#whether that’s a passing glance from a distance or even her being close to coming under his blades

[ellieslittlewh0re]

HELP PALESTINE dono links, educate yourself, how to help

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝒇𝒊𝒏.

₊˚ପ⊹ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝖮𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖱𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖶𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝖠𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

₊˚ପ⊹ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒.

₊˚ପ⊹ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗉 (𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝟥𝟢'𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝟣𝟫-𝟤𝟤 𝗂𝗌𝗁) 𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗒, 𝗌𝗎𝖻 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗀𝖾 (𝗋!𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 (𝗋!𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀) 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾, 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝖼𝗄/𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗄, 𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝖻𝖼 𝗂𝖽𝖼 𝗅𝗈𝗅

𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝟣 - 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝟤 - 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝟥

Another couple of weeks came and went.

Abby still kept her distance, and you did what you were hired to do.

The first weekend after the kiss was painfully, and irrevocably delicate. With her son being away at his dad’s, and Abby not being able to hide away at work, there was no distractions, which only made it worse.

You two would dance around each other, trying your best to look the other way when passing each other in the halls or in the kitchen, but her eyes would linger when you weren’t looking.

It felt like you were tormenting her with your short skirts and your sheer, tight-fitting tops.

How could she NOT look?

She started to feel like she deserved it for leaving you on the bed that day, all breathless, and heavy eyelids, weighed down by lust.

Abby thought she was doing it for the right reasons, you know… not mixing work with play, but over the past few days, she realized it wasn’t that at all.

She wanted to be prepared.

So while you were taking care of her son, feeding him, bathing him, and teaching him how to spell his own fucking name, she was out buying a strap to fuck you with.

Whether she was going to go through with it or not, she wasn’t sure.

But her time to decide was running out. It was the weekend again, the house quiet and clean, which means you weren’t busy, and neither was she.

It was one of those evenings where you could hear the crickets chirping from the tree line that surrounded the house, fireplace lit and dim.

You were sitting on the bed of your room, which became your more preferred hanging out spot since the kiss, not wanting to face the possibility of a more straightforward rejection from Abby.

And Abby was in the kitchen, two empty glasses in front of her, and her palms face down in the counter.

This is so stupid, she kept telling herself, her eyes glancing between the glasses and the bottle of liquor.

She poured some into one, and brought the rim to her lips, swallowing all of it with the tilt of her head.

Has it really come down to needing liquid courage to face you? Yes. Yes it has, but not because she was scared or nervous. She had a good thing going with you here, and didn’t want to scare you off or taint the image of her you had in your head.

She wanted to live up to your expectations.

For Abby, even if things didn’t go in that direction tonight, and instead became more of a peace offering to be in your good graces again, the anxiety felt worth it.

So, she poured more into her glass, and put it back, but not before getting out a more palatable alcohol from the cabinet, and rummaging through her fridge for a juice to mix it with.

She eyeballed as she poured a couple of shots into the empty glass and filled the rest with more pleasurable-tasting liquid, taking a deep breath as she grabbed the glasses from the counter and made her way to your room.

She tapped on the slightly opened door with the back of her knuckle, and waited for your response before pushing the door the rest of the way open.

“Hey,” She smiled, meeting your eyes, to which you happily greeted her back, closing the book you were previously reading and setting it down.

Her eyes widened, then furrowed, scanning her eyes down your body at the tank top, and shorts you were wearing.

“Shit, were you about to go to bed? I’m sorry.” Abby, once again, felt dumb. Of fucking course you were. It’s late, and she suddenly felt like she was intruding your space, momentarily forgetting that it was her fucking house, and you’re no different than a tenant.

But she never thought about it that way, at least, not since she first saw you.

“Wha-?” You looked down, and crossed your arms over your chest to hide whatever modesty you had left, “No, no…. It’s okay. I wasn’t.”

Good.

You scooted to the end of the bed, dropping your arm because hell, you wanted her to see.

You watched her eyes for a falter, a hint, anything, but they maintained contact with yours. You didn’t make it easy for her though, wearing clothes that left little to the imagination but covered just enough to have her feening, imagination running wild at the idea of undeniable access.

Abby cleared her throat, and extended her arm, “Made you something.”

You take the glass from her hand, giving her a confused smirk, and take a sip.

She sat down beside you a safe distance, but close enough that you could smell the pine aroma of her body soap.

“Better?” She asked, keeping the conversation light, and steering away of anything that might drive you away.

But you weren’t dumb, you knew she was only here to “clear the air”, but a part of you still held onto the hope she changed her mind.

“Much better.”

You continued to sip to fill the empty spaces between each nervous glance and chuckle, letting the alcohol warm you from the inside out, and Abby did the same.

Abby’s thumb twirled around the rim of her glass, looking down at the rippling surface before looking back up, “I’m sorry about the other day.” She spoke softly, and genuinely, her bottom lip pouting more prominently than it usually did.

“It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, it’s just-“ She paused, looking forward, and exhaled a deep breath, “You’re young. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

This caught you off guard, but it made perfect sense. Abby has always been respectful and cautious about the topic, but you also felt relief that it wasn’t as one-sided as you originally thought.

You weren’t being delusional after all.

The confirmation of her attraction towards you gave you a new sense of confidence. “How do you know I’m not the one taking advantage of you?” You asked in a hushed voice, sweet, crystallized sugar on your tongue as you leaned in, and shit-

Abby liked to think she had more of a backbone- a moral compass to help resist her temptations, but that flew out the window as soon as you did this.

Abbys eyes darkened, flickering between your parted lips before meeting your gaze, perhaps to get the go ahead signal from you but your lips were already on hers, which was good enough for her.

You’re pushed back slightly and let Abby’s tongue take control, her hand on your thigh and thumb vanishing under the hem of your shorts, squeezing the fat dangerously close to your cunt.

Her hand moved to your face, cradling the space between your cheekbone and neck, pulling you into her before breaking away, “Let’s move this to my room, yeah?” She breathed, her voice excreting an excitement that she tried hard to withhold, but it still found a way to remain firm like it wasn’t a question at all.

And all you could do was nod, head already fuzzy, and a feeling of sticky discomfort between your thighs.

Abby led you to her room, her hand in yours and your smaller strides following closely behind her larger ones.

You’re sat on the edge of the bed, and she kneels before you, never breaking eye contact. And honestly, you couldn’t look away even if the embarrassment and nauseating flutter in your stomach wanted to, being so captivated and eager to comply to her every demand.

Her hand followed the curve of your calf down before coming back up, and she rubbed her palms over the soft plush of your thighs, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.

Her lips grazed the inside of your knee, placing a gentle kiss, “Can I taste you?” She asked, so sweet that it could’ve been mistaken as asking to borrow a cup of sugar, but the reaction it had on your body (and your pussy) said otherwise.

An uncontrollable squeak emitted from your throat,

“Y-yes…”

Her hands squeezed the tops of your thighs, molding your flesh between calloused fingers before focusing on your waistband.

You lifted your ass as she tugged, pulling the pants down the length of your legs and past your ankles and dropping them to the floor.

“Oh my god-“ She groaned, marveling at the sight of your pretty pink panties, now made see-through with your own arousal, “All this from a few kisses? You’re dirtier than I thought.” She sneered, moving closer. And how hypocritical of her to say that when she’s not much better off at this point.

“Abby… please.” You whined, lifting your hips from the mattress in an attempt to find some relief.

Abby was also impatient, and as much as she wanted to take her time, treat you right, she also just simply wanted to please you.

She looped her finger behind the crotch of your panties and pulled it away from your cunt. You sucked in a sharp breath, sinking your weight back on your elbows, and squeezed the sheets between your fingers as she did this. The cold air hitting the new skin sends a chill across your limbs.

Something happened inside of Abby’s body. It’s one thing to see it, but to feel it?? Feeling the effect she had on your body- how wet you were, and how she could practically feel you try to suck her in even though she barely made it past the first knuckle… It was primal. A inextinguishable fire that kept burning brighter with each passing breath.

Your body is yanked down, ass pulled to the edge of the bed, and your thighs are thrown over her shoulders, her arms locking in around them.

You yelped at the sudden difference, looking down at her with a worried expression, but your head immediately falls back as her mouth encapsulates your clothed pussy.

You moaned, eyes disappearing into the back of your head.

She sucked, hallowing her cheeks around your bundle of nerves, and used her tongue to soak you through your panties with her spit.

Once again, she pulled the fabric down, tightening it flush with your cunt, and licked you through the ribbed cotton, letting your flavor seep into her mouth through the barrier.

But her patience was thinning. She needed to taste you properly, and she needed her hands free so she could hold your wriggling legs in place.

“I’m sorry�� Was all she said, and you didn’t even have time to process it before you felt a harsh yank against your hips and the sound of fibers tearing apart.

-

Inhale, exhale.

Your wines hoarse, mouth dry. Crescent-shaped indents carved into Abby’s forearms and hands from your nails that were desperately grabbing at her- overstimulated and clit throbbing after the third orgasm of the night.

And she hasn’t even fingered you yet.

Her mouth detaches, and you sigh a breath of relief, but even with her absence, an uncomfortable buzzing still lingered.

She came up, placing both hands on the beside your face, and kissed you, slipping her tongue inside to give you a taste of yourself still on her tongue.

She started kissing you down your neck and chest, one of her hands sliding underneath your shirt, “Can you handle more?” She asked, lips grazing the surface of skin above your collarbone.

Inhale, exhale.

“Y-yes.” You nodded, tightening your legs around her hips, pulling her in because even though you were ran dry, you still craved the pressure of her inside.

She connected her lips with yours, and her hand placed itself around your jaw, cradling it. It was slow, patient, but also overpowering, made you feel even smaller somehow.

She pulled away, her lips still ghosting over yours, “Good girl.”

She gets up and turns away, disappearing behind the bathroom door, and leaves it open a few inches before re-entering a short time later, except nothing could have prepared you for this.

Inhale, exhale.

Shiny leather straps hugged her hips, dipping around the backside of the boxers and accentuating her ass, accompanied by the black silicone standing between her legs, big enough that it suited her size, almost seeming natural on her.

Your cunt clenches, and your thighs rub together as she approached.

Inhale, exhale.

She climbed on top, and your legs immediately open for her, welcoming her between them, and wrapping around her backside.

She was already inside, sinking herself in a couple of centimeters at a time and pausing in between to give you time to adjust to the girth.

Inhale, exhale.

You whined, nails etching across her back, and she was quick to soothe you with another kiss, “We shouldn’t do this.” She breathed between pecks but made zero attempts to stop it- in fact, she snapped her hips forward, filling you up with the last of her until the base was flush with your cunt.

-

Skin slapping against skin, beads of sweat tracing the edges of Abby’s forehead, and both of your legs hogtied together by her arm, holding them against her body, your feet dangling in the air.

Your ass wasn’t even on the bed at this point since she was quite literally holding you up, instead using her strength and size to her advantage to get the perfect angle inside of you, using you like you were her own little fuck doll.

It was rough, tender, but rough.

She’d check in on you, chanting little praises like how you were doing such a good job, but she’d also spew out a symphony of possessive remarks.

“Whose pussy does this belong to, hm?” And you’d muster the very little strength you had, mumbling exactly what she wanted to hear, your eyes rolling to the back of your fucking brain.

“That’s right… s’mine.” She’d grunt, picking up her pace, and slamming her hips into the back of your thighs, her strap bulging against the surface of your tummy.

“A-Abby…” You whimpered, but it hardly sounded like anything at all. You reached her hand that was squeezing you-holding you by the thigh, using it like a fucking handle to drill her cock into you.

“Abby..” you said again, trying to warn her of your impending orgasm, but she didn’t hear you, or she was just ignoring you because she doesn’t slow down, not even for a second.

Your eyes roll back before squeezing shut, limbs stiffening, “fuck, fuck, fu- ohmygod“ The plush of your bottom lip stung, edges of your teeth sinking into it before your jaw slacks. Your body trembles, hips bucking, but Abby still just holds you there and only pauses inside of you when your orgasm visualizes itself- a overflow of milky, viscous elixir seeping down the length of her strap.

She pulls out, dropping your legs to the mattress, and she’s panting heavily, the highs of her cheeks glistening against the warm glow of the lamp.

She’s hovering over you, kissing your cheek, and along your jaw.

She was being so, SO sweet, particularly because she felt bad for essentially bringing you to tears, but also because she was trying to make up for what she’s about to do next.

Her hands slip between the bed and your back, pulling you from it and lifting you up. Your legs are wrapped around her waist when your back hits a solid surface- the wall.

“Abby…” Abby you say, confused and still delirious, “what are you-?”

“Just one more… please. I know you can do it.” She was also delirious, words rushed and slightly slurred- trance-like, and dead set on being inside of you just to see how fucking dumb you get all over again.

It was like a drug to her, terrified of the consequences, the what-ifs, but once she tried it, she knew from then on she’d always crave more.

Now, she didn’t fucking care about the consequences.

This time, you initiated the kiss, and moan as her hands squeeze the fat of your ass, fingerprints breaking the blood vessels across your skin.

She pulls away, a loose strand of straight, golden hair blowing with her jagged breaths, “Tell me if it hurts, yeah?”

You nod, bitting down on your bottom lip as she lifted you higher, and angled herself below your cunt.

You cling to her neck as you’re lowered onto her cock, tears brewing at the corners of your eyes, and using her shoulder to mute yourself from crying out.

“Hey, hey… I got you“ She cooed, tilting her head so her lips were aligned with your ear, “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Just relax.”

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

She lowers you some more, hands gripping the underside of your thighs, and veins straining in her hands from the sheer amount of effort she was using to keep you steady.

You lock eyes with her, a pull between the center of your brows, and lips glossy with spit. You stretch around her, walls expanding to her size mixed with the new angle that proved to hit even deeper than before, which says a lot.

“That’s it… good girl.” The corner of her lips tug into an almost smirk, faint enough to miss it if you weren’t 5 inches from her face.

She started slow, scared to hurt you, and letting you grind your hips with her deep inside, but then she started to manually move you herself, lifting you and then guiding your hips as they came back down.

The pain was blinding, and casted white in the peripheral of your eyes. Your cheek slid across Abby’s shoulder, dampened by your tears, and that’s when she sped up.

You let out a cry, and your head goes back, slamming against the wall, but within seconds the pain lessens, instead being replaced by indescribable pleasure.

Abbys breathing heavily, her head resting in the crook of your neck, and yours hands interlocking behind her head.

It was so intimate, so vulnerable, and unlike anything either you have ever experienced in past relationships.

“Abby… I’m gonna- mmhm… gonna cum.” Your voice trembled, a rasp forming in your throat from the events that have transpired over the past three hours.

Sweat trickled between your tits, and strands of Abby’s hair stuck to her forehead in what seemed like a purposeful manner- swirled, and wave-like in design.

“I got you, I got you…” She said, her voice trailing off, becoming too focused on the stakes at hand.

See, Abby was scared of this night ending. Maybe it started as a forbidden crush in the beginning, but now?? With your eyes puffy, lashes wet and clumping together, and your pretty lips hugging her cock, she was no doubt in love.

You sing her name, pleading for her lips, and she immediately complied, kissing you as she both thrusted her hips into you, and moved your body up and down on her strap, surely bruising you for days to come.

As you come down from your orgasm, you loosen your grip on her, limbs feeling like jell-o, and she carefully lays you back down in the bed, leaving you for a moment to fetch a damp rag.

She’d be so gentle cleaning you up and leaving kisses across your chest and shoulders like her touch could reverse the deepening of the crimson splotches she left all over your body.

She’d also dress you, putting you in one of her t-shirts as soon as the opportunity comes because it’s something she has been thinking about for weeks at this point, not only the size difference between you two exciting her but also the fact that you’re wearing her clothes, which only makes her fantasy of you being her little wife feel that much more real.

When she’d determine you were sufficiently taken care of, she’d get in bed with you, pulling you into her arms with your back against your chest.

You hummed, a weak smile on your face and closed eyelids, falling into one of the best sleeps of your life.

Abby, however, didn’t.

Yes, she was exhausted, but all night as she held you, she couldn’t stop thinking about how the morning would materialize and how you’d react when she told you that she loved you.

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ೃ⁀➷ @aouiaa @macaroni676 @sheluvslilith @sapphicsuperstar444 @lmaoo-spiderman @williamsangel @falloutboy-lover @atyourmerci @mskbitch @r3starttt

[blueaetherr]

permission to feel

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader [she/her]

warning(s): longer than usual, minor mistakes, angst?

summary: the one where two disasters discover lost feelings

author's note: part 2 to this imagine. this was supposed to come out a while ago but i kept changing and rewriting stuff. final product so enjoy as you can.

now playing: come back to me by teyana taylor ft. junie & rick ross

It was late at night when Jude and Y/N decided to stray away from the party. That was what they planned—with hushed discussions, (Jude's) unmistakable winks, one's glances across the room, some slow and steady movements toward the exit—to settle on the beach where Jobe and her brother could find them if they chose to join them sometime later.

But they continued to walk along the beach without a thought to slow down, without a thought beyond themselves and their unceasing conversation.

And they went on to walk along their spontaneous path unbothered. Party music soon became distant to their senses. There were fewer and fewer people to encounter in their wide vicinities. Slurred voices faded into the evening night with ease. Distance between themselves and their siblings stretched beyond agreement—until it was only them, with the company of the sand under their feet and the sound of the sea rolling into itself repeatedly.

And that was okay, really. Even though neither Jude nor Y/N voiced it, this was what they wanted; to be alone together for a moment. One that they probably already robbed themselves of one too many times in the past.

Leaving Jude behind Y/N wandered towards the shoreline of the small beach, quite careless in her steps. She took in a deep inhale, letting her chest rise as she let her senses navigate the setting. Strings of winds softly fanning her face and passing between her fingers, the sea and the sky carefully falling into each other farther out in the distance, sand under, on and laying on her feet—usually, and once irritating and gritty at initial contact—now comforting and warm against her skin.

Letting her chest fall slowly, Y/N closed her eyes. Then, at the touch of wind, the feeling along her legs, the calm in her heart, mind and soul– she smiled.

Being away on holiday let Y/N appreciate the little things whilst being uncaring about her daily obligations. Here she stood, far away from her responsibilities to her family and community. She didn't have to present herself as a model of all things good that others thought came to her innately. She didn't have to wait on anyone; she could receive without feeling she should send too. She didn't have to act as the third parent to her young siblings as they were in the safe care of their parents.

Here, responsibilities were damned to infinity. It was all temporary, of course, she knew that well enough. It's just that, well, for once she could indulge in nothing—or something, or everything—and just rest. That was all she wanted.

Opening her eyes Y/N turned around only to find Jude's gaze stuck on her, his head tilted to the side. She sniffled out a laugh as she made her towards him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

And Jude let his focus remain on her. His gaze circled between Y/N, the sea and the sky, and everything two times over again. His eyes were full of wonder and curiously at the sight of the three differing bodies together and in comparison. Something about resemblances, physical aspects, mirroring movements or even shared loveliness. He had an idea in mind. There was something to say, something to point out. Whether evident or not held no relevance. But he was unsure; a bit of confirmation would ease his mind.

"This... this may sound weird." That was the worry, indeed. That she would find his creation of thoughts and ideas weird. That she would find him weird. But that wasn't it at all. There was a nod and a smile and that was reassuring enough for Jude to resume asking, "Just out of curiosity... has anyone ever compared you to the sea and the sky?"

After telling Jude the meaning behind Blues she had initially believed that all talk and things connected to it anyhow would ultimately die out. She didn't think Jude would catch onto things, even if he was unaware of the fact. Again, Y/N nodded as the existing smile across her lips continued to bloom. "Only one person," she said as she held up a finger.

Jude's face and shoulders fell slightly. He figured this out when he only knew a bit and some about Y/N. There was only one other person who would know this very thing about Y/N, and he knew everything about her. "Please don't tell me it's him." Searching Y/N's expression carefully he found happiness and delight and subtle laughter, and Jude couldn't say he was surprised. Even the mention of his brother in conversation had her in bright spirits. "Really? It was Jobe?"

Y/N scoffed out a laugh. Even while joking Jude still managed to diminish Jobe. "Why are you surprised by that?" she asked as they moved to sit on the sand.

Jude huffed out a deep yet relieving chuckle. "No offence to him. I just—I didn't know he was—" His facial expression almost broke out into a frown, a subtle measure of something. Romantic was the word that first came to him. He knew it didn't apply to his brother nor did Jobe hold anything romantic towards Y/N. The soulmatism between Y/N and Jobe, though grey and blurry, when defined was strictly platonic. There was love between the two and that love would always remain sufficient for them. No more, no less.

Romantic. 'Cause if Jude had been the one to initially compare his friend to the sea and the sky— a pair of bodies he found both regular and remarkable, two figures that reflected Y/N in every way possible— then the gesture would have been romantic. All the way from the intentions down to the execution. Jude pulled in a breath, clearing his throat. "Poetic," was the word he settled with as he shrugged. "I didn't know he was poetic like that."

"Like I always say, he's a sensitive boy," Y/N said, locking her fingers around her knee. "That's probably why I always leaned towards him instead of you growing up." A beat. "That is if you take away other things of course."

"Yeah?"

Y/N hummed, nodding. "Definitely. It lets him be emotionally mature and respond to situations in a logical and understanding manner, and I don't think I could ask for more from someone. Like..." Another beat came between the pair until she let out a sigh, pinching the root of her nose. She already knew what Jude's reaction to her following words would be. "Remember when Jobe had a crush on me?"

Immediately, laughter burst from Jude, filling the open air with his amusement and joy as he leaned back in his place. Y/N tried to discourage him by lightly shoving him though it only encouraged more waves of laughter from Jude. And in the end she had to give up; the sound of happiness, even when originating from mockery, was contagious.

Eventually, Jude let himself calm down. He took a few deep inhales before saying, small laughs still slipping passed his lips, "Oh yes. How could I ever forget?" Being such vivid detail of their childhood and something Jobe could never deny because everyone remembered it, his crush on Y/N was one of the easiest things Jude could tease his brother about.

"The point is— the point is, Jude, yeah," she stressed, dragging her words to overpower his laughter and inability to listen, "you know how I found out about it?" Soon, silence fell over Jude for a second. He tilted his head in thought though nothing relevant came to mind so he shook his head. So Y/N admitted it, straightforward. "He just told me."

His eyes grew narrow. "He told you," he said plainly, his voice dripping with doubt. "Just like that?"

All the possible answers he expected, and Y/N managed to say none of them and less. This whole time he thought Y/N knew about the crush because of him and her brother. Quite unreasonably, the older boys—who had discovered everything from a discussion between their moms—had teased Jobe about the crush when they were younger, and Jude assumed Y/N heard about it in passing.

Turns out that Jude couldn't have been farther from the truth. He had assumed everyone was involved in the network of information except for the person who was responsible for its creation.

"He just told me," Y/N, too, plainly said, her voice somehow expressing empathy for the confusing nature of the situation. She let her chest rise as she turned towards Jude, speaking to him directly. "He mentioned that even though that's how he felt, he knew that it wasn't about to be a forever thing. That's why he was so cool about it– so there was nothing for me to do than also be cool about it."

When Jobe discovered his crush on Y/N, he soon realised that it wouldn't last the way others assumed it would. That crush was a dream, an irrational mix of reality and fantasy and imagination—an accumulation of his favoured elements about his best friend. That's all it was and that's all it ever would be.

Truthfully, Jobe loved Y/N. He did, really, but that was it. He loved her but he knew he could love someone else more and in a different way, first witnessing such when Y/N had been with her first boyfriend. He loved her and she equally loved him too, and that was more than enough. They didn't need more of each other than what they had already established together.

Until they both found their other halves– something they wouldn't find in one another– they were each other's first-person for now, and Jobe was perfectly okay with that.

And as Jobe grew out of crushing on Y/N, he only gained more perspective. All thoughts about Y/N—these desires—never went beyond wanting a friendship with her. There was love but they weren't and never would be intimately bonded to one another. She wasn't his whole world. There was much more beyond his initial ideals about Y/N. He could live with her simply being his best friend for their lifetimes together.

"I'm just saying... you're always asking what makes me and Jobe's tight like that: we give each other permission to feel, both the positive and negative emotions. We give each other grace to be in tune with ourselves first, understanding our baseline feelings and thoughts. And when we can do those things alone and separately, it makes doing them together much easier, you know?"

Sighing, a semblance of a smile appeared upon her face as she turned away from Jude and towards the sea, appreciating its strong yet delicate movements all over and under itself. "Everything is just free to flow... kinda like the waves."

Jude couldn't find himself disagreeing with any of Y/N's words, and a lot of Y/N and Jobe's general interactions during this holiday proved them to be true.

They understood each other beyond spoken words. Their smiles and laughter were always real, wide and overtly alive. Their arguments, though sometimes heated, still held understanding and eventual compromise; there was never a day where they ended things on bad terms. They let their happiness be happiness and they let their sadness exist as sadness. They let their anger present itself as anger. Never to exploit or irritate others, but to let it diminish and falter into safer feelings.

And there was something to learn with that, something to take in and adopt for his own good. But Jude, of course, knew he couldn't just let Y/N gain a win over him like that. Disrupt the moment with a joke. He leaned his head back. "Or maybe it's because you guys are younger siblings."

Confusion briefly laced Y/N's facial expression, weakened with slight laughter. "What?"

"Just think about it," Jude started, "Jobe is my younger brother and you've been the youngest sibling for most of your life as of now and we all know how younger siblings are."

She shook her head and waved him off. She didn't appreciate the emphasis on younger siblings. "I fail to see the connection. If there even is one." Technically, Jude was right (unfortunately) but he was also wrong. In theory, sure, she could understand where his words fit. But in practice, they didn't hold much weight. 'Cause between the four eldest siblings between the two families—in terms of maturity, reliability and trustworthiness to watch over others—Y/N could confidently say that she felt like the eldest with the way she could manage them during their holidays.

"Okay," he said, though the sarcasm was evident in his voice.

"I'm not going to affirm or deny your argument. Besides, it already falls flat by the fact that I'm older." Only by a sole month but that wasn't the point.

There was more to say. Jude could have said more for his defence—there was more to say if he really wanted to. But for now, he let Y/N win. Instead, he let Y/N be happy, he let himself be happy as they shared all kinds of banter and laughter in the night sky.

This was what he wanted, what she initially wanted—what she initially had gone out seeking for and specifically with Jude. And this, supposedly by the power of the universe and stars, was what they were supposed to have and be all along—friends, two people indefinitely intertwined together.

It was quite lovely. It all felt lovely for Jude. To spend time alone with Y/N without her being on edge. To be the one responsible for her joys and her laughter. To share conversations that were outside of his usual scope. To have moments with Y/N that didn't involve their brothers. They were good together as friends. That wasn't to say they were any better than Jobe and Y/N or Jude and her brother. But they were indeed better and more defined than what they used to be and it was all for the better. Two individuals who could interact with one another beyond their familial ties.

And even though what they had wasn't what he wanted, for now, it was enough for Jude. Having Y/N in his good graces was more than enough.

Though he knew their current state wasn't enough for someone else. Jude let his head hang, already knowing the conversation would go south. "What you have with Jobe... is that what you want with me?"

Y/N paused in her movements, thoughts quickly getting in order. "What we have—or some of it at least—it's not unique to your brother," she explained. Though slightly exasperated, her voice remained soft and sweet with understanding. "I have that with everyone. So naturally yes."

"And do you feel like you have that with me?" He wondered.

Her eyes narrowed at his words. "I think you already know that answer, Jude," she said, pointedly. Her softness and sweetness still left room for frustration and annoyance to express themselves. "And before you ask me, I don't know why. I don't know."

Unfortunately, being on good terms didn't cancel out everything that once had them on bad terms. There was still something missing in their friendship that she didn't lack with others. She could have interesting and intrinsic conversations with the parents. She had a bond that was playful and maternal with her younger siblings. She and her brother always found it difficult to stray away from a discussion when it started. She had what she had with Jobe. Some relationships applied to her and the next person over, both in the same or opposite way.

Then there was Jude. Sure, they were close—they were closer than what they used to be—but the distance between them was evident and there, or at least in her eyes. Y/N wanted to be friends, she wanted the two to work out for the better. Y/N didn't want to be angry, sad or annoyed with Jude, she took no joy in any of it. But it was hard to be satisfied when she felt like she was the main one pouring into their friendship while Jude only offered enough to keep them alive while they could be. So much so that she sometimes questioned his intentions with wanting to be her friend.

Still, Y/N tried to remain positive as she turned the conversation positive. "But I understand that these things take time to happen. We share history, and that's not going to go away overnight and probably never will. But I don't think that should stop us from being friends. I want to be your friend. I know that well 'cause you always want to remind me that that's all I've wanted since we were kids."

Letting a low hum, a faint smirk pinched at his cheeks. "I gotta make sure you don't forget," he said.

"It's hard to forget," she said, smiling faintly as she glanced down at her hands. Then without much thought to the question—and the answer—she wondered, "Do you want to be friends with me, Jude?"

A mindless question only required a mindless answer. Yet Jude could only respond with, "Well, um— I mean." He could only stumble over his words; his nerves were acting up. He wanted to answer the question truthfully as Y/N wanted, but it was difficult when things weren't straightforward. Unfortunately, he couldn't just say yes in this case.

But of course, Y/N was unaware of this. In her eyes, his response was a rejection of her friendship. "Oh. Okay, wow." She chuckled, snatching her hand away from Jude. Her smiling exterior contrasted with the stinging burn she felt inward.

Jude tried to reach for Y/N only for her to fold her arms. His face fell, wincing in deep guilt. "Y/N." It wasn't his intention to upset her, but he recognised that he did so nonetheless.

"I-I just didn't think that would be such a difficult question to answer." She stared aimlessly towards the sea, biting down on her lip. She refused to meet his gaze; tears would be shed if she did. "That's all."

She wanted to cave in and hug herself to the point where she just fell into the earth, perhaps even disappear into infinite oblivion and never be found again. She felt embarrassed, beyond humiliated. For the past few weeks, Y/N had given Jude the benefit of the doubt. She had given them another chance, permission to pursue this friendship again. Not for the sake of just being friends but because he said that's what he wanted, and truthfully that's what Y/N wanted too—a mutual agreement.

Or at least that's what Y/N thought. For a want Jude had wanted since forever, the switch-up definitely took her off guard. And now her mind couldn't seem to cast out the doubts tumbling in. Questions about whether Jude actually wanted to be her friend all this time, whether he was just leading her on just to beat her down later on. Questions regarding his sincerity and concern for her. Questions over whether he was only putting up a front as her friend, perhaps he was only making her smile and laugh out of pity and obligation for his past actions.

All this time Y/N had this genuine want to be friends with Jude, something she had been building up to accommodate. So to see that suddenly not be reciprocated, after these last few months, she could only feel pure betrayal. All he had to say was one word. It would have validated her thoughts, calmed her doubts and put her mind at ease. A simple yes, but even that he failed to do—he outright refused.

But hey, it was not like that was anything new.

Maybe Y/N was reaching for something that just wasn't meant to be, even with the input of the universe. It wasn't hard to recall that Jude and Y/N didn't begin as friends, and for the longest time despite the many chances, they were never moved to become friends. Jude's unfavourable behaviour and attitude towards her used to be habitual—so normalised to the point where Y/N would remain unphased from time to time.

She had gotten so excited, so caught up about this idea of friendship—forming something good and special with Jude—that she failed to realise he could easily fall back into his previous ways just as quickly as he fell out of them. It slipped her mind that he didn't have to stay faithful to their mutual agreement.

So it was a real possibility– Jude didn't want to be friends with Y/N as much as she thought he did. And perhaps Y/N needed to accept it and let him go. Maybe that's why the two were together alone; perhaps Jude wanted to let her down softly in hopes that the blow would hurt less with the absence of others.

But even that didn't sound like enough to Y/N. He should have just rejected her at the party in front of everyone and the internet, to make her understand that she had to stop holding out hope for someone that didn't want her in the first place. That she was delusional for ever thinking that Jude wanted something meaningful with her in the first place.

This disaster, it was all on her.

"You don't understand. It's not like that," Jude pled. He knew reaching her was only going to get harder from here. It was never like that. It was never like that. Not even for a moment.

"Then tell me, Jude." She wore a facial expression that was tired and withdrawn. Tired of the humiliation and rejection she always had to face at the hands of Jude. Was she really that easy of a target? She exhaled as she closed her eyes. "Help me understand. I want to feel for you, but I can't if I don't understand. What about the thought of being friends with me is so hard for you to hear about? So much that you can't even answer my question."

It would be fitting to say that Y/N was fed up. She had spent many years being disappointed and annoyed by Jude, and by some point she had gotten used to it. But they made up and discovered new ground for them to settle on. She gave him another chance to do right by her. But of course, he couldn't resist doing her wrong all over again.

Did Jude do all of that just to bring her down, to make her deeply feel all that disappointment and annoyance again all at once? Was this just another cruel way for him to have another victory over her? Was she so terrible that she couldn't be desired as a friend by the very guy who was desired by everyone else?

"I know. It's just—" Jude released a slow breath. Because he knew that after this he wasn't about to get another chance to explain himself a third time. Y/N was tired and sad and feeling all kinds of ways towards him. He could no longer give half-truths like last time; only the simple truth would suffice. "Just know that I haven't lied, just left out a few things before," he assured, though he wasn't sure it was assuring.

Opening her eyes, Y/N let out a sigh. "What is it?"

Jude mumbled under his breath as he pinched his eyebrow. No half-truths, just the simple truth. "You know Jobe's crush on you?" Ironic. The very thing he had been laughing at only moments ago was the same thing bringing him rightful torment and embarrassment.

She quickly turned to Jude, her nose scrunched up. "What about it?" At first, she felt like the conversation was heading in the wrong direction. But Jude didn't correct himself or anything so she didn't say anything further.

"You know that he doesn't talk about you a lot to me, right?" Her face still remained confused but she nodded nonetheless. "Okay well when his crush on you was at his peak, he would talk a lot about you, like what he liked about you and all. He didn't say all that to me but to my mum, his friends, you know? But I would still be around sometimes hearing everything he was saying. And... I think me back then found his words so convincing that his crush on you kinda rubbed off on me."

Y/N initially heard the humour behind his words before her eyes widened; the realisation came in all at once that surrounding distractions became null. Along with Jobe at some point, Jude had had a crush on her.

"I never really acknowledged it so I didn't really try to concern myself with you." Jude tilted his head as he rubbed his jaw. He was struggling with his words; to be outwardly vulnerable took a lot of courage. "My... my crush for you was because of Jobe's crush on you so it would fade."

"I thought it would fade. Jobe's crush on you eventually faded but... I don't think mine ever did. I still didn't acknowledge it because we weren't on good terms for a long time nor we were even friends. I didn't think what I was feeling about you was, like, real. And then we made up, and I still felt the same as before." Sniffling, Jude turned to look at Y/N and captured her gaze. It was quite easy in fact. From his eyes to his all-around facial expression; it was nothing short of devastation and truth—it was all rather captivating. "I still do."

Y/N had to lean back in her place and ponder for a moment or more. What Jude was saying—there was a lot to take in and accept. There was far more than enough going on, in her mind, in her heart. Feeling more emotions than she was used to carrying. All in one night she and Jude went from being simply friends to almost reverting to their previous relations to then finally discovering that, actually, Jude had liked her all this time. And that slightly scared her because unlike before, she wholeheartedly believed every word he spoke.

"The reason I didn't say anything to being friends with you isn't 'cause I don't want to be friends. I'm not cruel like that you know," he chuckled, bitterly. He disliked how despite everything he felt for her, he managed to make her feel like he felt the opposite. One couldn't be further from the truth. "Obviously, I want to be friends, Y/N. It's just hard answering the question knowing that I want more than that. That's all."

She blinked a few times before responding, "Why didn't you tell me before?" Believing Jude didn't cancel out the remaining gaps in the story. If Jude had felt for her all this time– just over five years– why was he only telling her now?

"Because," Jude strung out a breath, slightly deflating a bit. He began to toy with his fingers. "After everything that's happened between us, I didn't think it was fair for me to feel that way towards you."

He had tried to play it off with denial for a while but the truth always persevered above others—Jude had feelings for Y/N. There was uncertainty as to what was what but he could definitively say that he liked her, and he was in way too deep to return them. But he also knew well that everything he felt for Y/N was disproportionate to what he should feel for her, what he deserved to feel for her.

He always assumed that's why Jobe never made the effort to make them friends, why Jobe made it his mission to remind Jude who Y/N ended up being friends with despite her initial intentions. Truthfully, he was undeserving of her feelings, of her time, of her energy. He was undeserving of her altogether.

Yet weirdly, Y/N never acted like that was the case. And if she believed it then she never displayed that through her words or actions. Since they made up, she showed him nothing but grace and understanding. Treated him like she treated her siblings and Jobe, and that only made Jude feel immense guilt. While he was struggling to give her his slightest parts, she managed to always give him her all.

It made him wonder sometimes why she was so willing to be his friend. Yes, she forgave him and yes, they reconciled and started over again. Still, doubts wandered about in Jude's mind more than they drifted into nothing. He was delusional—to think that they could exist as something beyond friends, to think his friendship with her could even slightly match what she shared with Jobe. While Jobe had been poetic and compared Y/N to the sky and the oceans, Jude had only brought Y/N plain misery in the past.

Yeah, he didn't stand a chance.

Besides, it was very likely everything he felt for her was narrow and simply one-sided. After everything that has happened between the two, after all the distress Jude had once brought into her life, why would she feel anything for him?

Jude cleared his throat. "But yeah, that's what I wanted to tell you." He said everything that needed to be said. He spoke the truth and withheld no further truths. Still, he didn't know if he felt any better or relieved after doing so. Whether it was worth it or not would be up to Y/N's verdict. "I'm sorry if I just piled everything on you like that."

She shook her hand as she waved him off. "I asked so... you shouldn't feel like that," Y/N said, the sound of her words slowly faltering. There wasn't much to say.

Evidently, there was a reluctance for the two to continue the conversation, to define what they now were and what they would be after tonight. A lot was said and a lot needed to be taken in. The want to abandon the discussion was there and to even sit in silence was favourable at this point. But they were mature, young adults; they would see it through until the end. At least they had the comfort of the sky and the ocean; even with the uncertainty of Jude and Y/N to stretch beyond the following day, the two bodies would exist in the morning and forever after that.

Suddenly, Jude huffed out a small laugh. "Jobe does say that kindness is your best and worst quality," he pointed out as a sad smile pulled at his lips.

Her brows drifted up, her head tilting slightly. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean look at us now." Jude gestured between the two, and he was right. They were friends—or had only been able to be friends—because she had been kind enough to extend some grace to him a few months ago. It was all her while he created problem after problem for the pair.

"Take away the last five minutes. We are where we are because I allowed it. I forgave you—"

"And you were understandably ready to take that back."

"Yes, I know. I know," she spoke with a calm tone. She needed Jude to understand that she didn't want to be argumentative, she didn't want to fall into another argument. They needed to finish the conversation for both of their sakes. "But now I understand things better now. About you, about me."

He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "Yeah? Like what?" His voice carried a sense of resignation as if he had already accepted his fate. It's okay. Just say it. I don't want to be friends anymore, Jude.

"Jude." Suddenly, there was a change in how she spoke. Her voice, her tone—it was small yet measured and smooth and effortlessly persuasive. So much so that Y/N was able to pull Jude away from his conflicting thoughts. She caught his gaze with hers and rewarded him with a gentle smile. "I might like you as much as you like me."

He claimed that he had a crush on her though Y/N didn't think that was the correct label. Who did once have a crush on her was Jobe. Things were easy and casual and normal after he told her. They were still able to be friends effortlessly almost like he had never told her in the first. Y/N was for the most part, unaffected.

But it was different with Jude. There was something there for sure. She could feel the words he spoke. She wanted him to resume talking whenever he stopped. Even when he committed wrong, she found herself gravitating towards him. Jude and Jobe shared the same eyes yet she only found Jude's to be enchanting. Her gaze for him reflected considerable admiration and longing. For a person she couldn't stand for the longest time, she couldn't bring herself to look away.

And everything she had internalised about him, Jude almost felt the exact same. There was nothing easy or casual or normal about the two.

Jude paused in his movements as his mouth fell open. "Oh?" His voice grew a few octaves.

Despite feeling her cheeks grow warm, she continued to hold his gaze which wasn't hard considering Jude refused to look away too, and nodded slowly. "Yeah..."

Everything, from the beginning of the discussion to now, it was all overwhelming 'cause for once, they could finally say I understand.

They used to be two individuals who were thought to be incompatible and barred from ever experiencing one another. Their problems were endless yet weirdly similar every time. The first time they couldn't bear to be friends only to discover that was the fault of misguided feelings. The second time they questioned their friendship only to discover that was at the fault of their own buried and undisclosed feelings—feelings Jude once thought to be one-sided, feelings Y/N didn't notice up until recent moments.

Jude and Y/N thought that they would stop there, at friends. But now feelings, intentional yet confusing, were involved and from both sides.

And that kinda left the two in an awkward position. They didn't exactly know where to go from where they were, the grey area between friends and lovers(?). Was it best to pull away and take things slowly, or close the gap and rush to experience all the things they had missed out on by their own faults? An awkward position indeed.

But it was a good, awkward position. It would let the pair start fresh, reimagine their dynamics and bring to reality what they should have been from the beginning. They were walking on fairly new territory but that was something they would soon learn to navigate with ease. 'Cause now there was a sense of relief to everything that was about Jude and Y/N. For the longest time, they were plagued by secrets upon secrets that crafted nothing but distrust, hostility, anger, annoyance and probably more.

Now, they could rid themselves of everything harmful and damaging. That anger, that hostility, that annoyance– could perhaps be laid to rest to make way for all things infant and shy yet genuine between them. That desire, that tenderness, that love and all coming from both directions. It was thrilling and fascinating to observe and something new.

Her gaze shifted down towards her hands, clasping them together. "That doesn't take away from the fact that you've fucked me over. So much that you managed to fuck yourself over." While harsh she knew that she had to point out Jude's previous wrongs, especially knowing how he was one to get in over his head over the smallest things. She had to let him know that whatever they ended up being after tonight, it was because she chose to let them happen. She had control over how they would end or continue as a pair.

Jude nodded in agreement. "I know." A drop in his tone, yet one could hear the hint of happiness in his voice. He didn't want to misplace his emotions in the conversation, he really didn't. Though it was hard not to now after discovering his once unreciprocated feelings were actually reciprocated from the very person he had unknowingly been crushing on since forever. Maybe he wasn't so delusional for holding on to hope.

"But," she breathed in a good lungful as a smile budded upon her lips. Witnessing Jude's unserious demeanour was making it hard to maintain her own. "I also think you're wonderful."

"Wonderful?"

"I remember my mum describing you as wonderful once," she explained briefly. "Jude, he's wonderful, she said or whatever. But because we never got along before I always thought being wonderful was something negative rather than it being positive. And even after that, I still found you wonderful. Maybe not towards me but still wonderful. Wonderful but in the way my mum intended for me to understand which makes sense; my mum is never wrong."

"Your mum is never wrong," Jude repeated with a laugh.

"Can I be real with you for a second?" When he nodded it was then when Y/N decided to drop her guard, and she didn't plan to pull it back up in front of Jude again. She took hold of his hand and let their fingers intertwine. "I want wonderful, Jude. I want us to have wonderful. I know you have done some questionable things—I have too—but that doesn't stop us from deserving it. We deserve this for us."

She was right. Jude and Y/N have spent so much energy and time on one another only to share many poor experiences. They have spent so much time hating just to hate, despising each other for reasons beyond knowledge. They have spent so much time, so many years exchanging harsh and miserable feelings. Over misunderstandings, over uninformed decisions as kids. So much negative when it should have been all positive and happy and gleeful. It cost them the love and affection they were supposed to experience in the first place.

And that's why they deserved to like each other without shame or guilt, to be young and in love without the judgement of others. Jude deserved to like Y/N without a reminder of his past actions; she forgave him after all. Y/N deserved to like Jude—to experience wonderful—despite his past actions. They deserved to experience love for what it was, and specifically with each other.

This was the final plea. She was tired of getting only half of Jude all the time, tired of seeing strangers receive more of Jude than she ever did. For once in her life, she wanted to be selfish and have him whole.

Jude glanced at their interlocked hands, feeling his lips curve upward as he let their hands sway a bit. Testing out the waters. And he couldn't lie, he enjoyed the moment more than he could have ever imagined. "I do too. Probably why we never worked as friends." He returned his gaze to Y/N and beamed even more when he realised they were carrying the same expression; glances of guiltless delight. "Wonderful sounds great."

The universe and the stars were wrong to initially assign Y/N and Jude as friends. A straight misdirection of fate. Because even if that intention had been a reality for a little longer, no matter how hard the pair tried, the feelings would've surfaced eventually. And now they were here, fully disclosed and expressed from both sides. All because Y/N and Jude extended grace and gave themselves—and each other—permission to feel for one another truthfully.

So when they were over the silence gazing, they fell into a kiss that was softly endearing and delicate. For the lost time they would never be able to retrieve. For the feelings that were forever lost in time. For the time they weren't able to acknowledge their feelings for what they were. For the fact that they weren't able to fall in love traditionally. For all the love and fondness that was shadowed by misunderstandings over the years.

This moment– this was exclusively theirs to treasure.

Pulling apart they still craved one another, reasonably; their lips just barely touching to breathe each other in, one nose leaning on another for that extra contact, eyes closed so their remaining senses could focus on the person they had been deprived of for what felt like a lifetime.

What brought Jude to pull away further was the distant sound of the sea and the sight of the moon from the corner of his eye. He let out a lighthearted chuckle. If that was the case then his attention never really shifted away from Y/N. "Don't tell my brother."

"Only if you don't tell mine."

[just-aake]

Thankful for You

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You invite a mysterious red-haired stranger to join you for a Thanksgiving dinner. 

Warnings: light fluff, light angst

Words: 2547

Sitting alone on a bench in some park, Natasha looks up at the sky when the sound of thunder rumbles and echoes through the trees. 

Soon, she feels drops of water drip down her face as rain begins to pour all around her. She must have looked crazy to anybody who saw her, drenched from head to toe, just sitting alone in the park and staring stoically at the sky.

It didn’t matter though. There was no chance of anyone being around at this time anyway, given what day it was.

Thanksgiving Day 

A time when friends and family spend time with their loved ones and express gratitude for the good things in their lives. 

Natasha’s lips twitched slightly with a hint of amused resignation at the thought–the holiday defined everything that she didn’t have.

No friends – the mission in Budapest with Clint helped form a good teammate relationship, but even after other missions together, they have not reached the point where Natasha believes Clint has trusted her enough to be considered friends, and that sentiment is also returned by her.

No family – she was abandoned by her actual mother when she was a child, and as for her other temporary family, she has not tried to find any of them; though, she hoped Yelena was still alive and able to escape after Dreykov was killed.

No good thing in her life – she has been trained to be a killer her entire life, doing terrible things for others just to survive. She has always been a tool to be used. Now after recently joining Shield, she is still not sure if there will be any changes to her life that would ever be good.

There is nothing for her.

Natasha closes her eyes as she lets the rain hit her face, hoping that time will pass by quicker and end this dreadful day so that she can return to work and go on missions again. 

Suddenly, the consistent sound of rainfall is interrupted by a small splash in the distance, which Natasha already deduced as a single person’s footsteps.

With her eyes still closed, Natasha’s brow twitches slightly when she realizes that the steps are coming closer to her position. However, judging based on the unhurried pace and sensing no malicious intent from them, Natasha ultimately decides there is no threat with this newcomer.

They are probably just another individual on their way to some Thanksgiving party or dinner.

Natasha is about to return to her previous mindless thoughts when the footsteps suddenly stop.

In front of her

Natasha frowns when she no longer feels the cold touch of rain falling on her. Opening her eyes in confusion, the first thing she sees is the underside of an umbrella hovering above her head. 

Following the stem of the umbrella down to the hand holding it, her eyes eventually meet yours. 

Standing in front of her, you give her a small smile as you hold the umbrella above the two of you, shielding both of you from the rain.

Natasha glances down at your other hand, which holds a couple of bags of what looks like drinks and snacks.

When she returns her gaze to yours with a questioning look, your smile turns sheepish, unaffected by the intimidating glint Natasha has in her expression.

“This might be weird and a bit forward,” you start before nodding your head in a particular direction, “but would you like to come back to my apartment to dry off and wait out the rain there?” you offer her gently.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

In the hallway of your apartment building, Natasha stands with her arms folded, closely observing you as you fumble to find your keys. 

She is still unsure about why she accepted your offer. 

Maybe it was a curiosity to understand the kind of person you are—whether genuinely generous and kind or perhaps just naive and clueless. 

Or worse, you might just be offering help only to boost your own ego and feel superior; she’s met enough of those kinds of people during her brief time at Shield already.

Seeing you continue to struggle with the bags, umbrella, and keys in your hands, Natasha wordlessly extends her hand toward you in a silent offer. 

You pause at the gesture, your mouth opening slightly in surprise.

“Thanks,” you say softly, accepting her offer of help.

Natasha raises an eyebrow curiously when you only hand her some of the bags, not all, just enough relief for you to find the key and open the door of your apartment.

Walking into the apartment, you leave the door open almost as if it were an invitation to her, with no pressure to accept. 

She could just walk away and leave now, forgetting that she ever met you.

Again, Natasha doesn’t know why she decides to enter. 

However, maybe this time, it is partially due to the fact that she is still holding some of your bags from earlier.

Once she closes the door behind her, your voice calls her from the kitchen, and when she comes closer,  she sees that you are already in the process of sorting your items into their appropriate area. 

Glancing up at her approach, you ask her casually.

“So what’s your name?”

In response, Natasha presses her lips in a thin line, deciding on how much she should share with you, given her new 'clean slate.'

At her hesitance, you give her an amused smile.

“You know, it doesn’t have to be your real name. I just need something to call you instead of saying, ‘Have a seat, stranger’,” you tease lightly.

Understanding your point, Natasha contemplates for a second before settling on a safe option.

“Call me Nat.”

You repeat the name a couple of times softly under your breath before nodding your head satisfied and giving her a welcoming smile. 

“I’m Y/n.”

“Y/n…?” Natasha trails off in question for your last name, her instincts automatically activated to obtain as much information as possible.

You chuckle amusedly at her, going over to her to grab the bags from her hands. Turning around, you make your way back to your kitchen.  

“You never gave me yours,” you point out over your shoulder.

Natasha’s eyes widen slightly, impressed at your deflection. So, you are not completely naive. She decides to initiate another conversation to learn more.

“You know, it’s pretty reckless to invite a stranger into your home,” Natasha points out as she examines your living space. It was a small apartment but comfortable for one person to live in. She can spot your personal touches throughout the area, making it feel cozy and warm.

“It’s pretty reckless to follow a stranger to their home too,” you quip back at her. “What if I was a serial killer?”

Natasha huffs in disbelief, shaking her head and crossing her arms. 

“I don’t think so.”

You shrug casually as you take the remaining items out of the bag. 

“You’re right. I don’t think I even have the strength to take somebody down.” 

Finally finished with putting away your things, you lean back against your kitchen table, crossing your arms in a similar position as her.

“You, however, definitely look like you know how to fight,” you state plainly.

Natasha frowns skeptically at your wording, her defenses raising slightly in preparation.

Seeing her expression change defensively, you relax your posture and gesture to her body in explanation. 

“Your wet clothes are sticking to your skin, and I can see your muscles and abs from here.” 

Examining herself, Natasha can see what you mean. Her light clothes clinging to her skin reveal the contours of her toned body clearly.

Natasha returns her attention to you when you snap your fingers. 

“That reminds me. I need to get you some dry clothes. Wait here,” you tell her.

Before Natasha can respond, you leave through another door that she assumes is your bedroom. 

Natasha remains in her position, staring at where you left in confusion as she tries to figure you out. 

You’re not evil or dangerous–she is certain about that. You’re also not completely clueless and blindly trusting. 

And you are honest but careful. She recognizes the subtle hints of caution with your actions and words, but you don’t overtly show distrust towards her. 

You give off the impression of making an effort to maintain a welcoming atmosphere with her, but Natasha can sense that this isn’t a familiar territory for you.

It feels like a door attempting to close, yet a small invisible force is working to keep it open.

She is brought out of her thoughts when you return to the room and stand in front of her.

“Here you go,” you offer some clothes to her and then point to another door behind her. “Bathroom’s right there, and there should already be some towels that you can use to dry yourself off in there.”

You tilt your head curiously when she doesn’t move. 

“Thanks,” Natasha finally whispers before taking the clothes, her hand touching yours lightly. That brief touch left a lingering warmth in her hand as she headed to the bathroom. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Upon leaving the bathroom, Natasha is greeted by the beeping of the fire alarm and the sight of you standing on a chair, fervently waving a towel at the smoke alarm.

You don’t notice her presence when she quietly joins you in the kitchen, too focused on your task of silencing the annoying beeping sound. 

Standing on your tiptoes to reach the smoke alarm button, the chair beneath you wobbles as you shift your balance. After finally pressing the button, you exclaim softly in victory, but the chair wobbles again, causing you to lose your balance.

Instinctively, your hands reach out for the back of the chair or table to stop your descent, but to your surprise, instead of cold furniture, you feel a warm touch. 

Natasha gently holds your arms in a supportive grip, steadying you back on your feet. 

“Be careful,” she cautions lightly.

When you don’t respond and just stare at her in surprise, she raises a questioning brow at you.

Shaking your head lightly to snap out of your thoughts, you give her a small, appreciative smile.

“Thanks,” you tell her before turning to look at the pot on the stove and then back to her with a sheepish expression.

“I hope you like slightly burnt mac n cheese.”

The two of you sit across each other in silence as you both eat the dinner that you made.

Natasha eats slowly, glancing at you whenever you are not looking in observation. The food tasted normal, nothing special, but for some reason, every bite she took made her feel this warmth inside.

Eventually, you break the silence with a question to her.

“So, Nat, you had any Thanksgiving plans?”

“No.”

You nod your head in understanding. 

“Yeah, me too. I didn’t even plan on making anything tonight, but I thought maybe I could make you a small Thanksgiving meal. Luckily, I found some of these mac n cheese boxes in the cabinet. But if you are still hungry, there are also some chips and cookies that you can snack on.”

Natasha’s lips quirked up slightly, amused at your rambling.

Your eyes widen at the sight before pointing out happily.

“Oh! You smiled. I was hoping to cheer you up, even if just a little.”

Natasha furrows her brows curiously at your words, giving you a questioning look at what you meant.

“Why did you invite me here, Y/n?” Natasha asks.

You sit back against your chair at the question, already expecting it eventually. Playing with the bottle in your hand and spinning it on its edge in a random pattern for a moment, you finally let out a deep breath.

“To be honest, I saw you earlier today when I left. Then again, on my way home. You had the same sad expression during both times,” you admit softly before raising the bottle to your lips.

You shrug nonchalantly, saying, “I guess, something about the way you looked reminded me of myself.”

Natasha watches you take a sip as she tries to understand the meaning of your words.

Seeing her confused expression, your smile turns downward slightly as you explain.

“My parents passed away on Thanksgiving.”

You wave away her concerned gaze reassuringly.

“It happened long ago. There was a car accident on the way to a Thanksgiving gathering. I was upset at something stupid at the time like most teenagers do, so I didn’t go with them.”

You let out a regretful breath at the memory, a brief lingering sadness in your eyes before shaking your head and giving her a rueful smile.

“Typically, when this day comes around, I get too depressed to be around anyone, but when I saw you, I had a sudden thought.”

You lean forward, placing your hands on the table, and raise your eyebrows at her as you explain.

“On the day when people gather together to be happy and thankful, I thought why don’t the two sad souls also try coming together?” 

At Natasha's doubtful expression, you continue your explanation.

“Maybe there’s a chance we can cheer each other up, even temporarily, and if we can’t, then we can always just be sad together.”

Natasha stares at you with wide eyes, astonished at your words. You are even more intriguing than she thought.

You give her a small smile at her reaction, turning one of your hands upward in an open invitation to her.

“What do you think, Nat? Do you feel a little bit better or should I just bring out the entire case of beer for the remainder of tonight?”

Staring at your open palm offered to her, Natasha notices the same lack of pressure to accept as before. 

That’s when Natasha realizes something.

For the first time in a long while, in an unfamiliar apartment, wearing clothes that weren’t her own, and eating a slightly burnt meal prepared for her, Natasha was experiencing an unexpected sense of comfort and warmth, relieving her of the previous emotions that had weighed on her before. 

All thanks to you.

And as she expected, when Natasha places her hand atop yours, she feels your warmth spreading to her through your touch.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The next morning, as you enter the living room, you are not surprised to find the empty couch, with neatly folded blankets and your clothes on the cushions – no signs of yesterday's guest.

Turning around to prepare for the day, you notice a small note on your kitchen table and, upon reading it, you smile gently.

Sorry, I left without a goodbye. I had to leave early. I wanted to let you know, compared to my original plan for this holiday, I’m glad I spent it with you. Maybe next time we meet, I can make you a meal that isn't as burnt as thanks. From one sad soul to another. – Natasha Romanoff

You say her real name out loud softly with a small smile, grateful that you took the chance to meet the mysterious stranger. Anticipation builds as you look forward to the next opportunity to see her again.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thanks for reading! I am still working on Boundless Devotion. I just got a little busy lately. Hope you all have a happy Thanksgiving!

[leggerefiore]

we've seen drabbles/hcs of ingo or emmet, even cyrus when their partner gets isekai'd to hisui, but what about the others? Like nanu, larry, giovanni or grimsley??? THINK OF THE ANGSTTTT 💔

why not all of them lol

cw: angst, comfort at the end, dealing with a missing partner,

characters: Nanu, Larry, Grimsley, Giovanni

You had left quickly, excusing yourself out to a nearby convenience store in walking distance. He thought little of it. The experience was common enough, and he did not feel particularly like joining at that moment for various reasons. Everything felt normal. It was a regular evening… Until far too much time had passed with nothing from you. No text, call, or your return. Suddenly, he felt his brain kick into action…

🐈‍⬛️Nanu❤️‍🩹

🌑 The Kahuna grumbles and knows better than to outright panic. This was precious time if you were missing, yes, but there was little evidence of that, even if it felt apparent to him. Really, Alola was a peaceful place. He knew that. You, as his partner, also had the protection of Tapu Bulu. The guardian deity taking quite a shine to you… Your remark about them having similar personalities on his mind. He found himself at the store to ask about you, but the clerk shrugged and shook their head. They had not seen you. Nanu's breath hitched. He gave a nod and began his search around the area you would have travelled, asking those he passed careful questions. A few had seen you, but claimed you suddenly disappeared, even when you were clear to overtake them by walking. He felt truly worried now. A search was soon formed.

🌑 It had come up with nothing. Your bag had been found in a bush, undisturbed. He went through the items carefully, but nothing was missing. Apparently, you had just vanished in the ether while walking. It made no sense… Even the Aether Foundation stepped in to confirm or deny whether an Ultra Wormhole was involved – His worst possible nightmare. The idea of you pulled away to some strange foreign world while under his protection brought out for too many negative feelings. Even his Persian bunting, her head against him hardly could snap him from his stupor. Only the confirmation that it was, in fact, not anything to do with UBs calmed him slightly. But, then it worsened again. What had taken you–? The Aether Foundation detected something similar, but not anything related to UB energy.

🌑 He fully threw himself into finding you, no matter what. The old man could not recall the last time he had felt so impassioned about something. Nothing could deter him – Nothing could make him happy. He felt lost. Another situation… Another failure. His heart ached. Tapu Bulu cruelly denied his request to leave the islands. He needed to – The International Police offering back a position and offering their aid in his plight. But, he was stuck. There was no fleeing. He felt stuck in time. All he could do was everything he did before, and it felt like a knife was being twisted inside him as time passed. Why had he let himself feel love? It felt so idiotic. He wanted to despise himself for making such a choice. (But, when glanced at a picture of you two together, his heart softened. His negative feelings faded for a moment. His love for you, all that remains inside him.)

🌑 Then, one day – nearly a year later, a knock rasped against his door. It was quiet… Uncertain. He grumbled and walked over, expecting a child asking for their first pokemon for their island challenge. Instead, his heart stopped. You stared at him, a small smile on your face. Your clothing was odd – reminding him much of what a certain friend of his had taken to wearing. But, there was little time to question it when the tension of his muscles that stopped him from moving faded in an instant. Arms came around you as he held you tight to himself. The embrace was immediately reciprocated by you. A shaky breath left him. Soon, he would demand to know everything. Soon, but not now– No, for now, he just wanted you close to him so he could continue to know that you were real – not some hallucination thrown up by his desperate subconscious. Your voice was his name, was his only tether to reality. Finally, he left himself smile again.

💼Larry🏢

🍙 The businessman was perturbed. Medali was not exactly dangerous, but he was not so optimistic to believe that everyone acted with good intentions. He walked the street to the store, looking around to see if you got sidetracked or pulled into a conversation by an overly chatty acquaintance. But, no. The store clerk did not even recall you entering, much less buying anything. Larry felt at an impasse. Was this something really for concern? Did he need to make a stir? There was no real way to confirm that you had something unfortunate happen. He hesitates, wasting precious time because of his uncertainty. Strangely, he sent a message to Rika, wanting advice from a colleague on what to do. She contacted the police without hesitation and told him she would be talking to Geeta about it. He felt his shoulders fall.

🍙 The first search was not fruitful. Little could be gathered, but your bag was found. Nothing was disturbed. His eyes scanned the items, desperately searching for anything that could give him a hint as to what happened. Nothing. He was no inquisitive sort, nor was he some active actor within these things. He just felt lost. There was nothing that he could do. All he could continue to do was be a passive participant in life. While it was everything he had done before, he felt like he was falling deeper into an unreachable state. Why? This sort of thing should not happen to him – to you. You were both relatively normal, he felt. Any attempts by his pokemon to cheer him up failed horribly. He was like an automaton imitating human life. A facade of completely nothing to get through the days.

🍙 But, he searched still. Geeta clearly saw the state of her subordinate and did not feel as passive as Larry did. Without hesitation, she initiated more searches. While she might not act the kindest all the time, part of her really did not enjoy seeing Larry suffering in such a manner. His schedule was rearranged to allow him to join in on the searches and try to find you. Yet nothing came. Nothing changed. It was as if you managed to vanish into thin air. People recalled seeing you one moment but not in the next. It was a maddening kind of thing for the everyman. He was not built to navigate stress more intense than a regular workplace kind. Each passing day brought him further and further from you. All he had, once more, was his work. It all felt tiring, but there was no way for him to do anything else. Idle moments made his mind wander. His usual way of freezing more concerning as he thought of you. Somehow, he had found himself a partner – One that did not mind his difficulties and tribulations. And, somehow, he lost them in the most mysterious way possible. His feet only started moving again when someone cleared their throat.

🍙 Then, one day, Geeta came to him at the Treasure Eatery. It had been nearly a year since everything had happened, and he had adapted as well as one could. A polite smile was on her face as she asked him to cut his lunch short – she had something for him. He relented, his only enjoyable pass time, and followed her. They entered his gym office. Before he could ask what was going on, a voice called out an unwanted nickname. “Larr-bear.” His head snapped in the direction of it. There you stood. You looked worse for wear, clothing clean (albeit odd), but stress clearly having an effect on you. You smiled, though. You smiled brightly. Larry was shocked into silence, dropping his briefcase in response. Geeta stepped aside as you embraced him. Many questions rushed through his mind – Many he could not dare ask. Yet… He embraced you back and closed his eyes. Your warmth was real. This was real. A rare smile broke his face. Finally, he felt normalcy return.

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ He was absolutely a betting man and knew the odds were off. Not only that, he prided himself on being able to read and understand people. You, especially, as his partner. This was wrong. He knew it was wrong. It was why he acted with little hesitation to follow out where you went a search for you. Was Black City the nicest play in Unova? Absolutely not. He stayed there because it fitted his needs, but a certain invitation from a friend made him make plans for the future. He questioned people casually, checking if anyone had seen you and how far you had made it. Apparently, he quickly found out that you never even made it to the store. Frustration burned in his veins, but he forced himself to remain calm. A search was needed, he knew. Time was precious as it stood.

♡ It was admittedly small. Things like this were seldom taken seriously. Plus, with Grimsley's reputation as a playboy, authorities just assumed it was a scorned lover disappearing on their cheating partner. While that was almost certainly not the case, a volunteer search at least came up with something to validate that and draw attention back. Your bag. It lied undisturbed among some building's potted fauna. He held it closely, observing what was in it. Everything was in order. His stomach twisted as he knew something horrible was afoot. He hated pulling his title, but throwing around his weight to actually make sure things were done felt important. He put it all on the line to make sure it happened. The thought of anything happening to you drove him mad.

◇ Each passing day made him feel lost. His usual haunts were not fun when his heart only yearned for you. This was not fair – Life was not fair. Battling was annoying. Errors kept springing up in his Elite Four battles, and the league took notice. He was forced to take time off to recuperate from the stress of it all. Everything felt like the opposite of his previous reality. The pillars of salt grumbling at long last. His losses stacked up. A big gamble, nothing but pure risk, saw his final downfall. All he could do was walk along the beach and wonder where you were. Were you taken? He had a few debts, but they were nothing serious. Enemies? Well, maybe, but kidnapping? That seemed unlikely. He watched the waves with vacant eyes. You were something truly special to him. A good luck charm, he felt now. His luck was gone without you. He took a step into the water.

♧ A year passed with no updates. Grimsley had to move away from the city, unfortunately. His income was no longer enough to keep up, and he retired from the league, no longer finding joy in lingering there. No, the bright sun of Alola burned his skin as he surfed along the waves. A rebirth of sorts. A muted one. He stood on the beach as he usually did and watched the ocean move. Nanu had asked to meet him here. His eyes closed as he flipped his coins. An internal bet was made. Tails. A fifty chance… He caught it as it fell. Tails. Arms suddenly came around his waist. He tensed up. Turning around, he felt his body feel like it had been dowsed in ice water. You stared up at him with a smile. Your clothing… It was odd. His was, too, now. Nanu... He felt grateful for his connection as he turned to embrace you. So many questions – He would ask them eventually, but it was not the time for it. Not when his good luck charm was finally back with him. A shaky breath left him as he let his face reflect his true emotions. Love burned in his gaze.

🚀Giovanni🐈

🟥 It was called in instantly to his grunts to look for you. Did your bodyguards fail? He wanted to scoff as he got up to organise everything. Viridian was not a dangerous place – Well, he knew the danger and controlled it. You were not under any risk. Yet, you had been taking too long. Worrying was not in his nature, but you liked to draw strange things out of him unconsciously. He waited for any updates. His fingers tapped against his desk. This all felt so dramatic to him. His eyes closed. A report came. You had not gone to the convenience store. People had seen you on your way there, but you never made it. His fist slammed against his desk. Naturally. Something was amiss. His intuition was not him being blind sided by his feelings towards you. Now, he called in a proper search. Someone easily could have taken you to get at him. He would not give them the pleasure.

🟥 He found himself walking the streets, watching for any signs of a struggle. Nothing. It made no sense. No one reported anything. People acted as if you had just been walking among them one moment and then were gone in the next. That was illogical. Had you run away from him? The thought annoyed him, but he supposed that was not impossible. Still, he saw no reason to treat it as that. If you wanted to leave, Giovanni would at least have preferred one final discussion. Whatever line of thinking he may have been following was interrupted when a grunt claimed to have found your bag. He picked it up, observing it carefully, before investigating the contents. Nothing seemed missing. Your ID and cards were in it. A voluntary disappearance exited his mind. He made a frightening expression. Someone had just earned his full attention.

🟥 He waited. He waited endlessly for any demands to be made of him – a ransom, disbandment of his group, for him to die. Nothing came. It was radio silent. He waited. Following searches turned up nothing new. Each passing day felt like a mocking jeer. Had someone taken you solely to drive him mad? His affection for you was not something he plainly expressed – not even among his most trusted executives. Giovanni knew his attachment towards you was dangerous for him. Yet… He did not expect such a thing to happen. His coldness and ruthlessness multiplied. It felt impossible for him to remove himself from his word – Being forced to linger on your absence was a kind of torture he wished to inflict on whoever had taken you. Alongside a few other varieties. He lived on. There was nothing else for him to do.

🟥 But, nearly a year later, a report came to him. A grunt found a strange person lingering around his home. He asked them to be brought in, expecting a petty burglar unprepared for the possible consequence of their actions. Instead, he found a familiar face before him in his office. Archer stood near him as shocked as he was. You looked exhausted but well. No obvious signs of being in an awful situation. Your clothing was odd, but you clearly looked relieved to see him. Everyone was dismissed – He needed to be alone with you. You said his name and smiled at him. A genuine smile. The urge to interrogate you crossed his mind, but he stopped himself. You clearly had still been through something. He sat back down in his chair and pulled you into his lap. You were real. This was not some cruel joke. He held you tightly to himself. For now, he would enjoy the odd comfort of your presence before moving on to what happened to you.

[rebelliousstories]

Ten Thousand Candles

Kiss Me You Animal

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Zylia “The Freak” Shelley

Fandom: Fallout

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Strong Language, Mentions of Death and Killing

Word Count: 711

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

//Chapter Two//

Kiss Me You Animal Masterlist: Here

Summary: Cooper is not too sure if he is impressed or fed up with this new girl. Probably both.

Have you ever seen someone who just looks like if you say the wrong thing, no matter how small, they would hurt you and everyone in the immediate vicinity? That was Cooper Howard right now. He was tearing through the town faster than a bat out of hell, trailing after a girl. Why was he following this girl? Because just a few minutes ago they met, as she stole his bounty that she was now cashing in on.

Walking into town, he just caught the trail of the unearthly colored hair disappearing into the shop where the bounty originated. He gritted his teeth, and waited outside until she was to return. Cooper found a rocking chair, and waited. He was a patient man, and that was being put to the test as he sat there. Most people passed by him without so much as a glance, but others took one look at him and scurried away. It did not much matter to him anymore. He had two hundred years to come to terms with his new state.

Seeing her white hair come through the door, he took note and noticed her shoving something in her bag. He stood up slowly, marching his way up to her while she was distracted.

“Well, gotta say, sure as shit been a long time since someone stole my bounty from right under me.” Howard drawled, almost jovial in his speech. The woman’s head whipped up to see The Ghoul in front of her once more.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so slow then, Ghoulie.” She teased, finding joy in annoying him.

“I wasn’t slow,” he growled, “you were just a sneaky little minx who can’t keep her sticky fingers away from what’s not hers.” Cooper stepped closer to the woman, assessing whether or not he needed to draw his gun. But she just laughed.

“That ain’t how I remember it.” The still unknown woman got even closer to Cooper, and toyed with the edge of his jacket. He snatched it away, and stepped away with a flourish.

“Now, only time Imma tell you. Give me the caps that you got paid for my bounty, and we’ll be on our way.” His hand rested on his pistol while the other was outstretched.

“And if I don’t give you my caps for my bounty?” She replied, brushing a hand through her hair nonchalantly.

“I’d hate to kill someone as pretty as you now darlin’.” Cooper smiled, and hoped she would do the right thing. As she stood there, contemplating, The Ghoul was steadily losing his patience. She came closer and closer to his outstretched gloved hand, until it was resting right against her stomach. Sifting through her bag, she placed a singular bottle cap in his hand and closed his fingers around it.

“For you troubles. Name’s Zylia, by the way. Next time don’t be so slow.” The now named woman patted Cooper on the shoulder, and began to walk away from him. However, he had different plans. Howard stood there with the cap in his hand, and a million thoughts running through his head. Pocketing the cap, he turned to where Zylia was walking away.

“Do you have a death wish?” He called, making her stop for a brief moment. Even from all this distance, the pink eyes she held pierced his very soul.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?” Zylia responded, toying with a strand of hair.

“Do you know who I am?” Cooper questioned again, fully turning his body to face her.

“No. Should I?” Once more, his patience was being tested. Cooper moved his duster out of the way and rested a hand on his pistol that was still holstered.

“Little girl, I’m really not in the mood for this. Give me the caps.” He repeated, fully ready for a shoot out.

“Little girl? Well, I might be little, but not young enough to be a girl. I’m just gonna be on my way if that’s alright with you, Ghoul.” Again, Zylia turned around and began to walk away from the man. He chuckled softly, before drawing his pistol and aiming it at the girl.

It all happened in a flash, but the sound was one that was an everyday occurrence in the Wastelands.

Bang!

[theladyofdeath]

Anxious & Bewitched {nessian}

Ship: Nesta x Cassian Summary: College AU; Nesta loses a bet and has to go on a date with Cassian to a haunted corn maze. T/W: None; Fluff

Written with @snelbz

As Nesta opened the passenger side door and dropped from the cab of the truck, a chill breeze had her tucking her hands into the folds of her thick sweater.

The driver-side door closed behind her and she took a deep breath.

She had no reason to be nervous. There was no reason to be nervous. It wasn’t the first time they’d hung out together, wasn’t even the first time it’d just been the two of them, without the rest of their friends. But this time… This time was different.

He appeared around the front of the truck. “I told you I’d come around to get your door.”

Reigning in the urge to roll her eyes, Nesta muttered, “Yeah, well, you were taking too long.”

He laughed, as he always did when he was clearly exasperated by her. She wondered if somewhere, deep down inside, Cassian secretly wanted to throttle her instead of being amused by her annoyance. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“Most girls—” With one look shot in his direction, Cassian stopped speaking and cleared his throat. “Like corn mazes,” he finished, even though she knew damn well that wasn’t what he was going to say. “Do you?”

Nesta shrugged. “I don’t think anyone really enjoys corn mazes. We all just do them because it’s a tradition.”

“Glad to see you’re excited,” he muttered and shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked toward the ticket booth. “I hope you don’t get scared too easily. They say this is the scariest maze in the county.”

Nesta glanced at the setting sun, barely still in existence. She gave it fifteen minutes before they were in complete darkness. “Do I seem like someone who gets scared easily?”

They reached the front of the line, which saved Cassian from having to answer the loaded question and headed for where the festivities would be starting as soon as the sun fully set behind Ramiel in the distance.

“So,” Nesta began as she looked around at the stands and vendors around them. “I believe the stipulations were one dinner and one trip through the corn maze.”

“And apple cider after the maze,” Cassian reminded her with a wink. The bet they’d made last week over whether Azriel or Elain would earn a higher score on their English lit midterm had won Cassian a date with Nesta, after over a year of rejections. He would make it count.

Nesta’s dramatic sigh was mostly for show as she said, “Right, how could I forget? Where do we start?”

“Dinner?” He asked, gesturing to the stalls they paused before.

Chili, soup, and roasted chicken legs; kettle corn, funnel cake, and, of course, hot cider. The options were limitless and as Nesta’s stomach rumbled hungrily, she realized her appetite was as well. “I could eat.”

After a quick discussion over what they each wanted and whether or not it would count as a date if they weren’t eating the same thing, Cassian led Nesta to an open picnic table, placing her bowl of hearty tomato soup in front of her as she sat down. Rather than taking the seat across from her, Cassian sat next to her, the heat of his thigh against hers as he took a bite out of the massive chicken leg he’d decided on.

He ate like an animal and Nesta hated to admit that she found it oddly attractive. 

Nonetheless, she said, “You eat like a barbarian.”

“I eat like a man,” he corrected and nodded towards her soup. “Are you going to pretend to sip that thing like a lady instead of devouring it like you want to?”

The word devour from his lips sent a chill down her spine. She’d read too much smut.  

And yes, yes she was.

Nesta took her sweet time sipping her soup, just to spite him. He was finished in less than a minute but he waited patiently for her once his food was long gone. 

Half an hour passed before Nesta’s bowl was empty and by that time, the moon and the stars were shining brightly in the night sky. Cassian took care of their garbage and clapped his hands together as Nesta stood from the picnic table.

“Ready?”

She sighed, even as a whirlwind of anxiety and excitement swelled in the pit of her stomach. “I guess I don’t have a choice, right?”

His grin was intoxicating as he said, “Not at all.”

They lined up behind a group of high school students, Cassian recognizing the green and silver of their letterman jackets from the next town over, and sat in companionable silence as the teenagers planned how they’d make their way through the maze. They discussed who would lead, who was too scared and would walk in the middle, and who would bring up the rear, making sure those people from the middle wouldn’t fall behind.

Before they knew it, the excited giggles of the group became shrieks and howls of laughter as they meandered deeper into the maze.

Then it was their turn.

“After you, Nes,” Cassian said, gesturing to the long walkway ahead of them. It faded into nothing but darkness and he swore he heard her swallow before she turned to him.

“I don’t think so. This was your idea, so you get to go in first.”

The attendant rolled his eyes and held an arm out toward the entrance. “I’ve got a line and you’re backing it up. You can go in together.”

Nesta opened her mouth to protest but Cassian took her by the hand and pulled her into the maze. Before she could even catch her breath, they were enveloped in corn stalks, the shrieks and screams of others radiating around them.

Nesta’s body grew taut, so much so that she hadn’t even realized that her hand was still in Cassian’s until they turned their first corner.

“So,” he began, and she could see his smirk in the outline of the starlight, “not scared, huh?”

“I swear to the Cauldron, I will leave right now if you don’t shut up.” The words rushed out of her. She took a deep breath, then another. “I’m not scared. I’m just—”

A guy dressed as a bloodied up zombie jumped out of the cornstalks and Nesta screamed.

But it was Cassian that jumped nearly a foot in the air, a long string of profanity tumbling from his mouth.

Nesta stared at him.

Cassian, chest heaving, stared back.

Then, despite herself, Nesta laughed.

With an exasperated sigh, Cassian took Nesta’s hand again and dragged her away from the still snarling zombie.

“Holding my hand a little tight there, aren’t you?” She asked, once they had moved farther into the maze. He could hear the smile on her face, but didn’t look at her as they surged forward. “Don’t worry, Cass, I’ll keep you safe.”

A twig snapped at their backs and Nesta whirled, turning to face the…empty path behind them. Her eyes darted around, searching despite not seeing anyone or anything there.

A terrified scream from somewhere deeper within the maze had Nesta gasping and clutching onto Cassian’s arm with her free hand.

“I could say the same for you,” he snapped, and cursed when the sound of a chainsaw began to rev from somewhere in the maze. “I’m having a blast.”

“Me too,” she hissed, grounding herself in the warmth of his body. She had never felt so annoyed and so safe at the same time. Maybe if she closed her eyes, this whole experience would be so much more enjoyable. 

Ignoring the fact that she was clinging to Cassian for dear life, Nesta continued to make her way through the maze, wishing she was literally anywhere else every time they came to a dead end.

They had just gotten away from a psycho in a hockey mask when Cassian said, “I have no clue how to get out of here.”

Nesta looked down the creepy pathways before them. “I don’t either. Isn’t there some trick to getting out of mazes?”

Snapping his fingers, Cassian took her hand and began pulling her down the path to the right. “Right turns only.”

The psycho in the hockey mask was waiting around the next turn with the rest of his team.

“Why do you even like this stuff?” Cassian demanded as they stopped to catch their breath, warily looking around at the corn stalks, waiting for someone to jump out at them.

“I don’t,” Nesta replied, peeking around the corner, cringing at whatever she saw. “I hate it.”

When there was no response, Nesta glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting him to be gone. Instead, she found him staring at her.

“What do you mean you hate it,” he asked, eyes on hers.

“I mean, I hate getting scared,” she snapped, looking back around the corner. “Slashers and horror movies are the extent of my interest in being scared.”

He muttered under his breath, “I’m going to kill them.”

With her brow furrowed, Nesta turned to find him shaking his head. “Who?”

“Feyre, but I’m sure it was Rhys’s idea, too.” He stepped up behind her, finally seeing the clown standing in the middle of the path and stepped back. “When I asked her for an idea of what you’d want to do, she said you’d love this. That you love haunted houses.”

Nesta tried her best not to gape but couldn’t help herself. “She said what?”

Cassian just shook his head, dragging Nesta past the creepy ass clown. 

“You don’t like this, either?” She asked, when he said nothing. Cassian just shook his head, and Nesta scoffed. “Wow.”

“Being scared pisses me off,” he admitted. “Which, your sister knows.”

A realization hit Nesta as they turned yet another corner: he hated being scared, but he brought her here anyway.

Because he thought she would love it. 

She hadn’t realized she was staring at him until a second clown popped out of the stalks and Cassian’s hand gripped onto hers so tightly that it hurt.

Nothing else was said until they reached the end of the maze, just a few minutes later. There were no other big scares, nothing else to take any additional years off of Cassian’s life and he wished his sigh of relief when they finally walked out into the open air of the festival wasn’t as loud as it was. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, beyond thankful that the entire ordeal was over and he’d made it out alive.

“Alright,” he said, exhaling one last time and looking towards the stalls. He’d seen someone selling hot cider when they’d first gotten here. “I could go for some cider. Honestly, I’m down for something stronger, if you are, but—”

A tug on his hand had him leaning down and then a warm kiss was pressed to his cheek.

For a moment, he stilled, thinking what had happened hadn’t just happened, but when he met her gaze, she almost looked as surprised as he was. Her eyes were wide and hesitant, glancing hectically between his eyes and his mouth. Cassian swallowed, scared to say or do anything to break whatever the hell was going on here. 

“Thank you,” she said, quietly but firmly, eyes locked on his. 

“For what?” he asked, blinking. “You were miserable.”

“So were you,” she agreed, and shook her head. “So, thank you.”

“I wanted you to have a good time,” he admitted, brushing his fingers against hers. “I didn’t want you to regret having said yes.”

Her fingers grazed his again, but then she laced them together. “Technically, I didn’t have a choice, since I did lose a bet after all,” she said, voice taking on a teasing tone before dropping back into something softer as she smiled. “But I’m glad I came. I’m glad I said yes, Cassian.”

She glanced down at their joined hands, squeezing his fingers once before she met his gaze. His eyes were already on her and he couldn’t help but stare in awe at how beautiful she was.

Blushing, Nesta cleared her throat. “So. You owe me a drink.”

Cassian hesitated. “Cider? Or…”

“Something stronger may be nice.” Nesta breathed a laugh and Cassian couldn’t help but smile. “Something to take the edge off.”

Cassian couldn’t deny that. He could use the same thing, something to take the edge off. “There’s a bar two miles up the road. I think it’s a biker bar, but it seems… Well, I’ll keep you safe.”

Nesta raised a brow. “Maybe I’m the one to keep you safe.”

Cassian sighed. “You can’t ever just say okay, can you?”

Nesta pretended to think about it. “No.”

Yet, with a wicked smile, she dragged him by his hand to the parking lot - which was nothing more than a field marked off with rope - until they were at his truck. Still holding her hand, Cassian opened the passenger side door and helped Nesta up inside before rounding the truck and climbing up behind the wheel. 

The ride to the corn maze had been okay. Conversation had been awkward. Not bad, but a little forced. The ride to the bar was nothing like that. It was brief, but by the time Cassian put the truck in park and cut the engine, he had Nesta dabbing at her eyes as she laughed at a story he was telling her about a prank he and Azriel had pulled on Rhys when they were in high school.

“To this day, he can’t stand the smell of tartar sauce,” he said, shaking his head as unbuckled his seatbelt.

She did the same, laughter still shaking her shoulders. “I don’t blame him, I don’t think I can think of it the same way either.”

With a grin, he opened the door, hopping down and rounded the truck. When he opened her door, he offered her his hand. “You waited this time.”

Her cheeks darkened just a bit, but her eyes sparkled as she said, “Well, I wouldn’t have wanted to take your chance to be a gentleman away.”

“Again,” he added.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Again.”

After taking his hand, Nesta hopped down from the cab and he locked the truck behind them as they made their way inside the bar. It was pretty busy but they managed to find a little table tucked into the back. 

“What’re you drinking?” Cassian asked after Nesta plopped onto the bench.

Nesta lifted a brow. “Surprise me.”

Cassian chuckled. “You trust me that much?”

“We’re about to find out,” Nesta crooned.

Suddenly nervous, Cassian made his way to the bar and waited for the bartender to find her way towards him. He took the time to decide what drink best represented Nesta Archeron.

In the end, he returned to the table with two drinks and two shot glasses.

“What’d you get?” She asked, eyeing the drinks as she set them on the table.

“Jack and Coke,” he said, hovering his hand over the first. Then the second. “Vodka cranberry.” Then he slid one of the shot glasses in front of her and took the other himself. “And a shot of tequila for us both, in case you hate either of those.” 

Grinning, she looked back at the drinks. “And if I want the Jack?”

“Then it looks like I’ll be having a pink drink tonight.”

Rolling her eyes, Nesta nudged the Jack and Coke closer to him and took the other. “I like both, but this is my favorite.” She picked up the shot glass and held it out to him. “Cheers.”

Clinking his glass against hers, Cassian tossed it back, before placing it top down on the table. He did his best not to make a face, but found himself chasing his shot with his drink. Blowing out a brisk breath, he asked, “So am I to assume that haunted corn mazes aren’t a part of your yearly Halloween traditions?”

Nesta shook her head, leaning back in her seat. “Absolutely not. I’ve never even been to a haunted house. Feyre and Elain used to try and get me to take them in high school, before they could drive, but I’ve never liked it.”

“Me either.” He drummed his fingers on the table next to his drink. “Why would I want to pay someone to scare me shitless?”

With a laugh, Nesta agreed. “What about you? Anything you do for Halloween every year?”

“Pumpkin carving. Hands down.”

Nesta scrunched her nose.

Cassian blinked. “Do you have…an issue with pumpkin carving?”

“It’s so messy,” she said, sipping from her drink. “And I hate the feeling of all the guts between my fingers. No, thank you.”

Cassian shakes his head, eyes narrowed in her direction. “What kind of person hates pumpkins? Who hurt you?”

“I like pumpkins.” Nesta laughed. “I just like them intact.” 

“You’re missing out,” he said, and his toe nudged hers until the table and lingered. “Maybe you should give it another try. Maybe you’ve done it wrong.”

“You’re very passionate about carving pumpkins,” Nesta chuckled.

“I prefer calling it pumpkin art, but yes I am.”

Nesta laughed again and Cassian stared at her in awe. It was nice to see her laugh, smile, be happy instead of glaring daggers in his direction.

He looked away from her, his finger circling the rim of his glass. “You could come over, one night this week, if you wanted. We could carve a couple pumpkins. I’ll handle the guts, all you’d have to do is the fun part.”

Raising her eyebrows, Nesta asked, “And what exactly is the fun part? The stabbing?” 

“That and realizing that what you carved looks absolutely nothing like what you planned.”

With a snort, Nesta asked, “I thought you said it was pumpkin art?”

“I did,” he replied with a shrug, but the corner of his mouth was lifted up in a smirk. “But I never said it was good art.”

Tipping her head back, Nesta laughed. When she was done, she brought her glass to her lips and took a drink. “I’d love that.”

Cassian was almost shocked by her revelation. “Yeah?” She nodded but Cassian tried not to get his hopes up too much. “How about Wednesday?”

Nesta slowly set her glass back down. For a second, she hesitated, but then she said, “I can do Wednesday.”

Nearly dropping his glass, Cassian stared across the table. She was not only on a date with him now, but agreed to another in only a few days time. 

Either he was dreaming…or she was already drunk.

Maybe a bit of both. 

After a few more drinks, Cassian glanced at the clock over the bar and saw that it was pushing midnight. “We should probably go. You said you work at nine?”

With a groan, Nesta nodded. She worked at the library on campus and the librarian was not lenient about tardiness and attendance. “Bright and early.”

Drumming his fingers on the table, Cassian stood. “I’ll pay our tab and we can get out of here.”

By the time he returned, Nesta had finished her drink and was slipping her purse over her head.

His hand fell to the small of her back as they left, the crack of pool balls and droning of the jukebox in the corner fading as they walked out the front door.

As soon as they were outside, Nesta shivered. “It’s definitely fall,” she said, tucking her hands under her arms.

With a laugh, Cassian wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side, not letting himself second guess the move. “It’s almost like you should have worn that coat I mentioned when I picked you up.”

“I’d rather be cold than admit defeat,” she joked, but Cassian sensed there was a bit of truth to it, even as she leaned further into him. “Besides, you seem to like my lack of a coat.”

He did. “I wouldn’t like it if you were to die of hypothermia.”

Nesta snorted. “Once again, look who's being overdramatic.”

She let him open her door and help her into the truck, before it roared to life and he headed back into Velaris. On the ride back to her apartment, Nesta admitted she’d never been to a high school football game, much to Cassian’s dismay.

“What did you even do on Friday nights?” He demanded, glancing over at her as they stopped at a red light.

“Stayed in and read.” She said it like it should have been obvious, and honestly, it probably should have been.

“We’ll have to fix that, too,” Cassian said, just as the light turned green. “There’s nothing like being under those lights, the sounds of the game.”

Nesta lifted a brow. “There’s also nothing like curling up in bed with a good book.”

Cassian shook his head, amused. “You can’t tell me that reading is better than a real life experience.”

“Football is not a real life experience,” Nesta protested but that playfulness in her tone remained. “It’s a sport where people are either getting injured or praised way too much. Sometimes both.”

Cassian looked over to find her already watching him with the smallest of grins on her mouth. “So hateful.”

“I could say the same for you,” she crooned.

“Fine,” Cassian laughed. “You come with me to a game and I’ll read whatever book you give me.”

Eyebrows raising, Nesta asked, “Whatever book I give you? Any book of my choosing?”

“I already feel like I’m going to regret this, but yes.” Cassian pulled into the parking lot of Nesta’s building. “Any book of your choosing, as much or as little smut as you want.”

Nesta’s cheeks darkened. “I’ll start thinking then.”

He put the truck into park, looking over at her. “I can’t wait.”

The cab of the truck was silent, as her eyes met his. It felt quiet, intimate, safe. Softly, like speaking too loudly would shatter whatever was building between them, Nesta said, “I had fun tonight. Despite getting the shit scared out of me.”

“Me too,” Cassian agreed, hardly more than a whisper. “Can I walk you to your door?”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved.

The realization that Cassian had no idea what to do was daunting. He had never had trouble with women before but Nesta was a different breed. He’d waited years for this moment and now that it was here, he felt he was walking on glass and it would shatter beneath him at any given moment.

Nesta cleared her throat when the silence dragged on. “Should I get my door this time or…?”

That set Cassian in motion and by the time he rounded the truck and opened her door, she was doing her best — and failing — to hide her grin.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, taking her hand and helping her down.

Her laughter was quiet, but she didn’t let go of his hand as they headed up the stairs and to her door.

“So I’ll come over Wednesday?” She asked, and it was more than Cassian could have hoped for. He’d half expected her to change her mind, to pretend she forgot, and move on.

“Yes, I mean, yeah.” He was stumbling over his words and he cleared his throat. “I’ve got a bio chem lab that lets out at three, but I’m free anytime after that.”

“Then I’ll be there after three,” she said.

Cassian's hand tightened in hers as they stood on her doormat. “Sounds good.”

“Good.” With one last smile that had Cassian feeling weak, Nesta turned towards her door.

Before he could think twice, Cassian pulled on her hand and pulled her towards him until their mouths met, softly. He was still walking that line of caution even if caution was the last thing on his mind.

But she kissed him back, each touch sweet and gentle and nothing like he expected a kiss with her to be like, but far better.

He cupped her face, her lips soft and lush against his, and breathed in her scent before stepping back. The blush on her cheeks was beautiful, her eyes bright, and her breathing was shallow and quick. He wanted to kiss her again, something more than the quick meeting of their lips, but he forced himself to take another step back, to head towards his truck. “I’ll see you Wednesday,” he said, gaze locked on hers.

“Wednesday,” she repeated, voice soft, and unlocked her door. It opened with a creak and she stepped inside. “Goodnight, Cassian.”

The door closed and he was left staring at her autumn-themed wreath. So soft, there was no way she could have heard it, he breathed, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Hi 🤎

I would love to read the long version of all those fake fics if I'm being honest! But: 🦮 for Campfire please dear and lovely Terra 🤎

Campfire Rating: Mature Fandom: Attack on Titan Relationship: Levi Ackerman / Hange Zoe Additional tags: #OG levi squad  #canon universe   #friendships  #friends to lovers  #field trip  #camping  #campfires  #fluff  #romantic feelings  #romantic gestures  #romantic… dreams?  #sleep talking  #no  #smutty sleep talking ;)  #secret relationship  #but not for long #oops  #relationship reveal  #accidental public love confession  #Levi Ackerman is a mess #severe second hand embarrassment Word count: 860 words The clearing was ringed by trees, their great limbs reaching skywards. Spindly branches grew to sharpened points like gnarled fingers, each clutching a thin fabric of leaves which wove into a threadbare canopy overhead. Pale light filtered between them; early evening sky turned grey by the rising smoke from the campfire. Bird calls pierced the quiet rustle of wind. Then, in the distance, a chorus of chirps echoed in response. Amongst the murmurings and stirrings of nature, the flames crackled. 

Two squadrons of Survey Corps soldiers sat upon the fallen logs and leaf-strewn forest floor. The assembly had broken out into smaller groups, conversing intently as they suspended corn cobs over the flickering flames. The air was filled with the smell of roasted vegetables. Hange was terrifying Moblit with a report of Sawney’s cavities, following a dental examination they had personally carried out on the titan. Meanwhile, Oluo was outlining squad formations at painstaking length. Levi nodded as his squad member continued on and on and on… At first glance, it appeared as though the Captain was deep in thought. His eyes narrowed as though he was concentrating on visualising Oluo’s detailed descriptions.

...of course, it’s just my opinion that the Standby Squad should ride ahead of the Transport Squad,” Oluo drawled, “they are in the most protected position after all. Besides which, the Transport Squad carries our spare food, medical equipment, ODM gear…”

Levi’s eyelids fell shut as Oluo began to list off each item on his fingers. The Captain nodded again, his head falling to the side. Petra gasped as she felt his chin brush against her shoulder.

“Captain! Not here! I’m not read-”

It took her a moment to realise that he had not been consciously leaning towards her, but rather unconsciously. The young recruit froze, her shoulder bearing Levi’s head. Oluo stared at them before he gave a bitter sigh, dropping his hand upon his lap in disappointment.

“Well, that’s not what you want.” 

“Oh my god…” Mutterings broke out around the circle amidst the nudging of elbows. Petra sat upright, her shoulders stiffened, not wanting to budge an inch lest she disturb Levi. 

“Come on…” she tried in a placating tone, “we’ve had a long ride here. Let’s just let him sleep. I’ll be fine… as long as someone passes me some corn?” Petra was attempting to sound mildly amused - inconvenienced even - by the fact she was trapped, sitting on her heels and unable to turn her head. However, her face glowed in pleasure as her eyes continually drifted down to Levi’s face, resting so close to her own.

The conversation around the circle continued. Petra lifted her chin, her demeanour inflated as she sat eating and speaking with Eld. All the whilst she affected a casual lightness as though her senior officer was not huddled close to her, open and vulnerable in his slumber. Then, suddenly, Levi interrupted with a murmur.

Petra and Eld lapsed into silence, uncertain as to whether or not the Captain was stirring. He spoke again, only louder this time.

“Ah, Hange… take em off, baby… I don’t care if they’re small… wanna bury my face in them…..”

Petra’s corn on the cob rolled along the forest floor. All eyes were trained on Hange. The titan scientist feigned a perplexed expression as their eyes roved the tree tops.

“Did you guys hear something? Was that a lark? A great tit maybe…?”

“Sounds like Levi would know,” Eld cracked dryly, causing a ripple of laughter to break out amongst the recruits. The sound was followed swiftly by a nervous shushing as Levi raised his head, his eyes opening.

“… the hell are you all looking at?” he muttered. His glare immediately sought out Oluo. In his semi-conscious state, Levi tried to piece together the fragments of their earlier conversation. He remembered it had been something about squads and supplies…

“Well?” Levi growled.

“Sir… I… I was just suggesting an amendment to the riding formation,” Oluo answered anxiously, “not to say you don’t know breast - best!”

The swell of laughter bubbled up around the circle again. Hange fell to wiping their glasses on their yellow shirt, a deep flush creeping up the skin of their neck. Scowling, Levi climbed to his feet.

“If you’ve all got time to sit there snickering, then you’ve got time to help rebuild this fire.” 

He scrutinised the dying embers. Most of the Survey Corps members had eaten by now. All that remained of the fire was a large charred stump, still smouldering in the centre. All of the smaller branches had collapsed to ash inside the middle of the pile. Levi looked up and caught Hange’s eye.

“Oi, Hange. Wanna give me a hand?”

Nervous titters broke out amongst the younger recruits. A few shoulders were shaking. Eld was grinning down at his lap. Oluo’s jaw was set. Gunther had crammed his fist into his mouth, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes.

“With what?” Hange asked, astonished.

Levi regarded her severely.

“Getting wood.”

The whole group burst out into a chorus of whoops and raucous laughter, Oluo hiccoughing loudly as he bit his tongue. @youre-ackermine

[archiveikemen]

'Secret In Your Heart' Collection Event

William Rex

I do not own any of the Ikemen Series content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD. Please support them by playing their games and buying stories. Not 100% accurate, expect mistakes.

read this before interacting with my posts

A party was to be held at the palace and many important members of high society were invited, making it an opportunity to interact with prominent political figures.

While playing with my hair on the bed, Will told me that he was invited.

William: Such events only look glamorous on the surface. But under that facade, they’re a mix of love, hatred, and plots.

William: I’m worried about whether you’ll be able to survive.

Kate: You will also be in danger, right?

Kate: In that case, I don't have the option to refuse attendance.

William: … Fufu, you’re a brave knight.

Kate: I can’t allow anyone to steal my precious King away from me.

…

And that’s why I attended the party on high alert.

I paid close attention to the hidden motives behind the peaceful conversations around me, while maintaining a smile on my face.

Sharp-Eyed Gentleman: Earl Rex — you should take good care of your valuables.

William: … Thank you for the piece of advice. May you not lose anything as well.

Will exchanged words with a gentleman who approached him while passing by.

The gentleman walked away after shooting as a meaningful glance, Will then leaned towards me and whispered in my ear.

William: Do you understand what he meant?

Kate: … I’m guessing that he meant “if we let our guards down, both of us will have something precious to us stolen”.

William: You’ve gotten better at understanding irony. Your answer is mostly correct.

William: However… this matter concerns someone else.

Kate: Huh…?

William: What do you think is precious to me?

(Something precious to Will…)

Kate: … Freedom?

William: … Pfft, ahahaha

William: Indeed, you’re right, Kate.

William: Keep an eye on me so my freedom won't be taken away.

(My response was probably… incorrect.)

(What could be “valuable” to William…? He’s not the type of person who gets attached to material things.)

While I was deep in thought about it, there was some bustling coming from the table a little distance away from us.

(What?)

I reflexively hid Will behind my back.

Sharp-Eyed Gentleman: Ugh, Urgh…!?

The gentleman suddenly turned pale and left the venue.

Kate: … What’s going on?

William: Now…

William: Do you see what he "left behind"?

…

Kate: Sigh… I’m glad nothing happened in the end.

A sudden wave of tiredness washed over me when we returned to the castle, and I plopped myself down onto the bed.

William: Yeah. “Nothing happened”, indeed.

(... Hm?)

Kate: Are you trying to imply something?

William: … I forgot how sharp your instincts have become.

Kate: What is it? Did something actually happen?

William: Nothing. All I did was protect what’s precious to me.

Kate: Protect…? Are you saying that something was targeted?

William: Yeah. My adorable, lovely, shield.

Kate: … Me?

William: You should be prouder of yourself than this, Kate.

William: Whenever you hear the question “what’s precious to me (William)”, your immediate answer should be that it’s you.

Kate: What do mean by… I was being targeted? When? By who?

William: The man who told me to “take care of my valuables”.

William: For quite some time, he’s been going around expressing his displeasure about me being in Her Majesty’s favour.

Kate: Then why did he turn pale and leave in a hurry…?

William: When he passed by, I did a little something to the glass he was holding.

(Wha…)

William: Ah, it's nothing that will put his life in danger.

William: However, because he left in the middle of an important party, he lost his reputation.

Will made an unbelievable revelation.

(I thought that I was protecting him… but he was actually protecting me.)

Moreover, he went as far as to spike that man’s drink with some drug without even laying a finger on him.

William: Haven't I told you before that I will protect you from anyone and anything that targets “you”?

William: I played a little prank on the fool who objectified my lover and so carelessly declared that he wanted to steal her from me.

I was happy to know that he was protecting me from harm.

It could've been fatal if he were to make a mistake in the drug dosage, what he did was so extreme… but it was easy to brush off that guilt.

Kate: You did that without it being part of an official mission… won’t you be in trouble if it's found out that you were the culprit?

There was a flame of mischief burning in Will’s red eyes—

William: Yeah. That’s why the truth is a secret between us.

He held an index finger over his lips with a bewitching smile.

Kate: … You’re evil.

William: What, you didn't already know?

I couldn't contain my laughter at his total lack of remorse.

Kate: Fufu, I knew.

Kate: Thank you for protecting me, Will.

William: Shhh… I told you it’s a secret.

Kate: No one but you can hear me right now. … Should I say that even louder?

William: … And if I choose to take that as you’re indirectly asking for a kiss?

Instead of giving him a verbal response, I put my arms around his neck.

And everything that happened afterwards was a secret between the two of us.

[naturesapphic]

Knight in shining armor part 3

Warnings: angst, fluff

You head to your room and starts sobbing that lasted for what seems like hours. Natasha feels a deep sadness and empathy in her heart as she imagines the princess's pain. "She must be feeling so alone right now," she thinks to herself. "I must do everything in my power to ensure her safety and happiness, even if it means sacrificing my own desires." She continues to patrol the castle grounds, her senses alert and her focus sharp. She knows that danger could come from any direction at any moment, and she cannot afford to let her guard down.

It was the next morning and you are sitting on the window sill and you look out the window, yearning for your knight but realizing that y’all can’t be together and your heart aches at the thought. Natasha continues her watchful patrol of the grounds, moving from one area to another with grace and precision. As she passes by the princess's window, she notes the young woman sitting on the windowsill staring off into the distance. She pauses for a moment, a sense of sadness washing over her. She knows that the princess is in pain and she wishes there was something she could do to ease her burden.

Finally, she decides to approach the window, her footsteps silent as she reaches the Princess's side. She looks out the window, saying softly. "It's a beautiful evening, isn't it?" Natasha rasped out and you looked up at her in surprise and you tense up a little but relaxes as I look up at you. “not as beautiful as you knight…” I slightly tease you with a playfully grin “but yes it is a beautiful evening, I love watching the sunset…” you confessed. Natasha looks at the Princess, her cheeks flushing a bit at the compliment but she quickly composes herself. "I'm glad you find the evening beautiful, your highness," she says with a faint smile. "It has always been one of my favorite times of day as well." She peers out the window, taking in the vibrant hues of the sunset before glancing back at the Princess.

"Is there anything I can do to help you feel more at ease?" Natasha asks gently, sensing the weight of the girl's sadness. "I know being a princess comes with many responsibilities, but please know that you are not alone." She gives you a gentle smile. “we should watch it together more sometime…” she says softly. You sigh sadly “no you cannot Natasha…I can’t kiss you, or hug you, or call you mine…so no there’s nothing you can do to ease this heart break I feel.”you look out the window again as a single tear falls down your cheek. Natasha’s heart aches at the sight of the Princess's tears, and she feels a deep sorrow in her own heart at the thought of not being able to be closer to her. "I understand, your highness," she says softly. "I wish there was something I could do to ease your pain, but please know that my loyalty and devotion to you will never falter. Whether as a friend or a guardian, I will always be here for you."

She stands quietly beside the princess, watching as another tear falls down her cheek. She wishes more than anything that she could wipe it away or hold her close, but she knows that is not her place. Her duty is to protect and serve, even if it means sacrificing her own desires. Finally, she speaks again, her voice gentle and kind. "Is there anything else I can do for you your highness?” She asked. You nod and stand up and walks over to you. “just know Natasha Romanoff that I am in love with you. more than anything and more than anyone. I would sacrifice any and everything to be with you but I see that your job is more important and I can understand that, you work hard and I appreciate that but just know I’ll never stop loving you my beautiful knight..” you say softly as your voice cracks and you lean up to give her a gentle kiss on your lips and walks back to my room, trying not to have a breakdown in front of you.

Natasha’s heart races at the Princess's confession, and she feels a mixture of emotions shock, confusion, longing, and heartache all mixed together. As the Princess kisses her, she feels a rush of desire surge through her, wanting to hold her close and never let go. But she knows that it is not her place, that as a knight and guardian of the Princess, her duty is to put the realm's needs above her own desires. Finally, she watches silently as the young woman walks away, feeling a deep sense of sadness and regret. She knows that she cannot change who she is, nor can she abandon the oath she has taken to protect the monarchy. “I will always be here for you, your highness, no matter what," she whispers softly to herself as she resumes her patrol, her heart heavy. After a while of patrolling she switched with one of the other guards and headed back to her room and falls into a sleep with her mind on you.

It was in the middle of the night and you scream loudly from my bedroom. waking up from a dreadful nightmare. Natasha wakes up from hearing the Princess's scream, quickly getting out of bed and grabbing her sword as she rushes over to the young woman's bedroom. She kicks open the door and finds the Princess laying in bed, looking distraught and terrified from the nightmare. "Your highness," she says gently, approaching the bed with her sword still at the ready just in case there's any danger. "It's alright, I'm here. You're safe." She places a hand on the girl's shoulder, feeling her tense up from the touch. "Do you want to talk about what happened?" Natasha asks softly, trying to calm the Princess down. Natasha's face hardens as she listens to the Princess speak of the nightmare.

You try to calm down to speak “n-nightmare a-about the g-guards who a-attacked me…” you stuttered out. "I'm sorry that you had to experience such a terrible dream, your highness," she says softly, her voice soothing in an attempt to ease the girl's fears. "But please know that I will do everything in my power to ensure that nothing like that ever happens to you again. You are under my protection, and I will not let anyone harm you." She pauses for a moment, thinking of what else she can say to calm the Princess's nerves. "Would you like me to stay here with you until you fall asleep again?" she offers, hoping to provide some comfort to the girl. "I promise I won't leave your side,” she said softly. “yes please…don’t leave me Natasha…” you say as another set of fresh tears fill your eyes and you grab onto Natasha’s strong arm gently. Natasha feels a pang of empathy for the Princess and nods gently. She slowly sits beside her and places her sword aside. Natasha grabs a hold of the young woman's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I won't leave you, your highness," she says softly, her tone gentle as she looks over to the Princess and gives her a reassuring smile. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep again. You're safe with me." As the princess falls asleep, Natasha stays by her side, feeling a sense of protectiveness surge in her chest. She keeps a watchful eye on the room and listens intently for any sounds that might threaten the Princess's safety. In that moment, natasha feels a deep sense of contentment and purpose, knowing that she is fulfilling her duty to the best of her abilities, and keeping you safe. You roll over onto her and wraps your body around natasha your sleep and a small smile appears on your lips. Natasha, startled at first by the Princess's sudden embrace, lets out a soft gasp but then realizes that the young woman is still asleep. She relaxes a bit and feels a sense of warmth from the Princess's body pressed up against hers.

For a moment, Natasha allows herself to relax, feeling the gentle rise and fall of the Princess's breathing as she sleeps. She strokes the girl's hair gently, running her fingers through the soft strands and feeling a sense of tenderness towards her. As she looks down at the sleeping form of the Princess, Natasha knows that she will do everything she can to protect and care for her, even if it means sacrificing her own happiness in the process. Because to Natasha, there is no greater honor than serving her king, her realm, and her Princess.

It was morning and you found yourself in your knights arms. a surge of happiness went through you and you looked up at you with a tired smile “thank you for keeping me safe last night…I didn’t have anymore bad dreams…” you say softly and gets an idea. “you know…if you were mine…you would have to be with me 24/7…you can keep protecting me Natasha. it doesn’t have to stop if you are mine and I am yours. that just means you can keep a better eye on me…” you said smirking at her. Natasha feels a sense of joy wash over her at the Princess's words, but also feels a sense of conflict about what the Princess is implying. "Your highness, I appreciate your trust and your kind words," she says softly but firmly, pulling away slightly but still holding on to the girl's hand. "But it's important that you understand that my duty to you and your father is not contingent on any personal relationship between us. My loyalty lies with the kingdom and its safety, and I will do whatever it takes to protect you and uphold my oath as a knight. You deserve the best protection, and I will always put the kingdom and your safety first."

Natasha gives the young woman's hand a gentle squeeze to reassure her. "That being said, I will always be here for you as your loyal knight and protector.” She promises. “Natasha! I told you many times my father is okay with us being together! he blessed us and said that you could marry me in the future! he wants me to be happy and he realizes that it’s with you…he trusts you…he said that if it could be anyone who he’d want me to marry that it would be you Natasha…” you explained to her. Natasha feels a sense of shock at the revelation and a myriad of emotions flood her. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she quickly regains composure. She looks down at the Princess with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "Your highness, I...I am not sure what to say," She lets out slowly. "Are you certain that your father gave his permission for us to be together? As your loyal knight and protector, I cannot act upon any relationship with you without the king's explicit consent. It is important that we are both in line with the regulations of the kingdom, and I must respect the law and its customs." She takes a deep breath, still holding on to the young woman's hand tightly. "However, I have always been here to protect and serve you, and I will continue to do so, no matter what.” She stated.

“I promise it’s true my love…we can go to him now and he will tell us the exact same thing he told me….we can be together my love…my father approves.” You explained as you pleaded with her to finally understand what you’ve been trying to say for the past few days. Natasha looks at the Princess with a mixture of awe and disbelief. She is uncertain about this unprecedented development, but the thought of being with the Princess makes her heart flutter with excitement and expectation. "If what you say is true, then I feel humbled and grateful. The possibility of being with you fills me with hope and joy. But it is important that we do not rush into anything without careful consideration. We must think about the consequences and whether our actions will benefit the kingdom and its people." She takes a deep breath and looks deeply into the Princess's eyes, feeling a sense of warmth and tenderness towards the girl. "But I am willing to risk anything for you, my love but your father has to approve of it.” She demanded softly and you nodded in understanding. “it is true…my father even said that he will approve of us sharing a room and a bed if we wish…i understand we can’t rush but oh I’m so happy my love I promise this will work out between us…” you confessed to her.

Natasha feels a mix of conflicting emotions, as the Princess's words fill her with warmth and affection, but she also feels a sense of apprehension and concern about the impact this newfound relationship will have on the kingdom. "Your highness, I am grateful for your love and trust, and I feel a deep connection to you," Natasha says softly, gently touching the Princess' hand. "But we must be mindful of our actions and the potential consequences they could have on the kingdom. We cannot act impulsively and without considering the implications of our decisions. If we are to start a relationship, it must be done carefully and discreetly, with the utmost respect for the laws of the kingdom.”She looks at the Princess with a mixture of warmth and tenderness, realizing that her feelings for this young woman run deeper than she had ever thought possible. You nod in understanding at her words. “I mean…I will be future queen and I will need a ruler beside me so it will affect the kingdom but In a good way.” You said while smirking as you start to caress her cheeks with your warm hand. Natasha feels a shiver run down her spine as the Princess caresses her cheek, her eyes closing briefly at the feeling of your warm hand.

"I understand your highness, and I will be honored to serve you in any way that I can," Natasha says softly, looking intensely into the young woman's eyes. She pauses for a moment, then takes the Princess's hand in hers, holding it tightly. "Know that I love you, your highness, and that I will always be there to protect and support you, no matter what happens." You sigh and nods. “so you do want to be with me and for this to work…right?” You say hopefully. “we can go as slow as you want but I want to hear you say that you want to be with me.” You said as you look deep into her green eyes. Natasha looks into the Princess's eyes, feeling a sense of vulnerability and openness. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she is about to say, then speaks softly and honestly. "Yes, your highness, I do want to be with you. I have never felt a connection with anyone like I do with you, and I am willing to take the risk for us to be together. But we must be careful, and ensure that our relationship does not cause strife or upset the order of the kingdom. We can go as slowly as you'd like, but know that my feelings for you are honest and true." Saying this, Natasha feels a sense of tension in her chest, unsure of where this newfound connection will lead, but resolved to do whatever it takes to make this work.

A/n: part three done! Part four will be posted soon and smut will be included ;) my Rhea ripley book is open for any requests and stuff and go check out the first imagine I posted! I have my own buy me a coffee page! You can give me a dollar and it will help. I also have some different commission types I will do so here's my page to look into it :) https://www.buymeacoffee.com/naturesapphic Requests are open for yeehaw!wanda, country!wanda, and any other southern variants of Wanda or Natasha! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love y'all!

[lindisworld]

Close || Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary - Soulmate Au! In which [Name] has Daredevil as a soulmate and Matt unwillingly wants [Name] in his life. However Fate does its job and always brings them together.

Chapter three.

Daredevil stood outside [Name]’s window, his fingers gently knocking the glass, hoping she’d come. He returned to get something that rightfully belonged to him, his baton. This particular object served as one of his strongest defensive weapons. Although Daredevil possessed an extraordinary ability to utilize any available item to his advantage, there was an underlying comfort and confidence that came with wielding his trusted baton.

A couple seconds pass, a familiar person opens the window. The cold air making way through the opened glass and into her apartment. sending small shivers down [Name]’s spine. 

“I was anticipating the day you’d show up again,” [Name] says, moving out of the way so Matt could slide in, “I got a gift for you, actually.” She smiles and walks towards her room, retrieving the so called gift. 

“Oh? I didn’t know we had to bring gifts. I would’ve brought something.” Matt says, his head tilting to the side slightly with a grin on his face. He focused on her heartbeat, getting himself familiarized with it, something he couldn’t help but enjoy doing. It was a comforting feeling, just listening to one thing instead of millions of others. 

“Maybe, next time Devil man.” She shouts from her bedroom. He listens to her shuffle things around, looking for his baton. Matt cursed himself earlier for being so reckless and leaving his weapon behind at [Name]’s apartment. This definitely wasn’t him keeping his distance.  It’s honestly not his fault he got shot and landed on her apartment. Even if it’s just for a moment he could experience with her without [Name] knowing who he is to her, he’ll take it. 

“It took awhile to find which is my fault, but I think you’ll love it!” [Name] says with enthusiasm, placing the baton into his hand. “Probably something you’d find helpful.” 

“It’s not really a gift if it belongs to me,” Matt replies, earning a disappointed sigh from [Name]. “Cmon Devil man, just go along with it.” she responds.

”You seem chattier than the first time we met,” Matt told her, it was kind of understandable considering the state he was in when she met him as Daredevil and not Matt. “You were all banged up pretty bad, I thought you were going to die on my couch from a head injury.” She spoked, nervousness peaking through her tone. 

“I appreciate what you did,” He replied, “I can’t be exposing you to any danger if you had removed my mask.” He added truthfully. 

“Well I’m not a nurse but I know how to clean and stitch wounds if you happen to injure yourself around here,” [Name] voiced to Daredevil, her eyes glanced around his suit. She seen the details on the suit that she had missed from the other night. His eyes felt like they were piercing through her. 

“What made you learn?” He asked in tone that sounded concerned that only be heard if you paid closed attention. [Name] missed it and let out a nervous laugh, “My soulmate. They seem to be a little reckless and get themselves hurt quite often. I got use to it over the years.” She uttered. 

“Oh.”  Was all he said. 

“Yeah.” 

“Did you ever think to end the soul tie? Considering all the hurt he put you through.” A question he wasn’t prepared to be answered by her. It was obvious what her answer would be, he felt foolish for even asking. Why is he suddenly caring about her answer? Matt thought about his soulmate many times throughout his life, wondering when she’s gonna appear in his life. Whether she’ll accept him as Daredevil or if she’d want to end the soul tie. For a moment, he thought Elektra was his soulmate in college, but that wasn’t the case. 

Matt figured she’d attempted to end the soul tie because who would want a vigilante? 

“No, but my best friend, Marci. She’s getting worried especially with the recent incident I had,” Her fingers played with the hem of her shirt, recalling the events. “Losing my hearing was an awful experience,” she mumbled. 

Matt felt guilt about what happened, he had no idea just how deep the bond between their souls had become, and this realization sent waves of unease coursing through him. “Thank you for taking care of me that night, I gotta go.” He said, making his way towards the window, without looking back he hops out into the night. 

“Bye Devil man.”

“I’m so glad we’re able to have our girl’s night.” Karen says with a smile on her face, a glass in her hand filled with scotch. [Name] nods in agreement, “I’m sure you’ve been busy with work, I can’t imagine being part of the lawyer work.” She responds. 

“It’s so exhausting at times, but I just want the truth and justice for the clients. I’m doing my best.” 

“I’m sure you’re doing a fantastic job on getting the truth. I can always give you free coffee and desserts whenever needed. Just come by my cafe.” [Name] says.

Karen pulls [Name] into a hug and thanks her. These past few weeks have been tough especially with trying to figure out the Punisher and the big deal with Reyes. It felt like she hasn’t been able to sit and relax without constantly being on the move for new evidence. 

It was nice of [Name] to call Karen over to her place to hangout, possibly a sleepover if they happen to get wasted. 

“You don’t know how much that means to me, so much has been going on with The Punisher. I know talking about it isn’t ideal girl talk,” Karen laughs nervously and tucks a hair behind her ear. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind at all. If it helps you destress, vent away.” [Name] says. 

“Oh, no. I definitely need a break from talking about it.” Karen says, pouring more scotch into her cup. “It’s the only thing that’s been on my mind for while. It’ll be a nice change for a day.”

”Well hopefully what I tell you next distracts you for a while, I met Daredevil personally a few days ago. Like i’ve heard about him before but for me to actually see him in person is insane. It was so surreal.” [Name] sucks in a breath. “He was banged up pretty bad on my rooftop. I went up to check it out and I found him there.” 

“That’s…wow. You carried him to your apartment?” Karen asks, receiving a nod from [Name]. “I had no choice, something in my gut was telling me to grab him. It was really an intense feeling. It was suffocating me.” [Name] explains, recalling the events that happened a couple of days ago. 

“You honestly might’ve saved him, [Name]. Did you ever unmask him and see his true identity?” Karen questioned. Karen witnessed Daredevil firsthand too, something that she always remembered. 

“No, I tried to see his injury under his mask. He grabbed my hand and refused. Thinking about it now, do you think Daredevil would have a soulmate?” 

“I mean everybody has a soulmate, the only exception is if you end the soul tie or the person passes. There’s a high probability of Daredevil having a soulmate.” Karen said. 

“Lord, have mercy on his soulmate. That must be the toughest thing for them.” [Name] mumbles, finishing her alcoholic drink and setting it down.  Karen poured more in [Name]’s cup then adds more to hers as well. 

“Now imagine if you were Captain America’s soulmate. See I wouldn’t mind getting bruised up for him. That’s America’s ass right there that could be mine.” She jokes. Karen laughs and agrees. 

“Let’s talk about being Thor’s soulmate. Having a God for a soulmate sounds too good to be true. I wouldn’t mind living on another planet.” Karen giggles, “It’d be an amazing life with Thor.” 

The two women continued for a few hours about potentially being paired with an Avenger as a soulmate and how mind blowing and exhilarating that would be. Later, [Name] strongly urged Karen to stay over, knowing just how many drinks Karen had consumed, [Name] didn't want to risk the blonde's well-being by letting her walk out into any possible danger.

”We could always watch romcoms till we fall asleep or stay up until the morning, i’ll grab you a pair of pajamas and a shirt.” [Name] grinned and turned on her tv, putting whatever romcom that was being aired currently. She stands up as she stumbles into her bedroom.

“Fine, only cause it’s really late.” Karen says with a giggle. Momentarily, [Name] comes back with clothes and hands it to her. “The bathroom is down the hall to your left. First door.” [Name] replies.

”Thank you for today, I really appreciate it,” Karen’s words slur as she gave [Name] a half drunken hug before heading to the bathroom. In the meantime, a few taps was heard through the window. The same thing that happened earlier before Karen arrived to her apartment. 

“Devil man,” [Name] mutters as she walks towards the window, stumbling a bit as she went. She unlocks the window and lifts it up. “Are you checking up on me?” Her eyebrows furrows, her vision becoming blurred the longer she looks at him. 

“Yes,” He answered truthfully, “I was passing by and you’re the only apartment that has their lights on at 3 in the morning.” Matt didn’t understand why’d he check up on her, he knew she had company over and she had been drinking too. It was a fancy scotch, he tasted it on her lips as she spoke to him and the smell of alcohol mixing with her scent infiltrated his nose. 

“I’m with my friend, Karen. I invited her over for a girl’s night after you left earlier. We were talking about you, we were wondering if you have a soulmate. Oh my gosh, if you do. What would you even do? I could honestly imagine myself with Captain America.” [Name] rambles, her words occasionally mixing together. 

Matt chuckles under his breath, amused at her rant. He also picked up Karen’s name, he hadn’t know they have been friends since they met her at the coffee shop. He completely disregarded her soulmate question. 

“She’s coming out the bathroom now. Stay safe and goodnight, [Name].” Matt said to her. [Name] heard the bathroom door opened and turned to check. 

“I never told you my na-“ [Name] turns to the window before realizing he had left. Her face displayed confusion as she peeked out the window to see no Daredevil. No signs of him anywhere. It made [Name] think she had hallucinated the interaction.

“Who were you talking to?” Karen questions, “I guess to myself, I must’ve drank too much.” [Name] laughs and shuts the window close. 

“Now let’s watch movies till we pass out.” Karen eagerly says and sits comfortably on the couch.

A/n : not proofread!!

[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 24 - Transformation

Summary: It's been 15 years since the batarians attacked Mindoir. A lot has changed since then, most of all the Shepards. But the memories are still there, whether in the air or carved into stone.

---

It had been a long time since he had been to the colony – not long enough, however.

Alistair glanced around as they hopped off the Normandy and onto Mindoir’s soil. It looked exactly like he remembered it, give or take the upgraded buildings. Even with those, it still looked somewhat run down and backwoods – typical for a colony.

“Well… we’re here.”

Bo was next to him, looking less than pleased. He couldn’t honestly blame her – he wasn’t exactly comfortable himself. Still, they had decided to show up, and they had one singular goal in mind as they began to walk.

“Place hasn’t changed much.” Bo’s voice was quiet as she walked with her hands in her pockets. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

He shrugged his shoulders in response. “I don’t either. It just feels… weird.”

After all, the last time they had been there everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember the fires set by the batarians and the bodies lying in the streets. Those had been the lucky ones – the ones who had survived had a worse fate. They were still missing, carted off to serve as slaves to the Hegemony. Only a few had been rescued, and they bore the scars of their imprisonment.

The rest? He hoped had gone through a quick death. It was the only grace he could give them.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Bo shook her head. “Place is fucking cursed,  I don’t give a fuck what anyone says.”

Alistair could only nod in agreement. It had been 15 years since the pirates had attacked, but as he stood there, it didn’t feel like anything at all. He could still remember the path he took to school from his house, sometimes with classmates, but often times on his own. The school was still there – he could see it in the distance – but most of those children had died in the attack. As far as he knew, only he and Bo had survived by luck of hiding in the basement after the batarians had made their sweep.

Well, luck and a bit of biotics. The Alliance doctors had said they had found him holding onto a barrier, blood flowing freely from his nose and ears. It was a miracle, or so they had written, for someone with no amp and no biotic training to sustain it that long without a brain hemorrhage. He didn’t remember any of it – they had told him about it later when he woke up in a med bay on an Alliance freighter.

They walked in silence, passing the school and heading towards the small church. It was one of the buildings that had survived the raid, either by chance or the grace of God. Alistair wasn’t sure which one it was; perhaps it was a bit of both.

At any rate, there was a priest sweeping the front steps as they approached. He was a younger man – probably sent there by the diocese after the last one had died during the raid. Still, he had a pistol tucked into his cassock in case anyone started trouble.

Most people on Mindoir had something to shoot with – it came with being part of a colony in the Attican Traverse and the memory of the batarians haunting every building.

The priest looked up as they approached, a smile on his face as he prepared to welcome them. However, his eyes widened as he made out who was coming towards him. He dropped his broom, and it clattered to the ground.

“Commander Shepard!”

That was their title – don’t wear it out.

Alistair raised his hand in greeting. “Afternoon, father. I hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

He shook his head so hard it was a miracle it remained attached to his neck. “Not at all! Not for you two!”

No doubt he knew them from the colony’s seal – Mindoir had won the right to use them in it. It was awkward, to say the least, to see it. He would’ve preferred something to honor those who had been lost in the attack, but he wasn’t the one who made those decisions.

“Look, just point us in the direction of the cemetery and we’ll get out of your way.” Bo’s tone belied just how uncomfortable she was. Usually, she responded with anger. But maybe Mindoir was throwing her off her game – he wasn’t exactly feeling like himself either.

The priest nodded as he bent to pick up his broom. “Of course, I should’ve expected you would come today. The head of the colony said it’s been 15 years after all.”

15 years to the day, as a matter of fact.

“The memorial is towards the front of the cemetery.” His voice grew quiet. “They cremated whoever they found.”

No doubt there were too many bodies and not enough people to identify them. Not to mention consideration of the state of decay. The Alliance had no doubt done its best to match bodies to records, but there were probably gaps in the record. He wouldn’t be surprised if part of the memorial was dedicated to the unknown dead of the colony.

A lot of people had gone to the pyre unnamed. He could only hope their spirits rested peacefully.

“Right.” Bo started to head off, but he stayed there. “Problem, Al?”

He nodded. “I have someone I need to see first. I’ll meet you over by the memorial afterwards.”

They broke off after that. He headed into the cemetery, memory guiding him through the headstones of the older graves. It was a left, then a right, then back towards the middle. If he closed his eyes, his feet would take him there.

He had been there enough to have the route by heart.

Eventually, he found himself standing in front of a simple grave, the headstone not really showing its age yet. He was surprised to see it was tended to, given no members of the family remained to care for it. Maybe the priest had seen to that.

He placed his hand on the stone, sighing. “Hi, Ma. I brought your favorite flowers.”

Rowan Shepard’s birth and death dates were clearly marked on the surface. He knew the date of death well, had traced it plenty of times as a child when he had gotten lonely or had wanted to get out of the empty house when his father was working what seemed like an endless shift. It was from 26 years prior, when he had been barely more than a toddler.

She had died when he was 3 from an accident at her workplace. Anora had told him when he was older than she had saved her coworkers by sounding the alarm and trying to hold back the blast. His sister hadn’t commented on how they had found her – the adults had probably kept that from her too. He had found out when he was older after pouring over the records.

Burned almost beyond recognition, still at the console in death trying to shut it down. The only thing they had been able to identify her by was her DNA and a melted ID card.

Apparently, getting yourself killed trying to save others ran in the family.

Alistair knelt, placing the bright orange and blue flowers on top of his mother’s grave. She had always been fond of bright colors – it was another thing they held in common. Strange, considering he barely knew the woman. Maybe he had picked it up from seeing her in photos, picking out the brightly colored shirts she wore under her ever-present overalls or in the bandannas she tied over her head.

That was all he knew her by – the memories had faded. The only thing he had to hold onto her was her toolbox and her entries in the Irish-English database. He had played them often as a child, listening for her voice. In a way, that was how she lived on past her brutal death.

“I wonder what you would think of me now, Ma.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I wound up in the Alliance, even passed N7 training. They made me a Spectre, and I’ve got my own ship called the Normandy. You would love it, it’s a marvel of engineering.”

He placed his hand on the stone again. “I wish you were here to see it. Would you be proud of me?”

Of course, if she had lived, his mother still would’ve probably died in the attack. No doubt she would’ve gone down swinging, holding off the batarians as best she could with her old rifle. Unlike him, she was supposedly a great shot.

“Anyway, it was nice to see you again. It’s probably confusing, given I hadn’t come out the last time I visited.” He patted the stone. “I’m called Alistair now, named myself after your Da. Figured that was what you might’ve called me.”

He backed away from the stone, not wanting to leave despite the fact his mother was no more than bones in the ground. In the end, she was his mother, and he would always love her even though she had died when he was young.

“I’ll say a rosary for you when I get back on the Normandy. Maybe I can get the priest to mention you on All Souls Day next November. I know that would make you mad, Anora said you hated those kinds of things.”

With that, Alistair gave her headstone one final glance before turning and walking away. A stone weighed down in his stomach as he walked, heavy and stiff. Leaving the cemetery had always been hard for him – it felt like he was leaving her behind.

It wasn’t logical, he knew. But… it was how he felt.

After a few minutes, he found himself at the front of the cemetery. It was easy to pick Bo out, given her stature and pink hair. She was standing in front of a large monument, her back to him. Her entire body was stiff, as if she might snap.

He joined her at the memorial. It was the first time had seen the polished stone and its carved words honoring the dead lost in the 2170 attack on the colony. Those they could identify were listed on a screen beneath the monument, while a message for the unknown dead hovered on top. There were other flowers there, fresh ones. People had been by to pay their respects.

“Did you see your family’s names?”

Bo nodded stiffly. “Yeah. How’s Rowan?”

“Quiet as always. Someone takes care of her grave thankfully.”

It was hard to speak in that moment, watching the names scrolling by. For a brief moment, he spied a familiar name – Logan MacTir-Shepard. After years of wondering, he finally knew what had happened to his father.

He wasn’t sure if he wished his death had been quick or not.

“Saw some classmates listed.” Bo shrugged. “Some of mine, probably some of yours based on the ages. Probably the rest were part of the unknown, the school got hit pretty hard.”

Right, it had been razed practically to the basement. That was why the Alliance had been able to rescue them – any higher and they would’ve been caught in the fire or the blast. The marines had done their best to keep them shielded from the bodies, but he still remembered some of them.

Now all that remained were named on a screen.

“Well, might as well do what we came here for.” Bo placed her flowers among the others. Hers were a dull pink, her signature color. “Don’t worry, most of those fuckers are dead now. We’ve killed a couple.”

She placed her hand to the monument, fingers trembling. Alistair could only watch, clutching his flowers close. Bo had lost her entire family in the attack – parents, siblings who hadn’t left the colony. She had some siblings out there, but that was it.

That was all that was left.

“Might as well leave your flowers for your dad.” She backed away after a time, eyes dry. “Still don’t get why you got them for him.”

Alistair shrugged as he approached the monument, laying the light blue flowers next to Bo’s. “I guess for the fact someone has to mourn him. Not like Anora’s ever come to visit.”

Not that he was particularly mourning the man’s loss. After his wife’s death, he’d been a workaholic who didn’t really seem to care about his children much. Alistair had smelled alcohol on his breath the few times he had been home too – it was partially why he never touched the stuff.

But… he was his father. So someone had to mourn him.

“I hope you’re all resting peacefully.” He placed his hand on the monument, tracing the engraving for the unknown dead of Mindoir. “I’m sorry they weren’t able to identify all of you.”

Bo nodded at his side, still stiff. “We’re still fighting.”

That they were. Without another word, they turned and left the monument and cemetery behind. After Alistair made a quick stop at the church to put in his request, the pair started back towards the Normandy along the quiet, dusty streets.

“Doing some weird Catholid thing?” Bo cocked her head back towards the church. “You were in there a while.”

Alistair nodded. “Yeah, All Souls Day is coming up. I wanted them to mention Ma this year.”

“You guys have weird ass holidays for everything.”

That they did. But he didn’t mind that as they walked the streets of their childhood. Once, he had been a little girl going to school, backpack in hand. Part of him had to wonder what she would think of him if they were to meet somehow.

She’d probably be confused.

He glanced over at Bo. He still remembered what she had looked like that day in the basement – small, with huge glasses and mussed white hair. There had been no sign of the powerhouse she was to become; she had just been a terrified little girl clutching her teddy bear.

“I’m not coming back for the 20th anniversary.” Bo grumbled, hands returning to the pockets of her pants. “Fuck that.”

Alistair nodded as he sped up to match her stride. “I’ll put flowers for both our families then.”

“Thanks.” Her response was clipped as they approached the Normandy. “Hope Joker’s ready to get the fuck out of this place.”

He hoped so too; the air was thick with dust and memories, making it hard to breathe as it stung his lungs. The sterile conditions of the Normandy would be a relief after this. He would even take going into FTL if it got him away from the planet faster.

Soon, they were stepping into the airlock and returning to the ship proper. Joker was already at the controls, preparing to depart. Alistair stood by, watching from the front as the dock began to disappear in front of him.

Soon, they were leaving the planet behind, returning to space. It was only when they entered the nearest Relay that he found himself able to breathe freely again. Judging by the tension that released from Bo’s frame, she was of the same mind.

“Next stop, the Citadel.” He turned to head for the elevator. “If you want to come up, Bo, I won’t mind. Saren could use some company.”

She nodded, falling into step behind him. “Sounds good. Let me get the snacks and I’ll meet you up there.”

Snacks and hamsters – talk about a party. It almost felt like a wake as he climbed into the elevator to take him up to his quarters. Maybe the dead deserved one – there had been no one there to send them off.

Hopefully, they liked dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and soda.

[hb-writes]

Little Lady Blinder - Chapter 32

Between the Lines, 1919

Also available here on ff net or here on AO3.

Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content

—

“Don’t even think about it."

Clara turned toward her brother, finally pulling her gaze from the family car as it plodded around the corner, Tommy and Grace disappearing along with it. 

“Don’t think about what?” she asked, scuffing her feet as she stepped a bit closer.

John rolled his eyes, taking measure to be theatrical about it, before fixing his sister with a look. “Tom’s done his bit. He's cheered you all up,” he said. John would never admit that he was a bit hurt by the fact Tommy had managed to drop Clara off with a smile on her face—everything between the two of them seemingly fine now—and less than a minute after being left alone with John, the girl was already sulking again. He pressed his finger into the corner of Clara’s frowning mouth. “Don’t go getting all grumpy on me again.” 

Clara huffed, slapping at John's hand and he snorted, lifting his eyes above his sister’s head as she started complaining.

“I’m not—” 

“Well, hullo there, Lizzie,” John said, interrupting Clara to greet the woman. John pushed himself off the brick to stand up straight, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping a bit in front of Clara as he observed Lizzie approaching. “Looking extra lovely this morning. Got anything special there in that basket for me?”

Clara spun on her heels, coming face to face with a blushing Lizzie Stark. 

Lizzie shrugged. “Just some special treats for the kids.” 

John hummed, thinking but not saying the first few things that came to his mind—the first, that his little monsters didn't deserve any special treats and the second, that he wouldn't mind a special treat from Lizzie. John swallowed down both comments and set his hand on Clara’s shoulder instead, maneuvering her to stand in front of him. “You’ve met my sister.” 

Lizzie nodded, offering another small smile, her face still flushed. Lizzie had been about to greet the girl properly, but John continued on without realizing he was interrupting anything. “Clara and I were just arguing about whether or not she looked grumpy.” John shifted his hand beneath Clara’s chin, smirking as he tilted her head back and leaned over to look down at her, going through the motions of giving Clara’s face a thorough examination. 

Again, Clara tried to push her brother's hands away, unsuccessfully in her attempts to put a bit of distance between herself and John. The struggle went on only a few seconds, but Lizzie could've sworn it felt like ages while she stood there watching. If Clara hadn’t looked particularly grumpy before, she certainly did now with her arms folded over her chest and her face a bit red, a mix of anger and embarrassment coloring her features. Lizzie glanced away from the pair, down the lane, purposefully appearing to catch her gaze on a bit of movement in one of the houses near the corner. 

John abandoned his attempts at handling his sister and glanced up at their guest. “What do you think, Lizzie? She look grumpy to you?” 

“Oh, I—” Lizzie started, a bit flustered by the question. Her eyes darted from John to Clara and her face mirrored the girl’s for a second, a small frown passing over her lips. “I um…”

“I told her the grumpiness is hiding here and here,” John said, once again battling with Clara’s hands to point out the grumpy corner of her mouth and the stubborn little line between her brows.

“John!” Clara complained. “Stop it!”

"Fine." John snorted, holding his hands up in defense as he leaned back against the brick. “Fine. Maybe you’ll have better luck with her, Lizzie.” 

He winked at Lizzie and then he leaned to the side, reaching out to open the front door. He stopped suddenly before stepping over the threshold and turned back to the girls, Clara nearly bumping into him since she’d been following behind so close.

“And if she gives you any trouble—” John spoke directly to Lizzie as he reached out toward Clara. “—here’s a little trick.” Clara caught John's arm as he reached out to tickle her beneath the chin, quickly swinging under it and bolting through the open door. Clara figured she could just dissolve herself into the chaos that was John’s children while her brother got on the road, avoiding him for the next few minutes, and ensuring that the children would eliminate any opportunity Lizzie might have to speak with her brother alone.

Clara made it up the first three steps before her brother's hand closed around her elbow. She tried to push him off, going so far as to lift her boot and sending it into his leg. “Oi! Enough. You take a seat,” he said, with a nod of his head toward the stairs. 

Lizzie quickly excused herself at that, moving past them to drop her basket in the kitchen. John watched her go, waiting for the kitchen door to swing closed before turning back to his sister. John ran a hand over his face before he spoke. 

“Promise me you’ll be nicer to Lizzie than you’re being to me, eh?” 

“I’m not being—”

“A brat?” John scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me.” Clara was poised to protest, but John continued on. “And maybe you have every reason to be. Maybe where me and Tommy are concerned, you’ve got the right of it, but not with Lizzie and not with the kids. They don't deserve this, eh?” 

John said the words though he didn't quite know what this even was, still a bit confused by the course of their morning and his sister's shifting mood. A wave of exhaustion came over him as he looked at her, feeling as though they'd already lived a whole day in the last few hours. He could see she felt the same, another wave of emotion building up in her as she sat on the steps in front of him. 

A lump was forming in Clara's throat, a few tears suddenly spilling out of her eyes as she buried her face in her arms. “I wasn’t gonna—”

“Alright, alright,” John said, sitting beside her and interrupting when he heard the strain came through in her little voice.

Clara looked up at him and John frowned, reaching out to wipe away the stubborn tears. “And you still don’t want to just tell—” he started, raising his hands in defense as Clara shook her head and tried to shift away from him.

“How about a—” Clara smacked John’s hand away as he tried to fit it beneath her chin once again. He nearly got a smirk out of her before Clara closed back in on herself, crushing her arms around over her chest and backing against the wall, putting as much space between them as she could on the tiny third step of the staircase. 

John sighed and pulled her into his chest with an arm, half certain she’d fight him on it and push out of his hold, but Clara seemed to thaw a little instead as he held her. Only a few seconds passed before she was stretching out her arms around him and holding him back just as tight.

“I’m not a brat,” she mumbled.

John snorted, shaking his head. “Yes, you are. But you know who else is?” he asked, waiting a beat before answering. “Tommy and Polly and Ada and Finn and Arthur…and your nieces and nephews, for sure.”

“And you,” Clara said.

“No, no,” John said, shaking his head. “The rest of you lot, maybe…” 

Clara smiled this time, but the moment was short-lived as Finn smashed through the front door, his cheeks red and his breaths huffing from running through the streets. “Arthur says it’s time.” 

John nodded, some type of urgency and excitement shifting in him as he guided Clara up from the steps and moved all three of them toward the kitchen.

Finn eyed Lizzie as he came through to the kitchen a moment later, meeting Clara’s eye quickly before John steered him out the back door, giving him instructions to tell Arthur he was on his way. Neither twin had gotten the chance to speak, but Clara knew they were both thinking the same thing—that Lizzie Stark being there was risky for them. And it was risky, but there wasn't much either of them could do about it, not now at least. 

Clara and Lizzie watched in silence as John doubled back through the house to grab his hat. He stopped to kiss Lizzie on his way to the back door. Clara busied herself with studying her shoes, not looking up until John cleared his throat. 

He stood at the threshold of the back door when Clara finally looked up. “You’ll be good, then, yeah?” 

Clara nodded. “What about you and—?” 

John rolled his eyes. “Don’t you go worrying about me,” he said, though it wasn’t quite possible. Clara knew she might be able to get lost in the chaos of John’s kids for a bit, but she’d not be able to really stop thinking about her brothers—worrying about them and their absence—until they were all back home in Small Heath. 

“Just help keep my lot in line,” John said, lingering only long enough to get a nod out of his sister.

Just like that, Clara was alone in a quiet house with Lizzie Stark. As the silence stretched on, Clara started thinking to herself that today of all days must've been the first time in her memory that John’s kids were sleeping in. Of course, it was the only time that Clara had been banking on their help for a little chaos—a little distraction, a little something to do other than stand in the kitchen alone with this woman. 

Clara toed around the kitchen looking for something that needed doing—anything, really—but the room was already spotless. Clara imagined John had tidied up on account of Lizzie, trying to make a good impression. 

“Have you had breakfast?” Lizzie’s back faced Clara as she retrieved the bread and biscuits she had baked at home from her basket. 

“I thought we could have something to eat and maybe some tea before the little ones wake?” Lizzie continued. “To fortify ourselves.” 

Lizzie giggled and Clara allowed herself a smile at that, something in her loosened by the woman’s smile. 

“Do you like tea?” Lizzie asked. 

Clara nodded and Lizzie got to work on their tea and breakfast. 

“They won’t misbehave with you this time." A few moments of silence had passed before Clara directed the words to Lizzie’s back while she settled the kettle on the stove. “They’re right terrors when they want to be, but—”

“They’re kids.” Lizzie shrugged. “Kids cause trouble sometimes.” 

And adults, too, Lizzie thought to herself, but she wouldn’t get into that—not with a kid, even if Lizzie had already known all about the trouble caused by adults by the time she was Clara’s age and suspected the girl knew a fair bit as well. Lizzie figured she had to, having Peaky Blinders for brothers and all. 

Lizzie sliced the bread loaf in silence, thinking of all of the things she’d learned about Clara Shelby over the years, but especially in recent months. Lizzie knew far more about the girl than just what John had told her. Far more than the things Tommy had told her about the girl, too. Lizzie suspected she knew more about Clara and Finn’s scrapping than either of the brothers knew, which was partially her own doing. Lizzie had had the opportunity to tell both John and Tommy, but she hadn’t told either. 

Lizzie had decided quickly and without much debate that she would keep what she had seen to herself. And when Tommy had shown up at her doorstep not ten minutes after the kids cleared off the lane, she said nothing of what she’d seen of the Shelby twins. How could she? How could she tell Tommy without having to explain why they were there. And then if she told Tommy, John would be wondering why she hadn’t told him…and why Tommy had been at her doorstep. Lizzie’s secrets were somehow tied right up there with the twins’ secret. There was just no way Lizzie could see for explaining what the twins were doing there on her lane without the details of her dalliance with both Shelby men coming out.

Lizzie turned to watch Clara. The girl was clearly lost in a sea of thought as she stared out the back window. Lizzie couldn't blame her, really. John had told Lizzie all that had happened to the girl recently. The constant back and forth with Tommy, Clara being dragged off to the police station...it sounded awful, even if it was something John had laughed at, like it was a right of passage for a Shelby and he was proud of her for it, but based on the bits and pieces of Clara that had been described by her brothers, Lizzie didn't imagine she shared John's sentiments. 

Tommy rarely spoke about her—he rarely spoke of anything, but when Lizzie prompted, saying she had seen him out here or there with the little girl, keeping herself from further commenting that the sight of him with the girl by his side was a softer version of Tommy than she was used to so that she didn’t risk him shutting down. After a note of quiet, Tommy would usually say something about her then. Just a few words, but they were enough that Lizzie felt she understood something about the youngest Shelby.

John spoke about his siblings often, loose with his words with or without liquor lubricating his memories. He told stories and he blew off steam, condemning and celebrating them all from one sentence to the next. 

“First in line to Tommy’s throne,” John often joked. “Well, if she wasn’t a girl. Been that way since she was born.”

Lizzie had started to get the impression that John was a bit jealous, both of the way that Tommy doted on their sister and the way she reciprocated that care and attention. There was a part of John that wanted to be loved, wanted to be chosen. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, that part of John resonated with Lizzie, but whatever the brothers said, Lizzie got the impression that neither of them saw her quite right. They each knew her in their own way, but like anyone else, Clara was more than what she showed to any one of them.

Clara Shelby had always seemed so polite, a conglomerate of caution and wisdom that she wouldn't call exactly normal for a kid, but it was there, consistent whenever Lizzie read between the lines of a story delivered from one of the brothers or when she came across the girl in the streets. Almost like she was an adult, like they all believed because she was clever and well-mannered, she was mature, but Lizzie she was a kid. She seemed like a good kid, a thoughtful kid, but a kid all the same. That too, was a part of why Lizzie was keeping her secret. The other two boys had been fine, aside from a little blood. It was nothing to cause more trouble over. 

“John says you’re good with your nieces and nephews,” Lizzie finally prompted, pulled from her thoughts by the steady whistle of the heated kettle.

Clara nodded as Lizzie pulled the kettle from the heat. “They listen to me,” she offered. “Well, sometimes…” 

Lizzie nodded, noting that the girl was still skittish, unsure of the woman and the tension of the power differential that thrummed between them. Lizzie knew exactly where it came from. She had seen the look pass between the twins as John had put Finn out the back door—the uncertainty, the fear.

“Just so you know, I didn’t…I didn’t tell your brother what I saw the other day. I won’t tell—”

The kitchen door swung open before Lizzie could say anything more. Robbie launched himself into Clara’s arms, shouting out her name as he latched onto her. Clara knew that was the end of their silence, the end of Lizzie’s quiet assurances. The others would be up soon and there would be no more talk of secrets, no more time for worries about her and Finn being found out. That normally might have troubled Clara, but it seemed that bit of her worry was unwarranted, so long as Lizzie Stark kept her word, anyway. 

Clara squeezed her nephew tight for a moment, realizing as she held him that he’d grown a bit. She hadn’t seen Robbie in some time—far too long considering they lived just down the lane, but Clara had been staying close to home, caught up in her own troubles. 

“Did you say hello to Miss Stark?” Clara whispered as the boy loosened his hold, looking about the kitchen. 

Robbie buried his face back against Clara’s dress without an answer.

“Oh, it’s just Lizzie,” Lizzie answered, stealing a glance at the two children. 

Clara tried to shift her nephew around, tugging him from his spot, but he held his positioning. 

“Are you hungry, Robbie?” 

“Robert,” the boy quickly corrected, pulling himself from Clara’s side. “Robbie’s a baby’s name.” 

“Robert it is, then,” Lizzie amended. “A very strong name. Would you like some breakfast, Mr. Robert Shelby?” 

The boy nodded, a sly smile creeping onto his face at being called a mister, at being taken seriously by an adult.

“Maybe you’d like to help?” Lizzie suggested, reaching out for one of the kitchen chairs and pulling it over to the counter.

Robbie glanced toward his aunt as if asking permission. Clara nodded, guiding him forward with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

Clara left the kitchen to go check on the other three and Robbie was already giggling as he and Lizzie leaned over the eggs, something very sweet and almost conspiratorial there in the way their heads bent toward one another, the whispers passing between them quiet enough that Clara couldn’t hear a word that was being said. 

The moment had her thinking suddenly of Martha. Clara had always held a certain love for her sister-in-law, but she didn’t remember many playful moments where Martha was concerned. Her brother’s wife had been a smart and swift sort of woman. She had been a carer in all the most efficient ways. John had never had to lift a finger in the home while Martha was alive. Clara remembered her laughing and smiling when she was very young, being playful with her, but that was before the war…back when Clara was very young, the memories fragmented by time. 

The Martha that Clara remembered best was the woman who’d raised four kids alone during a war, the woman who’d grown sick while she was still raising them alone. Clara remembered that woman as one who tolerated very little nonsense. Polly had once told Clara that doing it alone could change the type of mother you planned to be and Clara had to believe it was true. Martha had always been caring and efficient and kind, but there was a certain strictness in her during the war that didn’t seem to really be part of her—something foreign or imposed on her, incongruent with the core of her. Martha hadn’t had the time or energy for something like allowing the kids to help with breakfast. 

She certainly hadn’t been baking cookies for the kids as a special treat…

Clara wondered what Martha would think of the way John let them run wild now…letting them live without structure, letting them lead things a bit. Clara didn’t imagine she’d like it, but Clara thought maybe she might understand. 

As Clara came up the stairs, the door to Robbie and Joe’s bedroom was wide open, the room beyond empty aside from a bed with messy covers, so she proceeded to the girls’ room. The door was ajar, only just, and it was quiet—a quiet Clara wasn’t used to in her brother’s house, not when her nieces and nephews were awake, at least.

As she reached the door, Clara could discern that quiet was only made possible because the kids were whispering—Katie, Sarah, and Joe all speaking over each other though little more than an indiscernible hum reached Clara’s ears as she pushed the door open. 

“Lizzie and Robbie are making—”

The kids all jumped apart, startled by Clara’s sudden presence there. Clara recognized something in the air—a familiar tension tingling in her limbs—the tension of being caught doing something wrong, a bit of fear and defensiveness and secretiveness pushing and pulling in the space between them. Clara had experienced enough times to know. She was close enough in age to John’s kids that she and Finn were more used to being a part of it rather than being the one to set the tension into the air. Clara, Finn, and John’s kids all usually played together as something close to peers. John’s kids recognized Clara and Finn as having some slight, nearly insignificant bit of authority over them. They knew Clara and Finn were their aunt and uncle, but most often it didn’t matter.

They played and got up to trouble together. There weren’t many secrets between them.

“What are you doing?” Clara asked.

“Nothing,” Joe answered, the word coming out so quickly that Clara imagined that it would’ve been the answer regardless of the question. He’d stepped in front of the girls and shot a glance back at Katie now.

“Your dad said you have to be good for Lizzie today. Better not be—”

“We’re not doing nothing,” Joe interrupted.

“Just talking,” Sarah added, her tone a bit softer than her brother.

“What’s for breakfast?” Katie stepped around her brother, coming to stand by Clara at the door. “I’m starved.”

“C’mon, Katie,” Joe said as he moved across the room, pulling on Katie’s hand and taking her from the room. 

When Clara turned back to the room, she watched as Sarah busied herself with pulling up the covers of her bed before moving on to the girls’ toys scattered across the floor, making the room a bit neater as she went. The girl was dallying. Sarah was usually quieter than the others—more sensible, Clara thought, more like their mother. And Clara thought of her differently than the others…thought now that they were alone, Sarah might say something more, but the girl stayed quiet and on the other side of the room.

“Are you coming?” Clara asked. 

Sarah dropped the toys she was considering and nodded, passing by Clara without a word. As Sarah made her way down the stairs, Clara’s eyes swept over the room searching for some indication that the kids had been doing something more than just talking, but nothing was odd or out of place. 

Clara was tempted to keep looking, but then she remembered that her being upstairs left Lizzie alone with the lot of them, a situation she didn’t imagine yielding anything positive. 

The kids were yelling as Clara came down the stairs, their voices carrying over each other and conglomerating into one big indiscernible sound, just as their whispers had done upstairs just moments before.

Sarah and Joe were arguing over setting the table of all things and Clara’s voice got quickly lost among all the shouting while her niece and nephew tugged a stack of plates back and forth between them.

Clara made to step forward and separate them, difficult as it would be considering it was the two oldest ones fighting, but Lizzie beat her to it, grabbing the plates and setting them aside before pulling the two kids apart.

“Dad said no fighting,” Robbie said, still standing on the chair by the stove, watching over the food. 

“Shut up, Robbie ,” Joe answered. “Quit being a baby.”

Sarah reached out and smacked her brother upside the head, an attack that he quickly returned, but it didn’t matter that they were fighting because the damage was already done, with Robbie’s tears already clear by the time he hopped off the chair and ran out of the room.

“I’ll see to him,” Sarah offered, but Lizzie shook her head. 

“You three sit and eat,” she said. “And I hope not to hear a sound other than the sound of forks against plates.” 

Joe laughed. “Or what?” 

Lizzie’s mouth opened and closed, and Clara sensed she hadn’t been anticipating having to give such an answer. Lizzie had figured her sharp tone would've been enough, that the kids wouldn't be bold enough to argue.

“Or Aunt Polly’ll hear about it,” Clara answered as she took the stack of plates. “And if Aunt Polly hears about it, then—”

“Stop fighting! The eggs are getting cold!” Katie interrupted, already in her spot at the table, leaning across the space in front of her to scoop food into her mouth straight from the pan with her fork.

“You’ve got this?” Lizzie asked, waiting only for Clara’s nod before exiting the now silent room. 

Clara was surprised that the threat of Aunt Polly was enough to bring John’s kids to behave themselves, but they all sat nearly silent at the table for the short minutes during which Lizzie was off with Robbie. None of the kids said anything when their younger brother came back into the room, his eyes still a bit red as he hopped up into his chair. 

“Eat up,” Lizzie said, when she realized all except Katie and Robbie were simply pushing their food around their plates. Clara and Sarah were studying Robbie for their own reasons. Joe was glaring daggers at Lizzie, defying the woman though he was starved. “We’ve got loads to do for today.” 

“Like what?” Sarah asked.

“It’s a surprise,” Robbie answered between bites, a conspiratorial grin shot towards Lizzie.

“Oh! I want to know! I want to know!” Katie answered as she shifted out of her seat and moved to Lizzie’s side, giggling when Lizzie leaned down and whispered in the little girl’s ear. 

“And what about you three?” Lizzie asked, looking at Sarah, Joe, and Clara. Would you like to—"

“No, Lizzie!” Robbie answered. “It's a surprise." 

“What do you think, Katie?” Lizzie asked, the conspiracy quickly growing to include Katie. 

“Surprise,” she agreed, sliding back into her chair to resume eating her eggs, rather pleased with herself that she and Robbie and Lizzie were sharing a secret and for once, and that the two youngest had the upper hand. It was so rare that the two of them knew anything before their older brother and sister, or their aunt.

Clara didn't say anything though she didn't love being on the other end of a secret or being lumped in with the kids, especially not when Clara was meant to be helping Lizzie. Clara didn't like not knowing, but some nagging part of her said she could trust Lizzie, both with this and with hers and Finn's secret. And anyway, Katie and Robbie's smiles put her at ease. Surely, if those two were happy about it, Lizzie's plan for the day couldn't be too bad. 

As Lizzie slid into the last seat at the table, the one just beside Robbie, Clara took a sip of her tea. Joseph was watching Lizzie, watching as she sat there smiling at Katie and Robbie, watching as she brought a piece of bread to her mouth. 

"That was my mum's seat," Joseph said as he continued to stare at her.

Clara nearly choked on the hot liquid in her mouth. Lizzie's face colored at the boy's words, her cheeks full as she stopped chewing. Silence held over the table as each of them considered what the boy was saying...the meaning there between the lines.

Lizzie Stark was in his mum's seat, but Lizzie wasn't his mum...and Joseph Shelby didn't want her to be. 

—

Chapter 33

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

[timelessmulder]

31 Days of Horror Day 6: Unlocked

(features some ocd stuff. also this is part of a bigger story lol)

The deadbolt slid into place with a satisfying, heavy thunk. Casey stared at it, fingertips caught on the burnished bronze island in a sea of slate gray; he flicked it open, then closed again. His hand fell away and two fingers curled in an empty belt loop, pulling like he wanted to rip the seams. The sturdy threads were already beginning to fray; whether he'd ruin them or a rough wash cycle would get to them first was anyone's guess.

the door's fucking locked, give it a rest.

but--

Casey snorted. His hand ached and shook from the tension. He turned away and made his slow way to his bedroom, checking the locks on the windows as he went. Just a quick glance, a mild tug. And then he would move on, all careful rationalization tainted with shame. Embarrassment.

He hadn't been the same since The Incident. An event which seemed to warrant the kind of emphasis in speech that gave it capitals. Everyone in town seemed to know about it, from the way they whispered to each other whenever he passed, averting voyeuristic gazes when he managed to catch their eye; he usually just ignored them, curling shoulders in and ducking head to just be left alone. Someone had set the woods on fire while he had been in there, researching some legend of the town. The words "targeted" and "intentional" were thrown around, but the police trotted around the issue as they so often did, uninterested in whoever had done it. Even if the fire had snapped at Casey's leg, leaving a scar up his calf.

It was the risk of putting your nose where you shouldn't. Casey understood that, in both the Before and the After. He left the police and the people to their theories. A drug deal gone wrong? He was clear for drug use, but plenty of people used to woods around Pinefield for illicit dealings. An arsonist? Couldn't find any evidence for it, no sign of equipment, but they still poked at the area. Someone who hated Casey? Most likely, they all thought, because he had been marked as Odd.

They always made sure to say that in their stage whispers. Little ruminations about the strange the odd the crazy who lived away from the town center, where the woods began to thicken. Always just loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough for plausible deniability; Casey was familiar with the dealings of school yard bullies. It was no different.

He cut through the small living room, cluttered with things that he hadn't been able to clean beyond moving things from the sofa to the coffee table. He passed the more open kitchen, where the door to the backyard and the forest beyond stared at him from the corner of his eye. Casey slowed, drew to a stop.

Perched over the small table used more for storing the mail than eating, was a window. On the sill were a few plants he needed to water. Beyond that was his yard, at the cusp of being overgrown because he couldn't manage to mow it. His mother had offered to come out and help clear it out, the concern so thick in her voice that it made shame well in Casey's belly every time they spoke and he would turn her down with a polite apology (he did not need her hovering and watching and not believing him).

But past the overgrowth of grass and budding of weeds was the forest line. The divide between was peaceful more often than not with the ebb and flow of animals that resided there. This evening, just as day tipped over into night, a deer wandered in the tall grass. It paused its exploration, ears flicking. If it had heard him, or simply been alerted by some movement in the depths of the trees, he couldn't say. It stood there, stock still, waiting and listening, just as he was.

Is this my deer? With its eyes set too far forward, its teeth far too canidae?

His eyes slid off the deer in his yard, that familiar paranoia catching him in its teeth, to the back door. Had he locked it earlier? He wasn't sure. It looked locked, from this distance, but he wasn't sure. How could he be sure, unmoving long enough for roots to begin crawling up his legs and holding him to the stained linoleum of his kitchen? His hands twitched and shook, freed now of their anchor points now that rational thought had started to blur.

something could get inside. someone.

Despite the mild limp from injury still healing, he crossed the kitchen and makeshift dining room before the deer had a chance to rear its head up and meet his eye. Trembling fingers found the burnished bronze island in a sea of slate gray.

The deadbolt slid into place with a satisfying, heavy thunk.

[dreamedfyre-a]

❝ If I am king, then crown me. ❞

It had been days since father's passing, days during which his death remained a poorly guarded secret. Helaena had watched it all unfold as one may watch a dream, a distant thing that is happening but not, something a long time coming finally made tangible in reality. Well, not quite. Not until Aegon is crowned, as he, restless and impatient, demanded after days of preparations and no ascension in sight.

Helaena cannot blame him. They had to look for Aegon the moment the old king was dead, but they all knew what was to come. Is Aegon king yet, Aemond had not been afraid to ask upon receiving the news of father's death, even though Aegon himself had hesitated and wished to set aside the crown. There is no good outcome, however. There could never be, from the moment father named his first daughter heir and proceeded to have three more sons.

Mother says Rhaenyra would have them all killed; Aegon, and Aemond, and Daeron, her little boys too. Helaena knows not what to think; Rhaenyra had never been cruel to her, yet neither had she been kind, only distant enough she would sometimes forget she had a sister at all. And ugly things can be done for a crown, everyone knows. Dragons have fought amongst themselves for it before, and Aegon the Uncrowned met his end on dragonback beneath the God's Eye in such a dispute.

She has seen a silver-haired prince duel to the death with another Targaryen dragonrider in her dreams, but she isn't sure that was Aegon. The battle had been above the God's Eye, not beneath.

'Tis only seven days after her sire is dead that they share the news. And it is only as the hasty preparations for the coronation start to be made that she is dragged into it, surprised though she has no reason to be. Aegon will be king, and you're going to be his queen; an adage oft repeated to her ever since she was a girl. Helaena didn't want to be queen — but if Aegon could not refuse his kingly role, there was nothing she could do short of taking her children to Dreamfyre and flying away, as distant as possible from crowns and thrones.

She cannot protect them, however. And this is all, in part, to protect those she loves the most. Maelor and Jaehaerys, but Daeron, and Aemond, and Aegon as well. Mother, who Rhaenyra had always misliked, grandfather, for who she held no love, Ser Criston, who, though she knew not the story between them, clearly was resented much as he resented the Princess of Dragonstone. And Helaena doesn't want a crown for herself, but if a crown would help in any way to ensure they wouldn't be harmed, then she would gladly bear its weight.

They dress her in green. Not her house's colors, but just as significant. Helaena is pleased that they go to the Dragonpit for the coronation; it's spacious enough the crowd will be kept away, and she can take solace in the familiarity of one of her favorite places. She met Dreamfyre here. Even now, her dragon is but a short distance away, close enough that she could simply run to her.

She wants to. Violet eyes glance at the benches, filled with tens of thousands of people. Too many. People she had never seen, cheering for them, senseless though it seemed to cheer so vibrantly for kings and queens and princesses and princes you had never met. They do not seem upset that Rhaenyra is not being crowned. And why should they? They didn't know Rhaenyra either. As long as they had a good leader, one who would provide safety and what comfort could be provided, there is little reason they should care whether it is the son or the daughter of the late king being crowned.

Helaena doesn't want to be queen, but if she has to, she wishes to be a good queen for them.

Her grandfather speaks of the dead king, of his wish for the crown to pass on to Aegon, some more things Helaena does not listen to. It takes great effort to stand perfectly still. Her fingers almost reach for a ring, eager to turn it over and over, but she bites the side of her cheek instead. The impulse to play with her necklace almost wins, but she makes it pass as if only fixing her jewelry before trying to stay still again.

She had not spoken to Aegon ( they speak so little to each other, most of the time ), yet they exchange a glance when called to kneel before the Septon. You don't have to go through it alone, is bound to wither on the tip of her tongue before it can be said. Her desire to make it known somehow is not enough to make the feeling manifest. She wishes to hold his hand, silly though it may be; yet her fingers merely brush his as they lower their heads to receive their blessings, the ghost of a touch, of a presence, barely there at all.

It is Ser Criston who holds the valyrian steel crown of the Conqueror, black and red with its vivid rubies, and it is he who places it upon her husband's brow. The knight is a comforting presence; a protector and more than that. He had been near them ever since they were little, a more constant presence than even that of their father. More welcome, too; the Seven may look unkindly on her for thinking so, yet their father had not been to them what the knight was. As a girl, she had at times wished that he was their father in truth, fanciful thought that it was, and only been saddened by the idea it would mean losing Dreamfyre.

He looks so serious; commited to his duty, as Helaena has always known him to be. Proud, she wonders? To be crowned king was deemed a moment of great triumph. There was none more fitting, then, to proclaim her husband Aegon of House Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, than the man who had taken upon himself to be his teacher and protector and much more than his role demanded.

What does Ser Criston see, when he looks at them?

Her gaze only leaves the knight once Aegon is crowned. Helaena looks at her mother, then, and the crown held in her delicate fingers. Gold and emerald, artfully woven together in a beautiful piece. She had always thought it looked particularly pleasant in contrast to mother's dark hair. It suited her. Being queen suited her, regardless of her not being the blood of the dragon. Violet eyes flicker with uncertainty, anxiety, fear. It does not stop Alicent from approaching her, placing the crown that was hers atop Helaena's head, and she stills as if entrusted something so precious and fragile it might shatter were she to breathe.

Mother kisses her cheeks, kneels before her, bows her head. Everything feels so wrong in the world. It is her place to address the queen with due deference, to show her mother appropriate respect. ❝ My queen, ❞ Alicent says, and it's wrong, wrong, wrong. You are the queen, yet more words that vanish before having the chance of being said. I do not know how to do this. They love you, it's your crown, take it back, it's yours, I don't want it. You should be queen forever.

That is not the way of things. So Helaena accepts it as gracefully as she can, a brief, small smile offered to her lady mother, a soft glance directed at Ser Criston. Afraid, but grateful she is so trusted. Daunted, but certain she will have support. For all the uncertainties in the world, one truth she believes to be unchanging: they had each other. What trials they had to face would not be fought alone. The crown is a burden, not a privilege, yet if her steps faltered while carrying it, there were those beside her to steer her in the right way.

As they watch Aegon take to the skies with Sunfyre, golden and glittering and gorgeous, Helaena laments not accompanying them on Dreamfyre. They should fly together more often ( before they try to tear his wings, before she loses the strength to lift hers ).

[bridges-to-ashes]

It Ends in Blood, pt. 1

Warnings: N/A

Word count: 1.000

[Not visible to anons or muses.]

"Shh, just go back to sleep", he whispers softly as Edwin stirs at the light motion of the bed bending under his weight. He had known that he would likely wake him all over again by coming back to say goodbye after barely being able to get out of bed in the first place; and still, he sits next to him at the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of auburn hair out of Edwin's face with a gentle touch.

Their small bedroom is entirely dark, it's far too early in the morning for any light to pass through the small crack underneath the curtain, but for a moment, he still believes to catch a glimpse of Edwin's tired eyes glancing up at him before he turns to the other side, seeming to fall back asleep. He sighs, quietly just, and pulls his lingering hand back, watching on for just a moment longer before he gets back to his feet, pulling the sliding door separating their bedroom from the main room closed soon after.

Penny gets up to her feet as he returns to the living room, her head tilted slightly as she trots after him in his quiet way around the room and over to the coffee table that they still hadn't bothered to put back in its usual place after their date night. His old necklace lies there already, the scratched up metal sparkling in the pale light of the moon falling in from outside, making the name engraved on it look almost innocent. With a light clack of metal on wood, one left unheard by the only man awake enough to be aware of it, his lighter and phone are left laying there as well, easy to find for Edwin in the morning.

He crouches down to Penny's level, taking his time to run his hand through the Saint Bernard's soft fur as she happily leans into his touch. Taking a step closer, she gently nudges her snout against his upper arm, resting her head on his right shoulder a moment later as he accepts her offer for a hug. His heart is beating uneasily fast in his chest, something she surely is aware of, though he refuses her usual attempt to put more of her weight on him to ground him.

"I'll be alright", he mutters, ruffling the fur on her head as he gets back up. He has long lost count of how often he has repeated this phrase in the past few days and he doesn't know if he fully believes in it anymore either, but it's all he has. It's better than nothing - it will have to do.. there is no way back now anyway.

"Keep an eye on him for me, yeah?.."

Stepping out of the small cabin, the cool, rain-heavy air of the night hits him almost like a wave, and he needs to pause for a moment to fumble for the spare key before he can catch his thoughts enough to actually lock the door behind him. It.. wouldn't do much, of course, if anyone was truly determined to get inside, but what else could he do?

He holds onto the door handle for a while longer than necessary, even after the door is locked already, a last attempt to push off the inevitable, even if he knows that he can't stand there forever; sooner or later, Edwin would wake up and ask him to come back inside, still in his sleepwear and with that not-quite-awake softness to his features, and he knows he would. He would follow him back inside and take his hand, ask what he wants for breakfast and whether he had slept well, and everything would stay the same, as if he hadn't gotten up early in the morning and dressed himself all in white, as if he were to go to a wedding or maybe a funeral, or play a ghost in a terrible narrative he was half convinced he would never escape from.

But, in the end, he pulls away. The handle had warmed up a little under the touch of his cold fingers, his hair had already caught a bit of the moisture from the air, making it feel heavier and almost sticky, and he is painfully aware of the bright, amber eyes watching him from a small distance away. Without their glance, he would have turned around and gone back inside. He doesn't know if he wants to thank or curse them for being there.

Even with this newfound conviction to keep going, his steps down the few stairs infront of the house are slow and heavy, briefly making him wonder if Edwin would come to look at the noise he must be making, but when he reaches the ground and feels his boots sinking ever so slightly into the rain-wet ground, giving him the chance to look back one last time, there is no one there in the door, and no light or movement inside indicating anyone was coming.

His attention still resting on the comfortable little house, he flinches back a bit as he feels their warm hand touch his, pushing their fingers between his with a strange combination of gentleness and determination. He doesn't pull away, though his steps remain slow as they lightly pull him forward and away from home, from the dogs, from Edwin.

Their breath is warm against his neck as they whisper to him, a phrase he knows too well by now, to the point where he knows what they say in their sweet, sing-song voice without hearing a single word of it, though this doesn't stop it from sending a shiver down his spine.

"What else can we do to save them?"

What good is it to be right if the truth feels so heavy, so bitter?..

With a sudden flash of color, two figures dressed entirely in white disappear from the forest in the middle of nowhere, with the vague traces of two pairs of steps in the mud, one in boots and the other barefoot, being the only indicator that they were ever truly there in the first place.

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue --- [Prior]

[...]The sudden melody of his voice somewhat startled her. She turned to him, ears twisting to catch his introduction. The healer blinked, rubbing her eyes to try and get a clear look at him, but everything was still quite blurred. She offered him a smile, and a gentle bow of her head in return for the pleasantry. "Charmed." She kept her tone calm and cool despite the throbbing that overwhelmed her thoughts. "Cyra Lunastra. Would that I weren't currently dealing with a simple case of over-working myself, I'm sure our meeting would be more pleasant." Her apology was genuine, even if not a true apology. The Miqo'te wasn't one to keep close friends, but the few she had, she hadn't spoken to in months. She wasn't about to make another. Even in her time of need, she would keep him at a distance if she could help it.

“Cyra.” He tested the name on his tongue, musing idle as her apology met the air. A fitting name like any other, some history no doubt behind the conventions, attachments or neglection in the vein of similar human virtues. Gilded eyes rolled behind dark glasses - Eorzeans always seemed to ignore the power behind a name. Maybe she would fair better. “Overworking happens to the best of us, I’m not immune to it myself.” The lilt of his tone was honest as it was true; Keeping up appearances of an estate did require more than a little genuine paperwork and meetings for shareholds - leading to inattention of his own needs far more often than he cared to admit. Their pace was slow as the duo continued onward through the heat, the blanketed cloth that hung across the walkways of Ul’Dah’s streets giving some small break from the desert heat every so often in sparse shadows that dusted the sandstone cobbles to break the monotonous reds. Small talk wasn’t anything that Silvaire ever enjoyed, even with things (Or people) he had caught an interest in. Often, the casual soul had nothing beneficial to say, filling the space with sounds of mewling or complaints of weather. Even if the Elezen disliked the burn of this world’s light, he never spoke on it. There would be no reason too, as there would be nothing to be done about the celestial body, thus it was pointless. But that was social convention at it’s finest. Pointless. She seemed to hold this in regard, whether that was in turn to some bygone influence of a stranger, or the same sentiment he didn’t know. But it was an unspoken appreciation in comparison to merchants or peddlers that often earned his ire. Tapping his fingers against the back of his palm, the clink of rings sounding ever so slightly as his thoughts turned in contemplation. In curiosity. How would she react to an answer? Would she deny the notes? Or fall further into that obsession without seeking practicality. Enough people had come and gone now that he was fully confident that none from the sanctum had followed nor found her novel choices wanting, so it was simple enough to broach the subject on his own. With a glance to her person he offered a hum of warning before speaking - the subject spoken quietly to those attentive ears that flicked here and there to his notice; “I’ve heard that, as of recently, a peculiar Hingashi Script was sold in auction within the Ul’Dahn houses.” A pause as two unnamed bodies passed them by. “Volumes of parchment documenting the history of… Ill-antiquated Contracts.” The hidden offer earned a genuine turn of his lip as he looked down towards her petite stature. There was no judgment in his tone, and as she seemed to be smart enough to understand the gesture of his words he continued. “Being as most of the Syndicate are wholly incapable of speaking anything but the common tongue, it was only those who could read the text itself that understood the value, or the requirement to keep it from being locked away once again by brothers of like-minds.” Leaning as he did to peer properly beneath her hood, he kept his distance just enough to meet her sharp gaze. “Perhaps, Cyra, once your migraine has subsided, you could resume your studies within more agreeable lodgings.”