#why is his hairline a straight line

[pasta-yy]

Various Narumitsu doodles :3

[gigamuffin]

art trademark: i love how distinct everyone u draw is and how they all have their own shapes and silhouettes. and i think your lineart is very smooth and recognizable.

also the way you draw aubreymaturin is my favourite ever. stephen is such a little creature. exactly as he should be

if Jack isn't shaped, whats the point? When I draw him i often keep a rounded square in mind, because he is sturdy but soft:) Stephen has a lot of sharp lines in him, because he is supposed to be a little off-putting to look at (sorry stephen). and also it's a nice complimentary contrast between them, large and soft, and thin and sharp!!!

Fun fact! I drew a quick Stephen at my grandma's place and she was surprised because it looked like the little guy my great grandfather used to scribble on stuff. So uh... drawing Stephen Maturin is in my blood i guess:

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism x Reader: Happy Holidays!

G/N. Soft fluff. (All my blorbos - Gun Park, Goo Kim, Ryuhei Kuroda, Jake Kim, Vin Jin, Samuel Seo)

Gun Park - Hat

For the man that could buy pretty much anything, you opted to go for homemade. A personal touch.

Issue is, your personal touch is pretty shitty and shoddy. Gun still accepts the hat with a straight face and heartfelt thanks even as you tell him he doesn't have to wear it.

Why wouldn't I, he thinks. You have spent your time and effort making this for him and he appreciates it. Even if it isn't quite his... taste.

.

.

"What is that on your head?" Goo exclaims, torn between bursting into laughter and abject horror at the crimson bobble hat Gun is sporting. Ends of his hair poking out, and the colour highlighting the red of his windswept cheeks and nose.

"Fuck off."

"I think it's cute," Crystal grins as Goo whirls around and screeches.

"Cute?! Gun Park? Have you lost your mind?"

"Like you can say anything with those ridiculous mittens."

"My mittens are not ridiculous!"

Ignoring Crystal and Goo devolving into slinging insults at each other, Kouji glances at Gun and chuckles, opens his mouth to tease-

And is intercepted by a look from Gun, and a warning. "Shut it if you want to live."

Kouji's mouth slams shut.

.

.

Goo -  Mittens

"Tasteless," Gun sneers, and Goo kicks his ass for it.

"Tasteless," Kouji sighs, and Goo throws his laptop out the window.

"Tasteless," Crystal laments, and Goo- well. Goo can't exactly do anything. That's his boss's daughter, and nepotism is kinda a thing.

So he snarls, nostrils flaring and calls her tasteless too.

.

.

"I. LOVE. THESE!" You screech, high and shrill when you yank the mittens out of the box.

Tasteless huh, Goo thinks smugly as you cover him in kisses, No surprise it's everyone else that has no taste.

Birds of a feather truly flock together where you and Goo are concerned. Birds of a feather will also be able to keep their hands warm with their couples mittens too.

A conjoined monstrous thing, that allows you two to keep holding hands through the bitter Seoul winter. Keeping your fingers intertwined and an objectively OTT display of PDA. That you had to be touching, can't even bear to keep your hands to yourself for a moment, that you would need such an accessory.

Goo thought it was perfect when he laid eyes on it, if the way you two are always attached at the hip is any indication.

You clearly think so too, when Goo unwraps his own gift-

-Delighted and cackling, pulling out the same duplicate mittens.

.

.

Ryuhei Kuroda - Card

"Y/N!" Ryuhei calls you from down the hallway, waving enthusiastically before striding over.

"Here," he grins, handing over a card, "Happy Holidays. Hope you like it!"

.

.

The card sits on your desk. It's somewhere between cringe and cheesy, and utterly charming.

On the front is a (badly) hand drawn picture of you and Ryuhei, signed with his signature in the corner. Inside, a couple lines of explicit filth accompanied with sickeningly sweet declarations and too many hearts and kisses to count.

You blame it on the festive period. That's the reason you're feeling so soppy and sentimental, why every time you look at the crappy drawing you can't help but smile.

.

.

Ryuhei blinks, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, "You kept it?"

"Yeah," you peer at the card in your periphery, "I like it."

"You like it? Really?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

You hear Ryuhei mumbling something about how someone (no prizes for guessing who) would always just dump them in the trash without opening.

"...And they weren't even lewd," he sighs, then perks up, any gloominess dissipating and eyes practically sparkling, "But that's all in the past."

Absolutely delighted, Ryuhei leans over your desk, practically lying across it, and punctuates each word with a kiss, "You!” MWAH “Like!” MWAH “It!” MWAH

"Yeah," you smile fondly at your idiot, cupping his face, "I like you too."

.

.

Jake Kim - Gifts

Jake shrugs off his jacket and loosens his tie. It's been a long day. Actually, it's just been a long goddamn year.

He runs his fingers through his hair, ready to jump in the shower and straight to bed when-

Gift bags and presents cover his coffee table and a 'DO NOT OPEN! IT'S NOT FOR YOU!' sign catches his eye.

Huh. That is undoubtedly your scrawl, but if they're not gifts for him then...? He fires off a quick text.

Jake: hey, did you leave some presents at mine?

Y/N: yeah!

Y/N: i did some shopping and grabbed some stuff for your big deal boys

Y/N: and lua ofc

Jake, jaw dropping open at your thoughtfulness: really?

Y/N: yep. sinu and yeonhui too btw.

Jake: are you serious??

Y/N: yeah.. is that not ok?

He’s rendered speechless. And that you might even think that you have overstepped or any such nonsense is ridiculous.

Jake: wow

Jake: it’s more than ok

Jake: you didn’t have to

Jake: i appreciate it.thank you

Y/N: 😁 its just some small bits and pieces. i didn't think you would have time

Y/N: i left some food for you in the fridge too 🥰

His breath hitches and stomach grumbles, your message reminding his body he hasn't had anything since this morning.

Jake starts to type-

I can't believe-

You're the best-

I'm so lucky-

You're too good to-

I don't know what I would do without-

None of them feel right.

In the end he settles for something far simpler.

He dials your number, hears the question in your voice when you pick up.

And pours everything into three words, "I love you."

.

.

Vin Jin - Cheonliang

Vin opts for casual and nonchalant, pretends it's something that he thought of rather than something that he has wondered about for the last few weeks.

(Used Mary as a soundboard and she had thought it was a good idea, and if Mary thinks it's a good idea then it definitely is.)

It was a passing thought, at first. A small seed planted and grown until all Vin can think about is how nice the holidays would be with you, how cool it would be to show you where he grew up.

He can't ever escape the awful memories there that still haunt him, but... maybe he can create new memories too.

With you.)

"If you're not doing anything for the holiday break," Vin keeps his eyes on his phone, scrolling now and then to keep up appearances, "Want to come visit Cheonliang with me?"

The question is casual. Easygoing. Breezy. His voice doesn't crack at the end. He's not holding his breath waiting for your reply. He doesn't desperately wish you would say yes, and hasn’t already planned the days with you in advance.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Vin forces himself to shrug, "Might be nice."

"I would love to!"

Vin takes a peek in your direction, double checks he didn't just hallucinate your agreement or that you're joking.

He didn't, and you're not. All he sees is excitement painted over your face and a wide smile. You know how much this means.

He wraps his arm around your shoulder, a weight lifted from his own. Equally anxious and thrilled to show you every part of himself.

.

.

Samuel Seo - Gift

"This would look good on you," Samuel shows you a piece of fine jewellery on his phone. It's exquisite. A bit too much for everyday wear (of course Samuel would pick this out, he himself is a bit too much), though it really is stunning.

You tell him it's beautiful.

He pauses, studies your face, then clicks the screen off. Back to square one. "You don't love it."

It's not accusatory, just a statement. But he feels like he needs to get this right. Your first holiday together and you deserve the world. He wants to get you something, really spoil you, to show how much you mean to him.

You take in Samuel's face and can't help but giggle. Him trying to remain unaffected except for a small, telling pout.

"I would love it if you got it for me," You shuffle over until you're sitting in his lap, "But I don't need it."

He wraps you in his arms, adjusting until you're both comfortable, "What do you need?"

"Nothing," Grinning, "I don't need anything else."

"Fine, then what do you want?"

"You."

Your cheesy response earns an eye roll and a reluctant huff of laughter, "You got me. What else do you want?"

"Nothing," you repeat, leaning in and lifting his glasses off. "You're enough."

You pepper his face with kisses until Samuel melts into a puddle; all thoughts of proving his love with price tags and money completely forgotten.

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"burden" - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

you comfort aaron after a particularly tough case

cw: canonical violence, brief mentions of a child's death (no details), sad hotch, hurt/comfort but you're the one doing the comforting

wc: 1.2k

You moved in with your boyfriend, Aaron, about a year ago, and yet, your routine remained fairly independent of him. You woke up in the same bed sometimes, but most of the time, he was away on a case. You always missed the warmth and protection he provided, but you understood that his job was important. You never wanted to get in the way of that. 

You come home from work that afternoon, surprised to see Aaron’s car in its parking spot. Last time you checked in, he wasn’t going to be home until tomorrow. 

You’re eagerly bounding up the steps to your floor, unlocking the door in a swift movement and grinning to see him on the sofa. 

Your grin falls when you see the expression on his face. 

Crestfallen might be the most appropriate description. Heartbroken would also be apt. 

You punch in the code for the security system, and lock the door hastily. You drop your bag by the door and are at his side in an instant, perching yourself next to him on the sofa. He’s got this far-off look in his eyes, and they’re red and puffy. He’s been crying? 

“Aaron?” You speak delicately to announce your arrival, feeling your stomach roller-coaster drop and a massive lump materialize in your throat. You tuck your foot under your rear and touch his shoulder gently. 

Aaron’s next inhale is shaky. His eyelids flutter and he looks at you, finally, like he's just now realized you're there, and shakes his head softly, subtly, numbly. “We lost a child,” he says. His voice is low and raspy, crackling as if someone is snapping ten glow sticks at once. 

Your lips form a straight line, and you press your hands into his shoulder. “Aaron,” you breathe out, tugging his shoulder a little, willing him to let you hold him. He doesn’t budge, so instead you rub his shoulder with your hand, perhaps a little awkwardly. But you are desperate to comfort him somehow, to make it all go away. 

“He’s Jack’s age - he was Jack’s age,” Aaron explains. He leans forward, cradling his face in his hands. “And we caught the guy, but we were too late to save the boy. Logan.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you stay silent, moving your hand to rub the vast plain between Aaron’s shoulders. “I kept it together at the police station,” Aaron continues. He never talks about work this much. You hate the reason why, but you feel honored that he is revealing all of this to you. 

You have a VIP membership to all of Aaron, whereas everyone else just gets that put-together, statue-esque version of him. The marble cracks when he finally finds a moment of respite around you. “On the plane, I kept it together. And I usually go straight into my office after we land. I usually get my reports done before I come home.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, so he knows you’re actively listening. Your hand travels up to the nape of his neck, and you press your thumb into the fatty tissue there. You swipe your thumb across his hairline. 

“I couldn’t do it this time. I needed a moment of relief. Longer than a moment, I guess. I got in my car and I drove straight here.” Aaron continues. He doesn’t usually talk this long. But you let him get it all out. Sometimes rambling and spewing every thought in one’s head is the best way to get all of the hurt out. 

“How long have you been home?” You ask. Your eyes travel to the glass tumbler on the coffee table, with a brown ring around the bottom. Whiskey. 

“Maybe an hour,” Aaron guesses, his hands still blanketing his face. You gently push his shoulder so he’ll lean back against the sofa, and he does. You see now that he has started to cry again. His hands drop to his side.

He refuses to look at you, but you grab his chin with your thumb and your forefinger, tilting his head so he has to. Tears glisten those obsidian eyes like miniature diamonds. “I’m sure you and the team did everything you could,” you say. Aaron nods. He’s heard this before. You know he has, but you thought maybe saying it again wouldn’t hurt. 

“Yeah,” he croaks. You are genuinely at a loss for words. 

You want to offer solutions, distractions, anything, but you know it would only act as a band-aid for the situation. There is no solving something like this. Helplessness washes over you like a crushing tidal wave. Watching him crumble like this makes your stomach ache. 

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back defeated against the couch cushion. You watch a few silent tears fall down his cheeks. Your thumb swipes one away. It hurts to see him like this - so sad and numbed and broken. He’s your honey, he’s your rock, your superhero, and it humanizes him in a way you can’t stand. 

You know that if the positions were reversed, Aaron would be doing whatever he could, somehow riding that line perfectly of being attentive without coddling. So you pull yourself together with one deep breath and stand from the couch. Your hand extends to Aaron’s and he looks up at you with a confused expression. “Let me give you a proper hug, Aaron,” you debate calling him a pet name - angel or honey usually roll off your tongue like a second language, but this moment feels too heavy. 

He nods like he agrees and takes your hand. You haul him to his feet and envelope him into your arms. You wish you were larger than him at this moment, that you could cover him with your entire body and he wouldn’t have to feel anything else. 

Instead, Aaron hunches down a little so you can wrap your arms around him. His head buries into the crook of your neck, his hands at your waist, and he’s shaking as he pulls you so impossibly close you think he’s trying to absorb your body into his. 

Giving him the space to purge his emotions seems to help, and you embrace him like that for a long moment. It should be illegal for this wonderful man to feel so terrible, to be so ridden with guilt. After everything that has happened with his ex-wife, with the members of his team. You know Aaron carries it all on his shoulders. 

You want so badly to rip it all away from him. 

Like coaxing a stray puppy from the rain, you guide your boyfriend through the apartment. You take a shower with him - a slow, intimate act where you do most, if not all, of the work. After, when you’re running the towel through his hair, he’s still hanging his head, but the tears have finally stopped. “Thank you,” he rasps tiredly. 

“I can’t make it go away,” you sniffle a bit. You’ve been crying this whole time, yourself. “I want to, so badly.” 

“It’s not your burden to carry,” Aaron insists, and you freeze. The towel over your hands cups his cheeks and you make him look at you. 

“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong,” you correct him. “It’s not your burden to carry alone.”

[shaykappa]

Favourite/Funniest Line's from Crooked Kingdom

"Let's go." "Me?" "No the idiot behind you."

"How is-" "Nina is fine. Jesper is fine. Everyone is fine except for me because I am stuck with a gang of hand-wringing nursemaids."

"Now why can't people be this easily trained?" Kaz murmured as he crouched to oblige the dog with a belly rub.

"Did you know I am next in line for the Fjerdan throne? They call me Princess Ilse of Engelsberg." "There is no princess of Engelsberg. It's a fishing town."

"Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or wants to kill us?" "So?" "Well, usually it's just half the city."

"Big, blond and blind. The Fjerdan way."

"If I live I'll buy you waffles." "You don't have enough money to buy her waffles."

"Do you know what Van Eck's problem is?" "No honor?" "Rotten parenting skills?" "Receding hairline?"

"Isn't that how things are done around here? We all tell Kaz we are fine and the do something stupid?" "Are we that predictable?" "Yes."

"It seems everyone is forming alliances." "They're called friendships Kaz."

"You are very welcome Nina Zenik. You may repay me in the costumary way." "Waffles?" "Lots of them."

"I need to do this. I've never been to my mother's grave. I am not leaving Kerch without saying goodbye." "Trust me, you care more than she does."

"You are stupid about a lot of things Wylan, but you are not stupid. And if I ever hear you call yourself a moron again, I am going to tell Matthias you tried to kiss Nina. With tongue." "He' ll never believe it." "Then I 'll tell Nina you tried to kiss Matthias. With tongue."

"Come on, let's do steal all my dad's money. "Isn't it your money?" "Okay, let's go steal it back."

"I think you 'd flirt with a date palm if it would pay you any attention." "If I flirted with a plant, you can bet it would stand up and take notice."

"Yes, yes, Nina Zenik is hungry. Now, will someone feed me before I am forced to cook one of you?" "Don't be ridiculous. You don't know how to cook."

"On a dare I ate a literal through full of waffles and nearly went back for seconds."

"Pick up the pace." "If I spill a single drop of this it will burn straight through the floor onto my father's dinner guests." "Take your time."

"I am Dunyasha, the White Blade, trained by the Sages of Ahmrat Jen, the greatest assassin of this age." "Doesn't ring a bell."

"Fate brought me here." "And does fate pay your wages?"

"My parents thought I would drown because I crawled into the sea as a baby, laughing." "Perhaps they were worried you would talk yourself to death."

"Kaz. You may not be glad we are alive, but we are glad you are alive."

"You are better than waffles, Matthias Helvar." "Let's not say things we don't mean, my love."

"Are you mad?" "I'd probably be happier if I was."

"You have to be the craziest bastard I ever met." "I'll take that as a compliment."

"My leg! My leg!" "I recommend a cane."

"What is wrong with him?" "Same thing that's always wrong with him. He's Kaz Brekker."

Jesper followed Wylan down the hall. "Hey." Wylan kept going.

"Jes, I 've thought about this-" "Thought of me? Late at night? What was I wearing?"

Wylan ran his tongue over his lips and spat in his father's face.

He was pale, with tufty orange brows and a hunched posture that gave him the look of a giant shrimp.

He felt bad for the guy. Not bad enough to wake him up and untie him, but still.

"I 've been shot!" He had not been shot.

"How about I push you in the canal and we see if you know how to swim?"

"Tell you what. When the day comes, mark it on your calendars. I can think of a lot of people who 'll want to throw a party.

"Wait. Is my tie straight?"

[adnauseum11]

Bomb (John Price x Reader)

My insomnia is keeping me up and this kept me occupied.

Summary: Kate Laswell corners John Price with a loaded question. John admits to some startling news.

less than 1k words

SFW

no CW

Besides his mother, Kate Laswell knows John Price better than anyone. So, when they convened their bi-monthly poker game, she knows something's up almost immediately. John obliged her curiosity by playing well enough to make it down to the last three players, thus enabling her to trap him in the kitchen to question him away from the eyes and ears of the few remaining guests.

“How’s retirement treating you, John? Anything new?”

John raised a brow at the open-ended question, twisting from the sink where he was rinsing glasses. 

‘It’s fine, Kate. Why do you ask?” The near formal response confirms her suspicions.

“You look like you’ve been trying to crack quantum mechanics all night.”

“Poker is hard.” John said lamely in a last-ditch attempt to not have this conversation. 

“Not that hard. Not for you. What’s up?” 

John sighs heavily and gives up on his self-assigned task. He fully turns, hands fisting on his still trim hips and assesses how doggedly Kate’s going to chase this. It’s Kate though, so he resigns himself to admitting his most recent conundrum.

“I have a friend. Known her since I before I shipped off to join the infantry. Our circle of friends grew apart but we stayed in touch.” John downplays their friendship, or that his routine when coming off a mission is to text her straight away.

Kate’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline in surprise. John has never mentioned this woman. Sure, talk of personal lives is limited in their line of work, but they had spent years developing a friendship beyond their professional one. Kate thought she knew him pretty well, all things considered. 

“What’s the problem? She get herself into something she shouldn’t have?” Kate asks, going for the obvious.

“No, nothing like that. Although I wouldn’t be surprised, the woman’s middle name ought to be trouble.” The ghost of a fond smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“What is her middle name?”

“Grow up, Kate.” John rolls his eyes; he’s spent years keeping his work life and his small personal life separate. He’s not about to compromise that like a rank amateur. 

“Worth a shot.” Kate smiles and crosses her arms over her chest, waiting John out. 

“I’ve asked her out, we’ve gone on a few dates.”

“And? I’m still not hearing a problem. Really never would have pegged you for melodrama, John.” Kate chides gently, enjoying the disapproving look he sends her way. 

“Mind yourself, I’m retired not dead.” John grumbles, crossing his own arms over his broad chest.

“So, what’s the issue? You decide you like being friends better and it’s awkward now?”

“No. Nothing like that. Actually, the opposite of that. But, ah… I’m not sure we’re on the same page.” He scrapes his nails through his facial hair in a reflexive gesture.

Kate’s face softens as she realizes what he’s saying and turns, going on tiptoes to reach a high cabinet. It’s filled with liquors and she pulls a scotch down, pouring them each a few fingers of the amber liquid. 

“Cheers old man. Welcome back to civilian life. Relationships are hard.”

“Thanks Kate. Very helpful.” John nods and sniffs his drink before taking a taste. 

“I find it hard to believe a woman who has apparently known you for years, and has agreed to go on multiple dates with you isn’t attracted to you, John.”

“She shuts me down, won’t let me do anything but kiss her.” 

John throws the rest of the drink back in one swallow with that admission and Kate watches her old friend for a moment. 

“How long you been in love with her?” 

John chokes, coughing and thumping himself on the chest before raising his eyebrows incredulously at Kate. 

“Never said anything about love –“ 

Kate doesn’t let him finish.

“This is the first I’m hearing this woman exists and I’ve known you for the better part of two decades, John. You have gone out of your way to keep her to yourself, for a very long time. She’s got to mean something to you. So, you’re all in on this relationship now that your life has stabilized and she’s dragging her feet. Is that it?”

“Fuckin’ hell Laswell.” John’s reaching for the bottle of scotch to refill his glass.

“Find out why she’s dragging her feet and fix it you idiot. No risk no reward, you know that better than anyone. Now who’s got to grow up?” Kate raises her own brow back at a gobsmacked John. 

“You make it sound easy.” 

“Well, it’s pretty straightforward. Easy is another story. That’s between you and…?”

The look John gives her is withering before he throws back another drink. 

[kaceythecrunch]

·:¨༺ The little things matter.. ·✮· C.S༻¨:·

Summary : Just a bunch of of fluff bc I love Chris<3. No but fr, just like a reg day with your boyfriend.

A/C : my bad for not posting lately. I'm lazy as fuck.

W/C : 1.6k+

Chris always believed he wasn’t a lovey type of guy. He didn’t think he would show much affection to his girlfriend. And even though we’re dating now, he still is in denial that he is an affectionate person. But I always tell him, the little things matter. 

Beep Beep Beep. 

Our alarm goes off. Practically pleading for us to start our day. I’ve already snoozed it 8 times. *Give me a break.* I turn to my boyfriend, make sure he wakes up. “Chris..It's already 9 am, we’ve got to start today.” He says in his morning voice, “nng…5 more minutes trust me.” He starts to pull on the blanket and snuggles into the sheets more. 

I stand up trying to start my day. Until my movement was interrupted by Chris pulling my arm. “Please, just stay in bed with me a little bit more.” Of course I give in and get closer to him. I can tell he is still sleepy, but he’s trying hard not to actually fall asleep again. He brings his hand to my face, gliding one of his fingers on my jawline. Then starting to play with my hair. “Chris..” I say, smiling at him. “Hmmm…” He mumbles. “We for real have to get up now. Today can’t be our lazy day,” I tell him. “Nng..why not.” He says, still sleepy. “Well because yesterday was our lazy day. We can’t be lazy two times in a row.” I explained to him. “Ugh..fine..” He gives in. 

He is still playing with my hair. “Like are you sure we can’t have two lazy days?” he looks at me, practically begging for another lazy day. “Yes, we can’t have two lazy days. Cmon, let's get up and do something with our lives, kay’?” I say, smiling at him, urging him to get up. I pull his arm and he moves slightly. “Fine…You’re like I love you. I would have not listened to you If I didn’t” I smile, “Okay cmon lets get ready.” 

I start to make my way into our bathroom. I grabbed my toothbrush, then he put the toothpaste on both and handed chris’ toothbrush to him. I turn on the buzzer and brush my teeth. I looked in the mirror, but the only thing I could focus on was him. His messy hair, the pjs. I look, and see that his eyes are focused on me. “Hey, you mind?” I told him. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M LITERALLY LOOKING AT MYSELF.” He yells out, slightly embarrassed. 

 

“Shush…you’re gonna wake up everyone else in the house. I was just kidding” I say, patting his back. “Like I've stated, I don’t think I'd do that lovey dovey bullshit.” he explains as he is rolling his eyes. I tell him, “It's the little things that matter.” he smiles. We finish brushing our teeth, and our morning routine.

I decided to drive both of us to a local coffee shop. “You’re like my passenger princess, huh?” I say, laughing at him. He looks at me, grossed out. “Okay, don’t call me your passenger princess. That's just weird.” I continue to laugh, “But you literally are my passenger princess. I have spare pepsi cans for you in the back of my car. I’m legit your sugar daddy, driving you to places. ” I look at him, raising one eyebrow, smirking. “I am seriously not a passenger princess, do not call me that.” He says, trying to act all serious. “Alrighty tough guy.” He scuffs in response. 

We finally arrived at the establishment. I turn to him as we are walking in, “What do you want?” He thinks, “Please waffles. The most superior break-y.” “Okay Okay.” I say, as we walk in and wait in line. He turns to be and looks at my hair. “You hair is fucked up.” I cover my head with my hands. “Wait, thats so embarrassing, how fucked up??” I say, kind of worried. “Don’t worry, lemme just help you.” He starts to fix the strands of hair that I missed getting ready this morning, and making sure that my hairline is straight. “Are you sure this is alright?” I double checked, “Yes, I’m sure it’s fixed.” He responds. I smile, knowing that he realizes how affectionate he actually is. 

I order, and we grab our food and sit at one of the tables. “Can I have a sip of your drink?” I ask, “fine, only a sip.” he responds. I smile and I start to pour the drink into my mouth, “I said a sip!!” He tried to take away the drink, but it ended up spilling all over my mouth. My hands are up, my jaw is dropped, and I just look at him in shock. “That’s your fault for not listening. You know Pepsi is my roman empire.” He says, though he still decides to grab a napkin and wipe the mess all over me. “You look disgusting right now.” 

He cups one of my cheeks with one hand, and with the other hand is cleaning off the wet stuff off my face. “Nng, chris..I’m an adult. I can clean myself up.” I told him. “I know but it's okay. You look like a mess right now.” I frown. “I can tell..” He smiles, “this is kind of funny.” He sits down and brings out his phone. “Say cheeseeee.” My eyes widen, “NOO CHRIS-” He snaps a picture, and turns his phone to me. “I’m keeping this picture forever.” I look, in shock. “That is probably the worst picture you could ever take of me..” he laughs. “I think this shows the real you.” I question, “the real me?” 

We finish, and walk out of the place. “So, where to?” He asks. “Can we pleaseee PLEASEEE go to the mall.” I beg. “I really need to buy more clothes. He agrees and we get on our way. 

We get to the mall, and of course it's busy. A bunch of teens, families, and other couples. There is one couple making out in the middle of the mall walkway. Chris turns and whisper’s to me, “how the fuck does someone have the confidence to do that?? Imagine I just stare hard, do you think they’d get uncomfortable?” I responded, “well obviously, you’re staring hard at them.” He explains, “but that's like what they want..I love you, but I would never show PDA like that.” I laugh, “well I’m hoping you never show PDA to me like that..” 

As we strolled around the store, I of course, picked up things that I wanted. I walked into a plushie store. I’ve been wanting to get a panda plushie for myself. I was roaming around the aisles looking for one, until I got distracted. Something caught my eyes. A deer plushie. “Awww, this plushie reminds me of chris. I’m definitely getting this one.” I pay, and walk out of the store and meet chris. I notice he also has a bag. I ask, . “Hey, what did you get?” he looks at my bag, “nothing special what about you?” I shrug. “Nothing special either.” 

We begin to walk around the mall again. He looks down. He noticed that my laces of my shoes are flapping around.  “Your shoes are untied, let me tie them for you.” He pulls me to the side and bends down to tie my shoes. “I’m actually so in love with you to the point, everytime your shoes are untied, I will be more than happy to tie your shoes. You know?” He says, “Aww, you’re so sweet!!” I pat his shoulders. “Ew, was that corny or was that good enough?” I smile, “No no no, it was super sweet. Trust me!” He stands up and smiles.

“I can’t take this.” I took out the deer plushie from the baggy, “I saw this, and it reminded me of you.” He smiles, slightly flushed. He takes the plushie. “YESS!! A deer plushie? Are you for real?” I smile, “yeah! For starters, your favorite animal is a deer. Secondly, you just remind me of a deer.” He smiles at me, “thank you so much..” He kissed my cheek. I'm surprised because Chris doesn’t like PDA. In fact, he hates PDA. So a kiss was surprising for him to do. He says, “The little things matter.” he continues, “In fact I also have something here too!” He pulls out a bear plushie. “YOU’RE UNREAL!! A BEAR PLUSHIE. I’m gonna marry you. Gift giving is my Roman empire!.” I give him a big hug. “I love you so much holy shit!!”

After the mall adventures, we get home and plop on the couch. “Chris, I had way too much junk food today…” He turns to me, “me too.” I lay my head back. “I think we should start eating better..ugh.” He kisses the tips of my nose, then my upper lips. “Today was a long day, hm?” He fully turns around, my back is facing him. He grabs my shoulders and gently rubs them. “Hmm..yeah.” I responded. “You know how you’re always saying that you aren’t an affectionate person?” Chris shakes his head. “Well, I think that you are the most affectionate person I know. I appreciate that, Chris. You make me really happy.” He smiles. “I don’t know. There is just something about you that makes me feel all sappy and corny. I mean, I guess that's just what love makes you feel. The little things matter.”

A/N : YOU MADE IT TO THE END?? WOOP WOOP. Anyways, I always make fanfics at 1am. I think that's the time I'm in my feels. Anyways.. If you enjoy my writing, you should totally like flood my inbox with more fanfic ideas. Im cooking up a nick sturniolo x male!reader right now. So yk.... Also, if you wanna be on the taglist, just reply<3!! Glad y'all enjoyed.!!

Taglist : @mayhem-72

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿

[lookismfanfics]

Hello my love may i req a gun x reader fluff where we go out on a ice cream break with him

Of course luv!

𝐈𝐜𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

Gun x Reader

Genres: Fluff, slice of life

🝮 Gun genuinely believes his hair will one day fall out. He’s seen it happen to the most attractive of men. They go bald.

🝮 It’s mainly due to the physical and mental strain he goes through.

🝮 If it weren’t for you… he’d probably have a receding hairline already.

🝮 You clasp his hand tightly and lean against his sturdy frame. Even the warm weather can’t keep you two apart. He blames you for being clingy, when in reality his grip on you tightens the moment you start to drift away.

🝮 It’s not too hot. Not too cold. He still gets away with wearing one of his suave coats.

🝮 You manage to wear your usual attire, too. Gun likes your sense of style, although he’s begrudging to admit it and boost your ego. (Even if you don’t have one.)

🝮 “You seem so tense,” you chide, releasing his hand to feel at the solid muscles in his back. His form is rigid and upright. Just as you suspected.

🝮 “That’s why I agreed to do this,” Gun deadpans. His sunglasses catch the light as he looks over at you. You’re unable to return the eye contact 👀

🝮 “Aw, okay. So not because I’ve been telling you about this ice cream store for weeks?”

🝮 “No.”

🝮 Seeing you happy melts his stress away.

🝮 You stroll into the shop and wait in line. Even if the wait time is short, Gun steals impatient glances at those ahead. He massages your shoulders absently.

🝮 You? Pay? Not a chance. His credit card is already fitted into the slot before you can even open your wallet.

🝮 “He’ll have the same as me,” You say. You already know his order. You share the same taste.

🝮 Gun doesn’t smile very often. He does when he hears that. It’s more a smirk than anything. Just a fleeting cocky expression that leaves as quickly as it comes.

🝮 Whether you sit outside in the warm sun, or coop yourself inside and huddle in a booth, it doesn’t matter.

🝮 Gun will offer to feed you icecream with a straight face. Take off his glasses, hold eye contact with his white pupils, and stare at you as you lick the flavor off the spoon.

🝮 He’ll try not to smile. You’ll catch him doing it anyways.

🝮 He barely touches his until you’re almost done, to make sure you don’t want some of his if you’re still hungry. Eventually he’ll start spoon feeding himself. His head ducks towards the table and he eats it in an almost elegant fashion.

🝮 You stroke his hair until you manage to loosen the gel. It slacks onto his forehead and flops around with almost every move.

🝮 You move to wipe your mouth with a napkin. He’ll wipe it off for you. You can’t reach the flavor that sits on the side of your cheek. He’ll lick it off for you.

🝮 As you leave he fits his fingers into yours and pulls you against his side.

🝮 “Thanks for paying Gun.”

🝮 “No need to thank me.”

🝮 You catch another smirk spreading across his face. You click his sunglasses and laugh. When you feel for the tension in his back, you realize it’s disappeared.

🝮 (On the walk home Gun asks you about balding and if you think it’s attractive?)

🝮 (You ask him if he thinks having a big dumptruck is a problem. He tells you you’re f-ed in the head.)

🝮 Idk what’s wrong with him 💁‍♀️

[buckymorelikefuckme]

most ardently

lloyd hansen x fem reader

words: 1.1k

warnings & tags: probably inaccurate regency era, pride & prejudice (2005) inspired, i've made lloyd quite soft in this i'm so sorry, enemies to (implied??) lovers, some natasha/sam crumbs even though they're in a totally different franchise/universe pls let me have this, idk idk idk idk it's just!!! this!! also my bad @ mr. collins

a/n: p sure i mentioned being on a jane austen kick lately so this is definitely the result of that. literally wrote this just now so it's absolutely unbeta'd or proofread and i honestly don't know if it even makes sense. might delete it later, we shall see. anyway! feedback is highly encouraged and greatly appreciated. xo

“May I have the next dance?”

Your joyful laughter, shared with your dearest friend, Natasha, abruptly cuts off at the sound of his voice. You blink a few times, as if that will help make sense of the scene before you. The chatter of the ball fades away for the briefest moment.

Mr. Hansen stands stiffly, his spine straight as an arrow, chin held high. His expression holds his ever present disdain and aloofness, but his eyes… For the first time, you're sure you see a hint of uncertainty. It looks rather misplaced on him, especially since he's quite vocal of his own assuredness in practically everything, and yet, there it rests.

“You may,” you hear yourself respond after a pause.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Natasha’s head turn to you in a snap, no doubt mirroring your internal shock at your reply, but your gaze remains held by the man before you. Mr. Hansen’s shoulders loosen imperceptibly and he nods, giving you a quick bow and waiting for your polite curtsy. He lingers, looking as if he wants to say more before he seems to think better of it and finally leaves.

As soon as she deems it alright, Natasha is dragging you behind her hastily, leading you to a more quiet corner in a different room, whirling around to face you with her eyebrows almost reaching her hairline.

“What have I done?” you whisper in a panic.

She raises one of her hands to cover her amused grin. A stifled giggle from her makes you let out a hysterical one of your own, and then the dam breaks. You're back to laughing together, though for an entirely different reason this time.

“Perhaps you will enjoy your time with him,” she suggests playfully.

You groan in protest through your smile. “But I don't want to enjoy my time with him.” With a dramatic sigh, you continue, “Though, I suppose it's better than allowing his misery to affect my mood.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I dare say he will not be the miserable one during that dance. He could surprise you, you know,” she counters, her expression pointed yet kind.

“Somehow I sincerely doubt that,” you reply haughtily, which has her giving you another pointed look that has you laughing. “Come,” you say, “let us find a better hiding spot. I want to keep out of Mr. Collins’ sight so I will not have to dance with him again.”

“That is fair,” Natasha concedes with a grin. “Hopefully we’ll find space near Mr. Wilson and he’ll finally ask me to dance.”

You do not have the heart to tell her that her confidence intimidates him, but you do still silently hope that he will ask anyway.

***

To her delight, Mr. Wilson does ask her to dance, just in time to line up with all the other couples before the music starts. You are among them with your sour-faced partner, Mr. Hansen. There are more than a few envious glares sent your way, though you cannot understand why.

Sure, Mr. Hansen is objectively a handsome man, and he's far richer than anyone else at this ball, but he's also blunt and rude and prideful. He leaves much to be desired with every unwanted conversation you have with him. It's as if he enjoys ruffling your feathers on purpose. Very unbecoming of a gentleman, in your opinion.

“Are you having a pleasant time this evening?” Mr. Hansen asks a minute into your dance, sudden and awkward.

“Quite,” you reply, attempting to maintain civility, but hoping to dissuade conversation.

Mr. Hansen’s brows furrow slightly at your curt response. “I’m glad the merriment is to your liking.”

“I should not think my opinion on the matter makes any difference for you,” you say, eyeing him curiously.

He clenches his jaw, looking away. “Right. Of course.”

The rest of the dance is spent in tense silence. No sooner than the music ends, you are curtsying and attempting to slip past him without having to speak another word. However, one of Mr. Hansen’s many admirers decides to take revenge on you for stealing a dance from him by purposely sticking out her foot to trip you. A gasp escapes you as you lose your balance, yet before you can embarrass yourself completely by falling to the floor, two strong hands catch you by the waist, spinning you around in their stronghold.

Your shocked gaze meets Mr. Hansen’s, his arm warm where it's wrapped around you, as is his other hand on your shoulder as he stabilizes you. His eyes, this time, are full of true concern, of worry. They trace every inch of your face, his so close to yours that you can feel the puffs of his breath across your chin.

“Are you hurt?” he inquires softly.

There's an odd, swirling feeling in your stomach, heat rushing up your neck to your cheeks at his proximity and the unusually gentle way he's handling you.

“I… I’m fine,” you stammer.

He cuts his eyes to whomever stands behind you, his face falling into a familiar and severe scowl. “I believe you owe her an apology for your childish actions.”

You finally manage to pull your stare from him to the accused person. The woman is flushed with shame at having been called out, stuttering through her, no doubt, half-hearted and insincere apology, her eyes flitting to the people watching the scene unfold.

“All is forgiven,” you rush, cutting her off. “Thank you.”

She shifts from foot to foot, pursing her lips unhappily, then finally curtsies and hurries off. Her absence draws your attention back to Mr. Hansen, who is still holding you securely and glaring at everyone else and their prying eyes, shifting them away from the two of you.

“Mr. Hansen,” you start, his head whipping back to you and his grip tightening. You exhale shakily. “I am grateful for your help, but I am sure I can stand on my own now.”

You see the exact second he realizes, his hold relaxing slowly, fingers peeling themselves off of your body as he takes a step back. For whatever reason, you feel wobbly on your feet at the loss of him. Mr. Hansen swallows as he rights his coat, bowing jerkily and turning on his heel to walk away. You watch his hand flex at his side, feeling the phantom touch of it on your shoulder.

Natasha enters your view, Mr. Wilson in tow. Her expression is full of questions, but you find yourself at a loss for any answers, your stomach and heart fluttering in what you can only assume is nerves at the near mishap.

That has to be why, surely.

…Right?

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

rough art tips to learn and then break at your leisure.

the distance between your eyes is roughly one eye. the corners of your mouth dont extend past the middle of each eye. ears are roughly in the middle of the tip of the nose and the eyebrow. the eyes are in the very centre of the head. the neck is just a Little slimmer than the width of the head (varies with fat distribution, but fat tends to build up under the chin). hair is easier to draw when you plot out the hairline and then where it parts. leaving appropriate distance on the side of the face (cheekbone area and back to ear) contributes to making characters look more realistic/hot as hell. i dont know specific tips for that so use reference. an amazing reference/study site is lineofaction.com . if you think of the face in planes it makes it easier to construct (look up tutorials). if you draw a spiral like a tornado it can help you figure out awkward perspective for extended limbs (look up foreshortening coil technique). tangent lines are when two lines intersect and cause visual confusion (when it looks like a line that defines an arm is part of the line that defines a building, for example) and avoiding them makes your art way easier to comprehend. quick trick to good composition: choose a focal point (where you want your viewer to focus), detail that area the most, and make sure various elements of the piece are pointing to that focal point. you can use colours to contrast hue, saturation, and brightness and make certain elements of your drawing stand out. drawing in greyscale can help you figure out values. using black in a piece isn't illegal but you should know what you're doing when you do use it- it desaturates a piece and if used as a shading colour can desaturate and dull whatever youre shading too. if you use almost-black lineart and then add black to darken the very darkest areas it will do a lot to add some nice depth. the tip of your thumb ends just above the start of your index finger- your thumb also has two knuckles and all your other fingers have three. if you see an artist doing something you like (the way they draw noses or eyes or hair or anything else) you can try to copy that and see if you want to incorporate it in your style <- this is ENCOURAGED and how a lot of us learned and developed our styles. there are ways to add wrinkles to faces and bodies without making the character look a million years old, you just have to keep experimenting with it. The smile wrinkles around your muzzle dont connect to your mouth or to your nose; there should be a small space in between smile or nose and the wrinkle line. eyes when viewed in profile are like < aka a little triangle shape. think of the pupil like a disk and apply foreshortening to it (it looks like a line when seen from the side instead of a full round dot). subtle gradients can add a LOT to a piece. texture can also add a LOT. look up Tommy Arnold's work (his murderbot pieces are some of my FAVOURITE) and zoom in. find those random little circles he added and try to figure out why he added them there. light bounces. there's lots of way light bounces. sometimes it even spreads through the skin. i do not know these light tricks yet but i want you to know that they exist. draw a circle to indicate hand placement, draw a straight line between that circle and the shoulder, and then (normally at a right angle) draw a straight line on top of that line to find the placement of the elbow. elbows are normally placed Just above the hip when standing and your arm is at rest. there are no bad colour combos if you're brave enough about it, just fuck with the saturation and brightness until it works. keep playing. try new things. add your own tips to this post if you want or even expand on some ive mentioned here. good luck go ham etc

[gadriezmannsgirl]

I'll Come With You - P.G

¡Hola! I'm back with another Gavi fic! And just like my last one is TikTok related. I don't even like TikTok but my Youtube feed thinks otherwise and I end up watching some!😅🤣

You guys can send requests, if you'd like. I'd love to do some! Or if you just wanna talk about anything, there's the I'm here✨ Talk to me little button. I'm friendly!😂

Anyways, I'll leave you to read the fic in peace. Hope you like it! Please, let me know what you guys think of it.

P.S: This will start to get annoying for all of us but English isn't my native language, so I'm sorry if there's any misspelled word.

WARNINGS: CRAZY TALKING PABLO AND VERY LIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE CONTENT/ INSINUATION (NOTHING DESCRIPTIVE OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT. IT'S SAFE FOR EVERYONE TO READ)

ENJOY!

You've seen a lot of times around TikTok these little prank, girls often do to their boyfriends, where the guys are doing nothing important and when it's really dark outside, they come up to their guys and say something among the lines of "I'm gonna jog around for a bit" or "I'm going to the store really quick" sort of thing to see their reactions.

You couldn't help but wanted to try it with Gavi, both of you were around the same age, but he definitely had a protective nature when it comes to you, his girl.

No matter who they were, what it was, nothing and I mean absolutely nothing and no one could hurt his girl or even think of it, because, just like he protects his teammates with a strong passion, he does the same with you. Or maybe more.

And he will not hesitate to get in a fight for you.

You knew it. And that's why you wanted to try it.

Gavi was currently on the sofa, watching a lil HBO series, Pedri told him to watch; you decided to start your little prank seeing him so relaxed, you didn't recorded a thing from it, you just wanted to know his reaction.

You pulled the hood of his black hoodie up to your head and went straight to lay on top of him

"Hola tú" He said welcoming you in his arms as you hide your face in the crock of his neck wrapping your arms around his torso, leaving a kiss in his neck.

You smiled feeling Gavi hum at your touch

"Hola" You said softly, you took your face out watching his profile

"Do I have something on my face?"

"Mucha guapura" (A lot of beauty) You joke around watching his smile slowly appear on his face

"That's what I used to make you fall in love with me"

"The ego just entered the conversation" We laugh lightly "I actually wanted to tell you something"

"Something's wrong?" You shake your head 'No' with a soft smile

"I'm not really tired, así que saldré por un ratico, you know... Walk it off" (I'll be out for a lil while) "Maybe jog around for a bit, 'til I grow tired"

"Okay, amor" He said nodding "Although, I have in mind something that can make you tired as well" You hit his arm

"Pablo Páez Gavira!" He laughed hard

"Ten cuidado, ¿Sí?" (Be careful, okay?) He gave you a kiss on your hairline and you slowly stood up walking towards the corridor where the principal door was

"¡HEY, ESPERA, NO!" (Hey, wait, no!) You heard his voice yell making you laugh lightly but tried to play it off when you felt him approach you

"What's up?" You asked

"You're not going anywhere alone, young lady" He said "It's too late for you to just 'Walk it off' all alone" He said putting his shoes on "So, I'll be going with you. We can walk around 'cause I also know you don't like jogging"

"Baby, no. It's alright, I can go on my own, nothing will happen"

"No, Y/N. I'm coming with you"

"Gavi, I'm-"

"I'm not letting you go out alone, amor. Look at you, you're beautiful, any guy would love to have you as his and I'm that fucking lucky guy and I'm taking care of you. I don't want you to be kidnapped without me knowing"

"What?" You asked in between giggles

"In fact, if anyone te secuestra, that would be me. I will not stand it if it goes otherwise. Imagine, me sitting here at home switching channels and the news be like: After a call from the police we can confirm, young lady Y/N got kidnapped. And I'll be like WTF?! It would give me a heart attack! And definitely not a good one"

"Who would call the police?! And after half an hour?!"

"I DON'T KNOW. But if you're gonna act this way with your kidnappers, I'm pretty sure they pay to bring you back here, I will accept you, gladly"

"Pablo"

"So, en resumen... We'll both go out, just in case, I can't allow anything like that happening to you. Not to you and not to my little heart... And if it rains? Dios mio, if it rains you can get sick and that means I won't get besitos for at least tres días!" (Three days) "No, señor, that's even worse. So, it's better if I just go with you"

You were laughing so hard, you were tearing up a bit

"¿Pero de que te ríes? No es gracioso" (But why are you laughing about? It's not funny)

You didn't replied to him, you just went ahead, grabbed both of his cheeks and gave him a kiss on his lips.

"Eres precioso. I'm not going out, it was just a prank, baby"

"Mentira" (Liar) He said after a while making you laugh again

"I just wanted to see your reaction of me going out alone at night" You laughed even more "Kidnapping... What the hell, Pablo?"

"I don't know, ok!? I was worried about you. I don't want anything bad happening to you, I'm sorry" You laughed while kissing his cheek "I don't even know if that made sense"

"Half of it, didn't" You said, lips still on his cheek and laughing "It's okay, I love you and I also love how much you care about me" You whispered against his lips, kissing them repeatedly

"I love you too" Pablo whispered before kissing you once more while wrapping his arms around you and bringing you close to him

"Is that thing that you had in mind a few minutes ago, still on?"

"For you? Always" He said making you laugh once more before picking you up and walking you through the house

°°° °°° °°° °°°

@gaviypedrisbride

[adaptacy]

A Found Flame {Pt.4}

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Previous Chapter) – (Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3)

A/N: forgot to mention this in ANY of the previous parts but i do have a silly spotify playlist for this silly man. includes a LOT of hozier because... i mean.... y'all know exactly why. (Link)

Word Count: 5.9k

“I’m not sure that I’m understanding.” You frown, leaning against his desk, raising a hand to scratch at your head, combing over his words once more, trying to make sense of them through whatever means necessary. “You’re going on a trip? You? Gale Dekarios? Mister stays-in-his-tower-all-day, the same man who sends me just to fetch fresh water?” You laugh, truly figuring he was joking. That, maybe, he was trying to play you for a fool – and yet he looked so terribly solemn, the opposition an unsettling sight, and his expression only served to further disorient you.

“Yes, the Wizard of Waterdeep is leaving his tower. I know such a feat is quite unimaginable, but I assure you, I speak with complete honesty. I have matters to attend to that require my presence elsewhere. I’ll be leaving you to the tower, though you won’t be completely on your own. Tara will remain here by your side,” he explains, running a hand through his hair. His hand pauses when it rests on his hairline, holding back the front strands to clear his view, and he looks down at the hide pack grasped in his left hand. He angles his head back up at his bookshelf, pondering which of the story is most necessary to bring along with him. 

“Damn, it wasn’t the flowers, was it?” You chuckle awkwardly, breaking your attention away from your mentor to look at the flowers you’d picked yesterday, showing their first signs of wilting despite sitting in a vase of fresh water. You had only Gale’s misfortune with plants to blame. He hadn’t opened up last night, despite your ambitions, but they’d brought a smile – and the faintest of blushes – to his face, and that was good enough. Though now in retrospect the offering-slash-gift seemed a little too forward, and your attempt at a joke stemmed from the mildest of insecurities that maybe the indigo petals had given him the wrong idea and rendered him uncomfortable. 

“Pardon?” He asks, standing up straight again, his backpack hanging loosely from the curled fingers that held it, and you look back at him, meeting his gaze. You can’t quite place the reasoning behind why your stomach sinks, but there’s no mistaking the discomfort of a growing pit in your abdomen. There’s a nearly mystical forlornness in the creases on his face, and his eyes appear dim; you’re sure it isn’t the lighting in the room that makes them out to be so cheerless, as he faces the sun and it lights his features up in all ways except emotionally. 

“Is everything okay, Mr. Dekarios?” You ask, your tone quiet and more anxious than you mean to let on. No longer leaning so casually against his desk, you dare to take a step towards him, head craning to the left as you search his eyes, though you only find them to be harshly guarded from your inspection.

“There’s truly no need for such formalities,” he replies, straightening out his posture and taking in a quick breath, a dreadfully forced smile replacing the careful line that his lips had been forming. He lifts the backpack, jostling it, and nods his head. “I’m alright. Well, save for the slightest traces of stress, if I may be so daringly sincere as to admit it.”

You pause your approach, not wanting to scare him should he prove skittish if you get too close, and you fold your hands behind your back, glancing at the contents of the traveling pack he holds. You can’t see much, but you are able to make out the off-white cylindrical shape of a scroll. “Might I inquire why it is that you’re feeling stressed? If you know why, that is.” 

Gale contemplates the request, a commonly seen – at least on Gale – introspective expression knitting his eyebrows, urging you to remain patient as he crafts a response. Eventually, he concentrates on you again, subconsciously dipping his head. “I expect the trip to be a long one, is all. I fear I’ll miss this sentimental belfry. As dusty and aged as it is, I’ve spent countless hours inside of these walls – If it weren’t for Tara, I’m quite sure I would’ve made friends of the bricks and family of the columns long ago,” he muses, his sarcasm tainted with uneasy contrition. 

“Well, you know it’ll be waiting for you whenever you come back. If it makes you feel better, I’ll keep my perfect fire bolts to my own trained hands until I have you to supervise me again,” you laugh, tone purposefully parodic to lighten the mood, but the older man quickly shakes his head.

“Oh, gods, no – you’ll be doing no such thing,” he forbids, his immediate frown quickly softening out of instinct, as though he means to hide how serious his disapproval is. “You proceed with your studies and your practice, even if it is only Tara who can be present to guide you. I expect the flame to be perfected upon my next arrival,” he chuckles, and you find peace in his relaxation. Unfortunately, his pleasant expression is momentary, and the amusement in his smile fades as quickly as it came, leaving you with an unfamiliar turmoil in your gut, some twisting mix of doubt and rue.

Intent on making said amusement return, you don’t allow your own dissatisfaction to reveal itself, instead choosing to gloss over the strange ache by shrugging and rolling your eyes, further pursuing your playful façade. “Well, with you as my mentor, I’m certain I’m already on my merry little way to being the next Mystra – I’ll most definitely have a seat at the table of gods by the time you return.” Your lighthearted tease earns a quick cringe from the wizard, the outer corners of his eyes creasing as he virtually recoils, and then chokes out a fractured chuckle, shifting his gaze to the left.

Before you can ask what agitated him to the extent of deserving such a reaction, he speaks, the distress forcefully plucked from his face. “Beware – that’s quite the promise you’re making. Though it would be nothing short of an honor for this old stone nest to have hosted a premature god.” 

“A bigger honor to have mentored one, no?” You remind him, cocking an eyebrow. 

“I’ll be pleased so long as you manage to remember me, even once you’ve reached such admirable degrees of power. Praise my name to the high heavens – should you be so inclined.”

Why his response feels so incredibly despondent, you can’t really place. His tone takes on a strange, distant hurt – as though he were dejected by the mere idea of your potential (though rather improbable) apotheosis. However, such an attitude from the man who was, himself, mentored and sponsored by the very goddess you so jokingly threatened is… certainly implausible – it has to be – so you brush off the feeling as nothing more than a result of his unrelated stresses accidentally bleeding into this topic. Clearing your throat, you approach him, and the next expression on his face comes in the form of suspicion, though whatever mild paranoia might be cursing him isn’t strong enough to convince him to step away from you. Once comfortably close, maybe even a little too close, you look to the books decorating the dark wood shelf, pouting as you contemplate. “Fiction?”

Even if it does take him a second to process what you mean, he nods, clearing his own throat and shifting his attention to the variety of options, all of them being books he’s read far more than once, but familiarity never did keep him from enjoying the plots, or so he liked to tell you. “Indeed. I’m aiming for something to keep me company in the case of free time. Stories tend to pass that time quicker than studies, and… I’d rather leave any education material behind – for you, of course.”

“Do you plan on having a lot of free time during your trip?” You ask, merely aiming to keep the conversation up as you scan his choices, weighing the possibilities as you try to imagine what he may enjoy rereading the most.

“In all truthfulness, it may only be free time that I find myself with,” he sighs, a quiet thump following his admission, and you look down towards the noise to find his travel pack now resting on the ground. Slumped, and open wider than it was previously, the contents are revealed to your prying eyes; the silver glint of a blade, the scroll you saw previously, a jeweled ring that glows with a faint orange, and at the very bottom is a lazily-wrapped bedroll, haphazardly stuffed into the pit of the bag. You expected to find a change of clothes, a little bit of gold for wherever he plans to visit, but find only an absence of what you deemed traveling necessities.

“Where are you going?” 

Turning your body reveals that Gale had moved across the room while you were investigating his package, and now he stood hovering over his desk, one palm flat against the surface. You were left only to watch the back of his head as he chose to gaze out at his balcony rather than meet your curious – and very concerned – stare. You know something is wrong, you’ve known all along, and you’d thought, or at least very desperately hoped you were overreacting. At least then you could ignore your aimless quells and instead put that energy towards cheering him up and making things better, but you are quickly realizing that whatever disturbs him is far outside of your pay grade, and understanding your hopelessness as an assistant is no help in overcoming his contagious dread. “North,” he answers, devoid of emotional attachment, his tone as dry as his throat. You shift your weight from your right hip to your left, an idle adjustment to bear whatever burdens he carries, aiming to prepare yourself for where this conversation could be leading.

“And… what exactly is waiting for you up north?” Your body moves forward in a slow three-step stride, your action haunted by the same hesitancy you exercised upon first meeting him, as if you don’t know the man who stands in front of you now. 

“Solidarity.” He inhales, slow and restrained. Then his head drops, releasing that same breath. He continues; “You’re a good soul. A fine housemate – an even better apprentice. You deserve transparency, but I’ve allowed our conversations to remain fogged by my own guilty conscience. Of course, all secrecy has really done is riddle me with more guilt, and yet I prolonged your innocence.”

“I’m… not following,” you speak tenderly, the tension rising both in the air around you and in your throat, grieving whatever confession he teases before he’s even announced it. 

“I won’t be returning. This trip will be my last. Due only to my own faults – there is no blame to be shared, before you ask.” He stares down at his desk, but then his focus shifts, and he watches your frame out of the corner of his eye, head just barely turned to see more of you in his peripherals. “I understand I’m asking a lot of you. To abruptly entrust you with the care of this tower, and my belongings, and darling Tara, it is a callous and inhuma–”

“Why?” 

Gale falls silent, his mouth closing, his preplanned defense never making it off of his tongue. There’s stillness for far too long, neither of you managing a word. It makes you wonder if he’s trying to be cruel, leaving your mind to its wandering, silently panicked thoughts. You can’t help but begin trying to decipher the codes in his body language, in the interactions you’ve had with him recently, in the hints of his teachings gone unsaid, or in the secrets he’s never shared. 

Just as you find yourself on a cliff’s edge of emotions, throat stinging with the urge to cry, your mentor stands up straight and approaches you, stopping when he’s a few inches away. He reaches for your wrist. He holds it, tenderly, the delicacy of his touch posing a silent request. Only after investigating the melancholy hazel of his eyes do you lift your wrist towards him, allowing him to guide it until you find yourself in a distantly familiar position.

He stands before you, holding your wrist in the space between your bodies while his spare hand takes a hold of the neckline of his robe, sliding it several inches down his chest, revealing the full mark of the weave, scattered brown hairs hardly shielding the brand from exposure. From there, he raises your wrist a little higher, and you recall the last time he allowed you to get this close, the memory leading you to straighten your hand and lay it against the pulse of the blight. Your touch is gentle at first, but when he gives a small nod, you ease your concerns and press more firmly, feeling the surprising softness of his skin, the texture of the hairs on his chest, and the distant beating of his tortured heart. 

Last time, you recall being mildly surprised at the heat it produced, as it had been centralized in such a small location. This time, you feel the artificial warmth radiating off of his chest from further regions than just the pinpoint location of the orb. And it’s much higher in temperature than you remember, his ribs home to a silently raging furnace. You can’t help but feel intimidated – not by Gale, but instead by what he contains. It beats much like his heart, but it’s slower, and yet even more determined. While you hardly understand why, you feel connected to a starving malice within him, some inhuman spirit that seeks a meal you aren’t sure truly exists, at least not in this realm. 

You look up at him, his eyes trained on the hand that rests on his chest. You’ve never seen worry so clearly displayed on his face; his eyebrows aren’t furrowed, but they’re firm, drawing faint lines in his forehead. His mouth doesn’t frown, it idles, waiting for the words to come to him before he makes any attempt to speak. His story is told in his eyes; the way he counts your fingers as they stem a connection with the weave, grounding himself in the stir of emotions, his gaze troubled and lost, nothing more than a clueless shell of the powerful sage he makes himself out to be. The powerful sage he’d made you believe in.

“It is the only god I answer to.” Gale meets your eye, the emotions that swirl behind his irises cause them to tremble, and you feel as though he seeks something from you. “It is all that I am; a vessel for the weave. I cannot run, I cannot hide, I cannot escape it. Try as I might to keep it satisfied, there is always more that it craves. This wildfire within me will reign carnage unforeseen by any prophecies, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. The artefacts – they hold it back, but I’ve found it burns with newfound impatience. It wills for destruction, whether it be the body of the host or of those around me. As difficult a choice as it is to make, it is an inevitable one, and I much prefer the former of my options. I’d rather no books be written about the Wizard of Waterdeep than bard’s fables on the extirpation caused by his shameful gluttony.”

“So you’re going north?” You whisper.

“So I’m going north,” he repeats. “I’ll travel until I reach empty plains, perhaps even uninhabited mountains. Some place quiet, some place lonely, some place where my curse will not befall others. This is my fate, and mine alone. I only pray that my final chapter is selfless enough to rewrite Selûne’s judgment of me.”

“Why haven’t you told me any of this before?”

Gale hesitates, and you see the ridge in his throat flinch as he gulps. “I thought it to be a mercy; to spare you from the truth was to spare you wholly. In hindsight, I recognize that this cat would claw its way out of the bag no matter the precautions I took, and my secrecy ultimately worked against my intentions – which I assure you, were nothing but the best – to protect you. Recently, if I may confess, I’ve come to doubt my decision to take you in.”

Your eyebrows flinch, you blink, unsure how you should respond – unsure how he expects you to respond. “Doubt?” You ask, deciding to allow him to share his story before you form an opinion on the matter.

“I believe I was desperate – not that I was fearful,” he clarifies, though the thin, watery line that sits on his lower eyelid betrays his defense, “but I reckon I didn’t think over my original promise to you as thoroughly as I should have. The truth is, I needed a second life. A chance to extend my own through a means that I understand, and have always understood, to be impossible – ambitious at best. I worry for Tara. I worry for this home. I worry for the secrets contained in my journals, or the studies that I have spent my entire lifetime, as short as it will soon be, perfecting and building. I yearned for an insurance; a way to prevent my existence from being a worthless one. If my intelligence enlightens no minds, if my studies save no lives, if my talent manipulating the weave means nothing, then I am nothing. I only wish to be more than a mere vessel for this scourge in my chest.” He pauses, his gentle hold on your wrist growing a bit firmer, and he closes his eyes, as though ashamed of the confessions he whispers. “My worries led me to you, believing you to be the answer to them. I never could have predicted that you would become my greatest worry of all.” 

Now, you let your lips curve into a frown, and he seems further wounded by your physical reaction. “More than a vessel? That’s–” You can’t prevent a scoff from leaving your throat, and you shake your head. “You’re not just the orb, Gale. You’re a person. You were a man before it, and you’re still a man now, aren’t you?” 

Gale’s hurt turns to confusion, and he shakes his head as well. “You’re not understanding.”

“No, I’m not,” you cut back, disbelief clear in your tone. “You’re the Wizard of Waterdeep. You act like you’ve never done anything of importance.” You retract your hand, and Gale is hesitant to release his grip, but he does nonetheless. “What are you even running from? If you want to make a difference, then stay and make one. Did you eat a bad meal? Are you seriously thinking straight?” You question, brows furrowed. 

“Your words flatter me, but I fear I haven’t made myself clear. I can’t stay. This mistake is not a mere embarrassment, this is not just an attempt to flee from my problem. There is no avoiding this fate. I’m going to die.” 

It’s unlike you to feel genuine frustration – anger – at a situation, especially one brought on by Gale’s words, but you can’t help the near boil in your chest. “You sound pathetic,” you huff, and Gale’s lack of insult only irritates you further. “Look around, Gale! Look at you.” You point at the black circle on his chest, prodding it with your finger. “You told me, when we first met, that you were a prodigy. That you were a master of the weave. I mistook you for arrogant, but that was being modest. You were, you are, Mystra’s chosen – who are you talking about now? Because I know it’s not the Gale Dekarios who has sheltered me, taught me, and supported me. I know it’s not the Gale Dekarios I’ve shared books and home with for the last year and a half.”

“You sound like my mother,” he chuckles, as if anything about the situation is amusing. “I’ve heard this speech before. You need not waste your breath on an inevitable doom such as myself. Please, save it. There are much better words to spend your time crafting.” He doesn’t scold you, he doesn’t defend himself, he merely deflects your disagreement, and you scoff – you’ve heard self-deprecation from him before, all of the prior remarks being attempts at humor, but there’s no sarcasm lacing his tongue this time around. 

“Do I mean nothing to you?” You ask, stern, barely keeping composure. 

That question seems to stir something within him, and he frowns. “Of course you mean something to me. You mean plenty to me – more than you may ever understand. Don’t be foolish.” 

“Yet you keep refusing to hear me out.”

“There is nothing to hear out,” he argues, a short sigh leaving his lips, signs of a growing irritation. You feel the need to latch onto that – to see him get angry means that he cares, and you needed to know that he cared, because he spoke about his own death as if it held the same importance as a simple meal. Like this suicide mission he threatened was a mere walk in the woods. It made you sick. 

“Grant me an audience, if you care. Even if you don’t care about yourself – if you care for me, as you’ve said you do, all I ask is that you listen.”

“There is no changing what I’ve been afflicted with – there is no undoing this curse I’ve wrought upon myself,” he continues, taking a step back and closing his eyes, searching for some kind of calm. If he believed you would grant him that mercy when he refused to have any mercy on you, he was more of an idiot than you’d ever expected. 

“You’re being unreasonable. For such an intelligent man, you’re closer to a jester than any wizard I’ve ever known. You are not just this curse – You are a scholar, and an accomplished sage, and a friend, and a son, and a mentor!”

“For the love of all that is blessed – stop talking!” He barks, shaking his head, his eyes squinted, his stress forming shallow lines across his forehead. He takes a moment, breathes, and then opens his eyes again and steps forward, placing his hands on your shoulders as though to steady you. “No matter your words, I am still a threat to every living being around me. The orb is unstable, I know this for a fact. I am living on borrowed time. Should I stay, I risk leveling the entirety of this city we call home and dousing it in a thick red paste that was once the breathing civilians. I have studied this feat, and all that may relate to it in even the slightest parallels, and there is no solution. No amount of words – read or heard – can prevent fate. Yell and bicker to your heart’s content, but know that it will all amount to nothing.”

“You speak without a care in the world for yourself. Aren’t you scared?” You’re pleading at this point, unable to grasp the idea that he’ll be gone so soon, that this disappearance has been building for as long as you’d known him and yet you remained utterly unaware. It was the content of nightmares, and yet he stared you in the face with such assurance. 

“I am terrified,” he sighs, grip tightening on your shoulders. “But I must trust destiny’s path for me. I will walk this road alone, just as I truly deserve. Your ‘great mentor’ is no more than a shell of a mortal man, and I have survived off of my greed alone. I could not be content with everything Mystra so graciously offered me, and I am facing the consequences of that naivety.”

“What are you talking about?” Again, you shake your head – you aren’t sure what else to do. You’re completely lost, unable to help the man you pledged your allegiance to. The man who took you in, who looked after you and asked only for your assistance in return for his undying generosity, is in need of assistance and you, his only trusted assistant, are completely unable to help him. It feels cruel, to him and to yourself. 

“Mystra was not merely my mentor. She was everything to me. My entire world revolved around her, and to an extent, it still does – She guided me to possess the wonders of the weave in ways I never imagined possible, and did it all while allowing me to share a bed with her, and find a place within her heart. I owe my life, body, and soul to her, and yet I was not pleased with the power she lent me.”

Only further confused, you blink several times, his words finding your mind a difficult place to settle in with the tornado of thoughts and feelings that raged within your skull. “You– You were her lover?”

“I understand it’s hard to believe, a mere mortal man laying with her holiness, and it only deepens the canyon that is my regret. I believed I could prove my undying love for her through means no other mortal has ever even dared of imagining. Well, through means only one other man has ever dared attempting. Do you recall the story of Karsus?” He asks, taking in a deep breath, and you reply with only a small nod. “See, when Mystra was resurrected to rule the weave, there was a part of the weave that remained inaccessible to even her great power. A fool I was, to believe I could retrieve that final piece without repercussions. In my pursuit of professing my boundless affections and gratitude for her, I opened a pandora’s box, and when Mystra learned of my disobedience to her orders, she left me. Rightfully so.”

“She what?” Your jaw slacks, the buffet of this new information providing only a headache where you expected answers. It made sense, now, why he was so touchy at the mention of her – this curse he found himself hexed by was caused by his feelings for her, feelings you never even knew existed, and she’d abandoned him in his time of need?

“As you know, the piece became one with my body, and has left me with an incurable appetite for the magic contained in enchanted artifacts. The temporary stabilization those consumptions provided has long past fled, and I find the orb entirely out of my control. Without satisfaction, it threatens to rupture, and it will reign tragedy on my surroundings with my body as the time bomb – you understand I do mean that quite literally. I am a danger. A threat. I am the blight within me, no matter your objections, however passionate and good-spirited they may be.” 

It isn’t only the presence of his hands that make your shoulders feel so heavy. It was far too soon in your apprenticeship for him to part, but with the urgency in which he spoke, it wouldn’t be long before he left. You were angry – or, at least you most certainly should be angry. You should be yelling at him, scolding him for springing this on you at the last possible moment, and you even go so far as to lock eyes with him, prepared to voice your pounding thoughts, and yet it’s the eye contact that renders you speechless. The only thing you feel aside from your confusion is a stirring guilt. Your mouth falls open, tongue seeking the words that your throat lacks, and you shake your head, pleading with him, pleading with his fate. 

Gale looks at you with pity. It stings worse, like salt in the open wound that was your bleeding heart, to know the man who would soon be forced to tangle with death took pity on you. The hands on your shoulders pull you in, and you lean into his chest, expecting to cry, but you can’t even manage tears. His arms wrap around you, and your upper half falls limp, relying on his strength to support you. Strength you’ll soon be without. 

It’s stupid to cry, and you’re almost glad that you fail to do so. It’s stupid to be worked up over. The entire situation is hopeless. Perhaps there is solace to be found in understanding that it’s inevitable, that there is nothing you could possibly do to change the circumstances, but you struggle to see that as a silver lining. 

There was still so much to learn – so much he needed to teach you. He was leaving you a fortune, a home, even a companion, and yet you were utterly ungrateful. He didn’t understand, he couldn’t possibly understand, that you’d only ever be satisfied with him, and there was no point in communicating that now. It would only serve to increase his guilt, and he deserved what little peace may come with believing you’d somehow manage without him. Eventually, you aren’t sure how long it takes exactly, you return the hug, your hands clasping behind his back. 

The mood is long past soured, but his warmth is unchanged. The comfort he provides is as persistent and reassuring as ever, even if it does little to quell your concerns. Your appreciation of him thus far, as endless as it has been, has certainly not been enough. So you appreciate this moment as much as you can, burning it into your memory. His warmth, the faint, familiar scent of sandalwood and sage, the sound of his breathing – his presence as an entirety. Memories would never do him justice, you knew that, but memories would soon be the best you could manage of him, so they had to be perfect, clear, permanent. Even when you tighten your hold on him, refusing to give him up so easily, he doesn't say anything, allowing the bliss-laced ignorance of fate to linger for a little longer. Where you just about burrow into his chest, his hug is much gentler, polluted by the bittersweetness of his proclamation. Although the contact is minimal and noticeably restrained, his chin rests on one of your shoulders, his stress evident even in the reticent huffs of his breathing. 

However much you wish otherwise, the hug too comes to an end, and Gale pulls away, leaning down to be perfectly eye-level with you, an all-too-familiar snide smile on his face. He holds your jaw with one hand, while the other remains on your shoulder, and both hands squeeze where they rest. “I have no doubt that you’ll make me proud. All I ask is not to let this place rot away without me. I don’t expect you to carry on my studies, or ‘gain a place at the table of the gods’. I only wish for you to find success. Follow your dreams, the whole spiel. Wherever you may find that happiness is entirely up to you. I’ll rest easy so long as it is found.” 

You return his smile – as empty as it is, you want to give him hope. Of course, it’s hard to pull from an empty trough, but perhaps he doesn’t mind. With a pat of your cheek, he stands up straight again, taking in a breath and returning his attention to the books he’d been perusing before the whirlwind of a confession. Helplessly attached, you lean against his side, shifting your attention as well. After a few moments of scanning, you approach the shelf and reach for the faded orange cover of a book, the silver words embedded on the spine having lost their shimmer long ago. Gale tilts his head, curious at your choice, and you glance over the cover before handing it off to him.

“The Would-Be Saint,” he remarks, taking hold of the book and looking over it himself. In search of a confirmation, he looks up at you, meeting your eye. You nod, and only then does he reach for his traveling pack and slip the book inside. 

“When do you leave?” 

“I’ll make my departure this afternoon.”

“I’ll miss you.” The words have to be squeezed out of your still tensely tightened throat, and you offer another small nod, not wanting to say more for fear of cracking. The two of you would never see one another again – you want to leave him with a positive image of you, you’d hate to add to his worries. Staying strong wouldn’t make up for your inability to fix the situation, but at least it was something.

“I’ll miss you too,” he replies, still smiling, and you wonder if he is attempting the same false composure as you. Your perception of him could never be ruined, or even damaged, but you remind yourself that you should still be grateful for the generous thought. 

Then, there’s a moment where you can’t quite read his eyes, as the anguish in his expression is clouded by some other, notably foreign, emotion. It lasts just a moment – and then he looks away, towards his balcony, and clears his throat, and the mystery vanishes. It leaves you with a new, small but certainly present, twitch of discomfort, and you attempt to follow his lead, distracting yourself with the surroundings. 

“I need to gather a few more items to bring along with me. If you’ll excuse me,” he says, dipping his head and moving towards the door. You reach for him, catching his arm and stopping him in his tracks. He looks back at you, his face slightly red, but you assume it’s due to the vulnerability he expressed in the conversation.

“Please don’t leave without saying goodbye,” you request.

He sparks a small smile, and he shakes his head. “I would never. I’ll return to you for a better final moment. I’d hate to leave this off on such a melancholy note.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You hold his gaze for an extra moment before releasing him, trusting him wholly; he wouldn’t lie to you. Especially not about this. He gives one last nod before walking away, and you decide to spend the rest of your morning in his study, picking up spare items that are out-of-place, making the room a little neater. It’s a nervous tidying, most certainly, but you hope it will keep you busy. And you want his final viewing of the study to be a pleasant one, not one tainted by his stressed irresponsibility. 

–   –   –

“I’ve made a mistake. A terrible, nightmarish, dire mistake.”

“Oh, you’ve made plenty of those, Mr. Dekarios. What is it this time?”

“I can’t leave. I can’t possibly leave.”

The tip of her tail flicked, and then a low purr followed, vibrating with a sense of pride – of amusement. “Foolish boy. You’ve realized, haven’t you? I’d believed you’d be clueless enough to remain completely unaware; you had me worried for a moment there.”

“Worried?” He squints at the Tressym, confusion replacing his guilty expression.

“You didn’t really think I’d be so eager to release you? Oh, you doubt me. I’m wounded. You don’t have the heart to disappear. You just needed a reason to stay.”

“I don’t want a reason to stay.”

“But you’ve found it, haven’t you?”

“Against my better judgment.”

Another purr, this one sounding more akin to a chuckle. “What mistake have you made, dear?”

“I’ve allowed my heart to overrule my head.”

“A wondrous thing, love is.”

“A treacherous thing.”

[ourtearsofrain]

Chapter 12- When My Time Is Up, I'll See All My Friends

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Genre: angst, hurt(literal)/comfort

Word Count: just over 3.4k

Warnings: AU typical events/threats/violence, aftermath of previous fight/injury and mental aftermath of certain actions from previous chapter, more fighting

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

Danny

The light touch of someone’s hand on his forehead brushing the hair from his face finally pulls Danny back to consciousness, the person’s fingers trailing down his temple before cradling his cheekbone gently. My mom always used to do that when I was sick. “Momma?” He presses his cheek into the palm, sure that they could feel his tears on their fingertips. He didn’t care, he was finally about to see his parents again, his mom again. After all these years, he could hug her again, feel her arms securely wrapped around him. “I’ve missed you so much.” His voice breaks as he chokes the words out, feeling completely and finally at peace.

His mind drifts to Daphne, wondering if he would see her too. He hoped he could. He hoped he could hold her in his arms, her body no longer limp but instead full of life again, so he could apologize. For what he had to do, for letting her down, for not being able to save her. What hurt the most in the end was that he couldn’t even save himself. Their sacrifices had been for nothing. They had died for nothing but The Garden’s entertainment.

His moment of calm quickly becomes anger and anguish at the reminder. He had killed Daphne, and for what? Out of mercy? A mercy kill was still a kill. He was a murderer, no better than the Careers who sought out the weak tributes to eliminate. He had found one ally, one friend in the arena, and what had he done? She had been his family. Family. His anger turns into sadness once more as his mind is ripped back to his mother at the feeling of fingertips lightly grazing his forehead again, just near his hairline. She would be so disappointed in me. “I did something horrible, momma. Something really, really horrible.”

“You must have hit your head pretty hard there, 7.”

Who the fuck-? His eyebrows furrow in confusion as his eyes fly open, thankful that the sun had begun to set as even the dying light strains his eyes. Terror courses through his body as his eyes land on Samuel, taking up most of his line of sight as he knelt calmly in front of him.

Danny immediately scrambles away from him, not caring about his apparent lack of want to kill him only to run straight into sharp rock behind him, the rope around his wrists tightening as he tries to wrestle his hands free. He ignores the pain radiating through his stomach and shoulder as he stands, looking for some way to escape. Samuel jumps to his own feet, his wide, wild eyes never once leaving Danny’s. Jerking against the rope again in hopes of snapping or loosening it, his vision cuts out as something pops in his left shoulder and he cries out in pain. Once again forgetting his hands were tied together, he tries to catch himself on the wall with his right hand, only pulling the left one up with it. Searing pain flashes up his neck and down his torso, feeling as if someone had shoved a red-hot knife beneath his shoulder blade.

As he collapses, he barely recognizes Samuel rushing forward to catch him, helping him to carefully sit back down on the ground. “It’s alright, take it easy. You don’t want to hurt yourself again.”

Why does he care if I’m hurt? Either way, I’m hurt but he’s distracted, I might not have the upper hand for much longer. In the blink of an eye, Danny hooks his wrists around the back of Samuel’s neck before yanking him down towards the ground as he turns him the best he can. In the positions they were in, both men sitting on the ground with Samuel’s back pressed flush against Danny’s front, his wrists resting against the soft skin of his neck, Danny could feel small strands of his hair brushing the end of his nose in the breeze. The other man was so close to him that he could feel his frantic pulse at multiple points of contact, from his jugular pressed directly into his wrist and his heartbeat reverberating through his abdomen and into Danny’s chest as he swears that Samuel’s breath hitches slightly.

Danny has the upper hand for only a moment as Samuel quickly recovers, sending his elbow straight into his stomach, hard. He gasps for air as pain rips through his abdomen, all other senses temporarily cutting out as he feels blood begin to drip down his skin. Panic courses through him as he realizes Samuel was no longer in his chokehold, having taken the opportunity to escape while he could.

Danny’s vision comes back slowly, blinking through his tears as pain pulses through his stomach. His eyes finally land on Samuel, his expression annoyed yet not angry as he kneels just out of Danny’s reach. “Why the fuck did you do that? I was trying to help you.”

“So that’s why I’m tied up? Because you’re helping me?” Danny pants out, anger flashing behind his eyes as he stares daggers at Samuel. If I seem weak around him, I’m dead. He’ll kill me, no question about it. “If that’s how you help people, then I don’t want it.”

Samuel rolls his eyes as he shakes his head, the action causing a single strand of hair to fall from one of his pigtails. Danny can’t keep his eyes from the other man’s fingers as he brushes it back, tucking the strand behind his ear before he brings his hand back down to his lap, tearing at his cuticles absentmindedly with his other hand. “You’re tied up like this because I knew you’d pull some shit like that. If Hazel were to come back and see that you had killed me, you wouldn’t have lasted more than an hour with her hunting you.”

“So, you’re still with Hazel? What happened to that little alliance with your buddies from 2?” His tone is condescending, choosing to turn his physical pain into what he hoped were cutting words.

“That didn’t work out.” His voice is sharp and short as he remembers Amaram’s betrayal, disappointed that his fellow Career had turned on them so fast. “Amaram attacked Hazel, so she killed her. Vanil is still out there though, no doubt hunting us.”

Danny laughs lightly, coming off as more of a scoff at his words. I don’t think Vanil will be hunting anyone any time soon.

“What? Is something funny to you, 7? While we’re on the topic, what happened to your little charity project, huh? Thought you were gonna be her big, strong protector in the arena.”

“DON’T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT DAPHNE-” Danny lunges forward as rage fills him, his hands heading straight for Samuel’s neck as he prays he would be just within his reach. Suddenly, everything goes black as he feels Samuel sink his fingers into the gash in his stomach, his entire body losing feeling. That’s it, now I’m dead. He killed me somehow. As soon as the thought crosses his mind, it’s as if he’s ripped back into his body, agonizing pain tearing through his skin, organs, and bones as he barely registers tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t even know what the source of the pain was anymore, whether it be his shoulder or stomach as he lacks the mental energy to try and pinpoint it, writhing against the stone below them.

“Kill me- Just fucking kill me-” Danny’s voice is weak as he rasps the words out, his sight no longer taken by blinding hot light and the pain in his body receding slowly but surely. He tries to focus on the form still hovering above him, finally registering that his hand was gently cradled behind his head as if to keep him from hitting it. “Don’t fucking talk about Daphne. Just- just kill me.” He feels his control of his body slipping as his energy drains, immobilized by the damage that had been done from their short fight.

“No.”

“Wha- what?” Panic flows through him as Samuel scoots closer, unable to move in his exhaustion and pain.

“No. I’m not killing you.” Suddenly, Danny finds himself alone, only able to watch the blurry form of Samuel walk towards what seemed to be a lake. He can’t quite place what was in his hand as he returns, trying to keep calm as he brings it to his stomach. Danny hisses as Samuel drags what felt like a wet cloth across his skin, another wave of excruciating pain radiating through his abdomen as he tries to keep his body from flinching away at the contact, knowing anything he tried would only make it worse. “You’re stupid for trying to attack me again; you’re tied up and severely hurt, you don’t exactly have the upper hand.”

Trying not to scream at the sensation of each swipe across the slash on his stomach, Danny clenches his teeth together, his fingernails digging into his palms. You can’t seem weak. If he thinks you’re weak, he’ll kill you.

“That being said, I am sorry for that, it was- it can’t have felt good. To be fair, I was only defending myself. I did nothing to make you think I would try to kill you, but you attacked me anyways.”

“Fuck- fuck you.” Danny grits out, his voice wavering. “But I- I would have done the same.”

“Me too.” Neither say anything more as Danny can do nothing but lie there while Samuel cleans his wound, his mind still reeling at why he would do this kindness. That is until Danny feels the other man trying to lift his hands slightly, placing them higher on his chest and away from his stomach.

Danny tries to fight back, embarrassed at how effortlessly Samuel was preventing him from getting up. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“You got a Sponsor Gift, medicine and shit. They gave you some healing paste of sorts; your stomach had almost been healed over before you pulled that little stunt. If Hazel gets back and sees how bad it still looks, she’ll want to kill you again.”

“Again?! And no, I can do it myself if you untie me.”

Samuel snorts at the suggestion, his attitude annoying Danny whose jaw clenches at the other man’s dismissal of his request. “No fucking way, I’m not that stupid. And you can barely move, let alone do this shit. C’mon, arms up a little.”

This is fucking demeaning. I can’t believe I’m letting him take care of me like this. I don’t need his help, I don’t need anyone else in this arena anymore. What if this makes him think I’m weak? I mean, he did offer and won’t let me do it myself. “Fine.” His voice is thick with defeat as he closes his eyes, trying to focus on his receding pain as shame fills him. He tries to ignore the heat spreading across his cheeks as Samuel lightly draws his fingertips across his skin, his movements slow and gentle as if he were afraid of hurting him.

“So, 7. What’s the other tribute that did this look like?”

“They’re dead. Both of them. And don’t fucking call me 7.” Danny opens his eyes quickly, training an angry stare on Samuel.

“Why not? You are from District 7 after all.”

“Yeah, but I have a name.” Danny inhales deep through his nose, his breaths beginning to even as Samuel applied the last coats of the healing paste. “If you didn’t know, us normal tributes that aren’t Careers are actually their own people, they aren’t self-absorbed with what district they’re from. You wouldn’t like it if I called you 1, would you?” Is he actually considering my question? I had expected him to scoff and brush it off.

“I suppose I wouldn’t. Well then, what should I call you?”

“Daniel.”

“What? No ‘Dan’ or ‘Danny’?”

“Those are reserved for my close friends and family. Last I checked, you’re neither.” His tone is clipped as he trains what he hoped would be an intimidating stare on Samuel as his hands finally leave his skin. “What should I call you?”

“Samuel. Or Sam, I don’t care. Most people call me Samuel.” Silence passes between them as they rip their eyes from the other, not knowing what to say or how to act around their former “enemy”. Samuel wipes his hand on the cloth, allowing Danny to finally notice that it seemed to be the remains of his t-shirt, ripped and covered in blood. “I need you to sit up. Need to wrap that and check your shoulder but I couldn’t do it with you unconscious.”

I’m past the point of shame by now, there’s no saving my image if he already sees that I’m weak. Danny allows him to help him sit up, bracing himself heavily on Samuel’s shoulder as he tries to stay upright. Samuel says nothing as he moves Danny’s arms out of the way gently, beginning to wrap a clean roll of bandages around his stomach.  Finishing and moving to crouch behind him, his hands find Danny’s shoulder, his palms pressing into the back of the blade as his fingers gently prod into the bone.

“The fuck-?!” Trying to arch away from the touch sending pain shooting through his upper back, Danny doesn’t get far as Samuel’s grasp on him holds fast, an annoyed huff leaving him as he continues to half prod, half massage the bone and surrounding muscle.

“Stop. The note said you shattered bones in your shoulder. I injected a healing medicine they gave you, so I’m feeling to see if I can still feel the breaks.”

“Note?? What note??” Samuel digs his thumb into the base of his shoulder blade, humming in satisfaction as he ignores Danny’s pained hiss. “Will you fucking stop that? What goddamn note?!”

“Will you calm your ass down?!” Samuel snaps back with an irritated huff, moving to sit in front of him once more. “Good news, I don’t feel breaks anymore; it should be healing, just still sore from the damage. And like I said you got a Sponsor Gift, you must’ve grabbed it right before passing out. There’s a note in there from someone named Luna.”

Oh my god. Luna. Danny’s mind scrambles from thought to thought, trying not to move and aggravate his shoulder or stomach as he looks around them for it. “Give it to me. Give it to me right now, Samuel.”

Despite his grumbles of Danny needing to learn some patience, he begins to search through his pockets until he finds it, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and handing it to the other man. Danny can’t seem to grab it fast enough, his hands immediately shooting out to snatch it from Samuel before he tries to open it despite his shaking hands. Skipping over the instructions for the medicine they gave him, his breath catches as he reads the last part.

“It’s not your fault, Danny. You did everything you could, and in the end, you did what you had to. I’m so sorry. Keep going for her.

-Luna”

It’s not my fault? It is though. She got caught trying to help me, and I wasn’t fast enough to save her. Danny folds the paper back up, doing his best to slip it in his pocket despite his hands still tied together. As he feels tears brew at his waterline, he turns slightly away from Samuel so he wouldn’t see them fall as he brushes them from his cheeks quickly.

“What’s she talking about? What did you ‘have to do’?” Danny’s blindsided by how quiet and gentle his tone was, how he could tell Samuel wouldn’t press the subject if he didn’t want to.

I didn’t know he had the capacity for even the smallest shred of kindness. I don’t want to tell him- I can’t- but maybe I can bargain for it.  “Untie me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Not a chance.”

“Why?”

“What if you try to attack me? I don’t trust you.”

“Well,” Danny starts, trying to reason with him. “I don’t trust you either, and since I’m the one tied up with no way to defend myself, I’m the easiest to kill at the moment.” He’s considering it, keep going. “And you’ve already proven that in the state I’m in right now, it’s easy to beat me in combat. Plus, you took all my weapons.”

Danny can see the wheels turning in his head, watching Samuel work through the pros and cons silently. “Fine. But I swear, if you try anything else, I will kill you without hesitation.”

“Deal.” He tries to keep his heartbeat steady as Samuel’s fingers brush against his wrists, gently untying the knotted rope beginning to cut into his skin. Danny sees something akin to apology flash across his features momentarily as he takes in the raw, red skin of his wrists, having begun to bleed in some places from his attempts at escape or fighting. As Danny rubs at his wrists to try and ease the burn, Samuel silently offers him the healing salve, his eyes trained on his skin. “No, I need to save that. What did you do with my bag? I can put it with the other supplies I have.”

“Can’t risk giving it back until we talk to Hazel, sorry. That is, if you accept our offer to be an ally of ours.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because we’re your best chance at surviving this shit for as long as possible.”

“And why do you want me as an ally? You two are Careers, you don’t need the help of some lowly tribute from District 7.” Bitterness flashes behind his tone, uncaring on if it made him seem ungrateful for their, Samuel’s, help.

“We might not, so watch yourself, 7.” Danny whips his head towards the voice, disappointed to see Hazel making her way towards them, a bow and arrow in one hand with a handful of berries in the other. “I see he’s awake.” She addresses Samuel, completely ignoring Danny as if he were beneath her or not even there. “Why is he untied?”

“We made a deal. If he tries to attack either of us, we kill him. His shoulder and stomach are healing but still sore, they make easy targets to immobilize him.”

“And what use is he to us if he’s hurt, hm? Have you gone soft Sam? Will I need to kill him myself?” She once again trains her attention on Danny, a devilish look igniting behind her eyes as she takes another step towards him. “You may have asked the question, but now you need to answer it. Why should we keep you alive? What use are you to us?”

“I know woods like these, and I have great survival skills for starters.” Panic flares within him, knowing that if his response wasn’t good enough for her, he would be dead before sunrise. “I can tell you those berries in your hand are poisonous. Sure hope you haven’t eaten any yet, otherwise you’ll be dead within the hour. And I would assume you went out to hunt but couldn’t get anything; I’ve been hunting with a bow since I was eight, I haven’t missed a shot in years.”

Hazel cocks an eyebrow at him, seemingly unsatisfied by his answers thus far. “Anything else?”

“I’m good at combat. Today I- I was ambushed by Vanil and the boy from 4. I may have barely made it out of the fight, but I made it out nonetheless. Can’t say the same for them.”

Both Samuel and Hazel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, exchanging a glance with each other at his confession. Samuel speaks for the both of them, his shock clear in his tone. “He’s dead? Vanil, I mean.”

“Yes.”

“And the boy from 4?” Hazel adds.

“Yes.”

Samuel speaks again, his voice still thick with disbelief. “And you fought them off at the same time?”

“More or less.” Danny holds his breath as the other two tributes look at each other, silently communicating about whether to keep him alive.

“Fine.” Hazel finally discards the berries, chucking them across the clearing and into a nearby bush as she drops her weapon. “You can stay with us. For now.”

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

Taglist: @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @milojames16 @gretnavannfleet @aioba1503-sdm @sanguinebats @cheersdannyx2 @musicislove3389 @holdingup-fallingsky @freyjalw @Maddie-Rae

[sam-loves-seb]

Hiii, 38, 39 and 40 for the gallavich headcanon game, please? 🧡🖤

hi anon thanks so much for the ask 🤍

send me a number and i’ll answer with gallavich hcs

38: What’s their favorite part of the other’s body?

Ian — Ian’s favorite part of Mickey’s body are his eyebrows. They’re so expressive, and always on the move, jumping up to his hairline or pinching together and wrinkling the skin between them. Every thought Mickey has ever had plays clear as day across his eyebrows, and Ian has learned to read them all. They give him away too, a little tell, when he runs a finger over his brow or scratched at it with his nail when he needs a second. A pause. Ian loves the way they jump when Mickey laughs, how they relax when Mickey smiles.

Mickey — Mickey’s favorite part of Ian’s body are his hands. Strong, sturdy, big. His palm feels warm and heavy on Mickey’s thigh when they’re watching tv, his grip strong when he’s pinning Mickey’s wrists above his head. His fingers are long, delicate but sure, and Mickey revels in the feeling of them on him, in him, tangled up with his own over the center console. He’s always brushing the backs of their knuckles together when they’re walking down the sidewalk, nipping at Ian’s thumb when he traces the smile lines on his face. He loves Ian’s hands; loves every single way they touch him.

39: What music/podcasts do they listen to?

Ian listens to a blend of indie/rock and Mickey listens to straight up dad rock. They both despise country music.

Ian will listen to the occasional podcast, but he’s not much of a subscriber to a weekly drop. He’ll listen to 45 minutes on growing tomatoes in the summer, but he won’t be back next week for the podcast’s next segment on watermelons.

Mickey hates podcasts. He doesn’t like it when most people talk to him, why would he want to listen to two strangers? (This doesn’t stop Ian from putting them on in the truck sometimes.)

40: Extra headcanon on your mind today?

I’ve said this one before but I feel very strongly about it so I’m gonna say it again: Mickey joins a boxing gym over on the westside. It’s his “thing”, as Ian puts it, his new hobby that only he gets to (begrudgingly) enjoy. Ian has his plants and his yoga and his gym buddies in the little workout center on the first floor of their building, but Mickey has the ring downtown with his two training partners that he’s reluctant to call “friends” (even if that is what they are). He goes every Saturday for a couple hours, and sometimes again on a Tuesday or Wednesday night if they finish their deliveries early for the day. He brings Ian with him once or twice, just to show him around and maybe spar a little with him, but Ian mostly leaves him to go alone. He likes that Mickey has his “thing”. Everybody needs one.

[azulera]

Hi! If you're still taking request I would like a Kylian and black reader blurb inspired by "Lovers & Friends" the usher song. :) :) :)

Way Back

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x Black Reader

Words: 1.2k

Notes: not very confident about this one :/ don’t know why it’s been so hard for me to write about kylian lately, but c’est la vie. and anon i hope you like

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The park where Kylian had asked her to meet was deep in the design district and crowded, but she'd found a clear spot on a bench near a tall, bubbling fountain. It was 9am, far too early to be awake and in the sunlight after the night of expensive white attire, multi-syllabic drinks and dancing they’d had, but since she’d known him, way back in the stuffy hallways of the lycée, he’d been an early riser. The text itself had come into her phone with a seriousness uncommon to her usually buoyant, playful, friend: I need to see you, to talk. Her stomach had turned as she read it, exhilarated and uncertain, but it wasn’t like she could say no.

No more than five minutes later, the crunching sound of wheels on asphalt pulled her eyes from the brilliant display of water. It was Kylian’s car maneuvering into the lot, and as he parked, he motioned to her out of the window. When she approached, the window slid down completely to reveal his smiling face, freshly shaved and smooth, and tan from the Miami sun. He was stupidly handsome, she thought, even when he should have been still jet-lagged and hungover.

“Ça va?” He asked, pulling her into a side hug through the window, with a kiss on both cheeks. She tried to read it as the normal greeting that it was, and ignore her stomach’s fluttering.

“Ça va, Ky. What did you want to speak about?”

“D’accord, straight to it.” He laughed, his dark eyes creasing in the corners. “Come on, get in. We will talk in the car.”

She met his gaze a moment, and watched as his own tracked slowly down her body and back up. Her eyebrows sprung toward her hairline. The earlier apprehension started to shrivel, and the “no-BS” attitude that had sustained a decade of friendship threatened to return.

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

She shifted her weight to one foot. “You’re looking at me like I’m a piece of meat.”

“Mais, non, I’m just, looking.” He denied, smoothing out the neck of his t-shirt. “Last night was a little bit wild, no? I want to make sure you are okay.”

It was a viable excuse, but the anxiety twisting up her insides wouldn’t stop showing on her face. She couldn’t fight the feeling that, as was custom in their friendship, he was joking with her, that this entire meeting was a ploy to build her hopes up, only to bring them down in a pathetic crash.

“Putain, je vais pas te mordre. Why do you look so scared?”

“I don’t know,” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Kylian.”

He sighed out harshly from his nose, turning his head, and her mind flashed to last night, when her friend had completed the same gesture while he had her pressed up against the side door of his car —the very same car she stood in front of now— both their eyes wide and breathing hard into one another’s mouths. The moment came after a night of flirty bantering that wasn’t unusual between them, but that couldn’t explain the heat in his eyes as he followed her through the party, or the hand that drifted lower and lower along her back while they danced and mingled with acquaintances. She’d excused it at first, blaming the loosening effects of alcohol on his straight and narrow system, but that moment, pressed body to body, mouths a desperate decision’s length apart, and his palms burning their prints onto her hips, crossed any of the lines that kept them on the correct side of friendship.

She wasn’t sure now that they, or if she, at least, could travel back to the other side.

“What? Do you mean about last night?” He asked.

“I mean, are we going to pretend?”

He bit his lip, but maintained eye contact, letting the question simmer, and deepen, knowing that the memory playing in his head was the very same as the one looping in hers. Her face and neck began to feel warm, and she forced herself not to touch the spots.

“You did not like it, then? What we did. Or, what we did almost. You did not want it.”

“It’s not that–“ She started, fingering one of the strands spilling from her quickly-done top knot. The jolting feeling of “Is this really happening?” rocked through her again. “I just want to know why.”

“And you are sure you don’t want to do this inside? Where we have some more, privacy?”

He looked around the park still filling with joggers and dog walkers, and she also became aware of how it might look, should someone stop and recognize him, or even worse, if they caught any snippets of the words being exchanged.

Still, she shook her head “no”. It was firm, and the wisest choice, knowing that the second she got another view of the car door, or trapped in the confines of his passenger seat, her resolve would melt like an ice-cream cone left on the pavement. His smooth words, his sweet smell, the fact that she would be within his arm’s reach - if she wanted any chance to reinstate their fraying boundaries, the conversation had to happen here.

“Okay, comme tu veux.” He leaned forward onto the window frame, his forearms flexing, and she held on to his every word. “Bien, last night, tu sais, you looked– beautiful. You do, always, but at the party–” He blew air from his mouth, and licked his lips. “And so many people came up to me, and they assumed that you were mine- I mean, that we were together. And I liked it. It felt, je sais pas, right.

Then, all through the night, it made me think. How you are the person I have the most fun with. How you know me so well. How we are compatible like – I mean, je veux dire, it is not until this trip that I realized–”

“Realized what?”

Her body flushed while he spoke, a battery of emotions blitzing through her, making her palms sweat in the morning’s rising heat, and the back of her neck tingle. Her chest, however, was heavy with the weight of the one thing she hadn’t allowed herself to want.

“‘Cause, I don’t understand. You had all these thoughts, because you liked how I looked? Or because other people thought we looked good together? That’s not – I don’t think that’s enough. If that’s all it is, physical, we should have just kissed, done whatever last night, and been done with it.”

“But, I want to do more than kiss you, Y/N. That’s why I did not. I want … I think … I want to try. If you want to.”

She knew what he meant without him spelling it out; just as she understood that this was him putting everything – the awkward adolescent fumblings and every longing look, joint off-season vacation, and pre-match phone call since then – out there, on the table, a cue for the pretenses and fears she’d built up to fall away.

“Are you serious about this, Kylian? We’re meant to be …” She took a step closer to his vehicle, her voice a murmur, and her eyes still stuck to his like he’d glued them there. There was nowhere to run, and, from the softness she read there in his look, there was no need to. “Yeah. Yes. I want to.”

“Ouias?”

She nodded, scared that more words would break the delicate thing taking form between them, which still didn't feel real. He had leaned further out of the window, but his next words reached her as if in slow motion.

“Last night I wanted you, amour. So badly. But all this time, I’ve needed you, I think. Even if I did not know it.”

“Prove it.”

The words flew from her without permission, but his eyes widened at the challenge, then burned. It lit a fire in her body the rest of the way down.

“Come here,” He crooked his fingers, the same cheeky smile on his mouth that had been there in the stuffy halls of the lycée, but now with something more meaningful, something reciprocated, in it. And just as back then, the door pulled open, and she found her way to him.

[titanicfreija]

Prismatic

"Kid."

"What's wrong."

"Help me out. What's this with the Light-Dark shit. Line is thin but it's good steel."

"... Sure. Meet me in the Pale Heart? Landing zone is fine."

"'kay."

~

Three expected a shit-eating grin, but instead the Titan looked more like she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to.

"What's the," Three gestured vaguely at her entire person, "about?"

She tried to stand up straight and failed. "Well. I don't really like it. And it always feels kinda awkward because I feel like I'm supposed to, you know? Whole big, grander than the rest gifts from the Traveler, blah. And I... Really just do not like it." She shrugged. "Fire is home, and I have to leave the warm parts to reach the Dark. Everything I like about Strand is too far away when I'm holding onto the Light. It's just not great. So it's embarrassing."

Three could hardly believe it.

"Thomas has really liked it," she said, and the Warlock emerged from his hiding place and waved. A cute little prank. Three only just didn't roll her eyes, half-sure it was Thomas's idea.

But then Freija put on her helmet and turned away. "So he's gonna help, and I'm gonna go play with the Hive and maybe clear a chunk and meditate." She sprinted off the balcony with no further ado, leaving her roommates to talk.

Thomas chuckled at Three, who couldn't peel her red eyes off him. "You're actually better at it than her?"

He grinned. "Sort of. She's better attuned, but I'm far better at using it and I'm learning a lot." He beckoned down the stairs to the room where Micah's communication table sat.

The cracks in the ground didn't feel like cracks. They looked like they should feel like something but the only texture was the roots of the tree. The pink 'hole' was as flat as the rest of the floor.

"Sit," said Thomas, perching on one of the roots. "Meditate, you know the drill."

She did. She never sat "right" for it, finding it easier to relax if she was leaning on something. In this case a tree root high enough to prop a shoulder and her chin on. One leg folded under and the other crooked next to her chest.

In she went. Swimming up, out of the void, into the Light. Only she didn't have her Darkness in here at all. Getting to her Darkness was another process.

And it wasn't gradual. The moment she decided to meditate for Stasis or Strand, she was in the same non-space with the two types and no Light, where she could choose one. If she tried to return to the Light, she would meet the Void again.

"Neat. You just popped over like you weren't Light-aligned at all."

"I can only pop over. Stasis suited me instantly."

Thomas chuckled. "I did the same thing with Strand. So, look around for the wall. The Line. Where's your Light types?"

"Up, down, and left," she replied. "Big empty space. Stasis and strand stand next to each other, forty-five degree arc. Light empty space takes work to get to."

"Try superimposing the view on each other? Like maybe next to the sideways one? Rotate the Light to horizontal and line up all five together? What order would that go in?"

"Left to right, Void, Stasis, Solar, Strand, and Arc."

"What happens when you try to touch both Void and Stasis at once?"

"Let's see."

The empty space was empty, and the Powers changed size relative to her proximity. At their smallest, they looked like they could be bowling balls, but right before stepping in, they were an entire world. The closer she got, the bigger the closest became and the smaller the furthest shrank.

So stepping to the halfway point between Void and Stasis created a sharp line between, with the hollow blackness on one side and the empty white on the other. (Everyone else called it blue, but Three knew Stasis as the translucent "white" of Polar Bear fur, a beast extinct since her death and rebirth.)

"I don't know why I didn't expect a literal dividing line," Three observed aloud. A hairline seam between the two vaccuums held Light and Dark apart.

She lifted her blue hand...

...and pinched the thread...

...and pulled.

She expected gray, as black and white would make, but instead the hollow white became a crystal shell over the universe, glowing and glittering, and the power washed over her, setting a calming chill over her heart.

She stepped closer and let herself drift into nothing, getting lost in the dancing crystalline stars.

"There you go," Thomas cheered. Three knew he said it but couldn't be bothered with responding.

It was so beautiful.

~

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