#while going on quest after quest she would’ve been cursing left and right

[somnas-writes]

Mcd would’ve been so much funnier if the cast was allowed to curse

My life would be so much better if Aphmau had been allowed to tell Zane to kill himself at some point

Like

Zane: I am here to destroy your village, unless you give up my brother or marry me

Aphmau: KYS 🗣️🗣️💥‼️

[megamindsecretlair]

It's a Little Warm, Part 1

Cross posted on @megamindssecretlair

Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4 | Read Part 5

Pairing: Bucky x Black!Fem!Reader / Plus Size Reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. There is some making out, unresolved tension! Mentions of private parts but really mild. Cursing. Mild age gap. Reader is late 20s and Bucky is mid 30s. Soft Bucky. Part 1 of 5. Slow burn to smut though. Some sentences are intentional AAVE.

Summary: Sam Wilson is your play uncle and has invited you and Bucky to stay at a cabin with him, Sarah, and the kids. Bucky was sweet enough to help with your bags. You also found yourself up in the wee hours of the morning with him.

Word Count: 4,221k

A/N: I've been reading a lot of age gap fics at cabins and wanted to try my spin. Apologies if I miss any warnings or this is super corny. But here we go! While likes are awesome, please consider reblogging and commenting to help support writers!

“Kinfolk!” Uncle Sam yelled and shoved past people in his quest to scoop you into his arms and spin you around. You yelped, not used to anyone swinging you around like a doll. You were short but far from petite and the sudden loss of your feet firmly planted to the ground made your stomach flip. 

“Put me down!” You yelled. You slapped at his massive arms but that only made him chuckle. Mercifully, he stopped turning and set you on your feet. “Look at you!” 

You rolled your eyes. “I just saw ya’ll last week!” 

His chuckle was quick as he threw his head back. “You barely come out of the house, I got to comment on the special occasion.”

You twist your lips and roll your eyes. “I see being Captain Chocolate has made you even cornier,” you said.

Uncle Sam laughed and threw his arm over your shoulder. “Oh, see you got jokes. I see working for that newspaper ain’t help with them lame ass nicknames. I thought you had a better vocabulary than that?” 

“Somehow I always forget it when I come around ya’ll,” you said. Uncle Sam only chuckled. “Where’s your bags?” 

“Got it in the car for now,” you said. 

Uncle Sam frowned. “Give me a minute, I’ll come help you,” he said. 

“I’m perfectly capable of bringing up my own bags,” you said. 

“That ain’t what I said. C’mon and say hi to Sarah. She’s glad there will be another woman this week,” he said. You follow Uncle Sam through the cabin, weaving through close friends of his and Aunt Sarah. 

The cabin had an open plan for the living room and dining room. People milled around watching a football game and sitting on large, comfortable couches. The dining room was cottage chic as a few of the elderly people sat around it talking and fanning themselves. Kids nearly pushed you over as they ran through the cabin.

“Say ‘excuse me’ next time!” Uncle Sam called after them. A chorus of “excuse me’s” rang out as you waved them off. Finally, you made it through the sea of people into the kitchen where various aunties were passing around bowls and spoons and tinfoil. 

They smiled at you and you were passed around like the last piece of pie as everyone got in their hugs and kisses and well wishes. The last person to hug you was Aunt Sarah. She hugged you just as hard as Uncle Sam did. 

“Damn, ya’ll would’ve thought I died or something,” you said. 

Sarah laughed. “Oh my god! I’m just so happy it’s not just me staying here this week. Sam gets his puppy, I should get one too,” Sarah said and laughed, pushing her braids behind her ears. 

Before you could ask what she meant, a booming grandfatherly voice called out for Sam. He told them that he’d be right back and headed out of the open side door towards the backyard. Smoke rose into the air as a full barbeque station was being managed by an elderly man with a cap and New Balance shoes on. You shook your head. Every time.

You opened your mouth to ask what Sarah meant by the puppy comment but movement to your left caught your eye. A man entered the kitchen in a soft burgundy shirt and jeans and large dusty boots. He scanned the room before spotting Sarah and broke into a wide grin.

He was simply gorgeous. It was the type of smile that could stop traffic. Perhaps even cure cancer if he grinned hard enough. His eyes crinkled in the corners as he approached. 

“You must be Sam’s niece,” he said and extended his hand. 

“Uh yes, nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes,” you said and took his hand. His hand was rough and calloused and slid across your soft palm, making your hand tingle. 

He smirked and shook his head. “Ugh, Mr. Barnes makes me sound old. I’m not that old. Bucky is fine,” he said.

“You are that old, you old dinosaur,” Uncle Sam said, materializing right next to you. He clapped you on the back, making you jump. “He’s so old, Moses asked him to lead the choir,” Uncle Sam said and laughed.

The group laughed and Bucky rolled his eyes. “At least I don’t have any gray hairs,” Bucky said. 

“Ay man, you take that back. That’s hurtful,” Uncle Sam said and smoothed down his faded haircut. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off of Bucky Barnes. It had been wild hearing about the man from Uncle Sam and Aunt Sarah, but seeing him in person was an entirely different experience. 

Aunt Sarah leaned her hip against the counter and looked between the two men. “See, Sam gets his puppy and I get another human being to talk to. Once you get these two started, they keep going on and on,” she said. 

You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head. “Bucky’s staying with us for the week too. It’s rare they come home at the same time these days. So we’re gonna make a thing out of it,” Aunt Sarah explained the unspoken question lingering in the air.

“Ah, gotcha.” 

“Hey, we bring the sunshine and the good vibes. All day, baby. Now, pass over the keys,” Uncle Sam said and held his hand out. 

You shook your head. “I can get it, it’s not a big deal.” 

The cook for the festivities called for Uncle Sam again. He groaned and nodded towards Bucky. “Wrestle the keys from her so we can help with her bags and take it upstairs. She’s stubborn.” 

“Stubborn doesn’t work on us, doll,” Bucky said and turned that mega-watt smile on you. You sighed and fought to keep all kinds of dirty thoughts out of your mind. Could super soldiers read minds? 

“Hey, hey, hey! None of that. Paws off!” Uncle Sam said.

“Oh my god,” you groaned. Your cheeks instantly flamed and you were grateful for your darker skin. It hid the obvious signs of a blush. You turned to Aunt Sarah for help who laughed and shook her head. She gave you a pitying look as if to say she wouldn’t be any help. She looked Bucky up and down and winked at you. 

“You’re not really my uncle, you know,” you said. 

“I’m your uncle in the ways that matter. Don’t make me bring a hose in here. It’s hard enough keeping the aunties off of him.” 

The cook called out for Uncle Sam again. He gave them a warning glare before you turned back to Bucky who held out his metal hand. It had intricate designs etched into it and seemed really, really advanced. You half wondered if it was from that famous Wakanda. You’d just about die to have a chance to go there one day. 

“I can get it myself. You don’t have to bother,” you said. You backed away, bumping into random partygoers talking in the kitchen. The press of bodies seemed to double as you backed away towards the front door. You knew you should have brought your things inside earlier. But you were already running late and just wanted to unwind from the long drive. 

Bucky stalked forward, patient as a hunter, with his arm still outstretched. His grin turned into a patient smirk. 

“Right, being stubborn doesn’t work on you,” you said. 

His answering smirk was enough to melt your panties. You looked away from him. If he couldn’t read your mind, he could at least read your facial expressions. And none of your thoughts were holy. 

You dug into the back pocket of your shorts and slapped your keys into his hand. “Thanks, doll,” he said.

You had, hand to god, actual shivers run down your spine. His voice had the right amount of gravel in it to skate over your nerve endings. And you weren't even standing that close to him. 

Bucky held out his hand for you to lead the way and you took the opportunity to calm your racing heart and nerves. He was a solid wall of heat at your back as you maneuvered your way to the front door. Your sandals slapped against the hardwood floor but even with his boots, he was silent. You felt like a bull in a china shop. 

You gave yourself a pep talk. Somehow, someway, you were supposed to survive an entire week with that. You supposed it was true. You should never meet your idols. You might get the overwhelming urge to climb them like a tree. 

Okay, thoughts like that weren’t going to help. You supposed you could limit your contact as much as possible. Hide out in the room or down by the lake. Anything. As long as it meant you weren’t right next to the man. 

You led Bucky outside and towards the makeshift parking lot. A dizzying array of nearly every make and model crowded the rented cabin’s lawn and rocky driveway. You had to park a little ways away and walk down to the cabin. Making it to your beat up Honda, you waved to it. 

Bucky smirked and popped the trunk. You had two suitcases, plus your laptop bag. You moved to grab one and Bucky tsked at you. He tsked at you as if you were a child! 

“You don’t like people doing things for you, do you?” Bucky asked with a smirk. He bent down to retrieve your bags. He didn’t even grunt at the weight. This was your poor attempt to pack light. But since you were a big girl, your clothes didn’t roll up all cute and tiny. You had to adjust and shove things until they fit enough for the suitcase to close. 

“I’m not used to it. Makes me feel weird,” you said. 

“Why’s that?” 

“I don’t know. Makes me feel useless. I feel like I should help,” you said. He got the second suitcase down and slipped your laptop bag over his shoulders. You closed the trunk.

“So you were going to haul all of this to the cabin tonight by yourself?” 

“Yes?” You hadn’t meant to make it a question, but he asked as if he were scolding you. You fought an eye roll and bit the inside of your cheek. He was being nice. But it still grated. As far as the City of Nawlins was concerned, you were a full growed adult. 

“It gets pretty dark out here. It could’ve gotten dangerous. A random car could hit you or a wild animal could trip you up,” he said. 

“You always so fatalistic?” 

“I’ve had reason to be,” he said.

Right. Doofus. “I am so-”

“Don’t be,” he said with a smirk. “Once you fight scaly purple monster-aliens, it’s hard not to see danger everywhere. Just because you can do things by yourself doesn’t mean you can’t accept a little help. Okay?” 

You nodded slowly, feeling like a proper idiot. Of course the man was fatalistic. You didn’t know everything about him. Most of it came from Antman’s book or Uncle Sam’s stories, and it wasn’t the whole story. Still, it was enough to know that Bucky had more than enough reason to be wary of potential danger. 

You took a deep breath and avoided looking at him. He carried your bags into the house and up the stairs. He nodded towards a door a few paces down the hallway. You opened it to find a spacious room, decorated with a nautical theme. You smiled at the blue and white scheme, the anchor pictures on the wall, and the goofy full sized bed. 

Bucky gently set your bags on the floor and your laptop bag on the small desk. As he leaned over, his shirt rode up a bit revealing creamy skin and subtle muscles. 

“What’s that, doll?” Bucky asked as he straightened. 

“What?” You asked, a little too loud. You looked at him and he put his hands on his waist as he surveyed the room.

“I thought you said something,” he said. Did he have to draw attention to his tiny ass waist? Seriously. This man couldn’t be real. It was like he stepped out of a smut book. He was the definition of sexy as sin. Everything he did was seductive. 

“Figured you’d get the better room,” he muttered with a sigh. But you got the sense that he was teasing. You looked around and noticed the huge window. You went to it and peeked out over the backyard. Uncle Sam was leading the group dance along to a Tupac song. 

You turned with a smile to tell Bucky but you noticed his eyes dart up to your face. Was he…?

No way. You shook your head. “Where’s your room?” You asked.

“Right across the hall. Just holler if you need anything, I’m a light sleeper.” 

Your mind wandered to how he would look asleep. His dark hair tousled and floofy. You bet he slept without a shirt on. He seemed the type. Plus he was like a furnace. He probably got hot. Which meant…

“Uh right. That must suck. I sleep like a little brick,” you said. Your cheeks burned again. 

“I haven’t slept that well since before the war,” he said and shrugged. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine. I probably just need some water. It’s a little warm in here. I mean outside. I mean today,” you said with a laugh. You looked at the floor and closed your eyes. Yup. Operation Avoid Bucky At All Costs commenced now. 

“Well come on. We better get downstairs before Sam steals all the ribs like last time. I thought food lasted longer at cookouts?” Bucky asked. 

You laughed. “Rule number one of cookouts: make your to-go plate before your real plate,” you said. 

He backed out of the room with a grin. You followed and closed your bedroom door behind you. 

“You’ll have to explain that one,” he said. 

You explained the intricacies of cook out etiquette as you headed down the stairs and on the way outside. Bucky listened and didn’t interrupt no matter how many side stories and funny anecdotes you told. Once outside, Uncle Sam waved from the dance area. 

Uncle Sam moved and shimmied his way through dances, making everyone around him laugh. He wore long, navy shorts and a light blue shirt. You shook your head as he tried to twerk and made everyone nearly fall out with laughter. 

You stood side by side with Bucky as you watched. You kept all of your focus on Uncle Sam. You absolutely did not notice how heavenly Bucky smelled or how he blocked the sun for you. 

Aunt Sarah called your name and you looked behind you. She sat at a table and waved. She pointed to a plate she made for you. Your stomach chose then to grumble. You waved back to acknowledge her. 

“I better…” 

“I’ll catch you around,” he said with a small smile. He headed off into the swarm of people with ease saying hi and clapping people on the back. 

You took a deep breath. Maybe food was exactly what you needed. If you were too busy stuffing your face, you didn’t have time to think about Bucky Barnes. 

You were burning up. For such an open room, the southern heat was eating you alive. You had already kicked off most of your pjs, leaving nothing but an oversized T-shirt and your panties. In a minute, you were going to take that off too, but you desperately needed some water.

You got out of bed, fumbling around in the dark. You stubbed your toe on the corner of a dresser and bit the inside of your cheek to keep from yowling. You danced in place until the sharp pain subsided.

You had no idea what time it was but after the party, cleaning up, and trading stories around the kitchen table, everyone peeled off for bed around two or three in the morning. The sun wasn’t yet up so you only managed to get an hour or so of sleep. 

Your tongue was dry and thick. You moved it around, trying to get your spit going. That last tequila shot definitely did you in. You sighed heavily as you padded down the hallway and the stairs. 

The silence was near deafening as you crossed the wide open space. The cabin was dark but there was enough ambient light from the open curtains letting in moon light. You could see enough to cross the living room towards the kitchen.

You opened the fridge door and bent over to look for leftover water bottles. You danced a bit as you tried to focus long enough to find a bottle. The fridge blew cold air that washed over your flushed skin. You scratched absently at your bonnet. 

Finally finding some water, you uncapped it and stood up to down nearly half the bottle. You turned around and screamed, jumping back into the fridge door. Bucky sat at the kitchen table. The light from the fridge gave him an otherworldly appearance.

Bucky stood up instantly and crossed the small space towards you. He held out his hands to steady you. “You okay? I’m sorry,” he said. 

You slapped him away and scrambled for the nearest light switch. “You scared me half to death!” 

Miraculously, you drank too much for the water to slosh out of the bottle so none of it spilled. You clutched the cool bottle to your racing heart. Your hands shook and you took deep breaths to calm down. 

Bucky had the good nerve to wince before closing the fridge door. “I’m truly sorry,” he said.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked.

Bucky chuckled. “Well, I wasn’t trying to scare you. A random voice in the night would’ve scared you more,” he said. 

You flopped into the nearest kitchen chair. You were too hot and too shaken up to care that you wore a bonnet around Bucky. There was no need to avoid him now. You were about as sexy as a paper clip. 

He dropped back into his seat. Now that you were calming down, you noticed that true to your daydreams, his hair was pleasantly tousled. He didn’t wear a shirt but he did have dog tags hanging from his neck. His metal arm gleamed in the low light. 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” You asked.

He smirked. “Not really,” he said. 

“Nightmares? Want to talk about it? I’ve been told I’m an excellent listener,” you said.

He absently rubbed a spot on the wooden table. “Wasn’t a nightmare this time. Actually had a dream. For the first time in a long time.” 

You looked at him as he held a smirk, but there was no humor in it. You sat patiently, giving him the space to talk about it or not. It didn’t seem like he was inclined, so you sipped your water and listened to the subtle animal sounds from outside. 

“It wasn’t anything fancy. Quite boring actually. I dreamt I was back in Wakanda. It was peaceful there,” he said softly.

A million questions danced in your head. But you nodded and smiled at him to continue. “There was a small lake where I used to sit for hours and just be. I didn’t get a lot of chances to do that in my life. Being here just made me miss it, I guess,” he said.  

“I get that. Dream freaked you out enough to come sit in the dark by your lonesome?” You asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “I can’t always trust what’s in my head. Sometimes I need to ground myself and I’m still getting used to how soft beds are these days,” he said.

“Oh, they make them firmer. Like sleeping on an ironing board,” you said. 

Bucky chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve slept on worse,” he said. 

“Ugh, no thank you. Give me the softest bed you can find. I wanna disappear into an infinite void of clouds and pillows and blankets,” you said. 

Bucky grinned and looked at you. “Don’t you have to be this tall to even climb into the bed?” He held up his hand to exaggerate how short you were. You stuck your tongue out at him. 

“Next to you, everyone’s short,” you said.

“And yet you’re still the shortest,” he said and laughed. You leaned up and slapped his regular arm. 

“You’ve been hanging around Uncle Sam too long,” you said.

Before you could pull back, Bucky grabbed your wrist and prevented you from moving back. He rubbed lazy circles as he looked at you.

“Why do you call him Uncle?” 

Your heart rate sped up for different reasons. His touch was feather soft and sent all kinds of crazy signals to your belly. 

“I grew up around their family for years. But when Sam joined the Air Force, I called him Uncle Sam as a joke. Kind of stuck. He already saw himself as my older brother so we kept it. Sarah felt left out so I called her Auntie,” you explained.

Bucky hummed and nodded. He glanced down at the circles he was making on your wrist. 

“Where’s your family?” He asked.

You shrugged. “Deadbeat, emotionally abusive parents. I ditched them a long time ago and I don’t talk to them.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“S’okay. Good riddance. Sam and Sarah and the boys are all I need. If you’re gonna keep coming around, I guess that includes you too,” you said.

Bucky chuckled and finally released your wrist. “You should probably try to get some sleep. Apparently, Sam has plans scheduled for the whole week,” Bucky said softly. 

“Sam loves his plans. You gonna get some rest?” You asked.

“I’ll try,” he said. 

You nodded. You stood up and moved to walk past him. But you stopped and bit your lip. You reached up and stroked his cheek. 

“I hope you get some sleep,” you said. You didn’t quite want the spell to break yet. It was early morning and the house was quiet. In the moments you spent down here, your body had cooled. However, standing so close to him while his clean soapy scent enveloped you, your body heated up for entirely different reasons. 

You slid your fingers under his chin and made him look up at you. His lips parted as he looked from between your eyes to your lips. He sighed as he trailed his fingers along your thighs. You made a squeak as the cold metal of his arm touched your heated skin. 

He skirted his fingers up and beneath the hem of your shirt, but he didn’t press further. He drew more lazy circles into your skin. 

Fuck it. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He sighed again, against your lips, and tugged you closer until you were straddling his thick thigh. You braced one hand on his other thigh and the other around his metal shoulder. 

He devoured you in a strong kiss, teeth clashing against each other. His tongue swiped against your lower lip before you opened for him. His tongue dived inside and slid against your own. 

His metal arm wrapped around you to keep you steady. His hand was better than a brace as it kept you from slipping off of him. His other hand came up to stroke your jaw before wrapping around your neck.

Not even you could keep the needy moan from escaping your lips. His lips moved over yours with expert care. Your hands came up to feather into his hair and trail down to the nape of his neck where you lightly scratched him.

A shudder moved through him that you felt all the way to your pussy. You shamelessly grinded on his leg. There was nothing but his sweatpants and your panties keeping you from skin on skin contact but you were sure he could feel how damp you were already. You’d be embarrassed except your thoughts were consumed with him. With touching him and feeling your nipples rub against his bare chest.

As soon as the kiss started, Bucky pulled away from you. Your harsh breaths mingled with his as you both panted. He plucked your hands from around his neck and held them in between you like a silent prayer. He got a faraway look in his eyes as he stared at your hands. 

He leaned down and kissed your fingers before leaning back and staring at the ceiling. Almost as if he were staring straight into Uncle Sam’s room. 

“You should go back upstairs,” he panted. 

You wanted to be angry. He didn’t get to just dismiss you. You practically threw yourself at him and that realization was enough to dump ice water in your veins. How embarrassing. 

You got up slowly and nodded. Without saying another word, you left the kitchen. Cool air hit the sweat along your face and neck and you shivered from the lack of heat. His heat. But you were a grown woman. You would be okay. 

You trudged all the way to your room and closed the door before falling face first into bed with a soft groan. 

What, the actual fuck just happened?

Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4 | Read Part 5

There is now a follow up! It's a Little Cold

[mythicandco]

It was not often that Emperor Belos visited Hunter’s room.

Usually he was working on the portal or in his throne room, or occasionally roaming the castle halls after dark. Hunter had once seen him without his mask, staring at a mural of the Savage Ages. He’d somehow looked equally disgusted and wistful. He was saying something under his breath that could’ve been a conversation, had there been anyone around to talk to.

Hunter had left his uncle alone that night.

But today Hunter was just sitting in his room doodling Red, waiting for new orders to come in. He’d grown weirdly attached to the palisman since they had flown in his window, and they were a wonderful model, sitting perfectly still while he tried to capture every detail and shadow. He wasn’t very good, but he was sure he was improving.

That was when a gentle, yet resounding knock sounded from the other side of his door, and a familiar voice asked, “Hunter, may I come in?”

Hunter’s eyes went wide and his palisman ducked under his pillow in a flash. He stashed his drawings under the bed and said, “Come in!”

Emperor Belos pushed open the door with the care of a potionist concocting a delicate brew. He was wearing his mask, but it looked like he’d thrown it on in a hurry and hadn’t tucked his hair out of the way, instead having it tied loosely up into a ponytail.

Hunter always got deja-vu when he saw his uncle with this hairstyle. The last time he’d had it up like this was when Hunter had accidentally damaged his staff and Belos had gladly agreed to help him fix it. He wasn’t sure why his uncle had been so eager to help him fix his mistake. It seemed like every passing day made Belos’ curse worsen, and his fuse shorten.

But even with his outbursts of violence (which were all perfectly reasonable considering the circumstances of each one), Belos still cared about Hunter. He trusted him with secrets he never told anyone else, and appreciated and cared about him as long as he stayed loyal and useful. Hunter remembered the stories his uncle would tell when he was little, tales of two brothers who went on adventures and quests and sometimes messed up, but ultimately cared about each other above all else.

Belos had never told the character’s names, but Hunter had always kind of imaged them in his head as himself and his uncle. He wasn’t sure why, but it was just what felt right.

Belos’ hand hovered in midair for a moment, before he reached up to take off his mask. The door shut behind him and he sat down next to Hunter, looking at the wall.

“Are you alright, Uncle?”

“Yes,” he smiled a little bit. “Thanks mainly to you. I’m proud of you for getting the Titan’s blood. You did well.”

“I almost didn’t,” Hunter replied, looking away. “I almost failed again.”

“We mustn’t dwell on would’ves and could’ves,” Belos waved a hand almost dismissively, as though he was clearing himself of those thoughts as well. “What matters is that the Day of Unity is closer than ever, and it’s because of your hard work.”

Hunter couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Emperor Belos.” He paused, recalling a question he’d never been able to ask. The last time he’d wondered about this aloud, Belos had turned him away and said, “Maybe at a later time.”

But now seemed like as good a time as any - he’d come into Hunter’s room, most likely just to talk to him. The Titan’s plans were going smoothly and everyone had a moment to stop and breathe. But on the other hand, if Hunter asked, his uncle might leave. He might never get a chance to sit side-by-side with him like they were brothers again. But on the other other hand, what use was sitting in silence?

“Uncle, I’ve been… meaning to ask you something,” Hunter admitted finally before he could chicken out. He bit his lip as Belos turned his full attention on him, already regretting his decision. Well, no turning back now. “With the Titan’s blood acquired and the portal almost ready and how everyone’s taking a little break before the Day of Unity arrives, I thought it would be a good time to ask.” He swallowed. Moment of truth. “…Who were my parents? A-and I know they were killed by wild magic,” he added, “but what were they like before?”

Belos’ expression turned from listening intently to horrified to very, very sad in less than a heartbeat.

Hunter’s back straightened. “I-I mean, y-you don’t have to-“

Belos held up a hand, silencing his nephew. “No, it’s alright. You have a right to ask. It’s only fair after the trouble I’ve put you through.” He chuckled, but it was dry in his throat. “I didn’t…” He hesitated.

“Your mother was a wonderful woman. She was always going off to slay beasts or tame small creatures. I know she loved animals and had a fiery spirit. And your father loved her very, very much.” He paused. “We didn’t part on the best of terms. I wish I could’ve told her that I was happy for her.”

“You said not to dwell on would’ves and could’ves,” Hunter pointed out. Belos smiled again.

“Yes, well, I suppose deep down we’re all sentimental old historians,” his uncle responded. “Now, I knew your father very well. He and I would always get into all kinds of trouble. It hardly mattered when one of us fell, because the other would help him back to his feet. We almost never saw eye-to-eye, always butting heads, but it was the kind of friendly rivalry good friends are supposed to have. He was like a brother to me.” His expression hardened.

“I’m sorry you don’t have a sibling, Hunter.”

“I-“ the witch paused. This thought had occurred to him only once, back when he was little. It was a silly thought - who needed a sibling when your uncle was the emperor of the Boiling Isles, and your family was his entire Coven? Hunter didn’t need friends to weigh him down, not when he had big things to accomplish. “What do you mean? I have you.”

Belos visibly winced, and Hunter flinched. He’d said something wrong, now he was going to be left alone again, or maybe worse, please don’t-

But the emperor didn’t move beyond that, and instead let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “You are the spitting image of him.”

Hunter took a moment to process this. “My father?” he finally asked. Instead of replying, Belos stood up. Hunter’s worry increased. He had said something wrong, he had upset his uncle! “I’m sorry,” he stood up as well. “Whatever I said wrong, I didn’t-“

“It’s not your fault, Hunter. I must get back to work.” Belos put his mask back on, and then he was gone. The door shut behind him with a click.

Hunter buried his head in his pillow with a muffled sob. An indignant chirp startled him from his wallowing in self-pity.

“Huh?” he sat up, ramrod straight. “Red?”

“Chirp, chirp chirp chirp tweet,” the little bird palisman replied, hopping from one foot to the other.

Hunter let out a yelp of surprise. “He is not!”

The little bird cocked their head at him. “Chirp chirp tweet, chirp.”

“Alright, maybe that,” he admitted. “Did you listen to that whole conversation?”

“Tweet tweet tweet,” Red swooped down and scooped up the drawings from under the bed. “Tweet chirp chirp chirp tweet.”

“Haha, fine,” Hunter picked up his pencil. “What was the pose you were doing earlier?”

“Tweet chirp tweet tweet tweet,” Red hopped up onto his shoulder and craned their neck towards an unknown source above and in front of Hunter. Somehow he was able to draw it, and it came much easier to him than the other poses Red had struck so far. He even added himself, with the bird on his shoulder. It looked pretty good. He held up the picture to show the little palisman. “What do you think?”

“Chirp,” the birdlike, wooden creature responded. Hunter laughed.

“Okay, but only a few more.”

[bipercabeth]

48 for percabeth! I hope u feel better about the show

Annabeth has known that Percy was going to die from the moment she met him. Four summers. Best case scenario. 

Twelve-year-old Annabeth wasn’t particularly concerned about falling in love with the trouble-making son of Poseidon who drooled in his sleep. Freshly sixteen Annabeth sometimes wishes she had opted for the quiet life some children of Athena prefer: strategize, keep your head down, live a comfortable and unremarkable life. She hardly would’ve crossed paths with Percy outside of the occasional class or Capture the Flag. He and Grover could’ve found someone else to be their best friend, or maybe they would’ve bonded as a pair. And Annabeth would have kept her distance from Percy in the name of self-preservation, knowing they would only have four bittersweet summers together at best. 

The summer before the Titan War is not the best case scenario. Percy is hardly ever at camp except for quests and Kronos-related meetings. He chooses to spend what they both know is his last of their four measly summers away from Annabeth. Grover is nowhere to be found, Thalia is with the Hunters, Luke is hosting the Titan Lord, and Annabeth feels more like a scared little girl than she has in a long time. At least she isn’t the runaway. That title fell to Percy. 

It feels like an insult to Annabeth’s love for Percy to wish they hadn’t met. She is so much better for having loved him. For loving him—present tense. But she says this while he’s still here. His smile may not be directed at her that often, but he still smiles. Sometimes Annabeth can even stomach the jealousy of Rachel being the cause of that smile, because at least someone is giving him joy before this all goes to shit. When it does, maybe Annabeth will understand what it means to wish him away, if only to end the pain of having known and lost a person like Percy Jackson. 

The feeling isn’t new. Annabeth’s gut has twisted in previous conversations where someone would bring up high school and college plans. Percy would talk animatedly about getting his license at sixteen, and Annabeth was left with a dry mouth she could not twist into a smile. He would beam at Beckendorf’s plans to attend NYU in the fall and make the older boy promise to swing by Sally’s sometime. Even Beckendorf, who had never heard the full Great Prophecy, could not stop the microexpression of pity. 

When Annabeth first heard the prophecy, it was too much for her ten year old mind. There was no face to connect to the doomed fate, no cursed blade to reap the hero’s soul. Sometimes her young brain conjured an image of Thalia, but that was a nightmare of its own. Every night, Annabeth would watch Olympus fall at the hands of someone she hoped never to know. 

She still gets those nightmares, only the visuals have improved. Percy is in every single one of them, saving or razing Olympus depending on the night. He never survives. You cannot outrun fate. Annabeth has tried. 

Still, she is a daughter of Athena, and Athena always has a plan. When Percy dies, Annabeth will fall to pieces. In a lucky string of events, she might fall alongside him. It’s a war, after all. But she has a sneaking suspicion that she will outlive him. She has a plan for this as well. The shroud they made when he was stranded on Calypso’s island was nice and communal, leagues ahead of the one the Ares cabin shroud that still makes Annabeth’s blood boil. But deep in her soul, Annabeth knows that she alone will make his shroud. Just as she’ll burn it; just as she’ll care for Sally in his stead; just as she will lay blue roses on his headstone every time she’s in the neighborhood; just as she’ll be there for Grover, for Clarisse, for all of camp when he’s gone. She will do it alone. Annabeth held the sky, once. She will shoulder this as well. How much heavier could losing her best friend be than the weight of the world? In her anticipation, they feel the same. 

She will build a monument for him, something to last the ages as he was supposed to, as permanent as the love he has given her. It will overlook the gods on Olympus, a reminder of the boy they failed. The boy who was too good for them all. Regardless of how the war goes, this will always be true. 

He was never built to last. Nothing good ever can, and he’s been burning the candle at both ends for a while now. He was meant to burn bright, not long. 

Annabeth sits in the dark of the Big House rec room, the only quiet space now that camp is in full war preparation. Well, the only quiet space apart from the beach, but Annabeth knows the smell of salt air and the sound of waves will be her undoing. That is another key feature of her plan: never go to the ocean again. 

She curls her knees into her chest, feeling every inch the child that she is. But children are not supposed to have plans for their best friend dying. Children are not supposed to have their first kiss out of fear that said best friend will die before their four summers are up. 

The door opens, throwing the room into harsh shadows and blinding light. 

“Um.” Annabeth can’t see who’s talking, but she’d know his voice anywhere. “Chiron said there was a war council meeting today.” 

She raises a hand to block out the light and give her eyes time to adjust. “Yeah, later.” To Annabeth’s horror, her voice is hoarse. Her throat is clogged with tears. 

Percy’s sneakers stop shifting in the carpet. “Are, uh... are you okay?” 

He sounds hesitant to ask, like he’s expecting vitriol to spew from Annabeth’s mouth. And, in fairness, sometimes it does. But Annabeth doesn’t have vitriol in her right now. The awareness that she does not have many days left with Percy is painfully acute. To spend them angry feels like a waste. 

“No, I’m not.” By now her eyes have adjusted to the light, and she looks at him through bleary eyes. 

Percy stills when he sees her face, looking ready to bolt. He points to the door. “Do you want me to...?”

Annabeth sniffles. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

What breaks her is how quickly he is by her side. For all their faults, it is the one thing she can count on. As long as she lets him, Percy will come to Annabeth when she’s hurting.

She doesn’t tell him how deeply that statement is carved into her, that she is carved from loneliness the same way he is carved from guilt—the pitfalls of pride and loyalty. 

A kid carved from loneliness cannot plan to be held the way that Percy holds Annabeth. Such a selfless love was unfathomable as a little girl; how could she ever have accounted for it? He just... holds her. He doesn’t try to talk or look at her face. He’s just there, unwaveringly. It kills Annabeth to know he won’t always be. It hurts to be with him, but it will hurt so much more to be without him. 

The dam breaks, and Annabeth sobs into Percy’s shoulder. He’s taller than her now, grown only to be cut down young. Still, he is steadfast, grounded, secure in his roots. The way a towering oak has no reason to fear a chainsaw until the cutting has already begun. 

“You’re my best friend,” she tells him, because she’s not sure she’s ever said it and it’s something he deserves to hear. “No matter what, you’re my best friend.” 

Percy strokes a gentle hand along the back of Annabeth’s head. “And you’re mine,” he assures her. He doesn’t say you’re my best friend too. Just you’re mine. As if the fact doesn’t haunt her. She is his, irrevocably. 

A gentle knock at the door interrupts them. Annabeth recognizes Silena’s quiet footfalls and almost withdraws from Percy, but he makes no move to. 

Silena’s voice is soft, not smug like Annabeth expects. “War council in fifteen. Figured I’d give you two a heads up.” 

Annabeth meets her eyes over Percy’s shoulder. “Thanks.” 

The older girl ducks her head in something resembling shame. “It’s the least I can do.” She leaves. 

“How much longer?” Percy asks when the door clicks shut. It isn’t an impatient question. In fact, Annabeth doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking. 

She gives an honest answer. “However long we have left.” And the sun begins to set on the fourth summer. 

[savethelastdan]

Sesskagu Week Day 2: Green (Apart)

Idea came from @dearestpartnerofgreatness​

"I was wonderin' when you'd get here." Sliding both hands behind his head, Inuyasha looked his half-brother up and down with more than a little smugness. "Took a week to finally admit to yourself that you were wrong, stupid?"

"I was not wrong," Sesshomaru growled, despite the tinge of relief that the hanyou's statement proved that he'd successfully hunted Kagura down. That he'd spotted his brother sleeping on a curved branch of a tree outside heart of the village was both a detriment (in that he had to listen to him talk) and a blessing (he had no interest in walking around the village looking like a fool while she danced around avoiding him). "She overreacted."

A single dog ear twitched in amusement. "Great apology. Should go over well."

"I would think," Sesshomaru retorted, voice lowering as a group of villagers reached the top of the hill and promptly about-faced upon seeing him, "you would welcome the opportunity to remove her from your home, so that you may have peace once again."

Inuyasha's mouth opened comically wide before snapping shut. "Humph. Fine."

Stretching until several bones in his back cracked, he leapt down from the tree and bounded off. Sesshomaru turned his back to the tree, trying to appear unflappable as possible.

He hadn't been wrong, no matter how much the wind sorceress fussed. If anything, she had taken advantage of his generosity. Had he not lost months of sleep, seeking a way to stuff her soul back in an unmastered body, with an unmastered heart at her disposal? Had he not then allowed her to join his party on their travels despite the constant arguing between herself and Jaken and how his mood suffered because of it?

She had repaid him by deciding, for no reason at all, to start collecting. Nothing of importance; naturally, the bits and bobbles that drew Kagura's interest were as useless as they were commonplace. Withering leaves, sharp stones in muddied colors, feathers and scales and scraps of cloth or petrified wood, all constantly underfoot.

It was childish. It was pointless. And so, after the hundredth time something small and irksome found itself under his foot, Sesshomaru had tossed the whole pile away.

Which was how he'd been left with a blow to his chest that took a full day to heal, while Kagura ran off to invade Inuyasha's stupid little house in the stupid little village. The fact she'd rather be surrounded by humans than be around him was taken with the full force of insult she'd meant it to be. By now she'd probably convinced Kohaku and Rin to take her side…

At least he had Jaken's understanding.

He should not even be rewarding such a tantrum, by marching here to collect her. But…despite the headaches that her presence occasionally brought, her absence had endeared him to certain feelings. Those that, perhaps, could be analogized to how Kagura herself might have felt, back in the days where her much-wanted heart had been miles away.

Not that he could ever bring himself to say something like that out loud. Even to her, who had managed to wring quite a few utterances out of him that even Rin would have had trouble believing had come from Sesshomaru's own tongue.

There had to be a line somewhere.

(Perhaps time would wear it down, eventually, but unless she came home, the situation was moot.)

Annoyance stung the space behind his teeth as Inuyasha returned, no wind witch in tow. From the grumpy expression on the hanyou's face, he wasn't too thrilled about it either.

"She says she ain't interested in talkin' to ya." Folding both arms over his chest, Inuyasha glared in Sesshomaru's direction. "But you're right, she's overstayed her welcome. So start thinkin' how you're going to convince her to leave."

Sesshomaru bristled; demonic energy flooded his veins. "I do not take orders from- "

"Cut it out, you stopped being scary when you let Kagome start callin' ya Big Brother." The last few words were said in a high-pitched mimicry of the priestess, though it was quickly followed by the classically-ridiculous smile that Inuyasha always got when he mentioned his wife. "If it helps, I think she's just being difficult. She stopped thinkin' up creative ways to kill you a few days ago; the rest of the time, she's just been moping around. One gritted-teeth apology'll probably work."

That most certainly did not help, because as soon as they were in the same room again Sesshomaru was sure the reason for her ire would no doubt return in full force.

Inuyasha's brow dropped. "You seriously not gonna do it?"

"Would you?" Sesshomaru retorted icily, before he could stop himself.

"I," Inuyasha said, with the slow relish of someone who had been waiting for this exact question, "would've never thrown out her stuff in the first place."

Tenseiga and Bakusaiga's commentary was, while amusing, not particularly useful. Beating his brother to a pulp for being a know-it-all would do nothing but earn the ire of his sister-in-law. Which Sesshomaru did not need today.

"What's the problem with having stuff, anyway," Inuyasha continued, scratching behind one ear as though this was a casual family visit. "Other than the fan and feathers, it's not like she got to keep any shit around before. From what Kohaku said, Naraku didn't like for any of 'em to go exploring much, either. She's got the time and you've got the space, so it's a stupid thing to fight about."  

As much as he did not want to admit it (and one could imagine just how much that was), that was a fair point. As was his belief that she could have chosen a more interesting and less obnoxious form of self-expression.

"You know, she mentioned somethin' a few times when she was cursing you…" Trying to keep his tone even was difficult, but the thought of Kagura going home helped. Even though this particular statement felt kinda unfair, even against someone like Sesshomaru. "How you didn't lift a finger to save her life, and now you won't even let her enjoy it, or…?"

Sitting with his feet propped on the windowsill, Jaken hummed a happy tune. It had been over a week without the annoying witch around, and he felt in much better spirits with her gone! No more sudden bursts of wind to knock him over in the corridors, or piles of random garbage from who-knew-where cluttering up the place. And there was still at least two weeks before Rin and Kohaku came for their annual summer visit and disturbed his peace.

Granted, Lord Sesshomaru's mood had been…sour since she'd gone, to the point that he'd left the castle in a huff the day before. But that was not a problem for Jaken; if anything, it hopefully meant that soon they'd be back to the old days of 24/7-wandering, offering challenges to whatever foolish yokai crossed their path! Not that having time to rest in the castle wasn't nice, but he certainly missed the days before Lord Sesshomaru had settled down, so-to-speak, and regulated his travels to the fall and spring seasons.  

Suddenly, a powerful aura electrified the air, sending a chill zipping up through his legs. Leaning towards the window, he scanned the landscape with excitement. That must be Lord Sesshomaru! Perhaps he had returned with a task, a quest, just like the days before his Lord's heart had turned -

Oh no. Oh no.

Because yes, indeed, there was his esteemed Lord touching down in the front courtyard. But unfortunately, right at his side, with a smile he could see from here, was that annoying sorceress. As he watched, Sesshomaru brushed a hand against her arm with such uncharacteristic softness that it made the kappa feel ill.

Kagura said something (probably wicked, from the way her scarlet eyes glinted in the sunlight) and then twisted to unload something off her back. To Jaken's horror, she was carrying a knapsack. The same one she used to collect her stupid little trinkets all the time.

And it looked heavy.

[aizawaslovebot]

NOW PLAYING: the ex factor by iwaizumi hajime

—reader pronouns: he/him

—warnings: curse words ; slight implied violence

—summary: desperate times mean desperate measures, and y/n is definitely the embodiment of desperate. eager to make his ex jealous for reasons undisclosed, (read as: he's just petty), he asks his long-time best friend, iwaizumi hajime, to pretend as his boyfriend

—note: y'know how it always is, sorry for being late!!

TAGLIST: OPEN ; just send me an ask!! i don't mind you guys resending asks to be added ^^

@ohmygodronnie2020 @beyond-the-mxxn @clinomanians

<- the sweetheart playlist | part i | part ii | next song ->

The plan was simple, really.

Pretend to be boyfriends and find the bane of your existence so you could rub it in his face that he was much more disposable than he made you feel. Then you’d both get the hell out of there and go someplace you both actually enjoyed. It was easy to do, too. Pretending to be together was something you had done when one of the other had problems with strangers. Finding your ex was an easier task because all you had to look for is where there was an influx of vulnerable girls.

Apparently, this plan was simple only in theory.

Realistically speaking, as you and Iwa fail to wade through the many drunk people flailing their limbs and calling it dancing, finding your ex was not an easy task.

The other part of the plan was also much more difficult than either of you expected too. Pretending was not easy. It was not easy when either of you couldn’t ignore the beating of your hearts at close contact. It was not easy when everyone readily acknowledged that you were together; that it was normal for Iwaizumi Hajime and Y/N L/N to be together. It was not easy when pretending reminded both of you that this was fake and that reality will sink in much sooner than the way next week came.

“Finally!” Someone would say, “We’ve been waiting for you two to get together!” Then a drunk acquaintance would add, “I thought you were together this whole time!”

So, sure, making it seem like you two were together was easy. But pretending— oh dear lord, just pretending— was what made it difficult. It had become apparent to both of you, without the other knowing, that just pretending hurt so much.

“Just how much did everyone drink? I heard the party started an hour ago,” You sigh, cringing when you see the class valedictorian puking her guts out by the plant.

Iwa snorts as he fixes his grip on your waist, “Just let the bunch of idiots let loose. The sem ended after all, puddin’.” Only a mere squeak comes out of your mouth because of the way his soft lips neared your ears.

God damn. Was it really necessary to gay panic in the middle of a mission?

With no answer to the hypothetical question in your head, you decided to let the energy die out a little before you commence part two of the plan. You and Iwa find solace in the comfort of an unoccupied booth but you couldn’t sit still at all.

The thought of being close to Iwa tonight felt different. It made you giddy and nervous and flustered and anxious all at once. It was like having to hold your breath and close your eyes to prepare for the “big thing” to happen. And you were too scared to find out what the “big thing” was for you so, despite much reluctance, you said, “I’m gonna get a drink, Zumi.”

You hastily got out of the booth and made a beeline for the kitchen to look for any drink that was sealed or canned. As much as you wanted the confidence that being intoxicated gives you, you’d rather not be embarrassingly drunk while facing your ex. In your quest to find something safe to drink in a college party, your acquaintances strike up a conversation.

“So, you and Iwaizumi, huh?” The aforementioned drunk class valedictorian asked, surprisingly still able to make a conversation despite feeling unwell just a few moments ago. “Been a long time coming,” she continued when you nodded, “You two are made for each other, y’know?”

You two hear a sigh from Claire’s, the drunkard valedictorian, friend beside her. “How romantic… I still remember how the whole ‘pudding’ nickname started. We honestly thought you’ve been dating ever since then.”

Claire looks at you questioningly, as if mentally asking you to relay the story to her because she was probably piss drunk when it happened; I mean, she’s still drunk right now but she was far worse back then.

You give in before they start to get the idea of gathering more and more people to make you tell the story. “It’s a weird story though,” You warn, but judging by the way they still urged you on, you could continue. “There was a time in our first year when we had this party, right? By then, Iwa and I were, at most, acquaintances if not just roommates.”

“I didn’t know how to like, interact with him because I found him so intimidating,” You smiled faintly, causing the two girls to look at each other quickly. “Anyway, everyone got challenged to eat as many diet pudding cups as we could possibly eat— which was quite unhealthy considering we’re studying to become trainers.”

Claire’s friend snorts, reminiscing the day when your class bought out all the diet pudding cups available in the nearest convenience stores for a stupid game.

“I got really competitive about it to the point where only Iwa and I remained. Neither of us wanted to back down but everyone got concerned about the amount we ate so we were both crowned diet pudding cup champions”

They giggle at the odd story but let you continue. “We started calling each other ‘diet pudding cup champion’ after that but it was honestly a mouthful to say so somewhere down the line, it got shortened to ‘pudding’.”

“Which is why we thought you two were a thing but you dated that asshole ex of yours and left us stumped,” Claire downs another bottle, “You didn’t even look comfortable with that ex and you two were never compatible, honestly. But all is well now! I wish I had love like yours…”

Claire’s friend rolls her eyes when the valedictorian starts crying, mumbling how cute you and Iwa were and that the entire class should be invited to your wedding. Claire then cries out how soft you two are for each other. “Sorry for her nonsense,” Claire’s friend sighs, “Anyway, we shouldn’t keep you for long… You should go back to your boyfriend.”

You wave slowly as they leave you to yourself and your thoughts. Was that really how people thought? That Iwa and you were a much better match? Would you have been far happier if Iwaizumi Hajime, your long-time best friend, was your boyfriend instead?

Speaking of your ‘boyfriend’...

Iwaizumi was thankful you decided to part for a while. Had there not been distance between you two at that moment, he wasn’t sure what mistake he would’ve made. He was too scared to risk everything and find out too. Patiently, while rejecting the class drunkards who wanted to dance or drown in booze with him, Iwa waits for your return.

Iwaizumi Hajime was hopelessly, irretrievably in love with you. You were his idiot, his contradiction, his pudding, his everything, and sadly, just his best friend. How much did the universe have to hate him to bind you two to simply being best friends? How much did the universe have to hate him to let Iwaizumi Hajime get a taste of what could’ve been and deprive him of what would be? Why, of all people, did it have to be Iwaizumi Hajime who had to go through the turmoil of falling for his best friend?

Far too many questions have formed in his head but Iwaizumi persists. He still had to help you after all. So Iwa waits and waits and waits for your return while simultaneously having to deal with his realization and the universe’s hatred.

And the universe might have hated him more than it let on.

Y’know what they say when you can’t seem to find what you’re looking for specifically because you’re looking for it? How you should let time pass and that thing will magically pop up when you don’t need it?

It happened.

In front of Iwaizumi stood the very person they planned to spite that night, the very person who decided it was fun to toy with your heart, and the very person who Iwaizumi loathed to the very core: Akuma Azamuku.

While you were questioning your “what could be” with your pretend boyfriend, Iwaizumi was busy facing your bastard ex.

“I heard you two are together now,” The poor excuse of a man started, standing confidently as if he didn’t have women in his arms, “Kind of a fast development, don’t ‘ya think?”

Iwaizumi almost pulverized your ex to the ground at that statement. What a hypocrite. What a stupid guy. What a terrible person. To imply that you were the one who cheated when the God forsaken ex was the one who manipulated you into this chaos.

“Fast development? What do you call yours then?” He challenged, eyebrows raised unamused at your ex.

“I’m not here to argue with you,” Akuma rolled his eyes rather condescendingly, “He never had eyes for me anyway. The same way I never liked him one bit.”

Iwaizumi’s fingers twitched; they itched to close the distance between Akuma’s face and Iwa’s fist. You never liked him? What utter bullshit. You spent most of your days walking on eggshells to please the goddamn piece of shit and he tells him that you never liked your ex? He tells Iwa that he never liked you?

Sadly, Akuma took his silence as a sign to continue. Bad choice on his part, really.

“He has always liked you though, hasn’t he? You always had to be the man of the hour in Y/N’s eyes when he and I were together. The son of a bi—”

Then fist connected to face faster than anyone could have comprehended. Iwaizumi never liked your ex and his fists figured it was time to convey what he had been internalizing this whole time.

“You don’t get to talk that way. Not when it was you who two-timed him from the start,” Iwaizumi’s voice took a menacing tone. This was, by far, the scariest he had been: he wasn’t spouting off in anger, his voice sounded hushed, but it was obvious that there would be carnage.

“Y’know,” Iwaizumi started, slowly walking up to Akuma who was keeling over in pain, “I didn’t even hear the news from Y/N.”

“He wanted to hide that you cheated on him from me because even if he didn’t want to beat the shit out of you physically, he knew that I would.” Iwaizumi sat slowly to look at your ex eye-to-eye, death seen in his, “And he knows me so well.”

The girls in your ex’s arms were long gone. All that was left to face the wrath of Iwaizumi Hajime was the poor excuse of a man who manipulated you, hurt you, and used you. Your ex wasn’t going to go out of this party unscathed and everyone in their radar knew. Before his right knuckle could find its way to Akuma’s fear-stricken face, however, you had arrived.

“Stop it, Hajime.”

The aforementioned male sighed, relaxed his posture, and complied. Iwaizumi walks towards you as his anger slowly dissipates. As much as Iwa wanted to do so much more to your ex, he’d rather not anger nor disappoint you. It was you who was involved in the chaos after all, not him. Iwa was there to back you up and if it meant that he had to restrain himself from getting revenge for your sake, he would do it. He would do anything for you.

Akuma visibly relaxed too, assuming that you stopped Iwaizumi because you wanted to save your ex. He got so cocky at your presence to the point that he thought it was a good idea to utter the words “Just a guard dog, eh?” when you and Iwa started to walk away.

You retaliated at the speed of light, snarling as you threw a heavy punch to your ex’s disgusting face and successfully knocked the living daylights out of the spawn of Satan. Shocking everyone speechless, you looked your ex dead in the eyes and before leaving, you muttered, “Go to hell.”

Whether the mission was successful or not, neither you nor Iwa could tell. Yes, you were able to fool your ex and the entire class that you were together. Yes, you did make your ex feel jealous. So why did it feel so incomplete? Why did it feel as if you had more to resolve than you first did?

That was it? Is this the end of your faux relationship then?

The walk to your shared dorm was silent; the air heavy from what occurred just a few moments ago. With more questions than answers, you two had no choice but to retreat to the comfort of your shared living space.

While you went straight to your room to change, Iwa does what he does best when the atmosphere isn’t as light as either of you liked. He goes to the kitchen, gets a flurry of unhealthy junk foods that you two, as health practitioners in the making, ironically had, and prepares the living room for your impromptu Godzilla marathon.

This is how it always had been, you muse as you hear him surf the TV for the movies, this is how you two always cheer yourselves up when you get into disagreements or when either of you haven’t had the best day. You will forever be grateful for the support that Iwa always had been because without him, you don’t know how you would’ve survived this gruelling journey of yours.

Iwaizumi will always be important to you. He was your pillar, your anchor, your partner in crime, your pudding. You find yourself smiling as you fix your— it was Iwa’s but it’s yours now— hoodie, deciding to leave out all negativity that you had experienced because at the end of the day, Iwa was still with you.

Iwaizumi Hajime was still with you.

You pause, moments away from opening your door to your Iwa, wondering why it made you feel so warm to know that Iwaizumi Hajime was still with you, is still with you, and will always be with you.

Then you realize it all along.

The reason why pretending hurt more than your breakup, why seeing him so readily into your revenge quest stirred something inside of you, and why you felt that it was far more important to have Iwaizumi Hajime by your side than your ex.

Iwaizumi Hajime is and will always be your everything.

And maybe that meant that you wanted him by your side not as someone who you call your best friend, but someone who you hoped would be yours.

Is that too much to ask for?

Too focused on your revelation of the century, you failed to realize that the one person who reigned in your pretty head was standing before you— concerned by the fact that you had taken too long in your room, only to find you frozen by your front door, quite oblivious of his presence.

“You good?” He whispers, tone nothing but gentle. Iwaizumi, the ever-gruff and brash athlete, had always been gentle to you, hadn’t he?

You’ve had too many thoughts about your longtime roommate and best friend that his one question left you speechless. Perhaps it was your body’s precautionary measure against you and the possibility of a flurry of your heart’s unspoken desire pouring themselves out readily for Iwaizumi Hajime.

You love him, you realize. You’d always be ready to do anything for him, you realize.

“Hey…” Iwaizumi tries again when the only thing you did in response was look at him. Then he nervously goes on a tangent because he wasn’t fond of your silence, you had always been the better talker between the two of you, but Iwaizumi would rather he embarrass himself than let you sleep the night feeling terrible.

“I have Godzilla on for a marathon and I know we swore off on diet pudding cups after the challenge, but I bought some yesterday to eat with you because it had been years, right? Maybe we could—”

“I like you.”

“— eat some while… What?”

It was Iwa’s turn to be speechless. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he was actually dreaming right now. You just said what?

“I like you,” You firmly repeated, far more serious than he’d ever seen you been. Iwaizumi stands frozen, unable to process what you had said; unable to fully grasp the thought of you liking him back; unable to get it in his head that the one person he had always cared about admitted to having feelings for him.

Iwaizumi Hajime had to be dreaming. That’s not what you said right? How could you ever possibly like him back?

“‘Like’ isn’t enough to convey how much adoration I hold for you, ‘Zumi. I care for you more than you could comprehend— more than the four letter word could hold so when I say I like you, Iwaizumi,” You mumble, nerves getting the best of you when your confession only received silence but you couldn’t stop yourself from finally admitting, “I mean I love you.”

With that final blow, Iwaizumi could finally affirm that you will be the death of him. You were his idiot, his contradiction, his pudding, and, with full confidence, he could finally say, his everything.

“Say something you idiot,” You whined out of pure embarrassment— too nervous to calm the loud beating of your heart as you witness Iwaizumi’s ears turn red— successfully bringing him out of his everlasting gay-panicking for you. Godzilla plays on in the background, reminding the both of you that the world will keep moving to tomorrow despite how slow time seemed for you two.

Iwaizumi tries to calm his nerves in the guise of sighing the way he always did when you did something that was contradictory to how things were for him. Smiling ever so softly at your scrunched up face trying its best to hide your trembles, he says:

“I like you too.”

“And when I say I like you, Y/N,” Iwaizumi immediately adds with a teasing smirk on his face, “I mean I love you.”

“Damn you idiot.”

[omake]

before either of you could even move from your place, your dorm's door bursts open with an annoyed oikawa waiting.

"i've been standing outside for 15 minutes with all my luggage because i wanted to surprise my best friends but this is the welcome i get?" oikawa growls as he chucks the multitude of suitcases that he brought, only then noticing the atmosphere.

oikawa feels daggers pointed at him when he meets iwaizumi's glare. "oh wait..." oikawa slowly realizes, the imaginary lightbulb on his head lighting up by the way you had been so embarrassed, "oops...?"

"kUSOKAWA!!!"

—reblogging helps, thank you!!

[waywardimpalawriter]

Cake Thief (Marcus Pike x F!Reader)

Cake thief

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Fluff, tooth rottening fluff, a little spice

Word count: 2,023

Summary: You’d been thinking about that last piece all day especially how crappy of a day it’s been.

Notes: Inspired by a favorite cupcake show that’s in my area and because Marcus Pike is just the sweetest.

Shit show that’s what you’d call it. The whole damn day from missing the morning goodbye kiss from Marcus to someone stealing your lunch and now soaked to the bone from an early evening downpour. Sure you could’ve waited the storm out in your car. But all you wanted now is a nice hot shower, fluffy pajama’s, Marcus’s arms wrapped around you and the last piece of decadent red velvet cake from your favorite place. 

Shuffling through the door dropping purse and keys on the end table behind the couch, carefully shrugging out of your soaked jacket to not soak the carpet and carrying it towards the small laundry space. Kicking your kitten heels off while adding to the jacket your black dress trousers, and burgundy wrap tunic blouse a favorite that you wanted off to show Marcus. But that’ll have to wait for another time as a shiver runs down your spine rain drops cooling your skin when the air conditioning kicks on. Cursing the rotten luck you’ve managed to acquire today while bending to scoop up your heels and head towards the bedroom. Nice hot shower calling your name only pausing long enough to grab up one of Marcus’s dress shirt’s and a pair of panties  before heading towards the bathroom. 

Getting the water to the perfect temperature before stripping your under garments off and stepping under the warm spray. Soft moan leaving your lips the steam enveloping you in a welcoming hug. Heating your chilled skin and chasing away the shivers, hot water soothing out the tightness in your shoulders from your crappy day. Wishing and not for the first time that Marcus would’ve beating you home. 

Foolish though you know since most nights he’s always late given the importance of his job with the FBI. Remembering your best, scratch that ex best friend snorting at you when in great detail you explained Marcus’s job. Never feeling so much anger in your life towards another human being. Sure at the time it’d been only three months into the relationship and Marcus brought his work home some nights. What hurt the most were snide little comments she’d make on how he didn’t have a real job at the FBI. Just played with art the whole time, wanna be artist she’d called him. Most of all when she started to question his true intent, that he’s damaged goods, divorced and coming out of another failed relationship. If there’s one thing you learned about DC it’s that gossip floats around like yesterdays trash. 

Finding out through the gossip channel that Matty boosted about how she’s just a couple more pushes away from getting her hands on Marcus. Alluding to the fact she felt you weren’t his type, not thin enough and in her opinion not pretty enough to keep a man like Marcus Pike interested. Needless to say one snowy afternoon your iced caramel macchiato happen to find itself poured down the front of Matty’s body. To this day two years later the memory still made you giggle more than it should. 

Soaping up the loofa and starting to wash your soft curves remembering the shock in those sinful brown eyes of Marcus’s when you explained what happened. How he spent the rest of the night reassuring you and maybe even himself that your the woman he wanted. Those thoughts cause a delicious shiver of a different kind to slide down your spine. Rushing through the rest of your shower hoping by the time you’ve dried off and dressed Marcus would’ve come home. 

Lost in your thoughts, shower covering most of the sounds coming from the living room as the man in question drops his keys besides yours. Relieved sigh leaving his lips at finally getting home. First real smile tugs at the corner of his mouth hearing the shower run. Sure it’s only been ten hours since he saw you last but it didn’t stop the need to hold you from stealing over him. Normally going to join but he hears the water shut off signally you’ll be joining him soon. Instead he heads towards the kitchen to pull fixings for dinner out. Spying the last slice of red velvet cake he debates with himself for the better part of five minutes before pulling the piece from the cold confines of the refrigerator. Slowly licking his lips while opening the plastic container, fragrant sweet cream cheese frosting hitting his taste buds before a single morsel.  

He wastes no time grabbing a fork to dig in moaning around the fluffy red velvet cake and metal tines of the fork. Back pressing against the counter now, eyes having closed in bliss. Not knowing you’ve come from the bathroom, his dark blue dress shirt covering your plush body. Steps halting when you find him enjoying your last slice. Part of you wanting to snatch it from his hands scolding him for taking what’s yours. However, you’ve learned to share after all and Marcus did deserve to have a sweet treat. With those thoughts combined with a very erotic idea, you glance down unbuttoning a few more to expose your cleavage. 

Hands coming to rest on your wide hips one jutting out and clearing your throat trying to hide the smirk when Marcus jumps. His eyes fly open and wide to stare at you. “Whatch ya eaten there Marcus?” Brow lifting, watching as he licks those sinful lips, Adams apple bobbing with a hard swallow. Itching to run your mouth over the tanned skin take in his scent, drowning in those warm chocolate pools still shocked wide. 

“Last piece of cake,” knowing it useless to lie. Recovering himself, trailing his eyes over your body slowly, voice deep with barely hidden arousal at seeing you in his shirt. Normally not a possessive man but there’s something about seeing you in his shirt which brings out a feral need in him. “Want a bite?” 

Capturing your bottom witnessing the heat flaring to life while trying to keep the smirk from becoming full blown. You take a step closer, “You know that’s my last piece Marcus I’d been looking forward to it all day long. Especially after the shit show of a day I had.” 

Warm smile slides over the very kissable lips, not matching the desire swimming just beneath his veins. “I’m sorry sweetheart had no idea your day sucked.” Scooping up another bite and holding it towards you, “You know I’ll always share.” 

“How sweet of you,” closing the distance between you. Mouth opening to wrap your lips around the fork while keeping eye contact with Marcus. Slowly pulling back, taking the moist cake and sweet frosting into the heated cavern of your mouth. Soft moan sounding from deep within your chest as you savor each decadent flavor bursting on your tongue. Licking your lips to catch the smallest of crumbs, “Mind if I have another bite?” 

Swallowing harshly, struck mute for a moment. “Of course baby…” swallowing his tongue on the last word with a swipe of your finger through the cream cheese frosting. Watching with peaked interest as that single digit makes its way towards your mouth. Pink tongue coming out to lick a good portion off eyes closing to savor the sweetness. Wrapping your lips around the tip to suck off what’s left. Watching transfixed by the erotic sight your presenting him. Room in those normally loose dress pants becoming a high commodity with each moan vibrating through your chest. 

“Hmm not bad,” full blown smirk gracing your lips passion filled eyes opening to stare at him. “But it’s missing something.” 

“That would be?” Intrigued by your words, Marcus reacts first. Container placed on the table beside you, reaching to wrap an arm around your waist. Pulling you flush against his chest white dress shirt wrinkling with you pressed together so intimately. “Before you answer that, have I told you how beautiful you look in my clothes?” 

Shaking your head one hand comes up to draw patterns on his tie before wrapping it around your hand to give a little tug. “No you’ve never said,” looking up through your lashes. Admiring the way his chocolate browns deepen to almost pitch with every tug on his tie. Only broken when you feel cool sticky fingers brush over your throat head tipping back to give him access. Soft lips following the sweet trail he’s painted on your skin eliciting whimpers from you throat. “Is…” swallowing hard trying to form words to speak. “Is this what you mean by sharing, Cake Thief?” 

“Cake Thief huh?” Drawing his nose up the column of your throat to that little spot just behind your ear. Nibbling softly smirk tugging at his lips hearing another whimper sound from your mouth. 

Nodding trying to keep from giving yourself away, “Yup you stole my last piece of cake.” With much difficulty you pull back from his questing lips that threaten to draw another moan from your willing body. Eyes locking then diverting when his hand comes up with another bite held carefully between thumb and forefinger. 

“Ah but how can you call me a thief when I’m sharing?” Bringing his fingers to your mouth, opening enough so he can place the divine morsel on your tongue. 

Lips closing around his forefinger to suck the last bit of frosting off. Swallowing the bite before nibbling, laving your tongue over the rough pad then sucking gently. Watching him gulp down a breath of air when you let go with a wet pop. “Hmm you have me there love but you’ll have to make it up to me somehow. Especially since someone forgot our goodbye kiss this morning.” 

Wrapping his free hand around the back of your neck, fingers gently massaging your skin, “That I will apology for and correct right now.” Slanting his mouth over yours stealing your breath with the tender kiss. Teasing the seam of your mouth till you part your lips, inviting his tongue in to tangle with yours. 

Tasting the sweet cream cheese from the warm cavern of your mouth making a deep groan ramble from his chest. Tightening the arm around your plush waist to pull you closer, counters edge bitting into his back but he could care less with you in his arms. Devouring your mouth, expertly dragging another whimper out, biting your bottom lip too sooth with the flat of his tongue causing a gasp to exist. Taking advantage and thrusting his tongue against yours. Drinking from your mouth as a thirsty man searching for water. Wanting to draw out more sounds that never fail to drive him crazy with desire. 

Your own hands shooting up to card through those soft locks. Tugging to angle his head just right taking in a bit of air, noses bumping as you take over the kiss. Returning the nip to his tongue getting a hiss in response and a tightening of his grip on your thick waist. Knowing those nimble fingers leave behind bruises only heightens your arousal and want for this man. Air or lack there of becomes needed and you pull away, resting foreheads together as you both gasp to fill your burning lungs. 

“Apology accepted,” mumbling the words against his skin. Occupying your lips with tasting his jawline, nibbling a path down to the collars edge. Brushing your nose against his ear, “There’s a way you can make it up to me for stealing my cake.” 

Hands drop down to cup your plush ass, giving a squeeze to hear you moan in his ear. Vibrating through his whole body, “And that would be?” 

“Be my canvas and let me paint you with the last of the frosting?” Biting the lobe before pulling back to stare at him. “What do ya say Cake Thief?” Mischief making your eyes dance while watching him. 

Smirking sliding over his lips, “You’ve got twenty seconds to grab the cake and run sweetheart. Because,” seeing you arch a brow at his words, higher when he pauses to ghost his lips over yours. “If I catch you I’ll be eating you instead of that cake.”    

[judediangelo75]

Unpopular Opinion: A Selfish MC

Honestly, mainly my mutuals read my posts and I appreciate the likes and occasional reblog so here’s another unpopular opinion.

There’s a lot I can say here. So here it is:

MC should be more selfish.

Because really think about it here.

They came into this school with almost everyone expecting the worse of them because of their brother.

They’ve been targeted by a girl who looked like she felt threatened by us when they came here trying to mind our business.

Been breaking curses from the age of 12, even though the adults were telling us not to (and what have they been doing to stop these curses?).

They found the opportunity to find missing their brother and made it our goal to find him. FOR YEARS.

In the midst of this quest, we were still trying to enjoy the life of a student. Make friends, play Gobstones, go out for a Butterbeer, maybe date someone, learn magic...

They deal with their friend’s issues. Not saying this is completely bad. But again think about it: MC helps other people deal with their issues, but who really asks them about how they feel about EVERYTHING they’re going through. I’ll wait.

While I can’t really recall from the previous years, the one person who did was Bill before he graduated from Hogwarts in our fifth year. When MC was trying to cheer him up about graduating.

When he asked them about how they’re feeling, MC quickly deflected the issue.

Mind you, I can relate to this in real life. My feelings, thoughts and emotions would be on the back burner while I help others. And if our MC was able to truly project EMOTION, if s/he was force to confront how they really feel, it might be extreme. So they deflect the issue.

Especially after what happened in 5th year. Even AFTER what happened in the vault, our MC is still worrying about others and they are just rejecting us to our face as if we’re not already hurt.

Again think about it:

We’re rejected by Merula after all that’s happened, so for those who thought we’ll finally be friends with her, JC said “Sike, you thought.” Then goes on to say that she doesn’t need us.

“I told you I don’t need you, L/N...”

“And I still don’t.”

Ben, whose on a manhunt for Sickleworth, makes a comment implying that we’re obsessed with finding our brother.

MC: Why does my brother-- I mean the Niffler--keep disappearing on us?

Ben: And you think I’m the one obsessed, Y/N?

I’m not gonna lie, I was hot for a good second. For crying out loud, he LEFT us. All of them saw him leave.

Depending on what year your MC was born, they would’ve been 8 or 9 when he disappeared. By the time you find him, they would be 15 or 16. THAT’S SEVEN WHOLE YEARS! 

SEVEN YEARS THAT THEY WILL NEVER GET BACK. ALMOST 5 OF WHICH THEY SPENT TRYING TO FIND HIM! All of that for him to LEAVE???

When the whole reason why they dealt with the Curse Vaults was to find him!

Bro, in my eyes, MC is justified to feel this way. I don’t see it as an obsession, I see it was genuine hurt.

They were legit abandoned just after a short reunion. With no way to contact him until later in 6th year.

Depending on if you have a headcanon for your character in the game. Like their family dynamic, personality, attitudes and such: this may hurt WAY WORSE.

For example, my MC lost her dad just weeks after her brother disappeared. She has no real relationship with her mother, who favors her brother over her. Her and her brother were close when he was around. After her father died, she promised over his grave that she’ll find out what happened to him and hopefully bring him home. Then this shit happens.

She would’ve been heartbroken. To hear Ben say that would’ve pissed her off for a few seconds before trying to cool down.

Then 6th year rolls around and our MC is dealing with everyone’s BS and not their one.

Don’t get me started on Merula returning to her old ways and how Ben took on a new identity (personally, I don’t like new Ben. That’s the type of attitude that will cause you to misstep and get your ass seriously injured or killed), Penny and Beatrice’s sibling feud AND ANOTHER CURSE.

Again if I were to write my character how I want to, she would’ve cared way less. Even those with a ton of patience, lose it. 

I mean honestly how much shit does our character how to experience before they rightfully explode?

Like seriously. I’ve seen a scene where we have to duel our brother and then he leaves us (again). And Merula says this:

“You can’t seem to hold onto anyone anymore, can you, L/N?

GET. THE. FUCK. OUT OF HERE!

Yo, you can not tell me any different: That was fucked up to say. EXTREMELY FUCKED UP!

And she’s laughing as if this was joke. This is far from funny.

And yet our MC is still trying to reach out to her. WHY

Like at this point, let everyone do whatever they want. Let them fix their issues. Let them deal with their own problems how they choose to.

I much rather hang out with Rowan, Tonks, Barnaby, Andre (worse headache he could give me is my outfit choices), Charlie, Jae, Badeea (let me spend more time with this art queen, c’mon!), Liz, Diego (I’ll take his flirtations ANY DAY), Talbott (Let me spend more time with my husband), Chiara (my Healer sister for life) Fred, George and Cedric (Let me spend time with the cinnamon roll!).

Like every other unproblematic character in the game currently. I’ll even take Professor Snape and his sarcasm (that I grew to love).

My headcanon is that Judith would hide out in the Dark Forest in the Creature Forest or go to the Centaur Camp to get away from the unnecessary stressors at Hogwarts.

I don’t care if it looks like MC is “abandoning Hogwarts” when a curse is out on the loose.

MC didn’t really ask to be a Curse Breaker (if you decided that’s not a career they would take).

MC didn’t ask to be the protector of Hogwarts since they were 12 years old.

They aren’t getting any real thanks for anything that they do.

They can’t be a normal student. Even if they wanted to, everyone would probably be like “Why would you want to give up what you’re doing?”

I honestly wish we could be more selfish. I will never forget the outburst Rowan had in 5th year when they said we only call them or hang out with them when MC needs something.

THEY WEREN’T WRONG! We don’t hang out with our friends just to hang out. It’s always MC needs something or we’re helping a friend in the storyline. We don’t just chill to have fun like a normal student.

Which is bloody sad.

And MC has been told how they really haven’t been taking care of themselves.

For example, Hagrid in Year 4:

“If yeh say so, but I wish yeh’d take care of yerself as much as yeh take care o’ everyone else...”

Or even Dumbledore:

“I am concerned that you are neglecting your own well-being and needs.”

Like it’s literally right there, folks. Right. There.

Exposed. In only two lines.

I know Jam City will never let MC be selfish, even it was for a few chapters. But I wish they did.

This is why we create fandoms and our own headcanons.

Anyways, thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[heartsofbeskar]

from the ashes

chapter 1

din djarin x oc

warnings: blood, mild violence, swearing, drinking, drug mention

words: 3.1K

excerpt: The smell of her own ship was a damn relief. Mos Eisley always seemed to leave a thin layer of stink and grime on her skin that took multiple showers to scrub off. Stepping into her shower, she began to attempt to do just that.

She indulged in some hot water, since she’d been able to pick up extra power cells in the town. Taking full advantage, she dialed the temperature high, the water nearly burning through her skin. She stood there, reveling in the ability it gave her to feel something so vividly. Even if it was pain.

(gif credit @moonaisle)

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The edge of the knife bit into her skin, and all she could think as blood welled up was how damn cold it was.

“I asked who the fuck you’re working for,” the man snarled into her ear, putting on what he no doubt imagined to be an intimidating face. She wasn’t impressed. “And why the fuck would you be snooping around Corran Felth’s personal residence?”

Her hands twitched where they were tied together tightly with cord. She cursed herself for letting this guy get the jump on her as she exited the building, assuming that she’d been too quick for anyone to take up wait in the alley.

It had been sloopy on her part, she had to admit that. And she knew why. Despite accepting the client’s down payment, she did not see this quest coming to fruition, so her heart wasn’t really in it. Though some would say she didn’t have a heart to begin with — but the pounding of her own pulse in her ears said differently.

He snarled and opened his mouth again, but she’d already decided that this was enough antics for one job. She delivered a sharp jab with the heel of her bound hands into his abdomen, leaving him gasping from the unexpected blow.

“You little bitch, I—”

As he spit his venomous words at her, she felt the pressure on her throat leave, opening her window. One of his hands tightened where it grasped in her hair, and she reached up to grab the corresponding wrist, propelling him by it into the nearby wall. When his hands left her, she grabbed him by the back of his head, smashing it into the wall a second time. There was a satisfying crack.

“Idiot,” she scoffed, lowering down to grab the knife that had left a small nick on the side of her throat. Flipping it around, she cut her hands free. If he actually knew what he was doing, he would’ve just cut off her hands instead.

She patted him down, turning out his pockets. Instant caf packets, baggies of spice, a small collection of credits… she sighed. Not what she was looking for. This was probably nothing more than a street runner — albeit a stupidly brave one.

Pocketing the knife and credits, she rose and exited the alley, pulling her collar up higher over her neck. Not that anyone on Tatooine would really bat an eye at fresh cuts — but she was nothing if not careful.

With the suns just beginning to set, the streets of Mos Eisley hummed with its seedy nightlife. The only place where someone like her, who bathed in violence and destruction, could ever really fit in.

Music poured from the ajar doors of the town cantina, and she hesitated outside of it. Hell, one more try at a lead couldn’t hurt. She had the extra credits to spare, after all.

There was an open stool at the bar against the opposite wall from the door, and she felt a few knowing pairs of eyes fall to her as she walked towards it, but she ignored them. A reputation was always an asset in her line of work, so she was content to let minds fester. The bartender eyed her weapons belt for only a second before serving her a drink happily.

The liquid burned her throat on the way down, just as she’d hoped it would. It didn’t taste particularly good, but Mos Eisley wasn’t known for its fine dining and cocktails. Moisture gathered on the outside of the drink, and she ran her index finger along the glass slowly. A scar stood out along the knuckle.

“You come here often?” A husky voice spoke up from beside her. She turned slightly, eyes roving up and down, taking in the rough man who had pulled up to the neighbouring stool. His hair was dark and seemed like it hadn’t been brushed in years, and his skin shone with grease and grime. A pretty standard Outer Rim pond hopper.

“Too often,” she muttered, bringing the drink to her lips again. “And you?”

“Ya know, I get ‘round these places every so often,” he leered at her, leaning in closer. She shifted slightly, not moving any closer but adjusting her jacket over the knife belt across her chest. “Name’s Zeth.”

“Liana,” the lie rolled off her tongue smoothly. “Ya know, I was actually supposed to meet with someone here … have you ever heard of Corran Felth?”

At the name, his eyes narrowed, but a smile played at the corner of his chapped lips. “Yea, I ‘erd of ‘im. Not any courier going through Eisley who hasn’. Now what is a pretty thing like you doing meeting a Tatooine drug lord, mm?”

She rolled her eyes, but matched the upturn of his lips with her own. “We had some business regarding some new … merchandise he was interested in market testing. I have some connections he thought might be useful. I don’t suppose you know anything about that particular economy?”

“Ah, ’fraid I really don’t,” he sighed, and she knew he was being honest as his eyes scanned the bar behind her. “Wish I could help ya, but I did hear a rumour, just between you ‘n me…”

Now she did lean in, her hand falling lightly on the edge of his wrist. She didn’t miss the way his eyes briefly flashed there. “Yes?”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Strange he agreed to meet you … rumour has it, he been off world for months. Some nasty business ‘bout a girl he knocked up who’s in with the Hutts … they were none too happy about it as you can imagine.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Really? You’re sure about this?”

“Listen, all I knows is he likes to take nightly scrolls through the hangar I dock in. Haven’t seen heads nor tails of him in a long while.”

Taking a long swig to finish her drink, she smiled at him, fully grasping his wrist in her hand. “Well, I’m grateful to you for saving me all that time waiting. Have a nice night, Zeth.”

He looked a bit disheartened as she turned away, but by the time his brain could even formulate a response, she was halfway towards the door.

Leaving the cantina, she rolled her eyes, kicking a stone down the street. Of course he was off world. Of fucking course.

As the hangar bay loomed in front of her, she keyed in her entry card, registered under the same name she had given Zeth. Her own ship was parking a few lanes back, nestled among some smugglers and traders, but she header for the ship she knew was waiting in the furthest back corner of the bay.

A small droid floated outside the ship. When she approached, it flashed red light at her, and she stood still as it gave a retinal scan. Upon confirming her, it gave a happy little beep, and the ramp creaked slightly as it lowered.

“Liana, my dear, I do hope you’ve brought me good news.”

A large Klatooinian stood in the hold of the ship, arms clasped behind his back. She stopped in front of him, the ramp staying open behind her. Moonlight filtered into the ship around her figure.

“I think you know I don’t, Arn,” she told him coldly. “The word around Mos Eisley is that Felth’s not even here. Hasn’t been for months now. I searched his home, dug through his logs … no mention of the strain you say he stole.”

Arn fidgeted uncomfortably. “Just because he isn’t here, doesn’t mean he can’t be holding it with his men. Did you even check the lieutenants?”

“You look me in the eyes and tell me honestly that you would trust something like this with any of your lieutenants.” She glared at him, and waited for a beat to pass. He fidgeted more. “That’s what I thought. You’d keep it close to your chest. And since there was a man stationed outside of Felth’s home, I’m very inclined to believe the local gossip that he’s gone. It was dusty enough in there.”

“So what happens now? If it wasn’t Felth, do you have anything on who actually stole from me?”

“Frankly, Arn, this job has begun to bore me. Too much Tatooine isn’t good for the soul, you know? So as per the non-recovery clause of my contract, you’ll receive a holopad of the relevant information I did find, no further payments required. I’ll be keeping your non-refundable deposit, of course.” She pulled a slim holopad out of her jacket and extended it to him. He grumbled, but took it nonetheless.

“For someone they call ‘The Finder’... along with those prices …” he continued to grumble as she turned to leave the ship. She shot a look of venom back over her shoulder, hoping it made him shiver at least a bit.

“I am the Finder, Arn. There was nothing to find.”

—

The smell of her own ship was a damn relief. Mos Eisley always seemed to leave a thin layer of stink and grime on her skin that took multiple showers to scrub off. Stepping into her shower, she began to attempt to do just that.

She indulged in some hot water, since she’d been able to pick up extra power cells in the town. Taking full advantage, she dialed the temperature high, the water nearly burning through her skin. She stood there, reveling in the ability it gave her to feel something so vividly. Even if it was pain.

The hot water made the scars stand out against her reddened skin. As she washed, she catalogued them, as she often would. A long, winding, and narrow one wrapping around her right forearm. A short, jagged one sitting nearly in the centre of her chest. The one slashing diagonally across the left side of her abdomen, that disappeared below the waistline of her pants when she was dressed. And in the small mirror at her eye level, the thin but noticeable scar that ran over her blue eye, stopping just shy of her lip. Her other eye, unsettling brown in contrast, sat on her face unmarred.

She secured the towel under her arms as she settled into the pilot’s seat, turning to the comm panel. She hit the audio switch.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Miss Finder!” a deep voice boomed from the panel. “I must say, I was a tad worried you wouldn’t pick up. You’re hard to get a hold of these days.”

She smirked despite herself. Greef Karga’s jovial spirit in the face of even the seediest business always amused her.

“You’ve caught me at a good time, I suppose,” she said. “I just finished up a job, was taking a night in.”

“A very good time indeed, then! You see, I’m calling for the purposes of a job I have in mind for you!”

“You know I don’t do bounties, Karga. If I wanted to be in the Guild, I would be.”

“Of course, of course! It’s a job fully suited to your own contract, off the Guild books. For me.”

That did have her interest. Every once in a while Karga would call or even visit and try to convince her to become one his hunters, telling her it was so similar to what she did, and he had all the infrastructure. But it wasn’t the same.

“Let me guess — I have to come to Nevarro for full details?” As she spoke, her fingers traced the lower half of the scar on her face subconsciously.

“You know me too well, especially compared to how much I know you! Hell, I don’t think I even know your real name. Something about Halla just doesn’t fit your face.”

“But does it matter?”

He laughed at that. “You’ve a point there, Miss Finder — no, it does not.”

“I’ll see you when I land then.”

—

Din Djarin was a proud man, and he didn’t like to admit when he’d made mistakes. But he was starting to think he’d done just that.

Sitting on the upper portion of another damned rockface, pulse rifle beside him, he rolled the small metal ball between his fingers, as he’d done countless times. The surface of it shined. All that was left of the Razor Crest. All that was left to remind him of Grogu.

It played in an endless loop in his head, Grogu’s eyes as he was carried away from him, every nerve in his body screaming that this was wrong, wrong, wrong. They had taken his foundling, his son. And he had just stood there and watched.

He had made a mistake.

The Jedi were Grogu’s people, the ones who had been raising him before the days of the Empire, but he barely knew anything of them, and he wasn’t sure he liked what he did know. In the time since Grogu’s departure, he’d made it a mission to track down more information, but the Jedi were like ghosts in the universe. If he hadn’t met them, he wasn’t sure he would’ve even believed they were more than myth.

That was hard to do without a fucking ship, though. Which was why he was here, taking low level bounties near Nevarro, in a rental ship. Karga had been generous with him, throwing him high volumes of nearby bounties so he could earn the credits to replace what he’d lost. Still, he was barely halfway there. The pace was frustratingly slow.

Motion along the horizon pulled his attention. Stowing away the ball, he picked up his rifle, bringing the scope to eye level. A human man was rushing across the rocks, glancing behind him every few paces. It was his quarry, no doubt. Right where Din had expected him.

Sighing, he slung the rifle across his back, making his way down the rock face. By the time he’d reached the bottom, the quarry was almost upon him, but an outcropping had shielded him from view thus far. Drawing his blaster, he waited a few more beats until the man was well within range, before stepping out, levelling his weapon at the scared man’s head.

“Stop where you are,” he said shortly. The man looked up at him, wide eyed and horrified. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

“L-look man, you can have w-whatever you want, I got some credits in here—” the man scrambled to open his bag, attempting to pull out the mentioned credits, but Din didn’t let him. He fired a warning shot in the ground, just shy of the man’s left foot.

“I said, show me your hands. I don’t want your money, I’m here to collect a bounty on you.” The man sputtered even more.

“T-they sent a fucking Mandalorian after me?! I didn’t e-even think they had the c-credits for—” He was cut off again as Din fired another shot at the ground, by his right foot now.

“I’m not in a patient mood. Hands.”

The man shook as he put his hands over his head, relenting. Din pulled the cuffs from his belt, yanking the man's hands behind him as he snapped them in place. He began pushing the man in the direction of the rental ship.

“If it helps, you weren’t worth much. I’m just in a tight spot.”

—

The quarry was silent on the entire walk, though Din could see a faint outline on his pants that indicated he’d soiled himself. He almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.

The rental — the Desertwalker? No, maybe it was the Starhopper? — only had space for three carbonite chambers, so he’d have to stop on Nevarro next before chipping away further at the mountain of pucks he was sure Karga had lined up to give him. He was grateful, but also had a feeling Karga was just as happy to unload these on somebody.

After sealing the latest quarry, and his ruined pants, into a chamber, Din climbed into the tight cockpit. People had complained to him about lack of space on the Crest, but this was even worse. His knees hit the panel in front of the pilot’s seat.

He sighed, removing his helmet with a hiss, running his hand through his sweat tainted hair. As he set the course for Nevarro, he returned to contemplating the Jedi, and all the information he did have on them.

His first instinct had been to call them wizards, and honestly he still felt that was an apt description. He’d seen Grogu perform acts he could only describe as magic, moving things with his mind and healing the otherwise damned, and he was only a child. A powerful one, yes, but it begged the question of what a fully trained adult Jedi could do.

Then there were the laser swords — lightsabers. Though still no match for beskar, they were impressive, and seemed to be less of a weapon and more of an extension to their bodies. His eyes fell to the darksaber, hilted on his belt. He didn’t necessarily like carrying it around, but it felt immensely foolish to leave such a thing unguarded on a ship. Still, he much preferred his rifle and his blaster.

Beyond their powers and lightsabers, information on the Jedi was scarce. That was the core of their mythos, but any practical details seemed to have been washed from time. How did their training work? How did one graduate? Did they swear oaths? If they did, what did they entail? Din’s mind was constantly buzzing with questions that it seemed no one in the galaxy had the answers to. He felt helpless. And he fucked hated feeling helpless.

He leaned his head back against the seat, watching the characteristic vivid streaks of hyperspace fly past the window. So many stars, so many planets, and his son was on one of them, doing Maker only knows what. Without him.

He had made a mistake.

—

add yourself to the tag list!

[decadentenemyturtle]

Broken heart t'was made of wood

Part 2 - Despair

Words: 3 232

Previous chapter

Warnings: Angst, fighting.

Is there thing called a 'happy ending'? You didn't know. You weren't even sure if you cared enough at a moment. Right now it felt like the whole world was mocking you. You were in a Dale, staring at Dwalin and his lady, Olka, your stomach on knots, tears threatening to drop from your eyes and betrayl still foggin your mind. You had accidently ran into them, when you were about the leave the Lonely Mountain and this whole cursed place for good. Olka had somehow seen your misery like you were an open book to her, and after she had inquired about it for sometime, you finally told her everything. Dwalin, of course, knew what was wrong with you before you had opened your mouth. You could see it from him, how he avoided looking directly at you. And after hearing the whole story, Olka got mad at Thorin, and especially for Dwalin. He had, in the end, helped to destroy the statue's. And he hadn't even told anything about it to her, which angered the dam more.

What even is an happy ending? When you had everything you could hope and ask for, or when you were the most happiest person alive, or atlest were happiest in your own life? And how long would this 'happy ending' last? Till you died, till the next happy thing happened to you? Or would it even last forever, or was there some sort of timelimit how long this happy ending would last?

When will you get one? At a moment it felt like you would never get yours, the only thing you got was hardship after hardship. What had you done to receive this? Or what should you do differently to not to screw everything up. You didn't know.

And why were you even thinking about these things, instead of focusing on these two dwarves arquing in front of you, or better yet, turning around and dashing out of the city, as far as your legs could take you. Just as you were opening your mouth to apologie and leave, Dwalin growled and pointed at you.

"She profaned the royal family! Wooden statues, tsk..." he growled out, letting his hand to drop back to his side. Men, dwarves and elves walking around you had been staring at you three more or less concerned, but now they turned to you with confusion and anger, and even some of them stopped. Your mouth was still open, and just as you turned your eyes from Dwalin to Olka, trying to figure out what to say, a tear rolled down your cheek. Olka was looking at you, and she sighed like Dís did when she was disapointted - really disappointed - at one of his sons, or both.

"So a woman in love cannot gift a courting gift to her One, to ask him to be hers, to court her, to love her and share a life with her, with gift made of her handiwork, her trade? Which just happened to be in (Y/n) case a wood, not stone, diamond's and other minerals" Olka asked, her voice firm. "And did she not get the courage to carve her gifts for the king from you of all the dwarves?" The way Dwalin's face paled and how he turned to look at you was enough. He hadn't thought that you actually loved his king, that your intention had been good, not ill willed. Or that he really had been the inspiration for your idea to make something for his king. Just as you took a step back and started to turn to leave, your face clearly and openly showing your broken heart, Dwalin turned back to Olka.

"I did nae think she would've have forgive Thorin after...." he started quietly, but stopped short. And his face showed how he closed up, hid his raw emotion, something that should not be shown to other's, even Olka. There were things about the quest that were left untold, and this story was one of them. Olka narroved her eyes and stared at Dwalin.

"After what?" she demanded. She knew that there was something that had happened between you, Thorin and Dwalin that no one hadn't told her, or anyone else before. You had stopped and turned your eyes from Olka to Dwalin, who shook his head a little. He didn't want anyone to find out, of course he didn't. But when Olka turned to look at you, you knew that this was something you needed to tell, at leas to her. Olka deserved to know the truth. It was just that... you didn't want to tell it here where anyone could here you. And there quite few spying ears still listening you three. But there was nothing you could do for it, and you had to tell it now. There was no other choise.

"After his majesty had ordered in his state of madness Dwalin to kill me and feed my body to the orcs" you simply said, your voice breaking at the end and new tears rolling down your cheeks. Olka's face turned pale, Dwalin sighed and turned his eyes down to ground from the two of you, and every person near you now openly stared at you in shock. It was a known fact that Thorin had fallen in dragon sickess, and how he had defeated it. But not everything he had done in his state of madness was public, what ever it was for to protected his face and to keep dwarves, and other races, trust to royal family or save him, and the company and their families, from the bad memories. But whatever the reason was, you now realized that there were things that should have been told earlier. Not by you, of course, but still.

Olka had had no words after this. She had slapped, or rather, Hulk smashed Dwalin's right side of the face with her fist. And then she had taken you to the inn, tears of anger and betrayl falling from her eyes.

  For once, Kíli had no words. And this was rare for him, really rare. The prince had always, always, some backup joke or comment to throw around, but now he didn't know what to say, or even what to do, or what to think. The situation he was in was just... too undrealistic, something he had never thought would happen. Something he would not have believed from his old mentor. He eyed the old warrior in front of him, sitting on a chair while Oín mended his swollen cheek and corner of his eye. It would be black and purple the next day, but hey, if someone asked from Kíli, Dwalin had asked for it and he deserved it. When Oín stepped aside to get some ointment for the swallown area, Dwalin's eyes met Kíli's.

"Where you really that blind to follow uncle's order's?" Kíli finally asked. Oín stopped for a second going through his medical back, slightly glancing at the warrior before he continued. Dwalin swallowed hard, lowering his eyes from the young prince. He wanted to scream "No!!" but they all knew it would have been just a lie. (Y/n) was not a queen yet, nor even courting Thorin, but she was still a friend of theirs, friends of his. And there was, or at leas had been, a change of her being growned to their queen.

"I never wanted tae hurt 'er, but neither did I want tae disobey Thorin. Even back then" Dwalin grumbled, now staring at his boots.

"You have been his majesty's most trusted bodyguard and best friend even after the dragon attacked Erebor. You know your duty to protect him, even from himself. In his majesty's darkest hour and darkest state of mind, you should have known to question his orders, as the rest of the company did. But no, you would have blindly taken an order from him, and killed an innocent woman, and for what? Because his majesty saw an betrayl in Bilbo, and somehow linked her to this same betrayl. And since he couldn't get our bulglar killed, he atleas wanted (Y/n) dead. As an worrior, you should have seen and realized, that this was an order you should not have done, and disobeyd" Kíli said. Dwalin's eyes shot up to him, surprised. This was far too mature reply for the lad. Yet, part of Dwalin was proud of him, for the lad showed that he was maturing well, and growing to be a fine, fair prince of Erebor. And how he was far too right, and was not afraid to point out when someone had made a grave mistake.

"Indeed, he should have" a deep voice called behind them. Kíli, Dwalin and Oín turned to see Thorin, and a shaken looking Dís and far too serious Fíli at the entrance of the infirmary. Fíli had his arm around Dís' shoulders, who in turn had hand over her mouth and tears running silently down her cheeks. No one said anything for a second, and just as Kíli turned his eyes and stared somewhere far away, Thorin took a step towards his nephew, his most trusted healer, and his best warrior.

"Dwalin, I trust you as a warrior and as my best friend more than anything. But at that time, when I was blinded by my rage and goldsickness, I wish you would not have been so loyal to me, but to be loyal to your other friend, a woman who could have been your queen. Even, yes, when we were not quite aware of that back then. I have loved that cursed wood crafter longer than I'd like to admit, and now I have driven her away, in more ways than I'd like to admit" Thorin spoke.

And only then did Dwalin look directly at the king. And he felt the pain of his loyalty to his friend and king, and while apologing for his mistakes, he silently accepted whatever faith would bring him. Because now Dwalin finally saw that his blind loyalty for his king came with a price.

The queen was not dead, but she was lost for her lover and her people, before she was even called their queen.

  "Are you absolutely sure you are going to walk the jorney back there?" Olka asked, holding you arms apart from herself. You half smiled to her. You were sure. You had no life in Erebor, or in Dale. And you were sure that Thranduil wouldn't welcome you in his realm. The elf king had no opinion of you other that a "foolish girl travelling among a punch of dwarves, and being a lovesick fool". He knew you loves Thorin, he had quessed it at the night you and Bilbo had snuck out of the mountain to give the Arkenstone to Thranduil and Bard. And the elf king was far too bitchy and drama queen to want to get involved in another kings love life. The evening was getting late, and you had hoped to be far by now. But, well, things had happened. First Olka and Dwalin had accidently run into you, and the Olka had taken you to an inn to eat - and then you had almost ran out when she tried to sugget that youd sleep there, alone with your thoughts, this close to the mountain and Thorin. You knew you'd crawl back to the mountain by morn. These past few hours had been filled with tears and cursing and plotting a few ways to hit, kick, destroy and murder several unnamed dwarves. But, in the end, after the tears were dried, they got to live safe and sound.

And after a sertain wizard had announced his presence in the inn, you had been more than ready to leave this place, once and for all. And, all honesty, Gandalf was more than ready to take you wherever you wanted to go. Albeit he did look heartbroken and seemed to already know your story in sertain area without you explaining him anything. Ugh, wizards, am I right?! But still, you were thankfull for him for escorting you to your destination. You couldn't have asken for a better companion.

"Yes, my dearest friend, I am sure. My place is not in here. And, if my plan fails me in the greenest hills in all of Arda, I hope I still have a place among the elves of the last homely home" you said, with a small smile curving on your lips. Olka's lips, in turn, turned in to a thin line. Her eyes turned away from you and she swallowed, hard. You could easily see, how she blamed herself of Dwalin's mistakes. But, this wonderful dwarrowdam had nothing to do with Dwalin's mistakes, she hadn't even known about them until today! So, you lifted your hands to her cheeks and when Olka's eyes met yours, you smiled to her.

"Dwalin's an idiot, big time. But you are not. There are few person's here who I can count as my friends. You and Dís are few of them" you told Olka, locking your eyes with her. You knew Olka didn't like Dís that much, and how she only endured her for Dwalin's sake. And for the boys sake, for she was like an aunt to those two idiots. You could have been an aunt to them too, if things had gone differently, you thought a little bitterly, but soon brushed it off from your mind. For the last time, Olka drew you for her arms and gave you last embrace.

"Do not lose hope" she whispered. You frowned and turned your head little to her, but you didn't see her face well. "Thorin is an idiot, but I do hear things. I overheard Dís once telling her boys, how Thorin has changed, somehow, and now I understand. Our king loves you, and it is his love for you that has changed him. If he just wasn't such an covard, Erebor would have received an excellent queen" Then Olka let go of you, bowed to you with a murmur of "my queen" and then she was gone.

Silent tears rolled down your face, when you walked to the room you shared with Gandalf. When the morning came, you two were gone. And not a soul came to get you back to the mountain.

  "I heard from Olka that aunt (Y/n) left with Gandalf" the comment was said to no one in particular, and no one answered to it. The silent went on smd on, again, in royal living area as it had before the said comment. Then someone sighed.

"Uncle" someone said, and after a few seconds the raven haired king moved enough to let the speaker know that he had hear him, and only then did the speaker continue; "Are you sure about this?" When he wasn't about to say anything else, the king turned fully towards him, eyeign the young, dark haired prince with deep frown on his face.

"What do you mean, nephew?" the kings deep voice asked. The room was silent, besides the noice of someone still writing on a perchant. Then, brown eyes rose to meet blue ones and someone sighed. Again. 

"Are you absolutely sure you are alright with her gone?" the younger one asked. And then, there was silence, even the pen writing on perchment had stopped. It almost seemed as if everyone held their breath. The blue eyed king turned back to stare the table in front of him. And then his eyes met the small music box.

"And what am I to do with it? She left. She does not love me" he answered, his voice hoarse. Now someone else sighed, tierdly. The king didn't need to turn to look at his sister to know how she was messaging he temple. And he was sure he heard someone mumble a word "Idiot". And only then did he turn to glare around to room, only to stop and stare at his best friend. They stared at each other. For a long while.

"Your majesty, she might have left, and for agood reason, but I am most certain that she still loves you" the old warrior said. He didn't say anything else, but the king knew there was a but. And in his heart and mind, he knew what it was. But because he was a coward, he didn't say it aloud. Instead, it was his nephew that had to say it aloud.

"But you drow her away, uncle. And you didn't go after her, or send someone after her, and that blasted wizard. You did nothing to try and get her back, to apologie, to try and get everything clear with her" the brown eyed prince said, bitterly. And the king knew how right this young boy was. But the next question took him by surorise. "So, dear uncle, what will you do now? What are you ready to do to make things right?"

The king sat there for a second, and then his eyes turned to meet both his nephews. And then his sisters.

"I love her" he simply said. And then he wasn't sure, what to say or do. And clearly everyone else in the room expected him to continue. His sister even let her brow rise in question.

"Yes, and?" the young prince asked, clearly running out of patience. Thorin sighed, and turned his eyes back to the table, trying not to roll them. He had to remind himself to not to tell the young prince to try and controll his patince, no matter how hard it was, and no matter the situation. He knew how hard it was to controll it. Because if it was up to him, he would be married by now and living happily...

.......

.....................

He'd be happily married now. With a woman he loved. With a woman, who was now Maker knew where, with that meddling Grey wizard. The king's eyes snapped to his oldest friend and seconds later he rose, maybe too quickly since the chair almost flew to a floor.

"Dwalin, where is your wife?" he said. Dwalin's brow only rose.

"Why'dye wanna know?" he asked, even when he, as did everyone in the room, already knew the answer. Bastard, the king thought as he glared at his best friend.

"I need to find my One. Even... Even when it takes some arrangment's and time to get everything ready. But still, I need to find her, I need to find..." he started to speak fast, trying to get everything clear and ready in his mind, all the while he walked around the room, until he was stopped his older nephew, who spoke now for the first time to him in a while.

"Uncle, stop. You have me, you have us. I will take care of the ruling while you are gone, I am your hair after all. Just go and get your stuff ready, and be quick! And take Dwalin and Olka, and few other warrios with you, and go. We'll be fine" he said. Their eyes locked, and for a few seconds they just stared at each other. Then, with the young blond hair's final nod and words, the king turned and left; "Uncle, go. Go and do what is right"

Tagged;

@sukeraa

[carewyncromwell]

“Now I'm seeing clearly how I still need you near me -- I still love you so... There's something between us that won't ever leave us -- There's no letting go... We had a ‘once in a lifetime,’ But I just didn't know it 'til my life fell apart...”

~“If Ever You’re In My Arms Again,” by Peabo Bryson

x~x~x~x

His entire school career and beyond, Orion Amari had always been the wise counselor to his friends and teammates when it came to finding balance with their emotions and lives. Even though he had his own struggles thanks to his less-than-balanced childhood in an orphanage and suffered from anxiety attacks every-so-often, he’d still been able to live a healthy life regardless and find proper coping mechanisms for his trauma. When Orion found himself falling in love, however, it was a struggle he hadn’t known quite how to handle, or even how best to ask for help with.

Orion realized something was off-balance when Carewyn Cromwell -- a Slytherin one year younger than him who he’d finally managed to convince to rejoin his Quidditch team after three years to help their team win the Quidditch Cup Final -- got badly injured by a Bludger and ended up in the Hospital Wing with a bruised lung. Carewyn’s condition had paralyzed Orion in a severe anxiety attack the likes of which his teammates had rarely seen before, and although he managed to get his emotions under control once Carewyn was conscious, even he was unsettled by how bad the attack was. Admittedly, though, Orion had always been quite fond of Carewyn, given how well they saw eye to eye and how much they both respected each other, and Orion had felt responsible for her having gotten injured. He probably would’ve simply passed his feelings off as just guilt and worry were it not for what he saw the morning of the Quidditch Cup Award Ceremony.

While training before dawn as he always did in good weather, Orion caught sight of a gleaming white Patronus in the form of a Winged Horse. His breath stilled, disbelieving -- it was the same as the Patronus he himself had only just learned to conjure earlier that year in Defense Against the Dark Arts. And when he flew down after the Patronus and saw who had cast it, he found Carewyn waiting for him in McNully’s commentator box. Orion would look back on that day and wonder how in the world he reacted as calmly as he did, while knowing the superstition surrounding people sharing Patronuses -- but at the time, the sight had only made him want to be with her, to talk with her, to...look at her...look upon her with more clarity than he ever had before. And when he did, he realized that Carewyn Cromwell truly was a beautiful person: a selfless, kind, resourceful person with more fire than a Fire Crab and all the courage of a Chinese Fireball. It was little wonder that her classmates regarded her with such admiration, whether because of her Cursebreaking or not. Anyone could fall in love with the likes of Carewyn Cromwell. Even he...could see himself falling in love with such a woman.

And yet, when another person might have tried to make a move...Orion hesitated. He only had one week remaining at Hogwarts, before he graduated and joined the Montrose Magpies as their newest Chaser. The dream he’d worked so hard for -- his “gold,” if one recalls Orion valuing the “tenacity of a niffler” -- was finally within his grasp. Could he really put all of that at risk, by trying to alter course now? And Carewyn had her own “gold” as well -- her quest to protect Hogwarts from the Cursed Vaults. She would never choose a romance over helping her brother and protecting her own found family. Orion didn’t even know if what Carewyn and he had could even be considered a romance. Would he even have looked at Carewyn as anything romantic if he hadn’t seen her Patronus? He wasn’t sure...but now that he had, wouldn’t he then be assuming that there was more between them than there really was? Was he only projecting the “soulmates” superstition onto them, just because he fancied her? A crush was not love, after all. As much as he himself believed in fate as well, Orion knew that Carewyn did not. More importantly, he knew she’d both want and deserve someone who loved her for who she was, not due to some old magical wives’ tale. As much as he admired her, Orion couldn’t say definitively that he was in love with Carewyn, and the thought of putting all of his dreams on hold just to try to grab at a chance -- as a Slytherin, Orion just couldn’t see the sense in it. He couldn’t make that choice, not after he’d worked so hard! A Chaser can’t get distracted by the Golden Snitch, when their job is to score goals. And perhaps, in the deepest, darkest part of himself...Orion worried that he could never be what Carewyn needed. He knew how much she loved her brother and how much she wanted her family to be as it once was -- he remembered the pain in her eyes, when he’d first told her he was an orphan. Carewyn needed a family -- a home -- something stable and warm to return to...all things Orion knew absolutely nothing about. He didn’t want a conventional family life -- he had no interest in getting married or having lots of kids or buying a house with a white-picket fence. He wanted to play Quidditch and be free to live his own life, the way he wanted. And as much as he thought it was possible he could fall in love with Carewyn some day, he dreaded the thought of sacrificing everything he’d ever wanted to pursue her -- of giving up the “gold” he’d been chasing for so long.

And so, after a lot of thought, Orion made the decision to keep his feelings to himself. If they were truly meant to be, maybe their paths would realign again someday, he told himself. It was a decision that tormented Orion for the next six years he played for the Montrose Magpies. Not that he talked to much of anyone about his inner conflict -- even Orion’s best friends Skye Parkin and Murphy McNully and “star twin” KC @kc-needs-coffee​​ could only really read between the lines, noticing that he seemed oddly avoidant whenever any mention of Carewyn was brought up. Orion even entered into a few relationships, but none of them lasted long, often because Orion’s partner wanted “more” than Orion was willing to give. The Star Chaser didn’t want to sacrifice his freedom, his dreams, or his independence. It was the main reason he hadn’t chased Carewyn in the first place...even though she’d seemed to understand him so much more than any partner he’d ever had. Carewyn would still send him letters sometimes -- Orion didn’t answer as much as he probably should have, but he always had a lot of difficulty answering her letters whenever he was in a relationship. It made him feel like he was being unfaithful, somehow. And as the years went on and Orion lived his own life and heard about Carewyn’s successful trials at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he tried to tell himself all the more that he’d made the right choice not to pursue Carewyn. If you love someone, you have to be willing to set them free, right? Not that he knew for sure that he’d been in love with her, but...they could’ve been something, maybe...if he hadn’t been so cowardly...

Orion’s longest relationship was with a young woman named Delilah Flint, who had taken a desk job with the Magpies’ PR department. The distinction probably wouldn’t have had much weight (given that they’d still only been together for about a year), were it not for Delilah ending up pregnant. Neither Orion nor Delilah had ever been interested in marriage, Orion because he didn’t see much reason and Delilah because she came from a family who would’ve never approved of her marrying an orphan of mixed magical ancestry -- but after the birth of their daughter Eos in summer 1996, the two reacted in completely opposite ways. Orion, who had never really had much interest in having a family, nonetheless felt a wonderful new paternal feeling swelling up in his breast toward his daughter and promised himself and Eos that she wouldn’t grow up alone, unsafe, and scared like he had. Delilah, on the other hand, suffered from severe post-partum depression after giving birth, thanks in no small part to when Eos was born (right after the return of Voldemort was revealed to the Wizarding World), and she was also in such severe financial straits that she’d have to go to her pureblood family for help, who would never agree to help her knowing she’d had a child out of wedlock. Delilah tried to give Eos up to an orphanage -- Orion, understandably horrified, tried to pacify Delilah however he could, even going so far as to suggest marriage if it meant keeping her and his infant daughter in his life...but in the end, that December, Delilah dropped Eos in Orion’s lap and left, never to be seen again.

The following year, the Ministry fell, and Orion had to go on the run, just barely escaping the Death Eaters with Eos thanks to the help of his Quidditch League associates McNully, Skye, Erika Rath, Oliver Wood, and Andre Egwu. Going on the run with a one-year-old was a difficult proposition, and after several months, a group of Snatchers cornered Orion trying to covertly purchase a new wand from a private vendor after his had gotten broken, and they took him into custody. Orion, who was bundled up in a cloak and looked to be holding his arm as if it was broken under it, went quietly with the Snatchers to the Ministry, his face oddly pale as he forcibly tried to calm his intense anxiety. He was rounded up with several other prisoners and put in a room in the Department of Mysteries until they could be “processed through the court” (read: wrongly convicted of “stealing magic”) and transported to Azkaban.

Fortunately for Orion, Aurors Angelo Lancaster @angellazull​ and Talbott Winger had caught wind that a new round of prisoners had been brought in, and they reached out to their main contact in Magical Law for help in busting them out. The contact -- an old school friend of theirs who was an up-and-coming lawyer -- arranged the trial hearings’ schedule so that there was a noticeable window of time before they started. In that short time, Angelo, Talbott, and their contact were able to break into the room and rescue the prisoners...and yes, the contact in question did indeed turn out to be a pretty young woman with emotional, almond-shaped blue eyes and a short ginger bob wearing flowing dress robes and bright red lipstick.

When Carewyn and Orion got over the shock of seeing each other face-to-face again for the first time in six years, one of their very first exchanges was --

“You cut your hair.”

“So did you.”

Another involved Carewyn offering to mend the “arm” Orion was holding under his cloak.

“You’re hurt...let me -- ”

“No! No, I’m...not hurt...I...”

When Orion tentatively raised his cloak to show Carewyn his tiny daughter bundled up in a wrap around his chest and cradled in his arms, part of him had wondered how she would react. He hadn’t mentioned Delilah or any of his other relationships to her in those short responses he’d sent her -- it’d been uncomfortable for him, to try to talk about his love life in his letters to her. But regardless of the surprise that rippled over her face, when Carewyn looked from the little baby to up into Orion’s dark eyes, her pale face nonetheless betrayed a weak smile.

“Is...is it a she?”

“Yes. ...Her name is Eos.”

Carewyn’s eyes softened visibly, welling up with a beautiful warmth, like the kind Orion had sometimes seen her show toward her friend Barnaby or younger students like Cedric Diggory. A maternal warmth...

“She’s beautiful.”

Carewyn’s whisper made Orion’s heart swell up in his chest, slamming against his ribs as if it wished to push itself through a set of prison bars. Even after so many years, her soul was truly more like his than anyone else Orion had ever known before.

Together Carewyn, Talbott,and Angelo worked to shrink all of the prisoners down to a size that they could smuggle them out of the Ministry and then help them go into hiding. After the War was over, Carewyn helped Orion with the paperwork needed for him to claim sole custody of Eos, since Orion and Delilah not being legal partners meant that Delilah and her family would have first priority if they ever sued for custody. Orion wasn’t sure if the Flints ever would try to take Eos, but Carewyn was determined not to give them any legal opening.

“You fought for her, Orion, not them. And now I plan to fight for you.”

“Carewyn...”

“No. I don’t want them to ever feel like they can just waltz in and take her, not after leaving her to the wolves. I’ll do whatever I have to, to make sure Eos stays with the man who put his life on the line to keep her in his life and safe. She deserves that.”

The stubborn fire in Carewyn’s blue eyes and the sincerity of her convictions was all it took. Orion had been on the edge for so long, feeling faintly off-kilter with every step for seven years, but had always just barely managed to feign composure and balance...but now, in a single moment, it was all for naught. He had fallen -- despite his best efforts, despite all of his avoidance and his flagrant cowardice -- into the wonderful, swirling abyss of ethereal, warm chaos that men called “love.” In that moment, and in many moments after, Orion cursed himself for not chasing after Carewyn Cromwell from the very start...for wasting so much time and being so passive, so short-sighted...so consumed by “what-if’s” that he’d completely discarded the “what-could-be’s.”

Fortunately there was a chance, now, to make up for lost time. A rose is no less beautiful just because it blooms slowly.

[buoyantsaturn]

I Feel a Little Lost in This World (3/5)

chapter title: Will Takes a Permanent Vacation

word count: 4,410

read on ao3

Will felt like...well, death was the only way he could think to describe it, but wherever he was, it was far too bright to be the Underworld - and he would know, having visited once a few years ago. He was pretty sure he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for a little while, because he distinctly remembered being spoon-fed something that tasted a lot like his grandmama’s peach cobbler, except that the texture was off. It didn’t have the same crunch to it as it usually did.

Will forced himself awake the next time he had a brush with consciousness, and when he opened his eyes, he saw a pretty girl sitting near a small fire, and it looked like she was cooking something in the pot suspended above the flames. She looked like she could’ve been Will’s age, but something told him that that guess was wrong.

Rather than saying something sensible like, hello, or where am I?, Will sat up with a groan and said, “You’re not my grandmama.”

The girl looked over with a confused frown, and quickly made her way to Will’s side. “You should not be awake so soon. Your injuries--”

“I heal fast,” Will explained simply. “Um. Where am I?”

“You are in my home,” the girl replied, “on the island of Ogygia.”

Will repeated the name a few times in his head, knowing that it sounded familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it, until-- “Oh. You’re Calypso.”

She blushed. “You...have heard of me?”

“Yeah,” Will said, though he didn’t tack on, your Mythomagic card is basically useless. “Um. I’m a demigod. I’ve heard...stories.”

Calypso nodded. “Then you know that you are stranded here, at least until you’ve fully healed. Though I would assume that won’t be long, seeing as you are already awake. I’ve never met a demigod who could heal so quickly.”

Will shrugged awkwardly. “A good healer, that’s me.” He rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms over the thighs of his pants, just for something to do with his hands, but frowned when he realized he wasn’t wearing the jeans he thought he was wearing. “Um. Where are my clothes?”

Calypso gestured to the corner of the cave-like room they were in, where Will saw his jeans and camp shirt with tears and burns all across them, and he winced. “I thought I would have more time to repair them for you, but they are nearly destroyed. I thought you might be more comfortable in clean, more in-tact clothing.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Will said, nodding along in understanding, but when realization hit, he felt his face catch fire. “Wait-- You changed me?”  

Calypso blushed right back. “You were practically naked when you washed up on shore - would you have preferred I left you in those clothes?”

“Well, I--” Will’s arms flailed around, as if that would get his answer across. “Maybe? I don’t know!”

After the initial awkwardness, Will found that he got along with Calypso quite well. She knew a lot about traditional medicine - which plants to use to heal certain things - and Will traded her ancient knowledge for some of his own more modern techniques that he’d learned at camp. She tried to teach him how to cook, and they attempted to mend his damaged clothes before realizing they were beyond repair.

One night, Will found Calypso tending to her garden, which he thought was odd, considering he’d always known gardening as more of a daytime chore - though, he’d learned, the things that he’d considered chores all seemed to be things that Calypso enjoyed doing. Calypso requested some assistance in transplanting the moonlace flowers - which only bloomed in the dark and practically glowed under the light of the moon - and offered her opinions on his quest in return.

(The reminder of the quest had Will’s heart aching, though he knew he couldn’t leave yet. They both knew he wasn’t fully healed, even if he did have even more rapid healing abilities than other demigods. He just hoped that Nico would be able to sense that he was still alive.)

“Is something troubling you?” Calypso asked as she passed Will a clump of dirt containing the roots of another flower.

Will shook his head, and then seemed to disagree with himself. “It’s just...why help me with my quest when I probably won’t even get back in time to finish it? And...it almost seems like you’re trying to push me out, sometimes. Wouldn’t you rather I stay here, to keep you company?”

Calypso smiled sadly. “I know you won’t be staying. Your heart doesn’t belong here. But just like you, Will Solace, I’ve heard stories. I was alive when the Labyrinth was first built, you know. And I sometimes receive visitors who tell me about great quests. Why, just before you awoke, I had a visit from Lord Hephaestus, who told me that you’d been injured when those friends of yours destroyed one of his forges and caused a volcano to erupt.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Nico caused a volcanic eruption?”

“So Lord Hephaestus claims,” Calypso replied with a shrug. “He also told me once, very long ago, that a great inventor created an endless maze that would be impossible for even the gods to navigate.”

“Really?” Will asked. “Not even the gods?”

Calypso smiled knowingly. “Not all of them, at least. Many gods think too much, and end up confusing themselves. They simply need to clear their minds.”

Will frowned. “So, if we just don’t think about it, we’ll get where we need to go?”

“Not you, no,” she told him. “Even demigods, with eyes that can see more than most, are still somewhat clouded by the mist. You’ll need to find someone clever enough to see things as they truly are, and then you’ll have your guide to the maze.”

“A guide…” Will repeated softly, and then grinned. “Man, Annabeth is going to be so mad when she hears that we need a guide.”

“Annabeth,” Calypso whispered, “she is your…?”

“Friend,” Will answered quickly, truthfully. “It’s her quest, technically.”

Calypso nodded, seeming almost relieved. She scooped up another moonlace flower and rose to her feet. “Alright, let’s move these to the other garden.”

She found Will out on the beach the next day, squinting up at the bright sky with a deep frown on his face.

“Is something troubling you?” Calypso asked as she sat down beside Will in the sand.

“I can’t--” Will huffed, frustrated. “I can’t see the sun. Like, I know it’s there, obviously, but… I’ve never looked up at the sky during the day and not known where the sun is, you know? I mean, that’s my dad - and I’ve always sort of felt like he was watching over me, even if there’s no way he can really see me, but now… I can’t see him, so what if he can’t see me?”

Calypso laid a hand over Will’s where it was sitting in the sand. “You’re safe here, have I not helped you to see that?”

Calypso’s hand was warm - Will wished she would let go of his hand. “No, you have, it’s just…” He sighed and slipped his hand out of Calypso’s, crossing his arms over his knees and dropping his gaze to stare out at the endless ocean. “We both know how this is going to end, you know? Your curse…”

He knew the words were probably like a knife to Calypso’s heart, and as much as he didn’t want to hurt her, he knew the reminder was necessary. He kept his eyes on the water.

“I know you could never love me,” Calypso whispered, barely heard over the sound of the gentle tide, “but sometimes I think that an unrequited love would be better, just to have the company. Rather than spending the rest of eternity alone.”

“You can’t really think that,” Will scoffed.

“And why not?” she shot back. “I’ve hosted multiple heroes on this island, and even though it sometimes hurt to have them here - when they longed for their home or a lost love - it always hurt so much more to watch them leave. I’ve been abandoned here time and time again, so I don’t believe you have any right to blame me for wanting you to stay!”

Will flinched when she raised her voice, but he wasn’t going to back down so easily. “I just don’t think you understand--”

“I understand perfectly--”  

“You don’t know how it feels--”

“I know that I don’t want to feel like this--”  

“I know what it’s like when he doesn’t love you back!”

Will had only ever come out to two people - his mama and Lou Ellen. (He would’ve told Cecil, too, except he knew that Cecil couldn’t keep his mouth shut.) Not even Nico knew, despite being Will’s best friend, because Will knew he wouldn’t survive it if Nico wasn’t accepting - and considering his upbringing, Will didn’t have any idea how Nico would react.

Still, even though they knew Will was gay, he never had the courage to tell them anything more. He knew they had their suspicions, but Will had never come so close to admitting that he actually liked someone.

He buried his face in his arms, sure that he’d turned bright red, and afraid to see how Calypso would react. They were both trapped on that island - if things went south, neither of them had anywhere to run.

There were a few beats of silence where Will matched his breaths to the tide to ensure that he wasn’t on the verge of panic. Then, Calypso spoke. “I know you’ve read my story in your history books...but would you like to tell me yours?”

Will hugged his knees to his chest. “He’s my best friend. He’s saved my life more times than I can count, and I like to think that I’ve repaid the favor. We...we’ve been on so many quests together, and we spend so much time together - so much to the point that...I think it hurts more to be away from him than it does to know that he’ll never love me the way I love him.”

“Have you ever told him how you feel?” Calypso asked gently.

Will shook his head. “I don’t think he’d want to hear it.”

“How will you know unless you try?”

Will’s hands balled into fists. “Because it’s not normal! And… And then he’d hate me!”

“Not... normal?” Calypso repeated. “When is love ever normal? And remind me, you did say your father is Apollo, correct?”

He frowned. What did his dad have to do with any of this? “Yeah?”

“Meaning that the love your father shared with Hyacinthus wasn’t normal?”  

“That’s different,” Will argued. “He’s a god - there is no normal for gods.”

“But Hyacinthus wasn’t a god,” Calypso pointed out. “Neither was Commodus, as much as he liked to think he was.”

Will huffed in frustration. “Do you have a point to this?”

“I’m trying to show you how absurd your logic is! Men have loved other men - just as women have loved other women, I might add - for my entire existence! Which, might I remind you, is a very long time. I would argue that the concept of people loving people has always been normal.”

Will didn’t respond. He couldn’t think of another argument without knowing exactly how Calypso would shoot it down, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to accept her words, either. Each time he had come out, he’d hoped that saying the words would make him feel better about himself, but it only seemed to make everything worse - how could he tell Nico how he felt if he couldn’t even be happy about it himself?

“I’m sorry, that was harsh,” Calypso said. “May I try again?”

After a pause, Will nodded.

“Have you heard the story of the creation of humans?” she asked. “How they were originally such powerful beings that even Zeus himself feared their strength? He broke each being apart with his bolt, thus creating two halves of a whole - soulmates, I believe they’ve been called. So, if this boy is--”

“Nico,” Will whispered. “His name is Nico.”

“Nico,” Calypso repeated quietly. “If Nico is your other half, then does it really matter his gender?”

Slowly, Will nodded. “Thank you,” he said, “for talking through that with me. And I’m sorry for being such a brat. I… I wasn’t thinking about your curse, I was more focused on myself, and I’m sorry.” He turned toward her, finally reaching out for one of her hands to give it a comforting squeeze.

“Thank you, Will,” she replied, and drew him in for a hug. Just as he reached out to hug her back, Calypso gasped and pulled away, placing her hands on his shoulders with a look of disappointment. “I...I think that, maybe, what you needed wasn’t any sort of physical healing, but perhaps emotional.”

Will frowned. “Huh?” He followed Calypso’s gaze over his shoulder and watched as a wooden raft drifted to shore, lodging itself on the sand. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Calypso reminded him, though he could tell by the tone of her voice that even she knew it wouldn’t change his mind. “You can stay here, hide away from quests and prophecies. You can be yourself here, and I promise you I won’t ever judge you for who you are.”

Will barely managed to tear his eyes away from the raft, as though it would vanish as soon as he looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said again, “I can’t put you through the pain that I’ve been feeling. And now...it’s like the Fates have given me another chance. Maybe… Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can tell Nico how I feel, and it’ll go better than I thought.”

She nodded. “I knew you couldn’t stay. It’s alright - in my heart, I knew I didn’t expect you to.” Calypso leaned in and gave Will a kiss on the cheek. “I wish you the best of luck, Will.”

“Thank you,” he said, “and I--” He stopped himself. What could he wish her luck on - that he curse would be broken? That some hero would finally decide to stay?

He pulled her in for another hug. “I’ll find some way to help you. I don’t know how, but… I’ll think of something. I’ll come back to visit, or--”

“No man ever finds Ogygia twice,” Calypso said, sounding rehearsed, like Will wasn’t the first to offer to return. She pulled back and got to her feet, offering her hand to pull Will up with her. “Come with me; I have one last thing for you.”

She started leading Will in the opposite direction of the raft, and his heart spiked. He tugged on her hand, but before he could speak, she assured him, “The raft won’t leave unless you tell it to. Now come, I’ll be quick.”

Calypso took Will toward the flowerbed where they’d transplanted moonlace flowers the night before. She dropped to her knees and carefully dug out one of the flowers, then held it up for Will. When he didn’t take it, she got back to her feet and tucked the flower into the chest pocket on his shirt, the dirt and roots feeling cool even through the fabric.

“Something to remember me by,” she told him.

Will frowned. “I don’t have anything for you.”

Calypso smiled sadly, shaking her head. “I won’t need anything to remember you by. Perhaps it’s part of my curse, or maybe these visits are always so memorable. Either way, I will be thinking of you, and praying to all of the gods for you to have a long and happy life.”

Will didn’t know what to say, so he hugged her again. Then he jumped back, afraid that he would crush the moonlace, and smiled at Calypso sheepishly.

She walked him back to the beach, to the raft, and waved to him from the shore as he set sail.

Will thought to go home, but he wasn’t sure whether “home” would mean camp or Texas, so instead, he asked to be sent to Nico.

He could only hope that nothing bad had happened to Nico, that he hadn’t gone to the Underworld for any reason. Or, at the very least, he hoped that the magical raft from the magical island would be able to take him to Hades.

He was surprised when the raft washed up at the Long Island Sound, and Will found himself walking onto the beach where he’d watched the Fourth of July fireworks with Nico the summer before. He continued further into camp, though he was confused when the place seemed almost abandoned. It was practically the middle of the day, so where was everybody?

Will wandered toward the cabins, hoping that he could catch Lee on a break from the infirmary. He swung by the Demeter cabin on his way, picking up one of the little, unused terracotta pots they kept outside, and he carefully removed the moonlace from his pocket to plant inside the pot. When he finished, he took the pot with him, about to head across the green to the Apollo cabin when he saw a little girl tending to the central hearth between the cabins.

“Excuse me,” Will said as he knelt down nearby, and the girl looked up with a smile. The fire reflected in her eyes in a way that it usually only did late at night - or maybe the fire was actually burning in her eyes. “Um, where is everybody?”

“Will Solace,” she said, which immediately set off Will’s nerves, “they’re waiting for you in the amphitheatre.”

“Uh.” Will blinked in confusion. “Thanks?”

He got back to his feet and started toward the amphitheatre, and as he walked, Will glanced back over his shoulder to see that the fire had gone out, and the little girl tending to it had disappeared.

Maybe she was a ghost, he thought, or maybe I’m dead.

Then, as he got closer to the amphitheatre, he heard voices. He heard Chiron, definitely, and then maybe Lee - though it was hard to tell when it sounded like he was on the verge of tears - and then, finally, Nico.

Will crested the hill and looked down into the amphitheatre just in time to watch Lee touch a torch to a golden shroud. There was silence as the fabric started to burn, and Will was starting to get a bad feeling in his gut about whatever was going on here - he’d never seen the camp look so... somber - so he walked up to the first person he could see and whispered, “Hey, uh, what’s going on?”

Katie Gardner’s head whipped toward him, and her eyes widened as she let out a scream. Will stumbled back on reflex, clutching at his potted moonlace protectively, until he saw his siblings rushing toward him. Will wouldn’t have been surprised if Michael ended up with a black eye from the force with which his head connected with Will’s shoulder when he hugged him. In seconds, Will was drowning in hugs - he even saw a flash of red hair from his newest little sister, Kayla, who he had only briefly gotten to meet before entering the Labyrinth - and he found himself knocked off his feet when Lee barrelled into him. (The moonlace was safe from harm, but Will’s ribs may have been lightly bruised.)

He couldn’t really hear any individual voices in the cacophony surrounding him, but he thought he heard, “We thought you were dead,” and “Where have you been?” more than a few times each. The only thing that seemed to break up the crowd and the noise was a single person pushing between people and suddenly shoving at Will’s chest.

“What the hell, asshole?” Nico shouted, giving another shove at Will’s chest, hard enough to make him stumble backwards. “Where the hell have you been? Why didn’t you call, or, or--” Another shove. “Why didn’t you leave? You were supposed to leave first, and instead--” One more push, weaker than the others before it, and Nico’s hands lingered at Will’s shoulders. “I couldn’t even tell if you were dead!”

When Will noticed the tears in Nico’s eyes, he stopped feeling the pain of being hugged and squeezed and pushed around, and instead, he pulled Nico into his arms, awkwardly pressing the pot into Nico’s back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the top of Nico’s head, “I’m so sorry. I missed you, too.”

Will half expected Chiron to call a counsellor’s meeting upon his return, but instead, he only gathered the questing party into the Big House’s living room so that they could discuss what had happened.

Will shared most of the details about his stay on Calypso’s island - though he didn’t share any of his or Calypso’s private conversations, especially not in present company - and kept drumming his fingers on the sides of the pot in his lap as he spoke. Nico had mostly calmed down after hearing Will’s explanation for why he couldn’t call (and now that Will thought about it, he was going to need a new cell phone, since his was either underneath Mount St. Helens, or in the pocket of his burnt jeans on Ogygia) but he still seemed upset. Will figured they just needed a little bit of alone time to talk, and Nico would feel better after that.

Percy described - in great detail - what had happened to the forge when they destroyed it, and how they had supposedly released some horrifying monster along with it, which didn’t make Will feel great. And Annabeth explained that, while they had made it back to camp by some miracle, they still weren’t able to navigate the maze.

“Oh, yeah!” Will said suddenly. “Calypso and I talked about that a little bit. She said something about how even demigods can’t fully see through the Mist, or something like that. The way she was talking about it reminded me of the way people tell you to look at those Magic Eye posters.”

Nico frowned. “Posters with...magic eyes?”

Will reached over and took his hand - it was cold, and callused from sword fighting, and it brought a smile to Will’s face - and said, “I’ll tell you later.”

“So, we need a clear-sighted mortal?” Percy asked. “Like my mom? She says that she can see through the Mist.”

“I didn’t know there were mortals that could see through the Mist,” Will commented.

Nico turned to Percy and asked, “Do you think that would explain Rachel?”

“Rachel?” Will and Annabeth asked at the same time, and Will hoped that the sound of Annabeth’s voice drowned out the tinge of jealousy in his own. Who was Rachel, and why hadn’t Nico ever told him about her?

Percy’s eyes widened. “Maybe! That would make so much sense. Do you still have her number?”

“I think so,” Nico said, the tips of his ears growing red, which only made Will frown.

“Well,” Chiron said suddenly, almost making Will jump, “it sounds like you all have a good idea of what your next steps are. Why don’t you all stay here again tonight, and you can set off again in the morning?”

“Thank you, Chiron,” Annabeth said, which seemed to be the ending of their little meeting. They all started back out of the house, though at the last second, Nico grabbed Will’s hand and pulled him up the stairs, checking over the railing once or twice to make sure Chiron didn’t catch them.

Nico shoved Will into one of the second-floor bedrooms and he shut the door behind them. Will felt his face heating up, and wondered if he could blame that on the fact that there was no air conditioning in the Big House.

Nico crossed his arms and stared up at Will. He felt his fingers start to tap against the pot again, unconsciously.

“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” Nico said, and Will’s heart began to pound.

“Well, I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” Will shot back, a little bit nervously. How could he make it clear to Nico that he and Calypso had only talked about deeply personal things, without having to share what those personal things were?

Nico sighed and crossed the room, slumping onto his bed and sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I’m sorry. I promise, I had totally forgotten about Rachel, and--”

“Nico,” Will said, setting the pot on Nico’s nightstand and sitting down beside him, “it’s okay. I… I don’t care that you didn’t tell me about her, whoever she is. I just...got defensive. I thought… I thought you were going to get mad at me for getting close with Calypso.”

Nico frowned. “What? Why? She saved your life, didn’t she? I should be thanking her.”

Will blinked. Did Nico not know about Calypso’s curse? “I-- You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad,” Nico said, “but not about Calypso. I’m pissed that you didn’t leave that forge when I told you to. I thought I might die, and then when I couldn’t find you, and… And I couldn’t even feel whether you were dead or alive-- It was like you were just gone, and I--”

Nico choked on his next breath, and Will pulled him into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Nico’s hair. “It’ll never happen again, I promise.”

Nico dug a knuckle in between Will’s ribs. “Damn right, it won’t.”

“Ow, hey! Haven’t I been through enough today?” Will asked, tugging at a bit of hair on the back of Nico’s neck, admittedly more forcefully than he should have.

“Ow! Haven’t I?” Nico shot back. He pulled away and got to his feet, tugging Will up by the hand to follow. “C’mon, I haven’t eaten in days because I was so worried about you, and now I’m starving. Let’s go see if the Stolls have any good rose from the dead discounts.”

“I wasn’t dead,” Will argued, but he let Nico lead him back out the door with a smile on his face.

He left the moonlace behind on Nico’s nightstand, right next to the window where it started to bloom right as the sun set.

thanks for reading!

buy me a coffee | more solangelo week stuff

[babineni]

Angst 19 - "Please don't leave."

Thank you for this 💖 sorry it took me this long to post it mainly bc I accidentally saved it as a draft and then I didn’t check it so it’s been there for two weeks whoops

but anyway have some immediately post-PoE 1 Aloth x Watcher stuff, featuring Gaura first experiencing abandonment issues

below a cut bc it got long

Gaura pulled her knees closer to her chest and wrapped her arms around them a little tighter. She wasn't sure what she hoped this would accomplish. Her body forming the same, nearly suffocating knot that took the space where her heart was meant to be, hardly could have eased her sorrows. She hid her face behind her legs and allowed the tears to come but she didn't grant herself the same freedom when it came to the sounds trying to escape her. Not a single cry left her mouth. The Watcher was scared that if she voiced her anguish, she would never stop weeping.

She knew that her friends would leave her, once their quest against the Leaden Key was done. And yet, the Watcher was still caught off guard by some of the departures.

She was ready when Sagani said goodbye, in fact, she was relieved and happy for her, and wished her a speedy return to her family. She was ready when Kana said goodbye. She knew his mission wouldn't be over until he presented his findings after all. They still shed a few tears, but not many, and none of them were bitter or sorrowful. And Durance... well, if there was someone Gaura was happy to see go, it was him.

But then Pallegina left to report to the ducs, even though she knew the repercussions she would have to endure. Gaura offered a place to stay, a place where she would be valued, cared for and safe, knowing exactly how she would respond. But she couldn't help it, she couldn't stop hoping the paladin would reconsider and stay.

Then Hiravias left as one would expect of a follower of Wael's. Still, Gaura figured that even he needed a place he could return to, a place where he could keep the secrets he uncovered, a place he could call home. She was sad to realize she was wrong.

Then Grieving Mother left. Even though the Watcher couldn't bear children herself, she hoped the midwife would stay for all the women living in and around Caed Nua. She hoped that their connection built upon seeing and knowing one another would be enough. But it wasn't.

And then Edér left and...

And...

And the next thing Gaura knew was, that she was sitting by the hearth in Brighthollow's kitchen, trying to cry as quietly as it was possible.

'There you are. I've been looking all over for you,' Aloth's voice prompted the Watcher to look up and hastily dry her eyes. The wizard stopped in his tracks when he saw the miserable state she was in. For a moment, he awkwardly looked back at the doorway he just passed through but once the moment passed he continued walking towards her. He approached her almost perfectly silently, catiously, burying his own unease under the comforting presence of a friend.

'I just needed some time alone,' Gaura broke the silence. 'I uhh... The lady of Caed Nua shouldn't be seen like a mess. People look to me for guidance and... I'm being a sentimental fool.'

'Come now, you're hardly being fair towards yourself,' Aloth sat down beside Gaura, close enough for his shoulder to touch hers. He shuffled somewhat awkwardly, but he didn't move away from her, nor did he give any other indication of being flustered. For a moment, the Watcher felt the urge to wrap her arms around him and weep on his shoulder, but the moment passed and she stayed motionless.

Gaura let out a sigh and turned her attention to the hearth on her other side. The embers still had a glow, fainter than her own but enough to inspire some reflection.

'No, I have grown... weak here. Caed Nua has made me vulnerable,' she scolded herself. 'I think back to the person I was before I left the Valleys and... I'm not the same.'

'It is only natural,' Aloth answered. 'You have been through a lot. And I imagine, the Watcher abilities alone could change one drastically. But you have carried your burdens with grace and bravery,' he smiled at her shyly, 'and I... I'm glad I was around to see it.' He hesitantly reached for the Watcher's hand, the same way she reached for his months before in the Brackenbury Sanitarium. His touch was somewhat lighter but it carried the same warmth, putting a weak smile on Gaura's face.

'Well... I hope you still see that grace and bravery now,' she chuckled ruefully, as she turned back to the wizard.

'I do.'

Gaura's smile grew a little wider. But her heart still felt heavy.

'I still wish I could feel like I used to. Being able to say goodbye used to feel like... a gift of sorts,' she explained. 'Being able to let go of an attachment free of loss... or grief... was something I felt grateful for. I never mourned for things that were beautiful but... momentary. And in the Valleys everything was beautiful but nothing truly lasted. But now...' The Watcher sighed and let her head hang. 'Like I said... I'm being a sentimental fool.'

Aloth's grip on her hand tightened slightly. Gaura felt him caress a knuckle with his thumb. But the uneasy way he shifted his weight next to her made her wonder if this act of comfort was for her or for him.

'I'm going to miss them too... and I think... I think I understand,' he said. 'Being a spy hardly offers a life full of long friendships. It always felt more appropriate to keep my distance and to cherish moments for what they were without letting it become... more,' he sighed. 'If I were to follow your line of logic, then Caed Nua made me weak too. In no small part, thanks to you. I don't think you need me to explain why this happened to the both of us.'

The Watcher didn't reply, but she felt the ache in her chest ease slightly at the wizard's words. There was a bittersweet comfort lingering in the air and for the first time, Gaura felt that the silence of Brighthollow, which was now empty save for the two of them, was not all that suffocating as she has been feeling it for the last few days.

'Thank you,' she said, as she dried the last of her tears and straightened up. 'I needed that, truth be told.'

'Anytime,' Aloth smiled. 'Although I admit, it feels a bit strange to echo your own ideas back to you.'

'Perspective is funny that way.'

'Indeed.'

Gaura let out a long sigh, trying to rid herself of the rest of her tensions. She gave Aloth's hand a slight squeeze, then she stood up and stretched her limbs. She inhaled deeply, as if the comfort of the wizard's encouragement was a presence she could physically take with her.

'Alright, I think I'm good,' she said, while she turned to Aloth with a smile. 'You were looking for me for something I presume. I'm ready to listen.'

Aloth's smile, however, faltered at her offer. A shade of red tinted his face - one of shame and guilt. He avoided her gaze as he spoke.

'It's... it's not important. It can wait until tomorrow.'

Gaura's heart sank. He didn't need to say anything else. She felt the suffocation of the silence between them grow more oppressive, the longer she was processing the implication hiding behind his hesitant words. She should've guessed the moment he entered that kitchen. She visited him in his room just a few days earlier. She saw the maps, the list of names, the blueprint of a scepter called "Keybreaker". She saw everything she needed to see, but Aloth didn't say anything then, and once they were out of her sight, they were out of her mind.

'When are you going to go?' The Watcher's voice was shakier than she would've liked.

Aloth turned back to her, his gaze full of unsaid apologies.

'I was planning on leaving in two days. But if it makes things easier-'

'It doesn't,' Gaura interrupted him.

The wizard merely nodded as a response and looked down at his hands lying in his lap. The same hands that just a few moments ago filled the Watcher with the comfort of knowing she wasn't alone. He shifted his weight and decided have those hands grab his seat instead so tightly, his knuckles turned white from the effort.

Gaura approached him, fighting the burning sensation overtaking her eyes again. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes, trying to hold on to whatever was left of her dignity. But a moment later, she gave up: she let a quiet curse slip through her lips as she knelt down and let her head drop against Aloth's knees. She shielded her face with her arms, ignoring the wizard tensing up in shock at her touch.

'Please don't leave,' she whispered.

'I... I must,' an awkward answer came from above, prompting Gaura to look up.

'Let me just beg you in peace. Alright?'

Aloth's expression softened slightly. His gaze was still apologetic but his face reflected sincerity rather than discomfort.

'Alright.'

The Watcher hid her face again. 'Please don't leave,' she repeated. 'Please don't leave. Please don't leave.' Her plea to him turned into a mantra for herself. Her eyelids grew heavy as she continued and her tears stopped falling. She might've heard a spell being cast and she might have felt a hesitant stroke against her scalp right before unconsciousness turned her numb to the world around her, but she couldn't be sure.

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 23

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: A roller coaster of emotions and feels. A/N: So my psychiatrist recommended/ordered for me to take 2 weeks of sick leave because I’m a stressed out mess...that’s not going to stop me from writing, of course. Au contraire, without work I’ll have more time for that! Ask or reblog for tag ;)

23. Misery Machine

...   Reader   ...

What the ever-living FUCK? The bubble of happiness bursts, the pop loud in your mind but blown away by the cold storm raging before you in the shape of a raven-haired god with the colour of blood in his eyes. Memories of faces smiling during the feast come and go in a blur and leave you none the wiser as to what Loki’s problem is.

“Uh...yeah? It was okay,” you try carefully, “think I’m getting closer to Sif and the trio to accept me.”

“You don’t say?” Sarcasm is probably the default state for the god, you decide there and then. “Practically crawling onto their laps.”

Staring dumbfounded at him, each snarled accusation is a whiplash driving you closer to desperation as up and down cease to make any sense. Unsure whether to laugh, cry, or scream back at him, you just stand stock still. Loki, on the other hand, has taken to stalking around the room as he denounces the Asgardian ways – feasts, pretend friendships, nothing goes free – before ultimately turning to you again on an unseen wave of icy coldness radiating from the bluing skin.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have my dear brother rescue you,” he hisses, “or went with Fandral for comfort...he’d be more than willing to oblige.”

“Wait...what?”

Oh yeah, the fallen prince’s eyes are swallowed by red, leaving only a pinprick of black from the pupil. “You heard me.”

Sure did, smurf. “This’s ‘bout them? Are you...? D’you think I’m desperate enough to dick it down with Fandral or have Thor sweep me away like I’m some maiden in distress?”

Now you’re the one getting into his personal space. Though you’re far from as imposing compared to a god with ruby eyes and frosty skin, his raven hair cascading to his shoulders in ways fit for an anime character, you still manage to push him back a few steps before he digs his heels in.

“Tell me honestly, the idea doesn’t tempt you, mortal?”

“Hell yeah, it tempts me! But, y’know what? I can’t! If I go back home to hide and some day Thanos shows up...how’d you think that’d make me feel? Or if you take your dumb-ass on some quest to find the fucker only to get killed? No, that ain’t happening ‘cause I’ma stick through with this. That’s what this mortal’ll do: do things right.”

You can barely see him because tears (which you refuse to let fall) are blurring your vision. By some miracle, you manage to find the door and march down the dim hallway without bashing face first into something but by the time you turn the first corner, your cheeks are wet.

GAAARGH! He’s such an...an...UGH! Haven’t you already proven yourself? Sure, he might just see you as a mortal, as he keeps pointing out, but how many mortals does he know that would’ve been able to handle the mess he’s thrown at you? Admittedly, it might be your self-diagnosed Stockholm Syndrome speaking when you feel you deserve more respect from Loki. Not that he has to “like me” like me...just...

Wiping salt water and probably snot from your face, you look around for somewhere to be alone with your thoughts and spot a double door which could lead to a balcony or terrace only to find it blocked by a blond figure.

“Lady [Y/N]?” You’ve only spoken with Thor once, but no one else has a voice like that, a voice you don’t want to hear right now. “Please, tell me what troubles you.”

Why bother? It’s so easy to follow along as he cups your elbow with one of the huge hands and escorts you onto what does indeed turn out to be a balcony.

Any other person would gasp at the view of the golden-roofed city below, stretching towards the ocean and the infinity of space just beyond. You, a sarcastic thought jeers in your mind, you’re busy sniffling and holding back tears because of some silly spat – and there’s no way you can tell that truth to the man beside you.

“I know...I’m a stranger to you and you have no reason to trust me with your worries,” Thor begins softly, “yet I do feel responsible for your fate. Your chance of happiness. What my brother di-”

“Enough!” The exclamation startles him, blue eyes reconsidering the woman before him. Oops. “I’m...I’m sorry, your highness,” you try to recover while your heart beats in your ears. “Forgive me. You have no obligations on my behalf, your brother’s actions are not yours to atone for.”

The dazzling smile is pretty even if it’s barely hiding a pain beneath. “Kind words, but clearly it torments you.”

“No.” Oh, that’s actually true. “No, what pains me is what I’ve learned since. Thor...you’ve been to Earth. You’ve seen us humans...and you know we’re hopelessly unprepared for what’s to come!”

“Even if Loki would be foolish enough to attack once more, Midgard is not defenceless. You know this.”

The Avengers. Thor had stopped Loki and his Chitauri (as you later found out the aliens were called) invasion. It hadn’t exactly been pretty which is something a lot of politicians are still pointing out – or were before you suddenly found yourself at the mercy of the guy who’d plotted the attack. It feels like years ago.

“Not...” How can I say this right? “Not Loki. Thor, please believe me, he’s not the real problem.”

“Any threat at all...your realm is under my protection.” At least his brows have the decency to furrow, almost hiding the pristine blue.

“He came for the Tesseract...but he already had a Scepter with magical abilities. Where did he get that? Who helped him – or who did he help?”

Obviously, the older brother isn’t as dimwitted as Loki claims because you can see tiny lights go on and off as he connects some of the dots – eyes gazing through your skull and into a different infinity than the one beyond the borders of Asgard and finding the murky areas where there isn’t enough information to illuminate the unknown.

When the crown prince does focus on you, a new worry tightens the muscles of his jaw. “If the Tesseract was all he wanted, why not leave?”

“Who wanted the Tesseract, really? And was that all?”

“Then why the invasion? A smoke screen?”

You shrug (even if it’s hard with Thor’s heavy hands resting on your shoulders) because what else can you do? And silence falls again as each option and its implications are weighed carefully.

“What makes you certain of this?”

Loki might be the God of Lies, Mischief, and whatnot...but looking up into his brother’s face there’s no way he wouldn’t sniff out the smallest inkling of deceit.

“I don’t know anything for sure,” you sigh, “I was...shown some bits and pieces. Been trying to make sense of it.”

“A vision.”

Weeeeell... “If that’s what you’d call it. I’m just scared of what might happen.”

Later, you’d think back of it as a pretty decent hug, but in the moment you are more concerned with continuously breathing as Thor pulls you into a crushing embrace.

“Get some rest, little one,” he smiles tiredly after pulling back, “you have my word I’ll look into this matter.”

... Loki   ...

He hears her return to the suite, mainly due to the subdued curses as she struggles to undress. Then the few candles he had left alight are snuffed before [Y/N] settles into bed with a sigh. The single candle in the servant’s tiny room creates sharp borders between shadows and illuminated areas unless Loki exhales particularly hard. I’m not sighing.

Since the woman had stormed out of the quarters, the Jotun has tried to calm himself down and ignore the screaming in his marrow as guilt eats through the bones. Eventually, he succumbed and went to bed only to lie and stare up into the ceiling. A thin blade slips between his fingers in repeated somersaults until he grabs the knife by the handle only to redo the whole thing.

Counting his breaths, he reaches well into the hundreds before daring to step into the suite. The slanted moonbeams illuminate patches on the floor and bed, glistening on the silken covers shaped like a woman. He does his best to ignore it, he really does. Moving silently, Loki picks up the scattered layers of the dress to straighten them out and hang them on the other side of the screen. In the cold light, it is difficult to ascertain the colour of the fabric but he remembers it clearly from when he saw her across the room during the feast where he had been expected to assist – a task perfectly suited to get him closer to the servant and listen to their gossip, of course. He has to shake himself from the tainted memories before continuing the silent duties.

Once, not too long ago, these were details he didn’t bother with. The work of lowly servants, there was no need for a prince to worry about picking up after himself unless he chose to, and while Loki was (and is) meticulous he had certainly never expected to be the one doing this for others. Beneath me! Grumbling within, he still lingers to let the delicate ribbon from [Y/N]’s hair slither between his fingers.

It’s a welcome diversion to imagine how it would be to untie the bow and set her locks free. Or to be the one slipping the straps of the dress off her shoulders and watch it hang on for dear life by her bosom. To gently tug at it, bearing the nipples for me to admire. He can see it in his mind. What Loki doesn’t notice are the eyes watching him.

[romioneficfest]

A different kind of apology

Title: A Different Kind of Apology

Prompt/Day: Day 7 - Anything goes!

Tumblr name:

Rating: K+

Brief summary: Ron has just returned, fresh after destroying the locket, and Hermione has never been more furious: though he, undoubtedly, expects her temper to subside after a few hours —as it usually does—, night falls again and she still refuses to talk to him. What she doesn’t expect, though, is that he’ll try anything for her to forgive him.

She lays in bed, lost in thought, facing nowhere as she feels her thoughts stew. They haven’t stopped boiling since he’s come back: a Molotov cocktail of relief, euphoria, incapacitating hurt, and steely fury is brewing in her mind, and it’s all she can do to keep it from exploding.

So she’s kept her mouth shut.

Not an easy feat for her, especially not when she feels herself overflowing with things to tell him (it’s so good you’re back, I’ve been dying to talk to you), with things she wishes she’d said before (don’t leave me, Ron, I can’t do it without you), with things she yearns to spit in his face (how dare you, walking out like that, I thought you were dead)… But some things take precedence over others, and for Hermione Granger, the utmost priority is always to think— and right now, she needs some silence to do it properly.

She hears a rustle as someone clambers in through the tent flap. Harry’s on guard tonight: he’d been volunteering a lot more today (undoubtedly an effort to get her to talk to Ron), but she hadn’t let him; finally, when he’d noticed she was starting to succumb to exhaustion, he’d forced her to step inside and get some rest, Hermione, for Merlin’s sake.

So she had, and Harry had taken her wand to sit out front and keep watch.

But that means there’s only one person who could be climbing in right now— and it’s the person she least wants to talk to in the world right now. So she rolls over in bed, her blankets shifting as she switches her gaze to the opposite wall, keeping her brow furrowed and her back turned to the rest of the tent.

“‘Mione,” she hears a soft plea, and her heart threatens to melt: he never calls you that, he must mean it, oh Merlin, it’s so sweet. However, her anger regains command and steers her harshly away from that path: he left you, he screamed at you, and he came back laughing, like nothing had happened… With steely determination, she remains where she is. “'Mione, please…”

And still nothing.

A second later, she hears the cot springs squeak as another weight settles down on it— and she really has to steel herself to keep her arms crossed, her face unyielding, to not reach out and smack him, how dare you, Ronald…

“You don’t have to talk. I know you don’t want to. But just listen to me, please.” Silence. “Please, can you do that?” She keeps her silence, impassive. Ron seems to take it as a yes, sighs, and plunges in: “I know I should’ve never left…”

She hears a cold laugh rattling around her insides, and hates how it sounds: Oh, figured that out, didn’t you, you bright boy, took you long enough to realize you should’ve stayed. She shakes it off; its cruelty scares her, and she refuses to think that’s how she really feels.

“…and I’m sorry I did,” he continues. “And if I have to keep apologizing to you every day of my life until you believe me, Hermione Granger, I will. There wasn’t a second after I’d stepped outside your spells —they’re brilliant, by the way, I really couldn’t see anything, but of course you don’t need me to tell you that— that I didn’t wish I hadn’t. And it’s not like I went back and lived comfortably in the Burrow, you know, I had to hide too—” She scoffs, and he hurries to correct the offense: “—well, of course it’s wasn’t as bad as you lot had it, but still… It would’ve been better if I’d been with you. Everything is, Hermione, please trust me on that.”

She still says nothing. That awful part of her, the one that keeps cackling in the pit of her stomach, wants to see him grovel, wants to see him beg, wants to see him get on his knees and bawl for forgiveness. But Hermione’s nothing if not level-headed, even when she’s the angriest she’s ever been, and so she holds her icy silence.

He tries a different approach now, in a softer tone, at a slower pace: “I meant it, Hermione, it was your voice I heard coming from the Deluminator. There’s no way I could’ve made that up. Your voice— well, it’s the only thing that could’ve brought me back. And it did. I don’t think— I mean, if it’d been Harry’s, I would’ve thought the thing was cursed and chucked it,” he stops to chuckle, but quickly zips it when he notices she stiffens rather than laughs. “You don’t understand, do you? It’s you. I came back for you. Yeah, of course, it’s a noble quest and we’re going to save the Wizarding World and all that rubbish that some kids are gonna be bored listening to Binns droll about in a few decades, but I came back for you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you alone. I couldn’t bear not seeing your face among the first things I saw when I opened my eyes every morning. I couldn’t bear the fact that I wasn’t getting regularly lectured in the same voice that brought me back. I couldn’t stand it, alright? Guilt was a factor, I can’t deny that, but being away from you is the hardest thing I’ve had to do.”

The beast in her chest is quiet now. It’s not purring —though it wants to, a part of it does, he missed you, Hermione, you, he came back for you—, but it’s laying low, still on the lookout for a threat without being on attack. Ron seems to sense her softening, because he places a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t swat it away— whether it’s because her anger is still petrifying her or because she genuinely wants it there, not even she can tell. “Say something, Hermione,” he pleads, even softer this time. “Anything. You don’t have to say you forgive me. You don’t have to say it’s okay. Just say… say… say anything.”

She’s still not looking at him, but it’s as if he’s deflated. He doesn’t try anything more— is he still hoping? Is he thinking she’s going to roll over and look at him and tell him it’s okay, you lovely boy, I forgive you? She can’t lie to herself— a part of her wants to, it’s pulling at her heartstrings to just look at him already, but she won’t give in. She can’t. She’s too angry, and he needs to know that, he needs to know just how broken he left her.

She doesn’t move.

Everything stands still for a moment, a tension thickening the air so much you could slash through it. Then he speaks again, almost mumbling: “Alright, you don’t wanna talk to me, I understand that. Just let me try to apologize to you— let me show you how much you mean to me— in a different way.”

The bedsprings lift again, and she thinks he’s gone to sleep, he’s gonna try again tomorrow, but he’s given up today— and then the bedsprings creak down again with even more force. The blankets lift, and he crawls in bed behind her. She feels him settle in a curve around her, cupping her body with his, and he drapes a careful arm around her midriff. He hesitates; but she hasn’t stiffened, she hasn’t tried to get away, and he takes that as a sign that he can pull her to him tighter.

She’s surprised to feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, surprised at how much she likes this, surprised at how a long-hidden craving she’d had for so long (while he was gone, while he wasn’t near her) at last feels sated now that he’s holding her. And finally, in the warmth of his arms, even as she still feels her chest bound with the last strains of anger, she allows herself to fall asleep peacefully for the first time in months.

[dilliebar]

The Story of Dinah: A TLOUP2 Theory

Hey guys! So during this quarantine I’ve been looking for stuff to do to keep myself busy, and among playing The Last of Us for the billionth time I also decided to continue analyzing the content we’ve gotten so far. Tbh I gave up a while ago trying to find out what’s gonna happen in TLOU2, but after one google search, though, I actually think I’ve found a pretty solid theory that explains a lot of what we saw in the trailers/screenshots/etc.

!!! Note that this does include content from the leaked gameplay videos and from the leaked screenshot that surfaced a while ago. only read on if you’re okay with knowing spoilers !!!

**Note: I was not raised around a specific religion and my only knowledge of the subject has come from what I’ve read on the internet and the information I’ve gained from different Jewish and Christian interpretations of the passages talked about in this theory. None of these are my personal opinions and please correct me if anything is misinformed. Thank you.

So the majority of us know that something is going to happen to Dina and/or Ellie, and the first question is, what?

Well, obviously what’s different from the original game and p2 is that p2 is going to have to do a lot more with religion, as Dina is confirmed to be Jewish and we also have the Christian group, the Seraphites. The theme of religion is pretty much the basis of this theory, and it all starts with the origin of Dina’s name.

Now when you probably saw the title of this post you were like “yo that’s not how you spell her name”, and that, my friend, is where you’re wrong. After digging a little bit into the origination of Dina’s name, I found that it stemmed from the Hebrew name, Dinah. The first famous holder of this name was a woman who had a small, yet significant role in one of the books of the Jewish bible (or the Torah, please correct me if I’m wrong). Now, I would’ve written this off as a coincidence, but after looking into the story of Dinah I noticed some similarities between her story and bb Dina.

The passage basically tells the story of Dinah, who ventures out to meet the people of the world, and while doing so is sexually assaulted by the prince of Shechem. When her two brothers hear about this, they’re enraged, and slaughter all of the men in the city and rescue her.

The reason this caught my eye is because Dina and/or Ellie being sexually assaulted is a pretty common theory among the fandom right now, and after applying this to the trailers, screenshots, leaked footage, and the leaked screenshot, it makes a lot of sense, especially with Dina being Jewish. So without further ado, let’s look at what this means for the story.

                                               I. What Happened

So if we’re following the original story of Dinah, the first thing that would happen is that Ellie and Dina head out on patrol the night after their kiss. Obviously this would mostly serve as a tutorial-like introduction, but it would also serve as the setup for the rest of the game. This is where the basement scene comes in, in which both of them are attacked and/or assaulted, and for whatever reason, they take Dina and Ellie escapes.

A lot of people have been speculating that the game revolves around the sole idea of revenge, and while Ellie’s clearly pretty jazzed off about whatever happened in the gameplay and release date trailers, it’s likely more of a “side quest” aside from her actual goal: to get Dina back. Naughty Dog games in the past, including The Last of Us, have always had a certain goal in mind that you’re working towards throughout the game. This also aligns with the story of Dinah, as she isn’t killed, but taken.

In addition to the supporting story, much of the leaked footage aligns with this, as well. For example, in the leaked gameplay in which Ellie wakes up bruised and beaten in a theater and calls out for Dina and Jesse, but why would Dina be there? If Ellie’s main goal is to get revenge on the group who wronged them, then neither Dina nor Jesse being there would make a whole lot of sense unless they all just want to have one big traumatic experience together; however, if Dina was taken, it would make sense as to why Ellie and Jesse would go after her, because they both have strong feelings for her, want to get her back, and want to seek vengeance. At the same time, by the cuts and bruises littering Ellie’s back, we can see that something clearly went down very recently, which was likely the rescue of Dina. We can also confirm that this wasn’t a dream or some wacky acid trip, too, because in the leaked screenshot we can see Ellie and Dina exploring Capitol Hill in Seattle together.

Now of course we all want to know that Ellie and Dina live happily ever-after, and this might (?) be true according to the story of Dinah, in which both of the brothers (represented here by Ellie and Jesse) return safely home with Dinah. Since this is where the story ends, is this where the game takes a twist? Possibly, but we’ll never know for sure until we play it. 

                                               II. Whodunnit?

Alright, so I’m gonna break this down into the two groups that are confirmed to be in The Last of Us 2: the Seraphites and the WLF. Though none of this is stemmed from the story of Dinah, the biblical meanings behind their names matched up pretty darn well with what we know about them already. 

Now, the thing is, after trying to look up the Hebrew origination of the word “seraphite”, I found that it wasn’t actually a word at all. What I did find, however, was the definition of the word “seraph” which is “of the highest order of the nine-fold celestial hierarchy, associated with light, ardor, and purity”, with another description being a “six-winged angel”. The Latin suffix, “-ite”, means to be a follower. In other words, the Seraphites see themselves as either messengers or followers of god. This description makes a lot of sense, as in the trailer with the mystery-woman, the Seraphites say to “clip her wings” in reference to Yara.

When it comes to the WLF, the meaning behind their name is much more simple. As we can recall from the gameplay trailer, we hear the Seraphites shout out “WOLF!”. In addition to this, poster released shortly after the mystery-woman trailer portrays a wolf shaped by flames. Thus, I decided to look up the biblical meaning of a wolf, as the two groups are likely at odds. Unsurprisingly, the term “wolf” is generally used to describe those who pray on the weak.

After looking at these two groups, I concluded that the culprit is ultimately the WLF for a few reasons:

1. The meaning of the wolf in a biblical context (which was first mentioned to describe one of Dinah’s other brothers, by the way)

2. In the release date trailer, we can definitely see the attire of those who attacked the two. They’re wearing jackets; the man who initially attacked Ellie is wearing a cap. If we look at the gameplay trailer, the Seraphites distinctly wear robes, and so they are likely out of the question.

3. In the release date trailer, Tommy says “you don’t know how large that group is; how armed” all the while displaying a group of men with guns, and one verrrryyy important dude that I haven’t really seen a lot of people talking about. And that is this guy: 

OK, I know, it doesn’t seem like that big of a revelation but take a look at this guy’s face, and then scroll back up to the beginning of this section. Look similar? They’ve got the same hair, skin tone, attire, etc. In addition, the people with guns in the photo also have similar attire and weaponry to those in the release date trailer. At the same time, in the basement scene, we can also see a man in similar attire and a similar skin tone holding Ellie down (though to be fair, we can’t see his face, and so this may not be the same guy, but the attire definitely separates them from the Seraphites). 

Did maybe the Seraphites get a lil’ chilly and decide to wear jackets if the attacked Ellie and Dina? Maybe, but my bet’s on the WLF.

                                   III. Patching Up the Plotholes

Alright, so this theory definitely leaves a couple of plotholes that I wanna possibly cover (though it should be noted that these are speculation):  

1. As we see multiple times in both the screenshots and gameplay, Ellie entered Seattle alone. Where did Jesse come in?

2. Joel is in multiple screenshots, and also talks to Ellie in the release date trailer. What does he got to do with this?

So first of all, answering the question of where Jesse came in is fairly easy to answer, and it’s that he followed Ellie. As seen in the release date trailer, about a handful of people in Jackson left to go out on patrol other than Ellie and Dina, one of them being Jesse. Given the incident that happened in the basement, I’m guessing Ellie didn’t decide to keep scavenging for supplies and returned to Jackson early in order to recover and spread the news, which means Jesse likely wouldn’t have been back yet, and didn’t hear the news and go after Dina until he returned to Jackson. Then the question of the change in seasons comes into play. If this theory is true, I’m guessing that the basement scene took place near the end of winter, while Ellie/Jesse going to Seattle took place in early Spring, or that Ellie/Jesse left as soon as possible and the journey took longer than expected due to multiple obstacles like what happened in the first game. 

Now, when it comes to Joel, I returned specifically to the story of Dinah. A while after the incident, when Jacob (the father of both Dinah and the brothers) is blessing his children, he expresses his disappointment in the two brothers as “in their anger they slew men” and “cursed be their anger, for it was fierce, and their wrath, for it was cruel”. Based on this, I believe that the multiple screenshots from the game are in the context of Joel expressing his disappointment in Ellie, as she likely went out of her way to kill more people than she had to in order to get to Dina. This also correlates to the reveal trailer in which Joel says “you really gonna go through with this?” and Ellie replies, “I’m gonna find, and I’m gonna kill, every last one of them”. 

                                                  ~Conclusion~

Alrighty, so that’s pretty much it. Again, I don’t know if a lot of the biblical stuff is accurate since I wasn’t raised in a strictly Jewish nor Christian household, but I was intrigued by some interpretations and frankly I really wanted to get this out and see what everyone else thought about it. Please, if you have any additional thoughts about this, correct something I said, or point out any other plotholes, leave a comment! I’m in desperate need for some TLOU2 action.