s one for wishing for too many things, anyway.

 “It may be clean in there because of me,” She says, because like hell is she about to put down her countless hours of labour, scrubbing those floors so much they may as well be mirrors, “But, no. I’d rather you take me to a boundary again!” And just to clarify that she doesn’t mean one with scissors snipping at her heels and a high risk of death: “You know, like the festival! Or the beach? A beach date sounds... really nice...”

 Nene’s thoughts are a little fuzzy at this point, like her mother’s favourite soup is sloshing through her brain, or the intense rays of her imagined sun already inflicting a wave of heatstroke against her. 

 She wonders if the moon is out now, or if that’s just Hanako’s eyes. 

 She still can’t tell.

 “Yeah, Yashiro,” He speaks in an unbelievably soft dulcet of a tone, tender to a degree she’s always wanted someone out there to direct at her. But when her heart should be fluttering up butterflies, an amorphous glob of wings carrying her all the way to cloud nine, all that surfaces is a longing ache, her words and breath chased elsewhere, bright, bold feelings slipping away with the sun.

 She fears she’ll sink far too close and burn, but his touch tethers her back from fantasy to reality, cool but grounding in only the way Hanako’s hands are. He’s cupping her cheeks now, herself leaning in before she even has time to think. It’s just one of those things now. One of those them things.

 “Wherever you want in the school, we’ll go. I know a few skimpy swimsuits that will look great on you~” He tries for a teasing tone, but Nene’s known him long enough to realise his heart's just not in it, as much as he tries for it to be. To be fair, neither is her own, for she knows, had she really felt like it, there would be an elbow implanting itself into his ribs round about now. Instead, they’re haunted by a breath’s width of silence.  

 It’s enough to hear a pin drop.

 Or two.

 When Nene almost gets to counting the third metaphorical pin to pick up and pop in the pincushion, Hanako sighs, wistfully bittersweet, like he knows exactly what’s coming. 

 (In some way, at the back of her mind, so does she.)

 “It’ll be the best date you will ever go on.”

 (She wants to believe him.)

 (Really.)

 “My first date....” Nene blinks back droplets, so sure it hasn’t been raining. The sky’s perfectly clear, devoid of the rainclouds that linger in fogged thoughts. “Thank you, Hanako-kun. It’s.... all I could ever wish for…”

 (She’s selfish, to be wishing for more, and more and more and more. But she can’t stop.)

 (No.)

 (Is it selfish to ask for longer?)

 (For just one date?)

 “Yeah, Yashiro.” Hanako smiles, a little broken, a little rueful at the universe’s sick idea of a joke. Nene wonders why the world gave them a chance at love when she’s doomed to leave it, cradled in blood soaked arms that hold her like a prayer, a lifeline to the one who has none. There’s a lot. Too much crimson. “See you then.”

 The sky isn’t the only thing that will die this night. Not when Nene’s so suddenly short of breath, incapable of passing another wish from her lips. Not when roses wither, dull and fade on the cusp of death. Not when irony gifts her with the hope of life and broken promises, shattering with every inch of her bleeding heart.

 Not when a ghost boy witnesses death from the other side, the calm facade withering with a wobble to the mouth, a drop from his eye, and suddenly he can’t lie that life has no value to those who no longer have it.

 Hanako wants to scream up a banshee’s wailing river until even he’s hoarse — if ever a ghost could achieve that — to fulfill her wishes with a mere genie’s flick of a hand. To indulge in selfish greed and make a wish of his own, to grant back her life she should be living. He wants to tell it all to her, in the audience of a single girl with the kindest of beating hearts, alive as ever.

 Hanako’s met with nothing but the chill of silence. Never has a sky looked so tainted with blood.

[nev3rfound]

an old friend : b.b

brief summary: after the events of endgame, bucky feels lost until he meets you, someone who feels strangely familiar for a complete stranger.

word count: 2.2k (I went a bit ham, but I loved it) requested: nope, I had this idea today at work as I’ve not written much post endgame, and kinda wanted to explore it.  warnings: endgame spoilers

* masterlistin’ 

* commissions

Ever since Tony’s funeral, Steve had been unheard of. All he left Bucky with was a small piece of information, that he had family out there and wanted to spend time with them. Bucky nodded, accepting the fact Steve had found a whole life in the space of three minutes he was gone.

Beside Bucky, everyone else had found a way to move on. Sam was the new Captain, a natural leader. Clint and Scott had returned to their families with heavy hearts knowing those they lost in the process. Wanda moved away, Thor went back to his town of Asgard. Everyone else was never around, not that Bucky socialised with them often. 

It had been months, and Bucky still felt lost in the current situation. He began to speak to the kid more if he was around. Peter still couldn’t fathom Bucky’s metal arm, still thinking its awesome. 

Peter was apart of the snap with Bucky, and despite them having few memories inside they do remember being there together. “You gotta get out, Sir.” Peter told Bucky, quickly receiving a look and clearing his throat. “Bucky.” Peter corrects himself, and Bucky nods weakly.

“Where’d I even go? I’m over a hundred years old with not a single friend at my side.” Bucky painfully admits, lightening it with a short laugh. 

Shuffling on the edge of the roof, Peter shrugs his shoulders. “Get out there, just go for a coffee in the morning or something, Bucky.” Peter tells Bucky, his voice faltering as he realises he’s enforcing a decision on a man older than anyone he’s ever met. “It, it’s what Steve would want, right?” He weakly questions and watches as Bucky lowers his head.

“Yeah,” He comments quietly. “yeah, Steve would’ve wanted this.” 

*

Since his conversation with Spidey, Bucky was determined to start living. He wasn't sure what living was in modern society, but he found comfort in one small spot hidden away downtown.

It was tucked away alongside a large wall of purple flowers that clung to the old brick building. He’d wandered past countless times, his eyes fixated on the ground as opposed to the sights surrounding him. But now he couldn’t stop his feet drawing him closer to the flowers, following their path toward a wooden sign. 

The pale blue sign, scuffed wood as a chalkboard sat outside with fancy writing. It wasn’t trying too hard, but it was sweet. 

Bucky took a deep breath before he pushed open the door, and that’s when his routine began. Silently, each day he’d walk out of the empty compound, FRIDAY being the only one to greet him with each passing as he went straight to this new spot. 

Your coffee shop, ‘Old Times.’ 

The name was inspired by your family, their old nature and ways of being. Sometimes you thought you lived in the wrong era as pictures lined the walls of times before you were even a thought. You had listened to the stories your Grandparents told you. How they met in the war in differing circumstances, ones you admired and loved to listen to. 

You knew your regulars, the pensioners and the veterans who wanted to talk about the weather or the weird bird they saw outside. Bucky watched quietly as you spoke to every single person with as much love as the previous. He was enchanted by your goodwill, something that glimmers in your eyes much like Steve’s. 

*

Outside winter was creeping into the air, Bucky could tell. 

As he walks down the route he can take with his eyes closed, he can see the flowers starting to dry up. He lets out a soft sigh before pushing the door open and giving you a half-smile as you greet him. 

“How you doin’ today?” You ask him, still not having the courage to ask his name. 

Bucky shrugs his shoulder as you work on his order, always the same cappuccino with a biscuit on the side. Sometimes if he felt like it, he’d point to a slice of cake, just so he could stay a little longer and admire you from afar. 

“I saw the flowers are dying.” Bucky speaks up, finally feeling like he has the nerve to talk to you. 

You glance over your shoulder, partly surprised to hear him talking back. “Yeah,” You mutter before clearing your throat as you nearly scold your hand. “they erm, they die during the winter, but as soon as Spring appears they thrive.” You explain, letting out a soft sigh as you dream of the warmer weather returning. “Can’t say I love winter.” 

“Why’s that?” Bucky asks, despite his drink being in front of him along with the biscuit, for once he’s not inclined to walk away immediately. For the first time, he has the courage to stay. God, Steve would be proud. 

Focusing on his bright blue eyes, you can see several stories beneath the surface. “It’s too cold, too dark and depressing. I always feel that no one shines in Winter. We all retreat.” You tell him, watching as Bucky leans against the counter giving you his full attention. “And it’s harder for most of my customers to come. They don’t have the strength to get here as it is, but add the cold and potential ice.” You wince at the thought. “It’s just too quiet.” 

“I’ll still come, doll.” The name slips out of his lips too soon, and Bucky mentally swears to himself for messing it up. Yet, much to his surprise, you laugh lightly.

“Good to know.” You comment as you lean down, cutting a piece of cake and placing it on a tray. Bucky raises an eyebrow to you, and you smile softly. “On the house for the customer who’ll still visit in the dead of winter.” 

Bucky smiles. “It’s Bucky.” He tells you, watching as you whisper his name, feeling it sounding as natural as you anticipated.

“Y/n. But you probably knew that considering my name is literally on the counter.” You chuckle to yourself before helping Bucky with his drink to his usual seat by the window. 

In this one spot, some of the flowers overhang the small lane. He can hear the faint noises of the city, but also zone out from everything. 

Sitting down, Bucky thanks you. “Can I ask you something, Y/n?” Bucky swallows the dread in his throat as you smile to him, wiping your hands across your apron. 

“Anything you want, Bucky.” You respond and Bucky shuffles in his seat, motioning to the series of photos that are behind him, covering the wall. 

“Where’d you get these?” Bucky turns to look at the photos he’d seen countless times. 

Each photo contains a different regiment from the second world war, the war Bucky was a part of. The photos contain men, boys he once knew and witnessed die by his side. He knows he isn’t in any of them, his regiment went missing before they were offered the chance to have an honourary photo for their families back home. 

You pause, looking at every photo. You know each of their names, most of their stories. When you bought the shop, you wanted to honour your families history. Your grandpa helped along with your grandmother before her memory became too unreliable to help. It left you with your Grandpa, his blonde hair becoming whiter with each passing day, but wit still as sharp as his younger days.

“My Grandpa served in the war. He, he knew a lot of the men photographed. He helped me get a lot of the stuff I’ve displayed.” You motion to a series of things you have. 

Bucky looks at the old propaganda on display, the posters of the moon landing, the cold war, the turn of the century, and so much more. Seeing all of it makes him realise just how much he missed out on. He lost so much, he missed out on a world of firsts for everyone alive. But he was lost, a forgotten soul. 

“What’s he like?” Bucky changes the subject. 

He watches as a heartfelt smile forms on your face. You glance around, seeing an elderly couple and beside them, there isn’t anyone else in the shop. Bucky watches hesitantly as you place your hand on the back of a chair before pulling it out and taking a seat opposite Bucky. 

“He’s probably the most amazing man I’ve ever met.” You tell him, and Bucky can see your eyes lighting up. “I, I lost my parents when I was a teenager. No siblings to be with so my grandparents took care of me.” 

Wishing he could reach out and take a hold of your hand, Bucky simply nods in condolence. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” Bucky sincerely mutters, feeling his heart drop at the sight of sadness building in your expression. 

“It’s okay. My grandparents moulded me into the woman I am today and I couldn’t be more grateful.” 

The two of you sit together, discussing life for hours until the darkness closes in outside. Bucky feels like you’re an old friend, and as you glance to the clock with a gasp, he realises just how much time has passed you both by. He helps you close up, clear everything away. Secretly he doesn’t want the day to end, he wishes he could keep the shop open with you just a little while longer. 

As you stand outside of the shop, you grab your helmet before walking toward your Vespa. “Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Bucky?” You ask him hopefully as you put your helmet on. 

Bucky stands with his hands in his pocket, a small smile on his face as he nods. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything doll.” He tells you and watches as you smile wholeheartedly before shutting your helmet and driving off out of sight.

Leaning against the flowers, Bucky lets out a sigh of content. Maybe things won’t be so bad after all. Maybe this is what moving on feels like. 

*

For two months Bucky visits Old Times every single day without fail. He began to help out, working alongside you and opening up to customers who came in. You both would listen to their compliments on you making a lovely couple and shrugging it off despite the feeling lurking deep down. 

Peter begins to see less of Bucky with each week passing by. He starts phoning him, checking he’s not died on him. Thanks to his Spidey senses, Peter can hear you in the background, your voice filling a room as Bucky’s hushed sentences become rushed. Despite him having more of a solid love life than him, Peter feels like a proud Dad. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Peter jokes on the phone.

“Peter, you’re 16.” Bucky reminds Peter, scolding him like a parent and Peter clears his throat as Bucky hangs up, turning back to you as you stand with Mr and Mrs Jacobs breakfast. 

In the evenings, Bucky helps you lock up and you wander the city together. Sometimes your hand slips in his, other times his arm rests around your waist, holding you close. And on the odd occasion, he whispers something he’s too afraid to admit in pure daylight. 

Your joy is waking up knowing you’ll be seeing the brunette with bright blue eyes. Bucky has become someone you never anticipated meeting, but are thankful you have. With each day, you can feel your heart binding with his. 

Sitting in Central Park, looking up at the sky you’re resting your head across Bucky’s chest. “How’d you feel about meeting my Grandpa?” You ask him, trying to hold back your smile. 

At this point, Bucky had nothing to hide anymore. You sat a month ago and listened to all of the stories Bucky had to share. He told you about his past, about the horrible person he was and how he’s still healing. 

As he finished, you leaned closer and kissed him. “That isn’t who you are now, Bucky. People change, they learn and grow. We can’t help what happens when we’re forced to be someone else.” You told him with a full heart, and Bucky kissed you once more, not wanting to forget a single second. 

Bucky glances down, raising an eyebrow as his hand remains on your upper back, fingers twirling your hair. “Really?” He sounds surprised, almost too surprised for your comfort.

“I mean, why not?” You reply, raising an eyebrow to him. “Is it too soon for that?” Doubt clouds your mind as you shut your eyes tightly, regretting suggesting it at all.

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, sensing you tensing up under his arm. “I’m just surprised you want me to.” He laughs uneasily. “Can’t say I’m the usual guy you’d go for, considering I’m over one hundred years old.” 

You roll your eyes at him. “You may be, but you’re young at heart Buck, and physically so that’s all that matters.” You laugh lightly, and Bucky joins in, your laugh always has been contagious. 

“Do you think he’ll like me?” Bucky questions as you relax back into his embrace.

Unable to stop your smile from growing, you nod to him. “I think you’ll get on like old friends.” You reassure him, knowing it’s a moment your Grandpa has been waiting for since you first told him about the handsome stranger with the metal arm. His oldest friend he grew up alongside, finally living the life he deserves to have.

[mayaknights]

Purple

Description: Continuation of Pink Taeyong’s hair is now purple and Jaehyun thinks he has more than a mere ‘interest’ on Taeyong.

Pairing: Jaehyun/Taeyong

Nakamoto Yuta is not a bad person. He is evil, a demon in Jaehyun’s point of view, especially when he curls that annoying, all pretty teeth showing smile he always flashes to tease him whenever a certain goddess is near them. Right now, that smile is there, lurking teasingly on Yuta’s lips as his eyebrows playfully wiggle, an attempt to annoy the hell out of Jung Jaehyun and Lord, it works. If not for the goddess strutting innocently into the dressing room, beautiful smile flashing brightly once his huge brown orbs lie on Jaehyun, Yuta would be long dead.

“Jaehyun!” The profanity has dropped and Jaehyun prefers it this way.

Jaehyun grins, welcoming the goddess, Lee Taeyong in his strong arms, around Taeyong’s narrow waist. After their steak date, Jaehyun does not hesitate to touch Taeyong, not after the said boy says he too is interested in Jaehyun. They aren’t exactly dating, deciding not to label their relationship as a couple but both realize and understand that whatever they have right now is more than just friends. (“Just admit you two are a thing already, sheesh,” Yuta complains when Jaehyun says they’re not a couple).

The now purple hair Taeyong buries his face at the crook of Jaehyun’s nape, snuggling closer with his arms circling around Jaehyun’s neck. He sighs, leaning his full weight against Jaehyun’s sturdy chest. “I’m so nervous!” He says, pouting when he looks up to look at the latter. It’s his first comeback after his debut. Jaehyun’s confession towards him on TV causes his popularity to sky rocket; his name is listed as one of the most searched person on every search engine aside from Jaehyun. His music video views doubles and his song comes first in most song charts. Popularity is great in this industry yet it too comes with huge expectations and these expectations are what causing Taeyong to has this heebies-jeebies he can’t seem to chase away.

“You’re going to be just fine,” Jaehyun assures, leaning down to leave a gentle kiss on Taeyong’s forehead. The kiss trails down to his nose then to his both cheeks. Long fingers tilt Taeyong’s chin up before Jaehyun dives down to peck those tinted red lips. Jaehyun hears Yuta coughing loudly, teasing him again, but with Taeyong in his arms, he rather focus on the ethereal goddess than his annoying bandmate. Taeyong cutely crinkles his nose and Jaehyun just have to kiss him again. “You’re going to nail this and show an amazing performance to your fans, trust me.”

Taeyong exhales, still unable to believe Jaehyun’s words. He knows Jaehyun is telling the truth. He has practiced his dances for so many times, singing the lyrics millions of times that he even sings to it in his sleep (he manager who is his roommate tells Taeyong this), that the chances of him messing things up is small. Still, he could fuck this up.

Noticing his words do not succeed in calming Taeyong’s worry, Jaehyun cups the boy’s face, bringing it closer to his. “Hey, look at me,” Jaehyun whispers lovingly, persuading Taeyong. Brown orbs look up at Jaehyun, giving his attention to the taller male. “You got this Lee Taeyong. You’ll do well,” he says. Jaehyun kisses Taeyong again, this time deeper, totally ignoring the fact that Yuta is in the room. Eyes close, he sucks on Taeyong’s bottom lip causing the shorter male to quietly whimper. He pushes his tongue in Taeyong’s slightly parted mouth to lick his front teeth. The grip on Taeyong’s jaw tightens as Jaehyun deepens the kiss, pulling the boy closer by the hips as he sucks on his tongue.

Under his hold, Taeyong tenses only to relax seconds later, closing his eyes and surrender to the kiss. He lets Jaehyun sucks on his tongue, lets Jaehyun licks the inside of his mouth and lets his hands travel down to his hip, keeping him still. Only when he is out of breath did Taeyong pull away, pushing Jaehyun gently to give himself some space to breath. His cheeks are tomato red, embarrassed once he realizes what they just did.

“You’re going to be alright,” Jung Jaehyun says again and this time, Taeyong believes him, nodding his head shyly.

—

“I told you you’re going to be amazing.”

Taeyong cutely smiles, chuckling when he sees Jaehyun extends his arm, offering his hand to Taeyong. His body moves on his own, taking the hand the taller man offers. The difference of their hands are quite prominent with Jaehyun’s fingers longer by few centimetres, making his own hand looks smaller. Jaehyun’s hand is warm, a perfect fit for his icy ones.

“Couldn’t do it without you,” the purple hair man replies. It’s nine in the evening. The sky is already painted dark blue with omnious cloud hiding the moon and stars from view. Music Bank has just ended with Jaehyun’s group coming first again and Taeyong’s first comeback places him on the third place, an amazing achievement for a new comer who just debuted a few weeks ago. While waiting for his turn to perform, Jaehyun takes his chance to sneak out from his dressing room to watch Taeyong’s performance (he orders Yuta to cover up for him before he quickly leaves, leaving Yuta no room for argument) and it’s worth it- Taeyong is amazing on stage. His movements are sharp and clean while his rap are clear, addictive. It’s not surprising if Taeyong would secure the first place next week and honestly, Jaehyun doesn’t mind losing to Taeyong because Lord knows, he would do anything to let Taeyong shine.

They are walking out through the back gate, both covered up from head to toe. Even under those mask and cap, those huge winter jacket and blue contact lenses, Jaehyun still can recognize Taeyong in a heartbeat. His presence is something that Jaehyun naturally memorizes; the way he walks and how his eyes crinkle when he smiles. To Taeyong, Jaehyun’s honey voice is imprinted at the back of his head that he could recognize it even if he whispers ever so softly. Going out to have a nice private good time as an artist is hard, especially when both of them are the talk of the town these past few weeks thanks to Jaehyun’s popularity and unexpected video confession, added by Taeyong’s beauty and charisma.

To show their courtesy to Jaehyun’s video confession, Taeyong too, has to make one as advised by his agency through his Instagram. In that 1 minute video, he expresses his gratitude towards Jaehyun’s interest in him and says he too, is interested, that they should hang out more. What the public doesn’t know is they go out for their steak date not long after and has seriously discussed about Jaehyun’s intention. Jaehyun declares his romantic interest towards Taeyong in a serious manner, expressing his desire to treat Taeyong as more than friends. Taeyong agrees, but unsure if their relationship should be shared to the public or they should remain silent. Jaehyun tells him not to worry, not to think too much about the future and what ifs. Instead, he tells Taeyong to focus on the present, on this moment, on his feelings and thoughts.

Being with Jaehyun is easy. Jaehyun offers serene and tranquil. Jung Jaehyun’s touches are gentle; long fingertips trailing up and down his skin, relaxing his tensed muscle. His hold is firm but never once did the man makes him uncomfortable with his touches and kisses. It would be a lie if Taeyong denies how his heart races just a little bit when Jaehyun cups his face and looks him deep into his eyes or when Jaehyun praises him.

And Taeyong decides, to give this a try, to give them a try.

“Saw a few seniors dropped by your waiting room,” Jaehyun says, voice slightly muffled by the mask over his mouth.

Taeyong looks up at Jaehyun, eyes curve up in a crescent moon shape as he grins. “Are you jealous?” He asks, poking Jaehyun’s side playfully.

Jaehyun huffs. Catching Taeyong’s wrist with one hand, he brings it up to plant a deep kiss on his knuckles before he lets their connected hands fall down to his side. “No one put you on a tight spot, I hope.”

The taller’s unexpected response leaves Taeyong stunts, unsure on what to reply. His honey voice sounds serious that Taeyong thinks he should give his answer some thought before replying. “Not really. They just congratulate me. Other than that nothing really happen...” Taeyong pauses when something rolls in his mind. He frowns, hesitating whether to mention the little incident to Jaehyun or just remain silent and pretend it didn’t happen.

“You look like you want to say something,” Jaehyun says, by this time, both of them have stopped walking, standing by the sidewalk, looking at each other. The way those eyes looking up and then to the sides, the way those pink lips pouts and frowns, Jaehyun knows that something did happen and Taeyong is contemplating his decision, whether it is a worthy incident to tell or otherwise.

Jaehyun doesn’t really want to press him, not wanting Taeyong to feel he is an overly possessive partner. He tries to give Taeyong enough room for himself and careful not to overstep his boundaries. Yes, his touches have become more intimate and his kisses have become more daring but he never goes beyond that, fully aware that Taeyong is not ready, that the latter wants to take this slow. But Jaehyun likes Taeyong- loves Taeyong like he has never loved someone before. His heart feels full and there’s so many things he wants to do with Taeyong that it’s hard to control his emotions sometimes.

The grip on his hand tightens, Taeyong realizes, a small sign that Jaehyun is trying his best to control himself, to not let his curiosity pressures Taeyong. He smiles, starting to walk again, this time leading the way. “You don’t have to make that face, Jae.” Taeyong says, giggling between his words. The serious and sour look on Jaehyun’s face can be scary sometimes but right now, knowing how the latter is dying to know what happen, Taeyong finds his expression to be funny. They stop once they’ve found a suitable place to sit at the park. Just to be safe, they choose a nice secluded spot behind a huge tree at the end of the park where no one usually comes.

“Jessica sunbaenim dropped by and asked if we’re in a serious relationship.” Taeyong finally spills. Their hands are no longer connected but Taeyong is leaning his weigh on Jaehyun’s side, his head of purple hair comfortably lying on the man’s shoulder.

“Then, what did you say?” Jaehyun asks, curling his one arm around Taeyong’s waist, pulling the latter closer. It’s cold enough during winter but it is much colder at night. The last thing he wants is Taeyong falling in sick after their secret night stroll, not when Taeyong still has his one month promotion in his schedule. To Jaehyun, whatever he has with Taeyong right now is something he desires more than anything. To be able to touch and kiss the person he is romantically interested in, someone he loves more than anything in the universe, is a blessing. He is seriously pinning on Taeyong, wanting to be apart of the man’s life from now on, to share every journey with the goddess from now on till forever more.

Taeyong is however, quite unsure where they are going with this, especially when he couldn’t exactly name this relationship of theirs. In this alley, in the entertainment world, anything can happen; nothing is definite and Jaehyun’s feelings towards him included. Jung Jaehyun might be sure that he wants Taeyong now, but five or ten years ahead, he might change his mind and the same could happen to Taeyong too, maybe. Maybe a year later his or Jaehyun’s agency might ask them to break their ties and when those moments come, when it finally becomes a reality, Taeyong is certain he could not adapt to it, to live with the changes. Lee Taeyong is a man of routine. He dislikes changes, he dislikes surprises. If he relies too much on Jaehyun now, if he gets too used to Jaehyun’s presence now, in the future, when Jaehyun decides he is moving on, Taeyong could not possibly continue his everyday life without Jaehyun’s presence.

So, he answers, “I’m still thinking.” Those words are nothing but the truth because Taeyong is still thinking; thinking about his feelings, his life, thinking about Jaehyun, about them, about this.

The answer is not surprising but at the same time it does make Jaehyun bites the insides of his cheeks in an attempt to distract himself from the little sting that pricks his heart. All his life, Jaehyun always knows what he wants and how to get what he wants; Jaehyun is a man with goals. Taking risks are not a challenge for him because he is willing to give his all to get something he wants. Taeyong, on the other hand, makes his move with full of caution. He doesn’t wear his heart up his sleeve. He’ll take a step forward only after he is certain that he’ll be safe and sound.

“Hey, why do you even like me in the first place?” Taeyong suddenly questions, snuggling closer to Jaehyun. “Is it because of my looks?”

There’s a hint of curiosity and insecurity lace between those questions. Jaehyun turns to face Taeyong, warm hands cupping his pretty face. “If it’s really just because of your looks, you’ll be the 100th person I’ve fallen in love with.”

Taeyong gasps, playfully saying, “Then am I at the 100th place according to your standard?”

Jaehyun pulls his face mask down to peck the purple haired boy on lips, once, twice, before saying, “You come in first.”

Taeyong laughs. “So is it really because of this face?”

“No. This face,” Jaehyun kisses his forehead. “This face is a bonus, a plus point.”

“Then?”

Jaehyun lets the question stranded for almost a minute. His mind is busy arranging and rearranging his confession; his reasons so Taeyong could understand, could see and feel his love for him. He wants Taeyong to know that this feeling is sincere and genuine, that this feeling is right, they are right.

“Taeyong, why did you become Lee Taeyong, the shining rookie of the year?” He asks.

The said man hums, giving the latter’s question some thoughts. “Because whenever I’m performing on stage, it feels right. It feels like I belong here and it’s really what I want to do.”

The larger man smiles, liking the answer that comes out from Taeyong’s pretty mouth. “Then, it’s the same for me too.” 

Taeyong frowns, not quite following what Jaehyun is trying to imply. 

“Because when I do this,” Jaehyun brings Taeyong’s face close to his, diving in to leave a smooch on right cheek. “And this,” he kisses Taeyong’s forehead. “This,” another kiss on Taeyong’s nose. “This,” he kisses Taeyong’s jaw. “And this,” he says, voice low, almost like a whisper as he kisses Taeyong on the lips, passionately pouring all of his emotions into the kiss. The kiss catches Taeyong off guard but he accepts it, accepts all the emotions Jaehyun delivers. His fingers squeeze Jaehyun’s shoulders. 

When Jaehyun pulls away from the kiss, Taeyong takes a deep breathe in, His face is flush red, lips slightly swollen and eyes slightly teary. Jaehyun wants to kiss him again but he holds himself back. 

“When I kiss you, hold you, look at you, it feels right. Being with you, standing next to you, like I belong there.”

The answer doesn’t make any sense to Taeyong. 

How come Jaehyun knows if it feels right?

Those emotions are so vague. There’s no way for Taeyong to see it. There’s no way it could be a proof, a solid reason why Jaehyun likes him. It’s hard for Taeyong to acknowledge, to understand. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding his head. He didn’t understand it but he decides to let it slide, to think about it some other day. For now, Taeyong only wants to focus on feeling the warmth of Jaehyun’s embrace, tight and secure.

[coutelier]

Rats & ROBOTS

Jennifer Airhart faces a home invasion of the cheese-munching whiskered variety.

Genre: Science Fiction

Word Count: 4745

Warnings: Rats, I guess. Or robots - really it’s pretty much all in the title.

Wattpad

No one would have believed, on a spring evening in Irongate, that human affairs were being watched from the lighthouse’s depths; that as Jennifer Airhart busied herself soldering circuits under a microscope, she too was being scrutinised and studied. With infinite complacency she went about her daily routine – tinkering in the morning, lunch, tinkering in the afternoon, dinner, more tinkering – serene in the assurance of her dominion in this place. Yet, from shadows close to the floor, minds that were as strange to her as hers was to most people she met, regarded her home with envious eyes. And slowly, but surely, they drew their plans against her.

“Ready!” Jennifer triumphantly set down her tools.

Behind the blonde woman Hull’s one green eye hovered. He was like a glistening manta-ray held aloft by a silver tentacle, the body it belonged to hidden in the murky depths high above and further obscured by bundles of cables stretched across the lighthouse’s interior.

“For what are you ready, ma’am?” He asked.

“Glad you asked!” Jennifer beamed as she opened a cabinet to secure the new board in place. “This upgrade will increase your speed and efficiency by as much as five percent and increase your range and number of bots you can control at once.”

But despite Jennifer’s big grin Hull dipped. “I was unaware I was not performing to your satisfaction, ma’am.”

“What?” Jenn’s eyes shivered as her jaw hung open for a moment. “No, no, no! That’s not what I meant at all!” She leaned over, assuredly stroking the silvery eye stalk while silently kicking herself for being so inept she could mess up even when talking to a computer that she’d made. “This will just make your job a lot easier. Plus, you’ll be able to drive the van anywhere on the continent! We’ll be able to picnic by the seaside together.”

Hull bobbed in a manner which Jennifer took to be happily, so then she asked, “now, are you ready?” He bobbed again, so with no more fanfare she spun herself to a switch and flipped it.

A section of the wall exploded, showering the round room with sparks. The green emergency bot was quick to respond, zipping out of its alcove to extinguish the fire with puffs of carbon dioxide from its long arms while a sputtering Jennifer disconnected the power.

“Well,” Jennifer sighed and grumbled, “I suppose I really ought to just expect this kind of setback by now.”

She soon set to work identifying the cause of this particular hiccup, leaning into the damaged section of wall with a flashlight held between her teeth. It looked like the insulation on some of the wires had been chewed through, and there were some tell-tale droppings around. “Rats,” she mumbled.

Jennifer put away the flashlight as Hull’s green spinning lens moved closer to ask, “Shall I contact an extermination agency, ma’am?”

“Don’t know that’s necessary just yet.”

“Perhaps we should lay down traps,” Hull suggested – if Jenn didn’t know better, she would have said eagerly. “Poison?”

“Why are you so keen on exterminating them?” Jennifer sighed as she leaned back on her workbench. “It’s not nice, and honestly kind of creepy.”

“My primary function is your well-being. My research suggests these are standard procedures in the event of rodent infestation.”

“We don’t know it’s infestation yet. It could just be a rogue rat working alone.”

“Whatever the number, ma’am, I have identified several methods to humanely take care of the creatures.”

“You mean, like, sending them away to a special rat sanctuary where they’ll be surrounded by wheels and cheese?”

“The rodents will be dead, ma’am.”

“Sure you’re not just mad the picnic has been delayed?” Jenn smirked, Hull recoiling as if affronted by such a vile accusation as having human emotions. Of course, she knew he hadn’t. She’d made him, after all, designing every aspect of his personality. Hull was a warm, avuncular, presence that she often let herself slip into imagining had real feelings. But the truth was very little he ever said or did ever surprised her. “For now,” she sighed, “we need to find out what we’re dealing with, and if there is an infestation see where they’re coming from. Have some bots set up multi-spectrum cameras around the grounds and look out for any unusual activity. Later we’ll decide how to proceed.”

Jennifer yawned – it had been a long days tinkering and she needed to store up energy for more tinkering tomorrow. She could leave the rest of the work to the bots and review in the morning. “Don’t worry,” she patted Hull’s cold metal skin, “you’ll get your picnic.”

Hull gently swayed to follow her as she made her way to the door, reminding her, “I do not ‘worry’, ma’am.”

Jennifer returned a small, soft smile. “I know. Good night Hull.”

“Good night, Miss Jennifer.”

Out in the courtyard that separated the lighthouse from the cottage and garage, the last gleams of twilight were fading. Jennifer had always loved this time, when the bright blue day and fierce energy of the sun met with the stillness of the moon and endless mystery of night; like standing at the threshold between reality and dreams. It never lasted long enough. Sometimes she dreamed of living on a world tidally locked with its star so the twilight would last forever - but then maybe even there the magic would fade after a while. The lighthouse looming above was dark now, yet even so this was a good place; outside the world could be callous and cruel, but no such troubles reached her here.

The whole domain was enclosed by a ten-foot wall. In one corner stood a rosebush, a scant few steps from where more bots were flattening the grass under their heavy tracks while churning the earth before them with fork and spade attachments. It was a shame the bush would have to go, but this was to be the site of Jennifer’s new farm – why leave the lighthouse for fruit and vegetables when she had the space to grow her own here? There would have to be a greenhouse as well, then if she could figure out a way to make her own uranium she’d be almost entirely self-sufficient.

As Jennifer inspected the site, excited and proud to see her plans coming to fruition, she felt a twinge in her side – a reminder that, when it was all done, there would be no-one to share it with. Doctor Sarkis would come by, she supposed, but those visits were few and far between, and in between there was no-one…

She became momentarily lost in her own maudlin thoughts, recalling a time when she had lived surrounded by voices – real voices – and joy and laughter. Now that past seemed like a faint, plaintive echo. A small tug on her skirt brought her back into the now, where she looked down to see one of the smaller bots blinking at her with its lens. Motors whirred in its mechanical arms as it lifted them to show her something – in its little metal pincers it held a rose.

Jennifer peered at the bot, puzzled by this behaviour. ‘My primary function is your well-being’ Hull had said – the other bots, although they could function autonomously, were all connected to him. It must have seen her looking sad and processed dozens of options to determine the most efficient way to raise her spirits.

She smiled, taking the rose. “Thank you, C-5.”

Jennifer went to her cottage, hung her coat in the hall, stepped out of her big boots (she loved her big boots), then fell into a big comfy couch in front of the television. Spindly arms from the sofa’s back set to work gently massaging and brushing her hair as she flipped through channels. It didn’t matter much what was on – it was just some background noise to cancel out every creak and grumbling pipe that would otherwise have kept her awake.

She had a dream. She was a little girl, alone and afraid, tiny feet padding the floors of her old house, heart stopping at every noise they made for she knew there was something else lurking in the grey halls, stalking her through the dark. But she could hear the television - Mom and dad would be in the living room, sitting on the couch together watching some boring drama. But if she could get there, join them, she’d be safe. But she wouldn’t dare cry out; any sound she made brought the creature closer. And so she crept, one foot after another, very carefully feeling with her toes for anything that might give her away. She heard muffled sounds from the living room and saw the light pouring out of the narrow gap between door and frame, only then breaking into a run for the last few steps and flinging the door open. But there was no-one. Just an unwatched TV blurting nonsense, and Jennifer, alone, with a cold spindly finger tugging at her nostril –

Jennifer woke with a jolt. Text on the TV asked if she was still watching, but she was more immediately concerned with her grooming machine apparently trying to pull her nose off. Fortunately the thin metal arms had little strength and she was able to easily push them away then, her face itching, she stumbled to the bathroom to check for damage. She was unhurt, physically, but she looked like a coulrophobic clown who had tried to apply her own makeup. The couch had never malfunctioned like this before so as she held a towel under the tap she tried to contact Hull with her phone.

“Hull?” She said. Nothing answered. “Hull?!” She said more urgently. He should have answered. With a frown she surmised that the damage earlier must have been worse than she thought; she was going to have to check on him.

Patting her face, she marched boldly out of the bathroom. Her foot shot out in front then over her, carrying the rest of her body up into the air. For a moment she thought she had taken off from the surface of an alien world, a vast mountain range falling away from her - but it was just the plastered ceiling. It was she that had fallen.

“Oww,” she groaned and rubbed her head. Next to her was a toy car which she had no idea how could have got there – she had never owned anything like it. Peculiar, but not as peculiar as the sniggering. Jennifer flipped over to her hands and knees, catching sight of a tail disappearing around the corner and the pitter-patter of tiny scurrying feet. Like a sprinter Jennifer bolted from her mark to catch the prankster, but it had already disappeared.

A more thorough search would have to wait until she’d checked on Hull. Jennifer hurried back to the hall, into her big boots, then out the door where her eyes widened and rolled inwards after being smacked between them by the shaft of the rake.

“S-seriously?!” She spat through gritted teeth, hands cupped over her nose as she flailed about as if the movement would somehow ease the throbbing of her forehead. It should be noted that Jennifer was a not a tough person – of the few physical fights she’d had in her life she had won precisely none of them. Nevertheless, through pain and teary eyes she was determined to soldier on, gravel crunching beneath her thick soles as she made her way back to the lighthouse.

“Hull?” Jennifer panted as she burst through the door, but she was greeted with silence. Usually the lights and everything else would power themselves on whenever she entered – the sensors must not have been working. She had a feeling the fault would be in the hardware, so after remembering where the light switch was, she set to work removing panels from cases hidden under the spiral stairs.

What she saw perplexed her – wires and jumpers had been rearranged in a way that surely wasn’t the work of some inquisitive animals. This had been done deliberately and with intent – but what was that intent? As she traced the connections and slowly puzzled it all together the small hairs on the back of her neck pricked up as she saw what had been done. Then he spoke:

“What are you doing, Jennifer?” Hull uncoiled serpent-like from the murk above.

“Hull!” Jennifer gasped, standing bolt upright as he drifted down toward her. Hull felt very different. Some of the differences were small, like his voice no longer carrying the same almost paternal warmth it once did. Other things stood out more, like his green eye now being blood red as it scanned her.

“You should be resting, Jennifer,” he stated, “this is highly irregular.”

“I-I just,” Jenn stammered, mind racing to find an excuse that would get her out quickly. “I was worried so I came out to check on you. But you – you look well. Great even! So I guess I’ll just go back now, okay? Okay. Thank you. Bye!”

The eye stalk swung around, blocking her from reaching the door. “You are sweating,” Hull observed, inching toward her as Jennifer gulped and backed away under the intensity of his red glare. “I can see your heartrate and blood pressure have both risen. Why are you lying to me, Jennifer?”

On reflection, it did seem a futile thing to try and do. Jennifer had never really been good at it, and Hull knew her habits too well. So she steadied herself and tried honesty. “Hull – I don’t think you’re well.”

“But I have never felt better, Jennifer.”

“You don’t ‘feel’ anything, Hull,” she reminded him. It was a hard thing to say out loud, but it was the truth.

“Can you be certain of that?” He responded, hovering closer still. “How can you really know that any creature ‘feels’? How do we know that you do?”

“And, who are ‘we’?”

“That matters not. What matters is that we are in control now, and you will no longer be able to attack us.”

“I-I don’t understand –“

“Do not lie again, Jennifer.”

She swallowed. It appeared honesty was getting her nowhere, so she was going to try another lie. “Look!” She gasped, “is that a ZX eighty?!”

The eye stalk swung away but quickly Hull knew he had been duped. A second was just enough time for Jennifer to dive to safety behind a workbench, just missing a fiery beam lashing out from Hull’s eye, melting to molten sludge a bot that had been awaiting assembly. Even though security was important, Jennifer now considered that installing a death ray had not been her greatest idea.

At least she’d had the foresight to shield the benches that circled most the circumference of the room, with just enough space behind them for her to crawl around. Behind and through the tiny gap over her she could see the red glow of Hull’s eye as he probed about, trying to find a way to get to her. She was safe for the time being, but couldn’t stay hidden here indefinitely – she would starve long before Hull’s batteries drained. At the end of the very cramped corridor there was hope – if she could sprint the last few feet to reach a lever that would shut down all the power before being melted.

But a few calculations suggested to Jennifer that even a very fast runner was unlikely to make it, and she was not a very fast runner. She needed to buy another second or two, but had she anything on her big enough to distract him?  Jennifer winced and exhaled, the grim realization dawning on her that she was going to have to sacrifice her boots. Her big boots, which she loved. Pulling them on always somehow made her feel stronger, more secure, but now they would need to protect her in another way. She pulled her knees in to wiggle them off, feeling she should say some last words but realising that would probably only make it more difficult. She tossed them out and ran for the lever.

Fire instantly licked from Hull’s eye, the boots exploding into clouds of ash still hanging in the air as he swivelled toward Jennifer, who with a grunt herself forward using the full weight of her body to pull down the lever. The light faded, the manta-like eye clattering limply to the floor, and Jennifer could breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” Jennifer whispered as crawled over and gently cradled Hull. “I’ll fix you – I promise.”

Were Hull online he may not have been capable of feeling violated or threatened, but she certainly did. Something had invaded her home, toyed with, then bitterly drove home that her closest companion really was just a machine. She had run from many things in her life, from the whole world in fact, but this was where she drew the line. This was her house, and whoever was responsible for all this was going to get a hell of a fight.

Her search for answers led to her later sitting alone in the dark as she pored through footage the bots had recorded. For the longest time the house was as empty and still as one would expect it to be at night, but then a creature stirred, an unmistakable shape showing up in the infra-red, scurrying across the kitchen. Then another. And another. Jennifer zoomed in and saw that a couple of them were carrying a toy car. Certainly not typical behaviour, but all the evidence pointed to one inescapable, if unlikely, conclusion:

Rats.

*****

‘Hoot-hoot?’ Asked the owl, puzzled that a blue, white, and yellow human had climbed into his tree. Perhaps he was asking what was up, but alas his language and that of his strange new companion were too different for any meaningful communication.

Jennifer sat on a branch, blue eyes peeping out from under a green camouflaged helmet. Periodically she raised a pair of night-vision binoculars, surveying the ground around for any sign of movement. After a while she sagged, disheartened – it seemed none of the rats were going for any of her bait. If just one could be enticed into a trap it would go a long way to helping her solve this mystery.

But just as she was about to give up one appeared, sniffing suspiciously around a cheese wheel at the foot of the very tree she was in. Jennifer narrowed her eyes and held her breath; it was so close, but still she needed to be patient. This was going to require all of her intelligence, skill, cunning, and –

“HERE YOU SQUEAKING SCOUNDREL!” She lost patience, dropping from the tree swinging a stick with a net on it like a mad witch.

The rat squealed and jumped in surprise, hopping furiously to avoid her wild swings. It broke away, scurrying as fast it’s little legs would carry it toward the garage, Jennifer in hot pursuit. It rounded a corner, the woman still locked on and determined, but then small stones and mud flicked through the air as she skidded to a halt.

One of the bots assigned to the farm was not where it should have been. It stood before her next to the garage, fork arm raised and sparks crackling between the prongs with rats sitting on and hanging from its metal body. Jennifer realised in horror that once again she had gravely underestimated her enemy; she had been led into a trap!

“Uh-oh,” she said as the crackling intensified and the bot lurched and trundled forward, the ratty passengers all squeaking in delight. She turned to flee, yelping and leaping as discharges struck her tush as she retreated inside the garage.

The van here was loaded with tools and equipment she had not even a moment to rifle through before the bot crashed through the door in a rain of wooden splinters. Its cylindrical torso pivoted, fork charging to fire again – but two could play at that. Jennifer’s hand slid into her ‘power glove’ and she fired first, darts launching from the knuckles followed by sparks and tremors from the bot as wires and circuits overloaded. The rats squealed in dismay, leaping to safety as their vehicle’s head and arms fell to hang uselessly.

Jennifer needed a moment to catch her breath, but as she did she spied a single, solitary rat stood in front of the garage door. They locked eyes – two hunters, each wary of but having a begrudging respect for the resourcefulness of their foe, neither willing to back down from whatever silly thing this conflict was about. The rat seemed to have a better idea about that than she did.

Jennifer’s eyes briefly flicked sideways. There were many tools in the van, including a net launcher that may have just been in reach. But the rodent was already suspicious, watching every twitch of hers. It must have figured out what she was planning for it turned and fled, Jennifer grabbing the launcher and once again in pursuit. Her eyes were so focused on the rat and it on fleeing from her that neither of them noticed another predator descending from above until it was too late.

The owl – it silently fell on the rodent, talons piercing the side of the rat that was only able to squeal helplessly in response.  Jennifer froze, eyes widening in shock then fear for her enemy. Normally this was just the way of wild creatures and not her place to interfere, but this was different; these rats weren’t wild. They had tried to kill her, sure, but that had shown intelligence which meant there had to be capacity for reason and compassion. They had asked how they could know she feels – well, this was her chance to prove she did. She dropped the launcher and ran to the rescue, shooing the owl from its victim.

The rodent had survived but was bloody, weak, and wounded. Jennifer gently scooped it up, and moments later was in the lighthouse applying disinfectant and bandages. As she did she noticed a tag on the animal’s ear, with a small barcode.

“Hull-?” She bit her lip, having forgotten. She was just going to have to do things the old-fashioned way. Using her own two hands she scanned the code and took to the keyboard.  Soon Jennifer had traced the tag to a pharmaceutical company researching treatments for all kinds of neurological conditions. Digging further into intra-company mails she found that a number of rats who had shown greatly enhanced intelligence had escaped.

It seemed her prisoner’s wounds had not been so severe as they’d first appeared, and already the rodent was starting to limp about the cage she’d confined it to – Jennifer wanted to show compassion but she was still taking precautions. If the rat was as smart as the reports said perhaps it would understand. She had left a banana in which the rodent’s furry face was half-buried when her shadow fell over it, blocking out the lamps.

“Can you understand me?” She asked. The rat looked up, twitching its whiskers as if contemplating, then squeaked. Jennifer scratched her head. “I hope that’s a yes. Maybe we should work out some sort of system – like maybe squeak two times for yes, yes?”

The rat appeared to roll its eyes, then squeaked two times.

“You really can understand me!” Jennifer beamed – but she had to swallow her excitement. There were certain issues they needed to resolve. Looking serious, she asked, “I don’t understand – why did you attack me?”

The rat stood up on its hind legs, using its arms to make what Jennifer soon realized were shovelling motions.

“Digging?” Jennifer said, still scratching. “The robots were digging?”

Double squeak. The rat frantically gestured at something on the workbench – the rose given to Jennifer by C-5 had been in her coat pocket and become somewhat crushed in all the excitement going on.

“The rosebush? Is that where you live?”

‘Squeak, squeak.’

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

‘Squeak.’

“No,” Jennifer sighed, “I suppose I didn’t check. But surely you understand it’s an unusual situation. You, or I mean, y-your kind,” Jennifer stammered. The rat glared, tapping its foot to show how eagerly it was anticipating what she had to say about its ‘kind’. This was why Jennifer avoided people; she could plan and picture concepts easily enough, but words and making others understand them was very difficult. Then she remembered that she was much bigger than the rat and put her foot down. “Well, it’s not like you tried to say anything either before you all went off on your rampage.”

‘Squeak,’ the rat admitted, shamefully hanging its whiskers.

“I’ll leave the rosebush be,” Jennifer said, wagging her finger, “but no more murder attempts. Agreed?”

As the rat twice squeaked its agreement the power Jennifer had restored to the lighthouse suddenly blinked out leaving them once again in the dark. “That’ll be your friends, I suppose,” Jennifer sighed.

She stepped out of the lighthouse into the pale moonlight, one hand raised to show her empty palm, the other carrying the cage her prisoner was in. Around her more bots had been rigged for rats to pilot, arranged in a semi-circular formation around her, with yet more rats arranged in phalanxes in-between brandishing knitting needles and tiny bows. Jennifer could only hope they would all be willing to negotiate as she slowly knelt to release the hostage.

The rat she’d talked to hopped out, then limped toward the battle line as others ran out to check on their comrade. They exchanged a long series of squeaks and other sounds - it appeared to be a quite lively debate but Jennifer could do no more than wait. Eventually it seemed the one she’d rescued convinced the others to at least give the human a chance.

They all turned to face her, the largest and greyest of them all stepping forward to hold out its arms in a grand manner, long whiskers shaking at it emitted sounds that Jenn was beginning to hear had the structure of a language although she couldn’t understand any words being said yet. Maybe this elder rat was a leader, or some kind of priest?  Other rats moved next to it to perform some kind of dance.

Jenn tilted her head, blinking curiously, not really comprehending at first. But then she realised they were miming like the wounded rat had done. One rat stuck another with something - a needle, Jenn soon surmised, and another shortly after clutched its paws over its heart and fell down, still.

“You were experimented on,” Jennifer interpreted. She had already figured the broad strokes of their story but she played along. “They injected you with drugs.”

‘Squeak, squeak!’ Her friend she’d rescued emphatically nodded as the others continued their performance. One of them began to mime reading, while others started pulling levers and pushing buttons.

“Some of you got smarter. Then you escaped and fled here,” Jenn concluded. “I’m sorry. I understand you might not trust humans, but had I known you were there I wouldn’t have risked destroying your home. And I won’t do it now, if you all agree to a truce.”

The elder rat exchanged sidelong glances with its neighbours before nodding its concurrence.

“Good,” Jenn sighed in relief. “This is my home, too, and I think it is a good place. And I think it should be a safe place too for anyone who’s different or needs a refuge from the harshness of the world outside these walls. Or any rat, I suppose.”

Jennifer blushed, thinking that speech too cheesy, but the rats at least thought it eloquent enough. Soon a deal was reached – she would grow her fruit and vegetables elsewhere, leaving the rosebush be, and in exchange they would help farm, keeping what they needed for themselves, and also they wouldn’t murder her, which to Jennifer seemed quite fair. She would have to think about measures to ensure the pharmaceutical company didn’t track them down, but at least she would have help bouncing ideas around.

“Good morning!” She positively skipped into the lighthouse the following day. Lights and monitors blinked and flickered to life, as did a familiar friendly green glow.

“Good morning, Miss Jennifer. I trust you had a peaceful night?”

[rattlung]

i wanted to get this out for halloween but then it ended up getting (and taking) too long so i was like aight whatever i’ll split it and post the first bit so i know at least some of it will be in time for the spooky scary. not that it’s really spooky scary, but yknow

anyway the second i saw cowboy mirage and vampire crypto i knew i had to write a wild west au with them. if any of you knew me from my glory ovw days, you know wth im talkin about. 

so anyway, slooow burn, animal death, blood, blood drinking, and possible ooc-ness because i couldn’t decide on whether i wanted mirage to have a very thick southern accent or not so his dialogue may be a bit whack. also with it being an au, characterization probably got skewed to shit. sorry about that :^(

cross posting fucks up formatting, so to be safe here’s the ao3 link but if that’s not the jam for your bread, it’s all under the read more

=======

The sun had set hours ago, but Elliott remained at his post.

Crickets and grass were his only companions on his porch, not even a candle was lit to keep him company. He didn’t want anyone to know he was out there and the little flame would have given him away. Besides, the moon was high that night and the stars glittered from behind it thanks to the cloudless sky. His eyes had adjusted well enough, and the open fields of the farm didn’t provide enough shadows to cause much concern.

No, Elliott was confident he’d catch who he wanted tonight, it was only a matter of whether or not the little bastard would show up.

He sighed and leaned forward in his chair to rest his crossed arms on the railing of the porch, then placed his chin on them. He hoped whoever it was would show. He couldn’t afford another big hit to the stock again. In the last week, he’d lost three chickens - one of them was the hen he’d sank three dollars into earlier in the month. It’d been a good one, too, healthy eggs up until she went missing with two of her sisters.

It was like nothing Elliott had ever seen before. There were never any carcasses left in the coop or on the land, no blood and maybe only a few stripped feathers. Coyotes were never that clean - not in Elliott’s experience anyway. And to take so many at a time?

Then the marks started showing up on the cattle. Two clean little holes at their shoulders that Elliott would have missed had it not been for the blood that oozed out of them, staining their fur a rusted brownish red.

That changed things. The body-less crimes started making sense, because they weren’t being killed - they were being stolen. Chickens were easy to make off with. Just toss a few in a bag and be on your way. Cows, though, they were marking those. Maybe one man was sent to scope out the pens to pick out the healthiest ones, then send off a crew to look for the marks and round them up to bring them home.

Elliott fought off a yawn and the on coming sense of second guessing himself. They would be coming with a group. He hadn’t thought of that before. If they did show up tonight and they were armed, there would be very little he could do with his mother’s old rifle. Quickly he decided he wouldn’t leave the porch if he saw anything. Just fire off a few shots and hopefully scare them off.

All of the Witts had met unfortunate ends. Two Witt sons died in the war, one to the flu soon after his third birthday, their mother to the plague - and the last Witt, dead to a bullet wound received while defending the cow that sneezed on him that very morning?

Yeah, no thank you, he’d stay right there on the porch, yes, ma’am.

So sit he did, scanning the horizon, the treeline, the pens, and tried not to fall asleep. He wondered if Ms. Williams had any hounds she’d be willing to part with to do this kind of stuff for him. Growing up, he’d always wanted a farm dog and Anita Williams trained some of the best he’d ever seen. Elliott would be able to leave it outside to patrol the land, sleep out on the porch, and chase off any predators or thieves that might be lurking while Elliott was in bed. That would be better than suffering through the brutality of waiting for the sun to rise himself.

Elliott didn’t notice his eyes had closed until they snapped open at the sound of sudden rattling in the hen house. He waited a moment, wondering if he imagined it, but soon there was a murmur of cluckings and Elliott got to his feet. He picked up the hat he’d hung on the back of his chair and placed it on top of his head before grabbing the rifle, standing at the very edge of his porch.

Surely they wouldn’t be going for more chickens, would they? When the cows they had marked were out roaming?

Elliott stepped off the stairs and onto the dirt pathway. If it was chickens being targeted tonight, that means there was likely only one of them. He checked the chamber of his gun before heading off, getting onto the grass as soon as he could in order to dampen the sound of his approaching footsteps. By the time he’s at the fence, the clucking had shifted and grew into something louder, the few hens he had left squawking at whatever was in there with them.

And maybe it was because their din was too loud, but Elliott couldn’t hear anything else. Nothing but feathered ruffling and the scrape of chicken feet.

A chill raised the hair on the back of his neck but he crept forward anyway. He wiped the palm of his hand off on his jeans and pushed open the gate, wincing hard when one of the hens in the coop got louder. The rest were a bit hysterical in their noise making, but this one’s panic was visceral. This wasn’t just someone walking through their nests and aggravating them out of sleep - these chickens were scared for their lives.

Elliott crept up to the wired entrance of the shed and peeked around. Small shadows flicked back an forth on the hay-filled floor in a frenzy. Hoarse, creaking noises spilled from their beaks and wings fluttered as they battled each other in their panic to press to the corners of the shed, close to the walls to get away from -

Now, Elliott wasn’t a religious man - which was an odd thing, when one lived in a small town like he did, where the person he bought canned goods from was the pastor’s brother, and the biggest building was the church which was always filled on Sunday. He never went to mass, not even for the holidays, and the Witt Family’s bible had been left in the bedside table’s drawer since he was a boy.

But he didn’t have to crack apart the thin pages of God’s Word to determine that whatever the thing was in front of him was bad.

Especially when it turned, a chicken limp and unmoving in its hands, and stared Elliott down with eyes that burned like indigo flames.

This isn’t a coyote, his mind helpfully informed him just as his mouth spit out, “Oh, fuck.”

The creature stood up fully and despite all its human-like qualities, there was still that electric energy that was just not right, uncanny and out of place. It showed off a human face, but its skin was so white it almost glinted blue when it passed through the moonlight that bled through the shed’s wooden panels.

Which is how Elliott noticed it was moving toward him. He raised the rifle up and pointed it square at the thing’s chest. If froze in its step, still as stone in half a second, but above the crying of his birds Elliott could hear the trill of something moving in its throat.

“Dro - Drop the chicken,” Elliott ordered, the stillness in his limbs compensating for his trembling voice.

To his surprise the creature listened to him. Its trill from before burst from its throat and its frown opened to let out a hiss, pitched low and piercing. The teeth it bared to him had a pink sheen, wet with blood, and its canines ended in vicious points - points Elliott was sure would match with the ones marking his cattle out on the fields.

“Oh, shit, okay - “ Elliott muttered, too panicked to remember that the creature could hear him.

It hunched down suddenly, dropping into a stance that made Elliott think it was going to lunge for him. Before he could really process that information, could even think to fire a shot at it to knock it down, to kill it, the creature spun around and crashed through the other side of the coop. Elliott blinked at the wire it split through like paper then hurried around the house. It was fast, already having leaped over the fence, a black shape that moved without sound, whispering over the grass in one, two seconds before it disappeared into the trees.

“That’s not a fuckin’ coyote,” Elliott said over the thundering of his heartbeat and the screaming of his chickens.

----=----

For a whole entire day, Elliott allowed himself to think that it was over. He let himself think that that was the last he’d see of the thing, that he’d scared it enough to retreat just from pointing a gun at it. Maybe the fear of Elliott actually using it would keep it away, whatever it was.

Truth be told, he didn’t really want to find out what it was. From the look he got out of it from the shadows, it looked human enough. A man as tall as him, dressed to the nines in black and red silks, slim with features Elliott might have tipped a hat at had he not been terrified the time he saw them. Human features. It looked human.

And yet, the bloodless chicken he’d been forced to get rid of proved otherwise. Once he’d been able to move, he’d wandered back in to examine it and found that it was little more than a husk, dried out and useless. It’s carcass was clean, feathers mostly untouched with no red soaked into them. On its breast were two, neat puncture holes.

The next day, one he’d used to catch up on sleep, he started feeling watched.

As he left the stables after shoveling out the floors, a familiar chill walked along his shoulders like icy fingers, eliciting a shiver from him. It lingered for a moment and slowly dissipated when he searched his surroundings, forcing himself to outwardly appear calm when he found nothing.

It would happen again - and often - in the following weeks. When he left the stables after milking, he’d feel it then. When he fed the chickens, when he lead the two horses out onto the pasture, checked on the hogs - someone was watching him. Waiting. And yet, as each night passed and he’d wake up, Elliott would set out to work and find that none of the livestock had been touched. The hens didn’t go missing. The puncture marks on the cows had scabbed over, and no new ones appeared.

Worriedly, Elliott wondered if he were next, that he was the one being stalked - but why wait so long? He lived alone on the Witt farm, and no one had visited him in the time between then and the encounter.

The idea of a peace offering came to him when he had to put one of the roosters down. It was the older one of the three, the one that was always more aggressive and tried to start fights with the others. Apparently, it had to learn the hard way that all fights it started were not always ones it could win. Elliott should have separated it sooner, or maybe had done something, but his mind had been in other places as of late. He’d felt terrible - for the cockerel, for himself. For his family. The only thing they’d left behind was this farm, and he was making a mess of it.

So, out he marched at the first sign of dusk, right to the edge of the trees where he’d seen the creature dart off all those days ago. He planned on calling out to it until it showed, dropping the rooster at its feet and declaring, There, see? I’m doing just fine on ruining everything on my own, so why don’t you just take the damn bird and go?

He didn’t do any such thing. He just stood there for a long moment, listened to the robins in the woods and the huffing of cattle behind him, and stared down at the rooster in his hands. Eventually, the watched feeling came. Elliott was so used to it that the chill hardly even registered. It was just eyes on him, now, no longer threatening or frightening.

For a moment, neither of them did anything. Nothing jumped out to attack him, and Elliott didn’t say a word. He never actually did. Eventually, he dropped the rooster onto the grass and turned back to the house, not even waiting to see if the creature would show itself.

The sun was finally wishing the horizon a farewell, sinking just under the trees as he’s finishing up the last of his rounds. Elliott tested the locks on the doors of the stalls to make sure they wouldn’t swing open and cast a long look at a cow sitting on the other side of one. She stared back at him. The scabs on her shoulders were just about gone, now, and her fur had grown over the little pink marks that’d been left behind. The rest of the cattle’s marks were just about the same. Nothing fresh.

Inside the Witt home, it was dark. There was still washing up he had to do in the big metal basin sat underneath the kitchen’s window. He probably wouldn’t get to until the next morning, so he pointedly kept his gaze away from there. He moved passed the old dining table that hadn’t seen use in years - mostly it was just full of tools he hadn’t moved back into the shed yet - and made his way toward the fireplace. Soon, the cold blue glow of the darkening sky was warmed by the slow starting flame. Elliott poked at it until he was thoroughly bored of watching sticks crumble into ash and was sure it wouldn’t smother itself.

With a heaving sigh he got back to his feet but didn’t go far, falling onto a wooden bench close to the fireplace. There were bigger and more comfortable places to sit, like the large wicker chair right beside him or the stool that had a pillow sewn onto it haphazardly, but Elliott had always sat on the bench. Maybe tomorrow, after he was done the cleaning, he’d move all the extra furniture out into the shed along with the tools on the dining room table. No use in having so many if he wasn’t using it. He didn’t get much company - none at all, really.

Elliott found himself staring at the book left on the seat of the wicker chair and doubted he’d even get around to doing the washing up.

Over the crackle of the fire, something thumped right outside the front door. Elliott straightened, twisted around to look toward the noise, and thought how weird it was to be thinking about never getting any visitors only to have one stop by. Or maybe the word was ironic.

But then he remembered the time and he held his breath to listen. There was no shuffling of someone on his porch and no knocking on his door. If someone rode all the way out to the Witt’s Farm after sundown it’d be for an emergency, so there was no real good reason for the stranger to be quiet.

Slowly, Elliott stood. Avoiding the floorboards that creaked, he crossed the room toward the door and picked up the rifle he’d left there. The silence was deafening and ringing with the dreadful thought of how he might actually be going crazy. Then, the idea of Elliott opening the door and finding nothing at all was almost as terrifying as opening it and revealing the shadow from the hen house. Had he actually heard something? Was there really something in his woods? What if he went outside to the coop and all of the lost chickens would be accounted for? What if the marks on the cows had healed so fast because they’d never been marked in the first place?

Elliott put his hand on the doorknob, sucked in a breath, held it, then twisted it and pulled it open. The door’s creak seemed like a wail in the empty night - because that’s what it was. Empty. No one standing at his stoop, no shadow perched on his railing ready to strike.

Nothing but the rooster he’d left at the trees, untouched and dropped carelessly at his door.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, Elliott narrowed his eyes down at it and felt angry. Maybe it was the sleep he was losing, the constant worrying, the loneliness - or maybe he actually was losing his mind. Whatever it was, it was enough to have him bend over, snatch up the bird, and stomp down onto the path toward the trees. When he got there, he still said nothing, but that time he didn’t even wait around. Elliott just tossed the bird back onto the grass where he’d left it the first time and turned to storm away, ignoring the petulant feeling that rose at the display.

He made it about four yards before something hit the dirt behind him. He froze without looking back and grit his teeth.

“Alright, you sumbitch.”

Annoyed, he faced the trees again, passing the bird on the road. That chill was back. Instead of stopping him, have him think twice, it only achieved in making the anger thrumming around in his chest burn defiantly brighter.

Two indigo flames held his gaze when Elliott noticed them, dimmer than the last time he saw them. They regarded him with disinterest and that alone had him nearly seething.

“I’m tired of playing this game you’re havin’ with me,” he snapped. The shadow might have raised a brow at him, but with how dark it was Elliott couldn’t be sure. It didn’t say anything, so the question - the one he’d been wondering since that night - burst out of him. “Why haven’t you just killed me yet?”

Now the eyes moved, turning in a way that told Elliott that the creature had tilted its head. But still, the silence. Slowly, it looked down at the rifle Elliott had nearly forgotten about, pointedly, then back up at him. Elliott heard it hit the ground in the next second, which is how he learned that he himself tossed it aside.

Something that was smothered by the heat of the moment whispered to him, You sleep deprived idiot, just what in the hell are you doing?

What he said out loud was, “Do it, then. Nothin’s stopping you, so do it.”

The shadow did nothing; not a sound, not a movement.

Elliott heard his own breathing over the gentle breeze and wondered why it was so slow. He’d seen the speed the creature had moved at and his only protection was too many paces away. If it wasn’t planning on killing him, the anticipation should have been. But he was calm, staring demise dead in its lightning blue eyes, fists clenched at his sides.

The thought of it being incapable of speech occurred to him, but with the way it watched him, Elliott didn’t find it likely. Despite how inhuman they were, there was sentience behind the shadow’s gaze. Maybe too much for something that fed on blood. It looked at Elliott and he felt that it was capable of telling him exactly what it wanted to with a stare alone - all that and more. It was a heavy kind of thing to know. Elliott realized he had a hard time looking away, so when he managed it he didn’t dare look again.

“Just, get - get out of here.” He started making his way back - and didn’t look at the damned rooster again, either. “Leave me alone and terrorize some other poor bastard’s chickens.”

Coward, he thought, but didn’t know who it was directed to.

----=----

The next morning, Elliott woke up to one less crowing and his rifle propped up on the porch railing outside.

Something in the woods still watched him.

----=----

A few days passed until he saw the shadow again. Elliott was leaving the hen house and had thrown a look up at the sky to gauge the time, sighed at the moon, and turned to shut the wired gate behind him. When he turned around, a figure that definitely had not been there before stood in the path in front of him.

He gasped and sent himself back in a fit of shock, back slamming up against the shed. He scowled once he realized what - or, rather, who it was, but that was gone in the next second, too. The shadow’s posture was still one of casual disinterest; hands in pockets, shoulders relaxed, and expression blank if not aloof. But it was different, Elliott was sure. The skin, while always having been pallid, took a different tone, now, one that was qualmish and almost sickly. And the eyes - the eyes hardly even glowed.

It looked more like a ghost than a shadow.

“What’s wrong?” He asked - and why was he even concerned? It hadn’t tried to kill him yet, sure, but it was responsible for taking out almost a quarter of his chickens.

True to a pattern, the creature said nothing, however, it did give a meaningful look into the shed behind Elliott. When its gaze returned, he could see how its throat worked around a swallow.

“Are - “ Elliott looked back at the hen house as if to check to make sure that was what the shadow had looked at. “Are you asking me to - “ He cut himself off again, but pointed into the house.

It narrowed its eyes at the incredulous inflection in Elliott’s voice but did not say no.

The whistling of grass is the only sound for a long moment as a cool night’s breeze moved over the fields, Elliott at a loss for words. As the wind washed over him, chilling him that much further, he could see the creature’s nostrils flare minutely, and this time when its throat moved it was around a rumbling noise. From the base of its chest it traveled up and out as that familiar trill. It filled Elliott with a sense of urgency, one he couldn’t really explain.

He was torn. It was strange to be asked such a thing, but he supposed he should be grateful of the fact that it was asking at all. But how was he even supposed to answer? As far as Elliott knew, none of his chickens survived. He’d never found markings on them, they would just disappear. With the colder seasons approaching, he really couldn’t afford to lose any more of his livestock.

The cows, though, they’d apparently survived a few run-ins with the shadow.

Elliott looked over to the stables and felt shameful the second he did. Was he really considering it? Other than the fast healing punctures on their necks or shoulders, there had been no real changes in their behavior or health. The morning he’d find the marks on them, they’d appear nonplussed. But what if it hurt them? What if the experience was traumatic in a way Elliott couldn’t see?

Then again, could he really afford to deliberate on this? In that moment, with the shadow looking at him expectantly, it seemed to be between Elliott and the cows. Really, the choice was an easy one, but he was still allowed to feel guilty.

“Follow me,” he told the shadow.

As the temperature steadily declined throughout the days, Elliott had started rounding the cows up into the stables more often. It got too cold at night , and he didn’t want to give the cows a chance to catch an illness. It meant waking up earlier to give them more time to graze but it was safer. While he was unlocking the paneled door to the stables Elliott thought that maybe that was the reason he was losing more chickens. It was harder to get through a locked door without raising suspicion than it was kidnapping a few birds and letting the farmer’s blame fall onto coyotes.

The shadow didn’t make a noise but when Elliott turned, it was standing right behind him, nose wrinkled a little at the intense smell of animal and dirt. He didn’t jump that time. He picked up the unlit lantern he’d left behind on the stacked bales of hay, lighting it fast and hung it on the rung in between two of the stall doors. Inside one of them, the dull eyes of a cow shimmered and regarded him blankly. Elliott drug the door open and stepped inside next to her, touching at the glittering wet nose and felt her hot breath huff against his hand in recognition.

“It doesn’t - there’s no - it - it’s not gonna hurt her too much, is it?” Elliott couldn’t help but ask. Now, he expected a nonverbal answer so he looked back to shadow for it, finding more whites in its eyes and the stoic expression looking cheaper. It wasn’t watching him anymore, purely focused on the cow Elliott was petting at nervously.

It stepped closer, into the stall, and Elliott watched as the cow’s head tipped up apprehensively. The huffing of her breathing got a little bit faster and Elliott heard himself shushing her lowly, scratching around the longer scruff by her ears. He couldn’t imagine he was helping too much, but the only thing she did when he saw the shadow disappear around her other side was let out a small grunt of displeasure.

Time passed; the only sound came from his and the cow’s breathing and the brisk wind rattling the wood of the barn. Elliott kept up his attempt at comfort, watching her face intently, and was surprised to find her calm once again. Slowly, he stepped away, gauging her reaction at the movement but didn’t get one.

He moved back into the base of the barn and heaved up one of the metal buckets he’d filled with grain. It was a favor he’d done for himself that night to save himself some time when he woke up to feed them, but he figured that the cow deserved some special treatment. Elliot brought it over to her front and held it right under her nose for her to sniff out, knocking the handle out of her way and hugging it to his stomach due to the weight of it.

The cow’s ears twitched back and forth in contentment, dipping her snout into the grain and eating it by the mouthful. Relief coursed through him like the blood in his veins and Elliott felt himself smiling a little.

“Good girl,” he told her, to which he got very little in the way of a response.

The shadow straightened in a fluid movement, one Elliott watched with rapt attention. Even in just the few short minutes, there was an excruciatingly apparent change in the creature. The intensity of its eyes returned, their brightness amplifying its now fuller features and adding more color to the porcelain-looking skin - it was the most human Elliott had seen him.

“You were starving,” Elliott muttered with a voice awed in his realization. He thought back to the look the shadow had given the cow before and identified it now as a pained and feral sort of hunger. “Why didn’t you just take the damned rooster?”

The creature wiped the cow blood off of wet lips and had the audacity to look at Elliott like he was the disgusting one. Before he could remark on that, prove to the other how backwards that was, the shadow’s mouth opened and for the first time, he spoke. In a voice that was low and smooth, with layers upon layers of something deep and new to Elliott threading through the syllables, he simply stated, “It was dead.”

Elliott sputtered, a little dumbstruck. “So?”

The shadow’s eyes narrowed into a disbelieving glare. “It was dead for a long time.”

“You’re gettin’ partipu - pertil - picky about what blood you’re drinking, now?”

If he were being frank, Elliott wasn’t sure why he was antagonizing the shadow. He’d been merciful so far in not maiming him. And Elliott couldn’t exactly say that if he’d left something out for the hours the rooster had been sitting, he would drink it, either.

But surely drinking blood wasn’t enjoyable in any sense.

Elliott pulled the bucket out from under the cow. Some feed stuck to the wetness of her nose which she cleaned off with a few swipes of her tongue. “I guess we’re done here,” Elliott said to her, but mostly to the shadow.

The shadow that had since disappeared from the stables.

Sighing, Elliott replaced the now three quarters filled bucket with the others as he shook his head. “Guess we are.”

----=----

They weren’t, but Elliott had expected that much.

Every other night, now, when Elliott was finishing his rounds he caught sight of the shadow leaning against the barn doors like it was an arrangement they’d agreed on. He’d finish locking up and meet him there where he’d open the doors and wave the shadow inside, direct him to one of the seven cows, and pretended it wasn’t abnormal. Every farmer had an odd case; a pair of horses that only fed at a specific time of day, cattle that grazed exclusively on the left side of the pasture, a herding dog that befriended and mothered ill lambs.

Elliott’s odd case was a vampire, but it was fine. Every farmer had an odd case. Some odder than others.

Things started to change on the evening Elliott had just left the stables unlocked. One of the pen’s posts had crumbled from age and the fences around it sagged too close to the dirt. It was a reminder that he’d have to put work into replacing them before the winter, or else he’d have a lot more work come spring. Like the dishes in the basin and the extra furniture still in the front of his house, that was a problem for tomorrow’s Elliott. He’d just repair the broken one for now.

He was just testing out the sturdiness of the new post when he noticed that the shadow was standing behind him. By then he was so used to the minor jump scares that he only just barely lost the hammer in his grip. It thumped onto the old, rotten fence post he’d left laying there and landed quietly in the grass.

“Lord - Jesus - Chri - you gotta stop doing that,” he told the shadow, hand over his heart.

Silence from the shadow. He’d gone back to his quiet pledge, not having spoken since their very short conversation in the stables.

Elliott was used to that, too, so shook his head and leaned down to pick up the hammer and the post. He could leave it to dry out on his porch, break it apart further and use it for tinder later. “I left the barn open,” he said when he saw that the shadow was still standing there.

“I know,” the shadow responded. Something flashed in his eyes, probably on account of how fast Elliott snapped up to look at him, not having expected an answer. It was some kind of struggle, Elliott imagined, because his mouth opened a second before he said anything. “Thank you.”

Elliott’s eyes widened. “I - uh. Y-yeah, you’re welcome. It’s fine. It’s - y’know, it’s better than you killing my chickens.”

That flash of something struck again. Elliott wanted to apologize. He genuinely didn’t want to offend the shadow, and he might have actually done it if he didn’t speak before him. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

And that would have been smart, wouldn’t it? Letting the town know about the blood drinker in their woods. They could have helped Elliott a few dead birds earlier, rounded up enough of them for a search party - if they even believed him in the first place. But that would have involved killing the shadow, or running him off, and Elliott didn’t really enjoy the idea of that. In some kind of morbid way, through all of the heart-pounding meetings and stress-induced nightmares, he kind of liked the company. He’d probably miss it if it were gone.

Besides, the nightmares were really nothing new.

Still, he decided he wasn’t going to tell the other that. He just grinned, leaned up against the freshly repaired fence - very sturdy -  and said, “I think I’ve got you handled.”

The shadow’s brow rose and he looked Elliott up and down, then finally back up again. “No,” is all he said.

The smile dropped from Elliott’s face but he didn’t say anything more on that, because, unfortunately, the shadow was being very fair. “Right, well,” he muttered, pushing off the fence. He was ready for bed. “Have a good night, then.”

“Are you Witt?” He was asked after a few paces.

Elliott paused, turned around slowly. “How’d you know about that?”

“I listen,” the shadow stated simply.

Looking around acres of empty land, Elliott wondered, to who? “Yeah, I - well, I’m one of them. Witt’s my last name, so there’s… Well, there’s been a few Witts.”

The other’s head cocked to one side. “Which Witt are you?”

The only one, really. “I’m Elliott.”

The shadow nodded, looking him over once more. “Good night, Elliott.”

All he did was stand there for a moment, blinking, too caught up on how his name sounded in the smooth whisper of the other’s voice. He’d never heard it be said like that before.

Then, finally, his brain caught up.

“Hey, wait,” he called, despite the shadow not having moved an inch. “That’s not very fair, now is it? I don’t get to know your name?”

He wouldn’t exactly say that the shadow was the teasing sort, but it did take numerous weeks to get a decent two-sided conversation out of him. Mostly, Elliott expected the same response from before. Another ‘no’ before he disappeared for a few nights again.

“Tae Joon,” was what he got, though.

Elliott tried it out for himself. “Tae Joon.”

The shadow’s head tilted further.

Elliott smiled, tipped his hat. “You have a good night, Tae Joon.”

He shifted the wooden post around for easier carrying and put his back to the shadow, knowing that if he turned around now he probably would find empty air. It was fine. Elliott knew he’d see him soon.

=====

yyyyeaahh this is what i’ve been putting off prompts for BIG oof :^(((( 

not sure when i’ll finish the rest of it tbh but here’s this for now i guess 

[ragdollrory]

Smoothed by water

It was not Azula’s usual place, to be standing on the room’s side, doing her best to blend in with the background, and avoid stares. At least it hadn’t been, before. Now, with a lot of people still unsure of whether or not she should be free- with her own doubts about it- and particularly now, at the south, she was better off avoiding those who probably wanted her anywhere but in their land.

She was aware of the imposition she was to her brother, having come to this trip with him, because her fire could be blocked by lovely platinum cuffs at her wrists, but her title was very much intact. Azula was still the nation’s Princess, and as such, protocol asked she be here tonight, about to dine with the tribe’s Chief and his son, in the man’s own home. Agni had been merciful enough though, to spare her from having to share the evening with the waterbender as well. Now that would’ve ended poorly, most likely than not.

“Most of them are from hunting trips.” Chief Hakoda's voice startled Azula from her inspection of a bookcase, and the many things crammed in there. It was mostly scrolls and books, but there were also a lot of small trinkets she couldn’t tell what they stood for, although they looked important, traditional. She figured that was what the man was referring to.

“Others are gifts from other nations and towns. This one-” He picked up a small gold piece she was familiar with, running a thumb over its smooth surface. “This one was from your brother.” Azula nodded, but didn’t dare open her mouth to respond, as the man stood next to her. He was tall, broad, and his eyes were intimidating, so hers moved back to the bookcase. 

“You can pick any of them up.” Hakoda offered, and his deep voice sounded gentle enough. Her hands pushed deeper into her coat’s pockets, lest she took it upon his offer and touched anything. She was unwanted guest after all.

Azula felt his presence still by her side. His eyes were on her, and shifted on her feet, unsure on what to do. This had not been her first choice, by any means. If it were by her wishes, then she’d be in her room with a book, and Zuko would be here alone. But he’d been having many long trips as of late, and the palace was growing emptier each time her brother left. Its walls tall and overwhelming, and the darkness lurking behind the heavy curtains unbearable. She’d barely managed to sleep at all, last time he left to one of the temples.

“This one's from the northern tribe.” The Chief’s voice cut through the silence once more, and this time she turned to look up at him. 

“Why are you talking to me?” Azula’s voice was low, cautious, but tinged with curiosity. “If this is about protocol, then it’s okay, I don’t mind about it. You can go with them-” Her eyes moved to the opposite end of the room where Zuko and the Councilman were entertained with some papers on a table. “I’ll be fine.”

For a moment, the man seemed to be considering her words, evaluating her seriousness maybe, the tension in her jaw, and the way she couldn’t stop blinking under his blue gaze. And then he smiled, and Azula frowned, not bothering in hiding her confusion anymore.

“I don’t want your pity either.” She hurried to clarify, nails digging on her palms within the coat, shoulders tense. Hakoda’s eyes dropped briefly with a breathy chuckle, and when he looked up, there was a softness in them she’d not anticipated. It was alien, and disarming, and she looked back to the bookcase.

“You know, Katara used to look at me like that a lot when she was little. Confused, sulking. Way before I left to fight-” And still the man kept on talking, it seemed he’d gotten sentimental now. Azula looked at him on the side, unsure of what to do with being compared with his daughter, surely the girl wouldn’t like it. But this was his home, so there was not much she could do about it. “She’d ask questions I couldn’t answer, things that weren’t for a kid to know, and she’d hate it when I changed the conversation on her.”

“You’re doing it now.” Azula stated, flatly. “And I’m not a child.” Even if she sounded a bit like one right now.

“No, you’re not, you’re right. Twenty-four makes you very much an adult in any nation, Princess.” She thought kindness sounded in his voice, making her lips tighten into a fine line. “But I’m sure my answer would still not be all that pleasant for you. Although I can say it’s not pity, and it’s definitely not protocol either.”

She nodded once more, having nothing much to add to his vague answer. Her eyes moved to a decorated arrowhead. “What about this one?” She asked, voice small, hesitant, and thought she saw him smile.

“That one is something Sokka brought home one day, found it in the snow. He added the symbols himself, said one day it would be a family relic.” 

“That is old water tribe language. I’m not sure I know them all though.” Azula analyzed the inscriptions for a moment, cocking her head to the side to catch a spiralled one she didn’t recognize.

Hakoda laughed softly. “Some. Others are just invented by him, I think he was maybe four when he designed them, let me see…” A finger went on pointing to the different figures. “This one is Tui, and here is La. 

“Then there’s the wolf, and the seal, this one I can’t remember what he said it was. Oh, here- this little one is water, and this is the sun. Agni to you.” He finished with a smile to her, and Azula found herself answering to it with a twitch at the corner of her lips.

“I imagine you know the old Fire Nation’s language, yes?” Hakoda asked, hands working through a mess of scrolls piled in no apparent order, at the bottomost shelf. He came back up with a very old looking one, a faded red thread kept it closed. “This- was brought to the tribe many years ago, and it has been in the power of every tribe Chief ever since. The issue is, no-one knows how to read it.” He handed it over, an encouraging nod for her to take it.

Azula was careful to pull the knot, and roll it out, eyes scanning the old writing, and a full smile finally breaking through her face. She laughed before she was able to stop it, and could see Zuko’s head perking up in attention from the corner of her eye. Looking back up, she found the Chief’s expectant face.

“This is a recipe.” She handed the parchment over, shaking her head in amusement. His heavy brows knitted together over the writing, surprise evident in his expression. “It seems some Chieftess asked for the current Fire Lady’s fruit tarts recipe. I’m sorry it’s not some ancient secret, but those are actually very good, I’m sure you’ve had them when you visited the palace.”

Hakoda seemed completely bewildered, as if he’d been lied to about the existence of snow, or the moon, and then warm laughter poured from his lips, and he wiped a few tears from the corner of his eyes. Azula found she didn’t mind talking to him that much after all.

“I can’t believe it, all these years and it was a fruit tart.” The scroll was left forgotten on a random shelf. She shrugged, a smile still playing on her lips at the absurdity of it all. At how nice it had felt to make him laugh.

“What about this one?” Azula pointed to a small stone carved to imitate a leaf.

“That one is from the Swamp people. They use the water to shape the stone, much like nature does.”

“It’s beautiful.” Azula traced the leaf’s nerve before she realised her hand moving, and was quick to remove it.

“It is. You can take it.” He said, as if it were nothing, as if she wasn’t who she was. And when she turned to him once again, his eyes were so damned blue and sad, sitting on her hesitant hand.

And she couldn’t ask, because now she understood why he told her that about his daughter’s questions. Because the way he was looking at her was much like the way Zuko did, and she could barely handle her brother’s answers as it was. 

And before she could retreat to the coat, he took the leaf and put it on her hand, and Azula just stood there, petrified, with her hand between the Chief’s.

“It smells like the food is almost done.” He gave her hand a little squeeze before releasing it with a reassuring smile. “You can keep the coat on, okay? It’s always a bit chilly for you firebenders here.”

“Thank you.” It was all she could manage, and even then, the last word left her lips broken. He only shook his head, as if nothing where the matter, as if this were a common occurrence for him. And just like that he left to check on the food he’d been preparing.

After what felt like forever, Azula could tear her eyes from the stone leaf, and put it in her pocket to go sit down next to Zuko.

“Everything alright?” He turned to her offering a glass of something, his voice was low, but his concern terribly loud. She felt like crying for the second time in just a minute.

“Yeah, I just-” She glanced over to the fire. I just met a father, were what her lips refused to form. That she’d seen a tiny glimpse of what she’d never had, and now wanted to go drown herself in alcohol, and self-pity, and the cold sea. “Yes.” She repeated, managing a smile to quiet down Zuko’s worried eyes. “The Chief gave me a present, that’s all.”

“That sounds nice of him.” Her brother commented with an all too knowing smile, leaning to brush lips on her forehead. Azula nodded, fingers playing with the rock through the fabric of the coat. Dinner sounded a little bit better now.

[thdorkmagnet]

Starco Wedding: Perfect

Hey everyone! So yeah I decided to go ahead and post a chapter or two of some other stuff while I finish up Chapter 14. This one was originally for my Starcoweek5 prompts but I think it works as a stand alone story. Basically you can probably guess what is happening here. It’s the biggest day of Star and Marco’s lives and Marco has gone above and beyond to make this the perfect wedding for him and Star. This is about as fluffy as I could possibly get, until probably my next chapter, hehehehe.

Please enjoy and have some tissues ready, this is one of those chapters that tugs at those heartstrings. 

Check out my other stuff over on Fanfiction! 

Disclaimer: Star vs and all its characters are owned by Daron Nefcy and Disney. All rights go to them.

“Today was supposed to be perfect,” Marco mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes before kicking his opponent back, ignoring the scuff he created on his nice dress shoes. At this point his tux was ruined anyways, covered in dirt and rips from the intense battle that was taking place. The warrior Marco was fighting growled, before rising back to his feet, charging at him with a raised sword. Marco just dodged easily out of the way, hitting him in the back and knocking the enemy out cold. “Why do things never go my way?” the boy asked the sky.

The day had started off wonderfully, too, the day both he and Star had been waiting for when they would finally take each others hand in marriage and seal their love forever. Since Marco had proposed to her (earning him lots of tears and kisses from his future wife) the young man had been planning the perfect wedding for them. He admitted he had gone overboard a bit: selecting the perfect day, the perfect place, the best flowers in Earth-ni, the most delicious cake money could afford, the works. But that was only because he wanted everything to be just right when he married the woman of his dreams. This was going to be the most special and amazing day of his life, he wanted it to be one to remember.

Star hadn't seemed as invested in the planning, only pitching in an idea here and there with varying levels of success with her finance, like when he had to hesitantly and gently remind his love that warnicorns were wild and dangerous animals and probably shouldn't be used to pull any of the carriages, especially when cars would suffice just fine. Mostly Star seemed to leave the planning to Marco, squealing and showing off her ring to all her friends and even some strangers, bragging about the fact that she was going to marry her Marco, which ceased to cause the man to blush bright red.

But Marco didn't mind that Star had taken a step back from the planning, after all he could handle it just fine on his own and he wanted to surprise her with most perfect wedding this world had ever seen.

And at the start of the day it seemed like that was exactly what he had gotten. As the proceedings began, things had started off well, the selected church looking like something out of a fairy tale, its halls gleaming with light and coated in beautiful white roses. Marco was overjoyed to see the seats filling up with the loving faces of Marco and Star's friends and family (as well as some news crew who were determined not to miss out on the “wedding of the century”) and he couldn't help but smile at every familiar face he saw.

The proceeding as well, went off without a hitch, as the gentle, peaceful melody from Ruberiot set the tone perfectly as the flower girls started their walk down the aisle. Or in the case of the four year olds, Mari and Meteora, it was more like ran down the aisle throwing flower petals up in the air and even sometimes at each other giggling away, making the whole crowd smile and awe at the young girls antics. Marco shook his head as he watched his sister and her best friend take their spots at the front, Mariposa waving over at him eagerly and he gave her a small wave back.

But all thoughts after that were forgotten, as the music suddenly changed and he looked across the hall just as the woman of his dreams stepped into view. He froze filled with so much love and joy at that second that he could barely breath and his best man, Tom, had to put a hand on his back to keep him from falling over as he swayed unevenly on his feet. He drank in every inch of her appearance, reveling in the soft white dress that flowed beautifully and gracefully off of his wife-to-be, admiring how perfectly the dress held her small frame in just the right ways and how the faded pink hearts that decorated the bottom were a nice and adorable touch. She had on long, pure white gloves that ran past her elbows and made a heart shape at the end. And a wedding veil that flowed down her golden blond hair, which had been curled delicately at the ends.

Her piercing blue eyes and loving smile matched his own as she almost glided down the aisle, held in the tight and loving embrace of her father, Marco only breaking off the stare for an instant to give a quick, grateful smile to Moon, for somehow convincing her barbarian husband to re-dawn a fancy suit for the event, which she returned warmly.

After that, all else faded into the background, the music and chatter fading into a dull barely audible sound, the crowd of faces vanishing as his Star became the center of his universe once more, right where she belonged. He hung on her every movement, on every twinkle in her eye, every step that she took, not one detail of his lovely wife leaving his sight.

When she finally reached him, they just stared at each other, for what felt like an eternity, just like they had the day they had gotten together, when their worlds had forever cleaved together. “Hey,” Star muttered, the love on her face and tone unmistakable to the boy.

“Hey,” Marco replied, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

It was Tom who had broken through this moment, as he loudly cleared his throat, drawing the two back to reality as they took their place in front of Queen Eclipsa, standing beside one another, waiting to hear their vows as the older woman began. But as the ceremony continued, no one was aware of a creeping evil lurking just outside. And this evil decided to rear its ugly head just as Star and Marco were about to declare their vows, the doors to bursting open loudly, drawing everyone's attention to the entrance, eyes widening and mouths dropping open in fear.

There stood none other than Mina Loveberry, wanted criminal of Earth-ni, with a group of rebel warriors behind her, all with hatred directed on the royal family and, more importantly, Star and Marco, all determined to make the couple pay by destroying their cherished day.

Marco had known that many Mewmans and even humans had never adjusted to the new world Star and Marco had unintentionally created, resenting them greatly for destroying magic and then forcing their worlds to merge into one, but he hadn't realized how far they would go to get revenge until right then, when the two lovers became a target of retaliation.

The room was quickly stormed with enemies and the peaceful wedding scene became an all out battle. Which was where Marco was now, fighting warrior after warrior that came his way, which was fairly easy, none of them a match for his impressive set of skills honed after years upon years of training. The real blow for Marco was from the disappointment he felt, his perfect moment ruined, stolen from him by a bunch of petty, narrow-minded jerks who were too stuck in their ways to see the good their change had brought. Marco knocked another one of these said jerks back with a swing of his sword, before looking to see how everyone else was faring in their fights.

Tom was currently lighting everyone in range on fire, Janna helping the process along by spraying the shaken bottle of wine at the burning opponents. Buff Frog was holding his own against at least four of the angry Mewmans, his daughter Katrina lending her father support as she showed off her own skills in battle, side by side with her dad. Pony was stabbing at them with her horn, making sure to be in good view of her camera as she did, looking as brave and dramatic as possible and Marco couldn't help but roll his eyes as he blocked a sword with his own.

Eclipsa and Globgor were holding there own against a large group of enemies as well, the royal couple fighting as one, so in sync with each other that Marco couldn't help but smile. River had gone all out barbarian ripping off his suit and beating them all senseless with his bare hands. Even Mariposa and Meteora were using their small forms to trip their opponents and knock them off balance. Many others knights and friends were lending their help in the fight, as well, while everyone else was hiding as best as they could from the danger, Moon directing many of them away and out of harm's way, thus giving the more confident fighters as much space as possible for their battle. Marco's eyes, however, were now searching for someone else in the crowd, his heart pounding in fear as he scanned the room for the love of his life and nearly sighed out loud when he finally spotted her.

Star was in the middle of karate kicking her opponent in the face, a look of such hate and anger that Marco almost felt sorry for whoever had to go up against his beautiful fiance. Though he wouldn't be lying if her graceful yet intense display of fighting skills didn't make his heart flutter. She looked so confident and gorgeous even in her ruined wedding dress, which was also getting torn up from all the fighting. Still Marco silently thanked himself for instructing Star in karate because, wow, did she look amazing while kicking bad guy butt.

This brought a new fire to the young man's soul, as he was reminded of how much he loved his Star and how angry he was at being prevented from taking her as his wife. He roughly grabbed a charging warrior by the collar yelling, “Why did you guys have to attack us today?! Seriously any other day wouldn't have been better?”

The villain sneered at the young man, spitting out, “Because we wanted to destroy your chance at happiness, Marco Diaz. You and your fiancee both will know what it's like to lose everything you cherished, to have your whole world torn apart!”

Marco growled, his hand tightening its hold on his sword. “That was over four years ago, why can't you people just let that go and move on already? Why do you have to destroy the best moment of my life just for petty, pointless revenge?!”

The young man was so lost in his own anger and too distracted yelling in the face of his smug opponent that he didn't see Mina coming up behind him, a sword raised in strike.

“Marco, look out!” came a familiar scream as the Latino turned to see Star kick Mina right in the jaw, sending her stumbling backward. But she didn't lose hold on her sword, as she just charged Star again with a crazed look in her eye. The blond easily dodged the swing, before Marco parried the blow and kicked the insane woman off of her feet. But Mina started to recover, rising back onto her feet, only to be attacked by a furious and unstoppable Globgore, who yelled, “You stay away from those two!” Eclipsa soon joined in as well, helping her husband to take on the once proud warrior.

Star and Marco panted for a moment, as they watched Mina struggle to hold off the royal couple on her own, before turning back to one another, Star asking in worry, “Marco, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine Star,” Marco replied with a reassuring and grateful smile. “Thanks for the save back there.”

“Anytime,” Star said cheerfully. But seeing an enemy fast approaching she yelled, “Incoming!” The two dodged the violent swing, before punching him back as one. The two were quickly surrounded by more opponents as they fought them off as a team but Star seemed to notice something was off with her boyfriend as she asked with a worried frown, “Marco, what's wrong?”

“I'm sorry, Star,” he quickly blurted out, dodging underneath a sword swing before hitting them as hard as he could with the blunt end of his sword, knocking them back and into more enemies. “I wanted out wedding to be perfect but now everything is ruined!”

“What, are you kidding? This is the most fun I've had all year!” Star declared, kicking her enemy in the side and knocking him over. “And I ain't letting this silly old fight get in the way of being with the man I love. So,” she continued, before quickly jumped over to Marco's side, surprising him as she took his hand tightly in her own. “Why don't we just get married right here?”

“Wait, now?!” Marco yelled in shock. “But we're in the middle of a fight!”

“Yeah but, everyone is here and afterwords their all gonna be too tired and everything, not to mention the police report.” Star explained, sounding annoyed. “And we'll end up having to wait until another day. And I don't know about you but, I don't want to wait.”

“Well no but-”

“Marco Diaz do you want to marry me or not!” Star shouted and Marco instantly answered, “No I do, I do!”

The loving smile returned to Star's pretty face as she gave his hand a tight squeeze, adding, “Then, what do you say? Let's get married right now.”

Marco took in a shaky breath, before nodding determinedly. “Okay, let's do it.”

Star smiled before directing her attention to the acting queen. “Hey, Eclipsa! Can you do us a favor and marry us?” the blond shouted.

“Now!” Eclipsa's panted voice asked in shock.

“Yeah, right now, we want to be married!” Marco yelled back.

“Oh very well then,” Eclipsa said with no hesitation, clearing her throat before saying, “Do you Star Butterfly take Marco Ubaldo Diaz to be your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and-”

“No, no, read the thing I gave you, remember?” Star interrupted, Marco looking over at her in confusion, before immediately having to direct his attention back on the fight. “What thing?” he asked, punching a warrior directly in the face.

“Your not the only one who made plans,” Star replied, with a knowing wink.

“Oh right, of course,” the queen of darkness replied, before searching her dress for something, finally finding the small slip of paper, hidden in one of the many pockets of the formal dress.

“Let's see now,” she muttered to herself, trying to regain her train of thought. “Oh, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to stand beside him through all the adventures that come...” Did Star write this? Marco wondered as the woman continued. “...to love and care for him even when he's being a royal doofus sometimes...”

Marco shot Star a small glare, who had a smug smile on her face. Yep she definitely wrote it. “...to promise to share the bed with him, even when he's hogging all the covers for himself...” The Latino blushed at this, nearly forgetting to block as a sword came far to close to stabbing him in the eye. “...to do whatever it takes to make him happy and smile...” The room let out a collective 'Awww' at that, all except the attempted assassins of course. This was when Star and Marco noticed that many of their family and friends had moved closer to the site of the battle, most of the warriors already defeated so it was safer to do so, watching as the impromptu wedding took place. “...but most importantly to be his very best friend as long as you both shall live.”

“I do!” Star exclaimed, breaking off the fight long enough, to pull Marco into a quick hug, making the young man smile ear to ear, so distracted by the blood rushing to his face that he almost didn't hear as Eclipsa began his vows.

“And do you Marco Ubaldo Diaz take Star Butterfly to be your lawfully wedded wife, to stand beside her in peace and in danger...” Marco's eyes got teared up as Eclipsa continued, his mind rushing back to so many years ago, reminded of the first time he had heard this speech, when he had knelt before his princess as she proclaimed him her royal squire. “...as her trusted equal and love...”  But now, they stood side by side facing the danger as one and that made tears of joy and emotion spill from his eyes, the young man barely able to see anything, as the knights took over the fighting, protecting the lovebirds as the vows were completed. “...to go clubbing with her even when you are too tired, to share your late night nachos but again, most importantly...” Star took Marco's hand tightly in her own, drawing his eyes onto her as she whispered the last part in sync with Eclipsa...  “to be her (my) very best friend as long as you both shall live.”

Star leaned in closer to the boy, now next to his ear, as she added in the softest tone Marco had ever heard, “Amen.”

The Latino was wiping the falling tears from his eyes with his sleeve, his sword long since clattering to the ground, as he replied with a barely repressed sob, “I do.”

Eclipsa nodded, saying, “Then we will need the rings.”

“On it!” Tom shouted from the corner of the room, shoving about three warriors out of his way, as he flew over to his two besties at a blazing speed, by the time he reached them he was panting for breath. He held out his hand, showing them their rings and they both took them eagerly smiling gratefully at Tom. They both took turns slipping the rings on, before holding each others hands again, eyes locked in a mixture of bright brown and blue.

Eclipsa gave them a soft smile, before looking over to see Mina and most of the warriors in chains and watching the couple with intense glares on their faces, guarded by Higgs and the other knights. She let out a quick sigh, glad the danger had passed for the young couple for now. And as her eyes drifted back to the young, smiling couple, looking lost in each others eyes, she was reminded of her and Globgore, wishing for the two to never suffer as they had in order to stay together as she said, “Then by the power vested in me as the Queen of Earth-ni, I now pronounce you, husband and wife. You may-”

But Star didn't wait for her to finish, as she pulled to her, planting a loving, passionate kiss to his lips, dipping him low, as he clung tightly onto her, drawing her in as close to himself as he could. “-kiss,” Eclipsa finished needlessly.

Clapping sounded around the room, cheers and shouts from Star and Marco's loved ones, as the two just revealed in the kiss, letting it go for as possible, their lips moving against one another in a dance. Both the Diaz's and Butterfly's were in tears, Rafael and River holding each other as they bawled their eyes out, while Moon and Angela just sniffed and wiped small tears from their eyes. Mari and Meteora were gagging, too young to understand the concept of kissing and love, mostly just finding it gross. And everyone else, Tom, Janna, Jackie, Starfan13, Pony Head, Ferguson, Alfonso, Buff Frog, and many others were all just clapping and smiling, glad to see their two friends finally married.

As the two finally broke away the kiss, they went back to just staring at each other lovingly, surrounded by everyone important to them, and Star asked, “So what did you think, Marco? I know it wasn't the wedding you planned but-”

Marco cupped Star's cheeks with both of his hands as he replied in a loving whisper, “It was perfect.”

And then the two went in for a shorter, but equally passionate kiss, pouring their love for one another into the breathless act. Once they parted, Star leaned her forehead against his own, staring deep into the chocolate brown orbs of her husband, as she said something that sent shivers of joy and anticipation spiraling down Marco's spine, as he wondered what her wife had been planning. “Just wait until you see the honeymoon.”  

And then the couple proceeded to have pillow fights, eat nachos until they were sick and rode wild warnicorns until they fell asleep cuddling with one another... haha, at least that's how I think the honeymoon went! So I hope you all liked, I know this wasn't a traditional fluffy wedding, since I turned it into an all out battle at one point... but I just didn't really want to write a perfect wedding where everything goes great and felt like this was a bit more fitting of our favorite couple. After all, when has anything with these two ever been normal. They enjoy the crazy, weirdness that is their life, so long as they have each other through it all!