#worn-in feeling? We did the heavy lifting for you with this awesome white one that's literally the softest sweatshirt ever. It features pane

[writinginthedarkwood]

Alien! Kirishima x Reader: Better With You

Warning: NSFW, ovipositor kink, implications of past abuse (not done by our shark toothed boy)

I recommend checking out some of the other parts to this AU! MY MASTERLIST 

You can enjoy this without it, but reading the other parts might answer some questions you have. :) 

The tornado siren wailed. It’s a sound I’ve heard my entire life, but it’s taken on a completely new meaning. 

Before, we’d run to the middle of the park and take shelter with our neighbors. I remember being little, and hiding under the ground from the violent winds that would tear through our community. 

The piercing sound stirred all the sleeping bodies around, the light flicked on in my neighbors trailer. I watched her shadow hurry and throw things into a bag through her window. She pushed her small son out of the door as they ran to take shelter. 

Everyone in the park jolted awake, panicking and running in fear.

Everyone but me, and my father. 

My father whistled through his nose as he slept. He turned only slightly in that worn down chair, his foot kicking the pile of aluminum cans over, but otherwise completely unconscious. The T.V. was a loud rerun of a crime show, but it suddenly switched over to the emergency broadcast. 

The male anchor spoke with a shaking voice. “Paris is falling.” He swallowed hard. “Please take shelter immediately....” He held the paper holding his cues and set it down before reading the next line. “A craft was spotted over Lexington... may God have mercy on us.” The camera cut to the sound of the emergency alarm. I rushed and shut the T.V. off, my heart pounding. My father didn’t stir, still sleeping like the dead.

This was it, it was finally my turn.

I ran to the front door and opened it slowly, closing it behind me as quietly as possible. I climbed onto our garbage can, using the gutter to stable myself before jumping onto the roof.

I used to sit out here when I was little, breathing air that wasn't heavy with cigarette smoke.

The sky looks different to me now, like the stars were actually thousands of eyes looking down at me. Or that it might actually crack open, spilling thousands of bug like aliens down to the ground like in the movies. Even though people are terrified, cities are going up in flames and families are being separated. The footage they catch of girls being taken, they always go with a smile on their face.

Whatever was coming for me, had to be better than here.

"Wow the sky looks really cool from down here." A male voice startled me, I gasped and stared at an interesting looking soldier stood behind me. He had no shirt on, but a sash going over his chest was decorated with patches and medals. His black pants almost seemed a bit big on him, and one pant leg was tucked into his boots. He had brilliant and striking red hair, sticking out of his head like a spikey rock formation with just as incredible red eyes to match.

His teeth were sharp, but his face was gentle and kind.

He smiled at me and sat down beside me. "I wish I had more time to look around..." My breath was stuck in my chest, my hands were shaking.

Is this... man the alien? He dug in a pouch on his hip and pulled out a clay figurine. "I found this. I just think it looks awesome, it's for you." I didn't reach out to take it, my body feeling frozen with shock. He gently grabbed my wrist and flipped my palm over, placing a little frog statue in my hand. It was warm from him holding it. It must have came from someone's garden in the park. "I-..." The little frogs paint was chipped, but it was cute. "Thank you. I like it." I kind of smiled at him, not entirely sure how I'm supposed to feel. "I was hoping you would! You've probably guessed who I am." He said with a hint of blush on his cheeks like he was shy. "I was surprised to find you out here in the open." He thought for a moment. "Are you alright?"

I looked at him, his face was sweet and filled with concern.

Hot tears stung my eyes and I buried my head between my knees and tried to hold back a sob.

"Hey, hey don't be upset... I promise I'm not here to hurt you." His touch surprised me. His hand pulled my head out of my hands and turned my face to look at him better.

"Your cheek is swollen. Are you injured?"

I said nothing and his eyes narrowed. "Come here, come here everything is okay now..." He stood and helped me stand to my feet. He placed his lips on my cheek and parted his mouth, his spit making a small space sticky and wet.

A pleasant sensation came over my tired body. He pulled me into his arms, lifting my feet off of the ground and holding me bridal style. I laid my head on his chest, feeling warm and comfortable. I closed my eyes and rested on him.

Is this why all that footage from fallen cities had girls with smiling faces? They suspected brain washing. I don't feel brainwashed.

I feel good.

I opened my eyes to look at him and saw that we were somewhere completely different.

We were in some type of hallway. There were a lot of people here, couples walking together. Some girls looked a bit like me, wearing normal clothes. They looked a bit shaken up, and clung onto their accompanying alien tightly. Other girls were human, but something was different. They were smiling brightly, wearing all the same dress but in different colors and patterns.

A lot of them had small pregnant bellies.

He set me down on my feet and took my arm to keep me steady. "Welcome home! The ship is designed to look like a neutral place our humans would enjoy vacationing too."

It did sort of look like a hotel.

He opened a sliding door by placing his palm on the wall and we stepped inside. "You know you're a little quiet, which surprises me. But I'm hoping you'll warm up... you still have what I gave you?"

I held out the little frog and he took it, setting it on a plain white table. "Our first decoration!" He leaned against the table and crossing his arms, making the medals on his sash jingle. "You probably have a lot of questions. I am Captain Kirishima Eijiro. You can just call me Eijiro, but if you don't like that name you can call me something else!" He nervously laughed. "Wait that's weird. Am I blowing this? I feel like I'm messing up."

"I'm Y/N... it's nice to meet you." I stood there awkwardly and looked around the room. It was pretty plain, a small bed in the corner. A kitchen without any utensils. "So you're not going to... kill me?" I asked feeling like my tears might come back.

He looked at me funny. "No not at all. Did you think that and you didn't fight me?" Eijiro's face was very concerned. "How about you take a hot shower and afterwards we get you something to eat."

The bathroom was small, and the shower wasn't too difficult to figure out how to turn on, but I couldn't get the steamy water to shut off. I wrapped myself in a soft towel and just about opened the door when I heard his voice.

"Yes I'm worried about the wellbeing of my mate. Her wellness scan says her brain is imbalanced. I think she's been emotionally injured." He was speaking to someone, I didn't hear another voice. "Yes sir. Thank you your Highness. I'll give her nutrition and treat her with the medical aide you're sending by. I'll give you a report after a few days to see if her conditions improved."

I opened the door and he smiled at me, looking up from a watch on his wrist. "I can't get the shower to turn off." I said quietly. He happily walked into the bathroom and showed me how to work everything. He turned the water off, and showed me how to open the cabinet and get toiletries. "And if you ever just want to relax you can change what oils go into the water. They're good for stress, sleep, and even waking you up in the morning."

I stood there, feeling a bit exposed in my towel. Eijiro tried to discretely look at my body. His eyes darted over me quickly, but he managed to mostly hold eye contact. "I should probably let you get dressed. I have some clothes for you."

Eijiro gave me a red dress to put on. It had pretty flower patterns sewn into it, giving the fabric just a bit of texture. It was lightweight and comfortable like a night gown. "Before we get some food in you, I'm going to offer some first aid okay?" He opened the front door and grabbed a package that was sitting outside. He unwrapped a vial and prepped a syringe.

He sat down beside me. "Things are going to better for you now. I'm going to keep you safe." He kissed my exposed arm, dragging his tongue across my skin and leaving a sticky trail. The saliva sizzled and absorbed into my skin.

My whole body felt warm. My skin erupted in tingles and chills. The needle entering my arm didn't hurt. "That didn't hurt did it?" He rubbed the injection spot tenderly. "No, what was that?"

"Your wellness scan came back showing some light damage to your lungs, as well as some sort of chemical imbalance in your brain. A few injections should clear up any damaged cells and get the hormones flowing correctly."

Could he really be curing my asthma? I've had issues my whole life with breathing. Nobody seemed to care enough to stop smoking in the house, or even roll the windows down in the car while I'm in there.

"You can make my depression go away?" I looked down at my hands. My finger nails are always picked down to the nub.

"If that's what your imbalance is called, yes."

Eijiro made a meal for me out of a tan powder and some type of hot green liquid. It reminded me of oats, but was very sweet. After eating together in the relative quiet, a sudden drowsiness came over me. He pulled the blanket over my shoulders and tucked me. I was asleep before I could even count to ten.

I rolled over, groggy and still feeling a bit tired. My arms hit something hard, and my eyes shot open. I gasped and almost fell out of the bed at the sight of sleeping Eijiro. He was breathing out of his mouth softly, a bit of drool falling onto his pillow.

I sat up on my elbow and his left arm flopped over me, pulling me back down on the bed with a loud exhale of air leaving my chest. "Hey!"

Kirishima lazily opened one eye before snuggling into my neck. "Good morning Y/N... ready to start the day?"

For some reason I feel a bit more comfortable today. After getting dressed, I had a lot of questions. He explained why I'm here, how the two of us will be living together from now on. "See I don't know how ready I am to start a family." He smiled and put a hand over mine. "I figured we could spend our time on the ship getting to know each other. Our culture is a little different than yours, we usually start a family right away once we find a mate."

I felt a bit of panic rise in my chest. A family? Is that what the rumors meant about the aliens needing DNA? "But I think you could use some time to heal and adjust. What do ya think?"

"I... I don't even know what to say. I feel like I walked into a dream world." It felt too good to be true. There must be more to this I'm not seeing, people aren't whisked away from our troubles to paradise. Maybe I died, and he's really my guardian angel?

"Does that make me your dream guy?" He gave me a wink and I smiled at him.

"So down this way we have all these resteraunts that we can stop by for lunch." Outside of the hotel like halls were more sterile looking, white halls that lead to different sections of the ship. "Before that I thought maybe we could take a look at the gardens." I held his hand while we walked through rows and rows of gorgeous, vibrant flowers. Tree's grew tall and made beautiful shade for us to sit under. We leaned against the cool bark, I rested my head on his shoulder. Kirishima told me stories about Home World and what our lives will look like when we get there.

"I feel like I'm talking a lot. Why don't you tell me about your life on Earth?"

My smile fell and I tried to think of something, anything positive about my child hood. "Well Earth wasn't that interesting. Home World sounds so beautiful and incredible. I mean, no human has any type of power like you do." He held up his hand and flexed, his skin hardening like rock. I giggled and he kissed my cheek.

We spent time like this together, building some type of routine. Wake up together, and then spend the day having fun and eating.

Every night he would give me an injection, and we'd fall asleep holding each other closely.

On my seventh night, I sat up in the dark gasping for air. My heart was pounding against my chest and I let out a terrible choking sob. Kirishima woke up immediately, hopping out of bed and searching the room for some type of threat. The light flicked on and after a few seconds of looking for an attacker he turned back to me and pulled me into his lap. "Y/N what's happening?" His voice was panicked and I tried gulping down air. "I had a nightmare." I pushed my words out with a shaking voice. He grabbed his watch he always wears off of the night stand and put it on. Holding my hand, a holographic screen appeared from the watch. "Your heart rate is rapid, and your endocrine system is pumping a lot of adrenaline." He moved me off of his lap and started digging in the kitchen. He pulled a medical kit out and starting prepping a syringe. "No! No I don't need any medicine." Tears stung my eyes and I took a deep breath. "It's just a panic attack."

He set the med kit down and looked at me strange. "A what?"

"A panic attack. Sometimes I have bad dreams, and they make me freak out." I pushed some of my hair behind my ears and started to settle myself. Usually they last a lot longer than this, but I feel like I have slightly more control than usual.

"What kind of horrible thing in your dreams made you wake up like that?" He sat down beside me and took my hands in his. His hands are callused and warm. I wanted to tell him, tell him anything and everything.

The years and years of living in hell, always being told that I'm nothing and deserve nothing.

"Your injections you've been giving me... they help a lot with-" I took another deep breath. "They help me to not feel like I'm always drowning." He started rubbing my back, just letting me talk. "Does your species have medicine that can make me forget Earth?" My voice cracked and he pulled my head to rest on his shoulder. "I just want to forget everything." I let my walls fall just a bit and cried into his shoulder. "Hey I've got an idea. How about we go for a walk?"

It was dark in the gardens. The artificial sky was lit up with a beautiful display of soft twinkling starry lights. Nobody is around but the two of us.

We laid down in a clearing and just looked up, staring at the beautiful lights like we're stargazing. He let me just enjoy the quiet, holding my hand beside me.

After a little bit he broke the silence.

"You know, I'm a pretty positive guy." He chuckled a bit. "But I'm also a soldier, I've seen a lot of messy and terrible things. Lost organisms that I was supposed to save. Kill organisms because I was ordered too." He spoke seriously, but still managed to have an air of kindness behind his tone. "I think I understand what's going on with you. You've been through war. I can't make the things you've seen and been through go away..." he rolled to his side and touched my face gently. "But I can fill the rest of your life with new memories..." I looked at his face and couldn't help but smile. "And be here for you when the old ones creep back up. You'll never have to go through anything alone again."

I grabbed both sides of his face and kissed him. His eyes were huge with shock, but he leaned into my kiss. He hovered over me, trying to keep his muscular body from pressing down on me too hard. He swirled his tongue past my lips and I shuddered, waves of heat washing over me and pulsing in my core. I gasped and pulled him down on top of me harder, a slight moan leaving the corners of my mouth. He pulled away from me slightly with a nervous laugh. "A-are you alright?"

I kissed his nose. "Your kiss made me lose my breath."

"Well that's because of my spit. It makes you... comfortable." He looked down at me with a smile. "Ready to go back home?"

The next morning I woke up and stared dreamily at Eijiro's face. He looked so much different to me today. His gorgeous face, his toned body. I ran my finger down his chest and my touch caused him to flutter his eyes open. "Good morning baby girl..." He yawned and stretched out his arm. His stretch had him flex all of his muscles and I pushed myself a little closer to him. "Good morning, I was going to hop in the shower..." I tried to lace my voice with lust so he would take the hint that I wanted him to join me. "Okay! While you're showering I'll cook us up some breakfast."

Lightly disappointed I stepped into the bathroom and undressed. I turned the water on and let it run for a moment before wrapping a towel around me. "Eijiro?" I called out and he quickly opened the door and stepped in the steamy shower. "You alright Y/N?" I dropped my towel and stepped in the water. "Oh I'm fine. Could you hand me more body wash?" Eijiro stood stunned for a moment. "Of course I can." He cleared his throat and got into the cabinet. I took the bottle from him and rubbed the soap on myself. "Would you mind washing my back?" I bat my eyelashes at him and he quickly stripped his shorts off and joined me in the water. He slammed his lips against mine and I wrapped my arms around his neck. He pressed my back against the cool tile and his hips pressed against mine. His fingers combed down my back, his nails dragging against my skin and scratching me. I moaned into his mouth. "Please Eijiro... I want you." I whined. He pressed two fingers against my folds and swirled around, feeling my wetness stretch around him. "Are you sure about this Y/N?" I looked down and noticed his member was strange. His member was large, and the tip was rounded and closed off. The veins stood out against his pale skin, because they were maroon instead of a light purple or blue. "Yes please..."

He turned me around and bent me against the wall. I pressed my hands against the glass to steady myself and he backed my hips up to meet him. His tip pushed into my walls, my body eager to meet him. I gasped as he started to move, letting my body adjust slowly at first before gaining speed. His fingers dug into my hips as he groaned while thrusting into me. The bathroom echoing the sound of his body hitting mine. He bounced me off of his pelvis over and over again, I just moaned and cried out his name over and over again. "Eijiro please I'm going to cum-"

"I wanna make you feel so good baby- hold on-" His member shifted in my body, I felt him pulse as something moved through him. He pushed himself against the very tip of my cervix. Something moved up into my body, it felt like a jelly substance for just a moment before dissolving.

I felt fire run down my spine and erupt. I cried out, my orgasm rocking my body. He wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me steady as his cock shifted again. Another dissolving sensation, and then another. I cried out, shaking. My hands fell off of the wall and Ejiro held me close to him, keeping me from slipping in the water. "You alright baby?" I nodded yes, my chest heaving.

We laid snuggled together on the bed for most of the afternoon. He traced shapes on my back, giving me kisses on my head while we talked between naps.

I could get used to this, being touched with such gentleness. "I love you Eijiro." I whispered to him. I snuggled into his chest further. "I love you too Y/N. I always will."

[mytentaclestash]

Wanderlust Vol.2

Volume one

(Volume two! This one is a bit more intense then the last one and includes, oviposition, reader as monster bait, hypnotism, altered mind state that the self-insert is prepared for, light stomach bulging and laying! I hope you enjoy!)

The road was good to you, the weather was clear and you made good time. Within a few days of your meeting with the satyrs you had made it to the Tangled Narrow, a strip of enchanted land where a densely grown jungle stood. According to legend it had defended a long lost border.

At the border where oaks and pines abruptly gave way to vines and a towering canopy was a guildhouse. It was large and well kept, teams of adventurers walked in and out from the path. You entered with them to find a large crowd was gathered around a board, it was elevated and a man stood on a thin platform nailing a piece of paper to it.

“Fifty gold for every Shortneck egg brought in!” The man called out. The crowd cheered buzzing with excitement as the teams broke off

You bumped into a woman. She wore heavy furs with a wooden mask, carved and painted to look like a gray wolf, propped up on her forehead. Her hazel eyes were piercing and intense.

“H-hi, sorry, but what's going on?” You inquired, a blush lightly dusting your cheeks.

“Shortnecks are laying, the crown is paying for the eggs.” She answered. After a beat she seemed to realize her answer wasn’t very helpful.

“Uh, Shortnecks are drakes that hypnotize prey, they’re dangerous to travelers.” She added.

You nodded. It would be nice to have all that extra coin for your travels but you weren’t sure if you were ready for the dangers of the adventuring.

“Tashi!” Two men weaseled through the crowd to join you. They also wore thick pelts and wooden masks as well, a sabertooth and stag. The masks were beautiful and ornate; the stag even had blue dyes in his pelts.

“Whose this?” The sabertooth asked. Tashi shrugged and looked to you.

You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, nervous to be the center of so much attention again, and told them your name.

“I’m Quinn.” The sabertooth, reached out to shake your hand.

“And I’m Fausto!” The stag offered a small wave instead.

“It’s nice to meet you,” They weren’t nearly as intense looking as Tashi. “So how do you get Shortneck eggs?”

Quinn and Fausto glanced between one another sheepishly while Tashi launched into an explanation.

                                                       ⇿

The jungle was humid, smothering you with heat. You trusted your pack and coat to your new companions, the charm hanging around her neck was heavy and gently glowing in the dark. Even though Tashi had assured you she wouldn’t be far, you felt incredibly vulnerable.

It made your heart hammer in your chest.

A groaning rumble sounded in the distance. It reverberated through the trees and rumbled across your bones making your fingertips tingle. As instructed you walked toward the sound, pressing aside foliage to clear your path.

The sound repeated and got louder the further you traveled. It was numbing, making your limbs feel heavy and you started to stumble through the jungle. The glide of leaves against your skin suddenly felt cool and sweet. A strange relief from the mounting heat.

The flowers started to glow as you went deeper becoming incredibly vibrant against the dark green of the ferns. Leaves were folding in around you, carrying your heavy limbs.

A line of faint blue dots crossed in front of your vision. They circled around you drawing closer and closer until a pair of bright blue orbs were floating before you. A pink, split tongue slithered out somewhere beneath them.

You were suddenly shoved, falling on your back and the fog over your senses lifted enough for you to see clearly.

The beast above you had a scaleless, glowing hide. Blue dots lined down either side of the creature from her neck to her thick, gecko-like tail. Fainter markings, in reds and greens, were painted across her back.

She was on top of you before you could even think to move.

Claws, sharp as thorns, scraped your skin as your pants were stripped away. You didn’t realise how wet you were until you were exposed to the air, it was strangely chill between your thighs.

She crooned softly, the sound soothing you. Your limbs felt they were melding in the ground beneath your back. So heavy yet your mind was floating.

The beast’s ovipositor dropped from between her legs, a light pink slick dripping from it. Heat radiated off her flesh nearly scorching you as she settled on top of you. Your legs fell open to accommodate.

Your body was a little more experienced to the push now and welcomed the warm, wet visitor. The rim of it was so soft, gliding inside of you with barely any stretch. A soft whimper left your lips and you attempted to writhe. It was too little, you needed more.

The beast purred and the world became nothing but a flurry of color. The feeling of the ovipositor inside you becoming more clear as it entered inch by inch. It started to excrete a tacky slime, attaching itself to your walls. Your hips squirmed as it solidified making you feel tight and uncomfortable.

Another coo and you were perfectly relaxed again. The connection between the both of you even started to feel pleasant. Teeth, sharp as thorns, prickled against the sides of your throat as she pinned you more firmly to the ground.

The first egg came down. Even with the ovipositor in place it felt electric, the semi-hard shell pressing against your opening. The tip entered easily enough but soon you were stretched around its thickest part. The drake on top of you purred around your throat keeping you still.

The ovipositor pulsed as it shoved the egg deeper inside you, dropping it into your deepest hull. It was heavy, settling strangely against your back.

Another egg dropped. Then another. They kept coming until your stomach started to bulge. 

A clawed paw gently pressed on your taut flesh, the eggs shifted around in your belly. You whimpered pathetically, almost afraid the eggs would fall out. And you had been such a good little host and the thought alone choked you up.

The beast cooed appreciatively before removing her claws and teeth. She sat over you for a moment before her ovipositor slipped out of you.

Your fingers buzzed with returning feeling as the beast wandered away and your companions swept in to gentle you. Tashi’s strong arms pulled your head up into her lap while one of the other’s put a blanket over you.

“You did great!” Fausto praised and it made you feel better about the forming ache in your back. You couldn’t lie, without the effect of the Shortneck on you you now felt  rattled but the gentle hands on your skin kept you floating.

“Do you want us to take the eggs out or would you rather try yourself?” Quinn inquired, his sabertooth mask pulled down over his face. You whined softly.

“Please take them out.” You requested instinctually reaching up to grab Tashi’s upper arms.

He gave you a brisk nod before moving to kneel between your legs and Fausto brought him a waterproof bag. His palm, warm and soft, gently rubbed the top of your waist while his other hand held your knee.

Fausto’s hands went to your stomach, carefully probing the eggs. The eggs sliding around inside your belly was such a strange, intimate, feeling. His deft fingers moving the eggs into position for Quinn.

A smooth callous rubbed over your clit. With a gasp you ground your hips up against it, his fingers sliding easily into your cunt. You could feel his digits searching inside of you, dragging against your walls while Fausto pressed on your belly.

A tip of an egg touched Quinn’s fingers. Its smooth surface was difficult to gasp but Quinn managed, helping to drag it out of your body.

The egg felt different coming out then it had going in. Your cleared mind could feel the unpleasant drag of the shell on your swollen pussy. Quinn said something that you didn’t hear and Fausto brought him a small glass jar. The cream inside was pearlescent white and you caught a whiff of the clean flowery scent as Quinn dipped his fingers into it.

A moan ripped itself from your throat when he smeared his fingers around inside you, the cream immediately soothing your worn out body. Your legs were trembling violently by the time he worked the first egg out of you, pink slick spilling out of you.

“First one’s the hardest.” Quinn soothed.

Two excruciating hours and a total of sixteen eggs later you were wrung out. Tashi gently swept hair off of your sweaty brow while Quinn and Fausto placed all the eggs into sacks. A steady hand held a waterskin to your lips and helped you drink, even keeping from chugging the cool, clean liquid too fast.

“If you’re alright with it, we’d like you to stay at our camp with us.” Fausto requested kneeling beside you, bouncing on his haunches a bit.

“I’m sure we can get you a room at the guild if you’d rather stay there.” Quinn offered hauling the eggs onto his back.

“I’d rather stay with you guys.” You mumbled tiredly. Tashi wrapped you in a cloak and picked you up in her arms.

“Awesome!” Fausto piped.

“We just got to make a pit stop at the guild to drop these off.” Quinn grunted under the weight of the eggs.

Tashi’s grip tightened around you and sleep quickly overcame you.

[doedreamss]

The Cowboy and the Mustang

Ship: Hangman Adam Page x Jane (OC)

Summary: While on a road trip into mid-northern Montana, Jane takes a quick walk with the intent to stretch her legs before she gets back on the road.  She stumbles across an arena where a gentle cowboy is working to earn the trust of a curious but wild young mustang.

Rating: General (this is pure fluff)

Length: 2,881 words

Available below the cut or on AO3 HERE

“We just need to stop for gas real quick,” Kate was squinting at the road signs up ahead, scanning for the off-ramp they’d need for a gas station, “and we’ll be golden for another five-hundred or so miles.  Aha!” Triumphant, she clicked the blinker, switching lanes until she could take the proper off-ramp.

The town they’d stopped off at was charmingly small.  Nestled in mountainous Montana, the streets were shrouded in shade cast off tall, healthy douglas-fir trees.  A few small homes could be caught nestled through the trees as you drove past, but they were gone in a blur.  Jane realized nearly all of them had wood-fenced corrals on the property and livestock, too.  She grinned. This was exactly what she expected the Montana mountains to be like, as if it leaped from the pages of those sappy, horribly cliche cowboy romance books she used to read when she was younger.

They pulled into the two-pump gas station and Jane popped the door open, hopping out of the passenger’s side as Kate prepared to start pumping.

“I’m going to stretch my legs for a few minutes if that’s cool?”

“Yeah, I need to go to the bathroom anyways.  I’ll park the car over there,” she pointed at a lot beside the convenience store, “after the tank’s full.”

“Awesome!”  Jane tucked her phone into her pocket and turned on her boot’s heel, starting to walk aimlessly down the road just for the sake of walking.  They’d been in the car a little over nine hours, traveling since they’d woken up and left the hotel room that morning and only stopping once, very briefly over five hours ago.  

Jane and Kate had met in veterinary school, where they were both studying to be equine veterinarians. They’d become best friends and eventually realized they both had a dream to drive across the mid-western United States, stopping wherever they wanted on a whim and with no real destination in mind.  Next year would be their final year of school together, so they’d decided to spend the summer before fall semester doing what they’d dreamed of doing, together.

“Hold up boy!”  A low, reassuring voice shouted out gently, startling Jane from her thoughts.  She blinked, glancing to her left.  A cowboy stood in the middle of an arena with his large hands in the air, palms out in surrender to a stocky bay colt who was heaving heavy breaths as he glared under his forelock.  She could make out the white freeze-brand in the colt’s neck.  He’d been a wild mustang seized off his home range by the BLM and sold at auction.

Curiously narrowing her eyes, Jane turned toward the scene and took quiet steps over the dried, fallen pine-needle floor toward the wood-post of the arena fence.  Hands in her pockets, she studied the scene in front of her.

The cowboy was handsome in a Romantic way, as if he could be on the cover of one of those very novels she’d thought of earlier.  He had fluffy, gold-blond hair that fell in a soft cloud on his shoulders and caught the sunlight with enough beauty to make her breathless.  He had a low brow and a defined nose, and a soft vulnerability about him that was comforting, even though he was a stranger.  A fine, well-kept blond beard made his gentle face just rugged enough to be complimentary.  He wore fitted Wrangler jeans, worn leather cowboy boots, a belt with a flashing, big silver belt buckle, and a flannel button-up shirt in checkered blues and whites.  A cowboy hat sat on those curls, just barely containing them and helping keep his eyes out of the sunlight.

He was concentrated on the horse he was in the pen with.  He didn’t take his eyes off the colt, and even murmured in a gentle breath, “Easy boy, easy…”  He hadn’t even noticed he’d gained an audience.

The mustang – a rich, chocolate bay with deep black points and a small white snip on his dark muzzle – struck the sand in the ring, digging a small trench.  He tossed his head, upsetting his rich, black mane over his neck, snorted again and stepped back.  His tail swatted his muscled hindquarters and he turned, giving the cowboy one last eyeful before trotting away and putting space between them again. Whatever the cowboy had done had made the mustang scold him for it.

Jane watched the slight tension leave the cowboy’s shoulders and he lowered his hands slow, hooking his thick thumbs into his pockets.   He was still watching the colt, who’d stopped by the fence post a few yards in front of him and was gently nosing it, pretending he wasn’t watching the cowboy.  He was very clearly doing just that.  Jane’s mouth slowly melted into a smile.  The mustang was curious about the cowboy and wanted to trust him, but he was telling him it wasn’t going to be that easy.  The cowboy was telling the mustang he understood that, he wouldn’t expect it any other way, and he’d be there when the colt was ready to trust him.  All without saying a word.

It was in their subtle body language.  The way the mustang kept his side slightly turned in to the cowboy and flicked his ears with interest wherever the man moved.  The way the cowboy glanced away from the mustang, scuffing his boots in the sand and pretending that was more interesting to watch instead.  A curious horse felt sneaky if a person’s eyes weren’t on it, and that’s just the opportunity the cowboy was giving the colt.  Jane held her breath, wondering if the colt was going to take it.

The mustang’s tail flicked gently back and forth before he jerked his chin gently toward the cowboy and turned, moving almost aggressively, testing the cowboy’s commitment to his indifference.  But the cowboy didn’t jump at the sudden movement or even turn his head toward the colt. He glanced away slow, up into the towering pines and squinted, pretending to watch the Steller’s Jay that sat on a branch and bobbed its black-mohawk head.  The mustang swayed, leaning his weight forward as if he was going to walk, and then thinking again before leaning back.  His ears were still pointed on the cowboy.

Come on, come on… Jane wanted to say, but kept her lips firmly shut so as not to speak and disrupt this almost magical moment.

One step.  Two.

The colt’s wild-worn hooves left soft tracks as he inched slowly closer and closer to the cowboy, who was looking back down at his boots.  Jane saw a smile twitch at the corner of his lips, but he was holding himself together and trying to maintain a calm, neutral front.

Another step.  Another.  Surely, he could feel the colt’s hot breath as he huffed softly, nostrils flared with his neck stretched, trying to smell the cowboy without being too close.  If there were any sudden movements the colt would spook, this moment would be broken, and they’d have to start from the beginning again.  The cowboy was doing his best to stay perfectly still, clearly concentrated and listening to every sense that could grab a hold of the colt and tell him exactly where he was and what he was doing.

The colt leaned in close enough that he rubbed his muzzle over the soft material of the cowboy’s flannel shirt.  He snorted and did it again, this time with intent.  He drew closer and closer until he no longer needed to stretch to touch his muzzle against the cowboy’s shirt.  In fact, he lifted his head and gently rested it on the cowboy’s shoulders.

That’s when the cowboy broke into a smile that lit up his entire face in a way that nearly made her heart stop.  The joy was so pure it pushed his cheeks into his eyes and gently crinkled them at the edge. He turned gingerly in place and the colt lifted his head but didn’t step away.  He waited for the cowboy to face him.

“Hey buddy,” the cowboy said as if greeting an old friend and lifted a wide palm to gently run over the colt’s broad face.  The colt nodded his head as if to show the cowboy he wanted to be pet a little firmer, and the cowboy laughed.  “Pushy, pushy.”  His fingernails curled and he gently scratched the colt’s short chocolate brown hair on his forehead, face, and the bridge of his muzzle.

This was a different scene than just a few moments ago, and she imagined it was even more different than before she’d come across them.  The cowboy’s perseverance had paid off and given the curious, wild young horse the right to choose whether he wanted a human’s company.  Horses, naturally herd creatures, didn’t often want to be alone when given the choice.  Especially one like the bay, who’d been wild and always run alongside his family.

With a final pat to the colt’s thick neck, running gently over the white freeze brand, the cowboy told the colt they were done for the day.  He turned and walked away, but soon there were the steady plods of hoof beats following.  The cowboy grinned again and glanced over his shoulder at the colt who was trailing in his path.  He shook his head, disturbing those pretty blond curls just slightly, and turned back around again. 

“Now I can’t get rid of you, huh?”  It was said fondly.

He didn’t notice Jane until he was already outside the arena and had latched the gate.  He’d glanced away from the colt and turned toward his left, where she stood just a few feet away.  He jolted slightly and blinked, surprised.

“Ah, howdy miss.”  He reached up and pinched the bridge of his cowboy hat, giving it a gentle dip of respect.

“I’m sorry,” Jane said, and felt her stomach tense and her breath feel stuck in her lungs.  She hadn’t been able to see how blue and gentle his eyes were from where she’d stood or just how nicely his thick, solid ranch-man's body filled out his clothes.  “I um,” she blinked and realized she was staring.  She gave her head a small jerk back and forth to shake her brain up and set it right again.  “My friend and I stopped for gas and I needed to walk, we’ve been in the car since Idaho Falls and I was feeling a little cramped.  I didn’t mean to spy on you or anything, I was just… the way you were communicating with that colt, it was breathtaking.”  She felt really, really stupid and closed her mouth fast, her cheeks starting to burn.  She knew she had to be the brightest shade of red.

The cowboy’s blue eyes fell to the floor and his smile curled wide.  It looked like he had to work to keep it from spreading too far.  Wait… was he blushing too?  She could barely tell on account of his beard and the shadow his cowboy hat cast across his face, but she swore she could see the faintest hint of pink.

“Thank you miss.”  He spoke with a humbled, country accent and pulled those eyes back up to hers. 

“So, who’s your friend?” She asked, jerking her head toward the colt in the arena, who was watching them.  

“Don’t know yet,” he said, giving the colt a glance and smiling back at her.  “They tell me their name when they’re ready.”

“They tell you their name?” She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow but couldn’t keep the smile off her face.  “So, you’re telling me you can talk to horses?”  

He laughed and it was a warm, comfortable sound.  Like a fire you could curl up to, wrapped in a big fluffy blanket, while snow fell in lazy slow flakes outside the window.

“No, not that.  I just mean sometimes I’ll be working with the horse and the name will just come to me.  Sometimes I’ll see something and think of them and realize that’s who they are, or they’ll show me more and more of a personality and it’ll remind me of something else.”  He shook his head and blew a semi-amused sigh out his lips.  “I sound like I’m crazy, don’t I?”

“Not at all,” Jane said quickly, shaking her head.  “You listen to them.”

“Yeah,” he agreed soft, his blue eyes on her.  “I’m Adam, by the way.  Should have said that earlier.”   He smiled sheepish, as if he was embarrassed he’d just now realized he hadn’t introduced himself.  He moved close enough to extend his hand and Jane glanced at it, noticing how small hers appeared in comparison as she slipped it into his.  He gave her a firm shake and pulled his hand back.

It fit him, somehow.  Adam, created from the earth.

“I’m Jane.”

“So… you said you haven’t stopped driving since Idaho?”  He kept talking, asking her a question that’d keep her there.  Her heart raced a little faster, thinking that he didn’t want her to leave so soon.

“Idaho Falls.  We left from Boise this morning.”

“Oh,” he said, and cleared his throat.  “You and your beau?”

“Oh, no!”  Jane shook her head with a smile, completely missing that he’d almost seemed disappointed when he thought she had a partner.  “My best friend Kate and me.  We’re both studying at university to be equine veterinarians and next year’s our last year, so we decided to do a road trip together before fall semester starts.”

“Oh!”  He said and smiled broad again, nodding his head.  “That’s really cool.”  His tone was genuine, expression open.  “So are you planning on staying anywhere nearby or–”

Before he could ask his question, they were interrupted by a sharp, loud car horn honking.  They both jumped and glanced toward the road a few yards off and saw Kate in the car, her window down and waving her arm to beckon Jane back toward the car.

“Jane!  Come on!”

Jane wanted to scream. She knew they had a tight schedule to get to where they needed to go at the end of the night before they went stir crazy from being on the road too long, but did it have to be right then? She’d been certain Adam was trying to figure out if she was going to be somewhere close by.  Why would he want to know that unless he wanted to see her more? Jane gave Kate a look, letting her know she’d interrupted something, and immediately saw the guilt flash across Kate’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Jane said as she turned back toward Adam.  Everything inside her was wailing dramatically, hating the words that were going to have to come out of her mouth next.  “We’re on a really tight schedule…”  She took a step, hating it as she forced herself to start to turn away.

“Jane, wait,” he said, and his voice was urgent, but gentle.  He reached out and his wide, warm, work-calloused hand wrapped around hers again. His thumb stroked her skin and he looked a little breathless when she looked from their clasped hands and into his face.  “I, uh,” the tips of his ears faintly reddened, but he didn’t let go of her hand and she didn’t pull it away.  “If you were going to be around tonight, it’s Saturday night and around six in the evening I sometimes wind up down at Harry’s Bar in town.  I’d like to buy you a drink and maybe get to know you a little better, if you’d like that too.”

She could see his nervous hopefulness clear as day, and it endeared her to him immediately.  Where had this adoring, sweet, handsome cowboy come from if not her dreams?  The fact that he was genuinely interested in her, enough to ask her to stay so he could see her again, nearly blew her mind.

Jane took a step back, and another, until his hand gently dropped hers.  She turned around, tossing ideas through her mind, weighing options and wondering how mad Kate would be if their plans took a slight detour.  They’d said they wanted to stop wherever their heart told them to stop, hadn’t they?  Jane met Kate’s eyes and saw she was smiling.  Jane matched that smile and stopped, turning to look at Adam.

“Hey, Adam?”

He looked at her.

“I think your colt told me his name is Whiskey.”

“That so?”  He asked, grinning.

“Yeah, and that’s what you can have ready tonight when I meet you at Harry’s for that drink.”

Adam’s smile was so wide, it showed a pretty row of teeth.  It made Jane’s heart feel like it skipped a beat.

“I look forward to it, Jane.”  He tipped his hat, and his smile turned a little softer, a little fuller of the wonder he had in his eyes for her.  Her name had never sounded more wonderful than it did in that warm country baritone.

“Me too, Adam.”

The colt she’d said was named Whiskey snorted and bobbed his head, watching her from where he stood in the arena beside Adam.  She imagined it was a gesture of encouragement.

 (to be continued…) 

[mf-despair-queen]

Rewrite the Stars - Dylan O’Brien

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Dylan O’Brien/Reader

Word Count: 20,243

Summary: He loved her. She loved him. But could they go against the odds to be together? Maybe not. Dylan fights to love the girl of his dreams while she pushes hi away over and over because of his fans.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Unprotected Sex, Oral (both receiving), Feeling, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Cowgirl, Shower Sex, Side Sex, Kinda Angsty, The TDC Accident 

Song: Rewrite The Stars from The Greatest Showman

Notes: o3o

The twelve-year-old boy sat on the porch steps of their new house, taking a deep breath of the west coast air. The house was still stuffy, boxes lining the floors to the ceiling and making it hard to maneuver. The sun was barely beginning to set, making the sky a a swirl of pinks, oranges and blues with specks of white clouds here and there. The chocolate-haired male could hear his older sister and parents moving about inside, relishing in a short moment away to breathe the fresh air.

The move was stressful and he didn’t know what the future would hold for him. It was nice to get away from the confinement of the unpacked home for a few minutes.

“Hey,” the Jersey boy heard, the soft crunch of wet grass making his head turn. You were stood before him, rolling back and forth on the balls of your feet with your hands hidden behind your back. Your hair was braided to stay out of your face. The boy’s hazel eyes skimmed your form quickly, noting the denim shorts with stars on your legs and the worn Spiderman shirt you swam in without a care for your appearance. You looked comfortable and that made him smile slightly with a light blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Hi,” he said shyly. The east coast preteen was always awkward, especially with first encounters.

“Sorry. I live next door with my mom and sister. My mom asked me to bring these over,” you said, revealing the plate of chocolate chip cookies you had behind your back. “We made them earlier knowing you were moving in today!”

“Oh. That’s so sweet. You really didn’t have to. But, thank you,” he said, standing to take the plate. Your arms fell to your side, Dylan holding the sweet treats in one hand. He bit his lip softly before extending his free hand to you. “I’m Dylan, by the way. Dylan O’Brien.”

You smiled, taking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Dylan. I’m Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he hummed happily, glancing to his bouncing feet. “I um… I love your shirt. Spiderman is the best, isn’t he?”

“He really is!” you mused, pulling at the shirt to show it off more. “I got it when the movie first came out last year.”

“That’s awesome,” Dylan smiled.

“Hey,” you started. Dylan’s eyes met yours, seeing the glimmer in your orbs. “Seriously, welcome to Hermosa Beach. I hope you like it here.”

“I think I will love it,” he said without realizing it. You smiled, the curl of your lips making his soft pink ones perk up.

“You know, with you being new and all, you need a friend. We can’t let you deal with things alone and since I am the first person to meet you,” you chimed. “You are my new best friend!”

Dylan chuckled at the declaration, nodding. “I would actually like that. I can’t say no to friendship.” You grinned, tilting your head to the side in delight.

“I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, Dyl.”

♪You know I want you/ It's not a secret I try to hide/ I know you want me/ So don't keep saying our hands are tied/ You claim it's not in the cards/ Fate is pulling you miles away/ And out of reach from me/ But you're here in my heart/ So who can stop me if I decide/ That you're my destiny?♪

The door of the apartment opened, Dylan rolling his suitcase into the hallway. His pillow that was always carried with him when he traveled was promptly placed on top of the rectangular luggage, the ends of the blue sheet draping over his bag. His backpack was dropped with a clunk in the corner while he kicked lazily at the door. He placed his keys in the dish on the table to his right, kicking off his shoes. The door clicked shut behind him with more more nudge of a socked foot, the tired man trudging forward, suitcase left forgotten by the door. He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning on the door frame to watch your smaller form dancing to a One Direction song he adored. A pot boiled on the stove with a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese beside it. You wore one of his old Mets shirts and some short pajama bottoms, uncaring that you looked ridiculous at the moment.

The sight made Dylan’s heart lift, thudding unevenly.

You spun on your heel, jumping with a squeak when you saw the man in your kitchen. The brunette chuckled, moving to sit at the dining table. You feigned relief, placing a hand to your chest. “You scared the pants off of me, O’Brien!” You scolded, turning down the music.

“Sorry. Thought i’d just let myself in,” he laughed.

“Why did I decide to give you a key to my apartment again?” You pondered rhetorically, turning to the creamy pasta you were making.

“Because you love me,” he joked. “Why are you making mac and cheese at midnight?”

“I was hungry. So sue me, bitch,” you giggled. “You want some?”

“You know I do,” Dylan laughed.

You moved to grab the bowls, standing on your toes in an attempt to reach them. Dylan rolled his eyes when you failed, moving to stand behind you. He grabbed them with ease, placing them on the counter. A grunt of annoyance left your lips, turning to lean on the counter, Dylan still by your side.

“Don’t get me wrong, Dyl. I love seeing you, though not really at midnight. But, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I just got back filming-”

“I know,” you cut him off. “You told me you were coming home today, but I didn’t expect you to stop by till tomorrow. I just figured…”

“Figured what?” he asked.

You moved to finish the food, leaving Dylan to lean against the counter alone. “Well, I just figured the first person you would go see would be your girlfriend, Dyl. You and Britt haven’t been together for a while. I thought you’d see Britt once you got home, late or not, stead of sitting in my kitchen eating cheese.” You got no response. When you turned, he had a slight sour look on his face. “Oh no. You’re making a face.”

“I am not,” he protested.

“Dylan, I have known you for over ten years! I know when you are making a face!”

“I’m not making a face!”

“Yes, you are!” You growled, dropping the wooden spoon and going to pinch his cheeks. He grimaced in slight pain, trying to swat at your hands. “No! Spill already, you turd!”

“I’m not making a face!”

“Dylan!”

“Fine, fine!” he yelped. The man rubbed his cheeks when you released them, mumbling indecent things under his breath. His nose flared with his heavy breathing, a hand ruffling his locks slightly. “Britt and I broke up.”

“What?!” You screeched. Dylan winced at the noise, covering his ears. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting that. That was the last thing I expected to hear from your mouth. You guys were so cute and happy.”

“Yeah…” He murmured.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Dyl,” you frowned. “Three years isn’t easy to just push away.”

The man shrugged, licking his lips slowly. “It’s fine. It was a clean break luckily. When she came to visit while I was filming Deepwater in Louisiana, we had a long talk about it all and she mentioned how she has been developing feelings for this guy she’s going to be working with on this movie called A Dog’s Purpose. They’ve been spending a lot of time together and I’m happy for her. She agreed that the passion wasn’t there anymore. There hasn’t been any real passion for a while. I think we were together for the sake of being together. So, here we are now.”

Your face contorted into one of confusion. Your brow had knit and your forehead wrinkled together, eyes crossing to narrow in on him. His hazel eyes were focused on the ground, avoiding your gaze. But, he could feel it piercing the side of his head. It was obvious you weren’t fully understanding. “I don’t get it,” you voiced. “Why wasn’t the passion there anymore?”

Dylan pursed his lips. You sighed, turning to the food. Before the bowls could be filled, heat met your side. A large, muscled body stood beside you, the subtle scent of the Calvin Klein cologne infiltrating your senses. You glanced up at your best friend, noting the glint in his eyes of unexplainable emotion. Biting at your lip, you waited for him to speak.

“You already know why,” he whispered, your ears barely able to catch his quiet words. A shiver ran up your spine when his fingers skimmed across your arms, feeling the goosebumps that formed. “Don’t give me that confused look, Y/N.”

You didn’t have to respond. You knew what he was implying.

A long, long time ago, there was a possibility for you and Dylan to become an item. The Jersey boy you befriended at the tender age of twelve made it obvious that he had a crush on you. He told you flat out that he did. When you were perched on your bed one night, Dylan didn’t hesitate on spilling the crush he held for years in order to ask you to prom your senior year.

And naturally, you did accept his proposal, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers together. By the end of the prom night, you were spilling your own feelings for him, confessing to the crush you had since you started high school.

Unfortunately, you weren’t given much of an opportunity to pursue a relationship. Dylan was cast in the MTV series Teen Wolf that was filming in Atlanta. After a long, hard talk, you had agreed to letting things go, knowing that trying to maintain a relationship long distance would difficult. It wasn’t easy by any means, your heart crumbling from the tears your shed together. You knew it hurt him too because all he wanted was to be by your side.

When Dylan called and said he was dating Britt years ago, you supported him. You figured that he was finally moving on, getting past the high school feelings he once held for you. That was ok though. He was a big boy. He was an adult and could feel whatever he wanted for someone. He could date who he wished. But, your feelings never left. The entire time he was way filming, growing into an even more handsome young man than he was when he graduated high school, your crush on him remained. When he was off the market, you wished you could be with him. They grew like a fungus inside you, thin vines wrapping around your heart to hold it tight in his embrace. But, no matter what, you would be by his side, cheering him on. And maybe, just maybe, he would be yours one day. If not, you would move on.

You just wanted him in your life. He meant the world to you.

“Oh,” you mumbled, spooning the food into the bowls. Dylan silently took his from your hands, both of you moving to sit at the table with drinks in hand - Dr. Pepper for you and Root Beer for him. Sitting across from one another, the only thing that could be heard was the clink of the spoons hitting the bowls, cans of soda popping open to be sipped with occasional slurps. The tension was palpable, neither of you knowing what to say immediately.

The bowl across from you was pushed away, Dylan leaning on the table. He massaged his jaw before speaking up. “Can I take you out sometime?”

Your spoon fell with a clatter, your eyes wide at him. “W-what?”

“Sorry. That was rude of me,” he grumbled. He tousled his hair more until it was sticking upright. “I… God, this was easier in my head.”

“Just say it, Dyl,” you told him hesitantly. “You can say anything to me. You know that.”

“I know. I just…” he paused. “I’m nervous.”

“I can tell,” you joked, making him smile.

He took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling. “I-I want to take you on a date. And I know it sounds crazy, Y/N. But that crush from years ago? It never left. And, now that I’m not with Britt, I’m ready to… to try and make things work between us. I’ve waited for so long to ask you out. To date you. To do anything with you that could let me be with you in ways I’ve only dreamt of. I know it’s been a long time and we didn’t get to really embrace those feelings before, but now we can if you still want to try. Teen Wolf is filming in LA now, so I will only be gone for filming. We don’t have the same problems as before. I’m here to stay and I want to take you out to show you that we can work.”

Pushing your own bowl away, you leaned forward on the table, biting at your nail. Your eyes didn’t leave the face of your crush, tracing patterns along his speckled cheeks as your thought to yourself. It wasn’t a question that Dylan was, in deed, popular. He was the complete package: smart, funny, attractive, and the most genuine personality there was. He was the most caring person you would ever meet. It was no wonder that his was a breakout star once he started acting, especially with the ladies. The second Stiles Stilinski appeared on the screen upside down from the rooftop, he had won the hearts of many.

Over the years, he had become, in simple terms, a chick magnet. Despite being openly taken and in a relationship, girls swooned over the large, brown doe eyes and charming lopsided smile. They were ready to drop their panties when he let out his normal little laughs that made your heart beat faster and the hand his large, veiny hand would run through the luscious locks on his head. Millions of people proclaimed their love for the man across from you, the same man you grew up with and admired for so long.

You saw the pleading gaze in his eyes, hope and worry painting together in the hazel irises. His body bounced, leading you to believe his knee was jumping up and down anxiously. Slender fingers played together, his lips pursed together tightly as he waited. The look of longing made your heart beat rapidly. His body had sunk into the chair, his biceps bulging from under his loose black shirt. Your bottom lip was tugged between your teeth, your eyes darting away to avoid his look.  

“I don’t know, Dyl,” you started hesitantly. “You’re just a wee bit famous, handsome. Your fans…”

“What about them?” he snapped sharply before relaxing. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed. “Just, they like you so much, Dyl. They’re not always… supportive of your relationships. They love you so much, but they can be possessive. Britt got a lot of bad rap for being your girlfriend. How do you think they will respond with me? I’m just the girl you grew up with. I don’t want to be ostracized for liking you. I… I don’t want them to hate me because of this.”

“It doesn’t matter, Y/N,” he lowly stated. The squeak of the chair against the tile creaked through the cold apartment air, the light patter of footsteps inching towards you. You yelped in surprise when the chair you were in was forcibly turned, the actor crouching to the ground in front of you. His larger hands took yours, warmth radiated from his palms up your skin. Yet, you felt chills, dots poking from your arms. His thumbs smoothed over the tops of your hands, bringing them up to his lips so he could kiss your knuckles.

“Dyl…”

“I like you, Y/N. A lot. I always have and you know this. I want you. I need you. I’m not doing anything to hide my feelings from you or anyone. I’d be surprised if everyone didn’t know how much I liked you. If I know you the way I think I do, you want me too. Before I became an actor, you liked me back. And I’m willing to bet that if my feelings never went away, yours didn’t either.

“So, don’t give me this bullshit that the fans won’t accept you. If they are true fans of mine, they will accept my happiness. No one makes me happier than you do. You bring out the best in me. I can’t imagine someone more perfect than you to be by my side. I want to kiss you. I want to hug you in more than a friend way. I want to go out and hold your hand while we walk. I want to take you out on dates. I have told you for so long how I’ve felt and now, nothing is going to stop me from choosing the girl of my dreams. I was stupid to let you go once and I’m not letting it happen again.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m famous, cupcake.” You smiled at the nickname, making him smile slightly in return. “Fame doesn’t define me. It doesn’t define you. I am still the same Dyldo you have known for over ten years. No amount of fame can change that. My fans aren’t going to change my mind about you. No one can stop me if I decide I like you. And, they sure as hell can’t keep me from saying this. I like you, Y/N, a hell of a lot and I want to be your boyfriend. But, until you are ready, I will settle on dates. We will go at your pace.

“But, if you don’t like me anymore and I’m completely wrong, I respect that. I won’t push you. You can tell me that I need to shut up and get out if that’s what you want. But, I’m begging, cupcake. Please, please, let me take you on one date. I will grovel at your feet. I will draw you a hot bath for the next month. I will buy you your favorite smoothie from Jamba Juice. I will buy us a pizza and we can watch whatever movie you want. Just, please, let me take you out.”

A dead silence came from his passionate speech. His eyes bore into you, trying to read the expression on your face. His palms were sweating and his mouth felt dry. It felt impossible, a heavy pit sitting in his stomach. His breath hitched, however, when you leaned forward, resting your forehead to his. Your lips were near his, a space keeping them apart like an invisible wall. His breath his your face, warming it until your cheeks were read. Fingers laced together, the intimacy of the moment growing more vibrant. Your eyes closed, relishing in the bubble that eclipsed your bodies and souls.

“Alright,” you whispered.

“Alright?” He asked, not daring to look.

“Dylan, I like you. You’re not going crazy. My feelings for you never left. And yes, I’m scared. I’m afraid of what people will think. It’s easy to say it’s just me and you, but I don’t want people to hate me because of this.” Your eyes fluttered open, the tickle of your eyelashes on his skin making his open in return. “But, I want to try.”

“So, what does this mean?”

You laughed shaking your head. “Sometimes, I wonder what goes on in that head of yours.”

“That’s just mean,” he teased.

“It means yes. You can take me on a date.”

“Seriously?” He asked, backing away to see you nod fully. His lips curled into a deep grin, the man launching forward to lock you in a tight embrace, his head burrowed in your chest. Your face flared, but you didn’t push him away. “You won’t regret this! I promise. It will be the best date ever.”

“It better be,” you teased. Wiggling from his grip, you placed the bowls in the sink. “Now, I’m assuming you are staying the night since it’s late and you just got home from a flight.”

The man stood from the ground, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. The single action made his shirt ride up to show the dark happy trail of hair along his toned stomach and the v-lines that were prominently sunk into his hips and displayed from the low hung gray sweatpants. He attempted to muffle a yawn, failing miserably. A yeti-esque growl escaped his throat, mouth parted in a large O shape. His teeth twinkle brightly with a lazy smile.

“I guess I should stay,” he murmured, words beginning to slur. The exhaustion was hitting him like a hammer. His arms wrapped around your waist, burying into your neck. “Can we cuddle?”

You blushed, but nodded with a giggle. “Of course.” You always cuddled together, even when you weren’t together. It was just a perk of being long time friends with the O’Brien male. “Let’s go grab your pillow and get some well deserved sleep.”

“Alright,” he yawned again, reluctantly moving forward when you did. He was snoring before he hit the bed, face swallowed by the blue linen he carried with him on every trip. Luckily, he had managed to strip from his shirt before he collapsed, the cotton still hanging from his fingers on the hand that dangled over the side of the bed. You shook your head at him, tossing it aside. The lights clicked off quietly, your body curling into his back after the blankets were tugged up to your chin.

“Goodnight, Dyl.”

He was gone when you woke up, a note on the dining room table with a vase full of red roses. You sat down at the table, stroking the petals, feeling the silky texture they offered. The note made you smile, tucking your hair back.

Hey beautiful. Thank you for accepting. You have no idea how excited I am. I hope it’s not too soon, but I wanted to take you out tonight. Seven pm, sharp! I will be there to pick you up. Dress comfy, casual and cute, even though you are always adorable. I will see you see, cupcake. <3

The day flew by after that. At seven, you were slipping out the front door, locking it before hurrying to Dylan’s waiting car. He was playing your favorite song when you slid inside, buckling your seatbelt. His hand took yours, fingers linking together and resting on the center console. The man wouldn’t spill where you were going or what you were doing, making you wonder what he was planning.

Mid Los Angeles came into view, the lights glimmering around you. The streets were flooded with people taking pictures and pointing at the sites to be seen. You were nervous going into a large crowd like this. It was easier to be seen and potentially interrupted while you were out trying to enjoy a date. Dylan dismissed the suspicious glance sent his way, his eyes stuck on the road. His grin made you wonder more, trying to discern what he was planning.

The car came to a stop outside Grand Park, the engine humming to a quiet stop. You blinked at your surroundings, hearing Dylan’s door open and close. The man jogged around the car to your side, opening the door and holding a hand out for you. You laughed, taking his hand, allowing him to gently pull you out. The beep of the alarm floated around you, Dylan’s hand on the small of your back as you walked into the nearly empty park. Your bodies remained close together, the actor leading you to some unknown destination.

“What we we doing at a park?” you asked, Dylan smiling wider. “Come on, Dyl! Spill!”

“You know, a long time ago, you told me that you thought picnics in the park were super romantic. So, I worked my ass off all day to put together the perfect picnic for you. Posey was kind enough to set it up while I went to get you.”

Your mouth parted to answer, no words coming out. You stopped walking, seeing the cliche checkered blanket with a picnic basket on top of it. A small stool was set up next to it, a few candles lit and flickering in the slight breeze. A speaker was set in the grass, Dylan tinkering with his phone to play a sweet ballad to add to the atmosphere. He spun to face you, allowing you to take in his full appearance. Dark jeans and a blue button up that was tucked neatly into his pants. He didn’t detour from his natural Adidas and his hair was partially spiked up in a cute quiff.

“Milady,” he called to break you from your trance, holding out a hand to you. A giggle left your lips, taking his hand. You planted yourselves on the blanket, Dylan pulling out some simple sandwiches and bags of chips.

The meal was simple, but fun. You shared the chips, feeding them to each other. Dylan was sprawled on his side, resting on his elbow, while you leaned back against him. His free hand roamed your back, soothing you. At one point, your hand found his, hands entwined together. You shared multiple longing looks, sinking into his touch when he would push back your hair. Hearts hammered against your chests, smiles showing off the joy you felt. You were content, not once regretting the decision to accept his proposal.

If anything, you were falling more for the man because he never failed to make you happy. He put you first and did everything in his power to make you smile. You didn’t deserve his kind heart, but you weren’t going to let him go because he made you feel complete.

And Dylan? Well, he was thunderstruck by your beauty and laugh, the happy flutter of butterflies making his blood pump yet make his heart stop. He was sure of his feelings.

When a new slow song started, he pulled you up, ignoring your laughs when he made you dance. His hands rested on your waist, your arms slung around his neck as you swayed. The skirt of your summer dress flowed with every step you took, each beat of the song spiking your infatuation with the man. He stared down at you lovingly, eyes large and speckled cheeks hurting from the countless smiles. His touch burned - in a good way - that left you smoldering, wanting more. In the end, your head was resting on his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head.

The candles were blown out and things were thrown into the empty picnic basket. With a hand on your back once more, you walked around the park for a bit, enjoying the sights from the summer festival that was being held during the day. Your head leaned on his shoulder the entire time, Dylan giving gentle squeezes to your side. The hustle and bustle of the city seemed quiet because it was all about you and Dylan.

The date didn’t end there. Dylan took the time to drive you out to Hermosa Beach, the home you grew up in. The beach was lifeless. The waves lapped at the sand, glowing from the full moon in the sky. The stars twinkled in the dark sky, smiling down at you. Kicking off your shoes, you made your way down to the shoreline, letting the foam wash around your ankles. The sand crabs tickled at your feet, trying to escape to find a new home that wasn’t under the weight of your body

His arms wrapped around your waist, not caring that his jeans were getting wet when the ocean attacked. You relaxed in his grip, resting your hands over his on your stomach. His chin sat on your shoulder, wafting the smell of the salt water and your strawberry shampoo. Neither of you had to speak. You just enjoyed the moment before continuing on.

You walked up and down the beach, the backs of your hands brushing occasionally. It took a bit before he dared to flex his fingers out, brushing them more. He glanced over at you and you looked back at him, trying to let him take the leap without needing to ask permission. Softly, his hand slid into yours, fingers tangling together one by one. Your arms rubbed against one another, keeping close as you waded through the shallow waters together, holding hands for the rest of the night.

You were on cloud nine now, wishing for a second this moment would never end.

The clock ticked on, nearly one in the morning before you were being walked to your door. Dylan, being the gentleman he was, insisted he make sure you got in safely. When the door came into sight, you turned to him, twirling some hair around your fingers.

“This really was the best date, Dyl,” you told him, giving a bright smile.

“Yeah,” he agreed, taking your hand in his. “I can’t recall a better date honestly.”

“Same.”

He rubbed his lips together, wetting them with his tongue. “Maybe we can do this again. I mean, if you’d like that.”

“I would love a second date with you, Dylan,” you whispered.

He smiled before taking a dive, leaning in to plant his lips to yours. You swore the fireworks were erupting loudly around you, bound to wake the neighbors from the nonexistent explosions. The touch was tender, his pink lips perfectly soft against yours. His lips enveloped yours, his head tilting to the side to give him better room to kiss at you. Short lived, he pulled away with a subtle smack, tucking your hair back like he always did. Your eyes stayed shut, lips still puckered from the surprise connection.

“Goodnight,” he mutters just loud enough for you to hear.

His touch vanished, the man gone from the hall before your eyes could open. It was almost as if everything was an illusion, Dylan being nothing more than a figment of your imagination. But the tingle on your lis ensured you of the truth. With an everlasting grin on your face, you slipped into your apartment, pressing your back to the door. Your face hid in your hands, happy squeals filling the hallway.

There was a bounce in your step while getting ready for bed, curling into your blankets happily. Your face brightened at the text from Dylan on your screen, his ugly mug in his contact picture winking at you.

[Dyldo: Sleep tight, beautiful. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.]

You sent him a quick goodnight before turning to your social media.

That’s when your mood dimmed.

Pictures of your date were out on twitter, news articles already popping up questioning what was going on. Dylan hadn’t formally announced his break up, but that wasn’t the only issue going on. The pictures showed your dance in the park, the picnic your shared, Dylan’s hand on your back and your hands linked while walking down the beach. In some pictures, you could make out the loving expressions you held for one another. All of the news articles questioned who you were and what you were doing with him.

The comments made bile rise in your throat. You were ready to puke while reading them. Most were negative. People were insistent on claiming them as his own while others were pushing for answers, typing in all caps to express their disconcert. You couldn’t count how many people said you didn’t look good together, saying how Dylan could do better. There were the normal ‘I love you’s’ that floated around, but your heart sunk into a vat of acid when you saw the comments about you.

You could feel his millions of fans scorning you, judging you based on looks or biased assumptions. Comment after comment, they called you names and picked on every aspect of you. They said how you should leave Dylan alone.

Tears slid down your cheeks as your fell asleep, phone laid on the bed by your side. The one comment that broke your heart the most shone onto the roof, the letters bolded and imprinted into your mind.

SLUT

♪What if we rewrite the stars?/ Say you were made to be mine/ Nothing could keep us apart/ You'd be the one I was meant to find/ It's up to you, and it's up to me/ No one can say what we get to be/ So why don't we rewrite the stars?/ Maybe the world could be ours/ Tonight♪

~

♪You think it's easy/ You think I don't want to run to you/ But there are mountains/ And there are doors that we can't walk through/ I know you're wondering why/ Because we're able to be/ Just you and me/ Within these walls/ But when we go outside/ You're going to wake up and see that it was hopeless after all♪

You did everything you could to ignore the things people said. The thing that mattered was you and your feelings for Dylan.

Months passed and all you did was spend time with Dylan while he was out of work. And times were beyond exceptional. They were one of a kind and you didn’t want to trade them for anything. Whenever you were together, you mood lifted, finding new adventures to go on with the man. And every day that passed, you feel more and more in love with him. Things were slow to develop, but not slow enough to make you lose interest.

He hadn’t officially asked you out, but it felt like you were a couple. He would text you good morning and good night, buy you little gifts when you least expected it, and make you meals. Well, you often made the meals together. The kissing increased since he kissed you goodnight, the feeling of his lips on yours like an addicting drug. You couldn’t get enough of them, finding yourself locked in a heated make out session on the couch or in his bed.

The bedroom was even more heated than the kisses you shared. Despite the lack of a formal title overhanging your relationship, it didn’t stop you from exploring the deeper side of things. And boy, did he make you feel good. Occasionally, when you would relax in bed together under the covers, his hand would sneak into your shorts, toying with your wet core as he kissed you passionately. Other times, your hand would slither into his sweatpants, stroking his hardened length. Hands would swap for mouths once in a while, pleasing the opposite party with the flick of a tongue, but things never went beyond that.

Dylan knew about the hate you were facing from his fans, but he chose to ignore it. He constantly told you to ignore it as well since. ‘It’s not their choice, it’s ours,’ and ‘It’s our relationship. I choose to be with you’ is what he told you day after day. He offered to make a post about it on his Twitter, but you declined, not wanting to make things worse. If people read that, they would only come after you harder, claiming you made him post that.

He held true to his word that he would wait until you were ready to take things further, but he was blatantly obvious that he liked you way beyond a natural level. He wanted to make things work desperately, and you were willing to try equally as hard. Fighting to overlook the comments people made, you focused on him.

You liked him a hell of a lot.

You shut Dylan’s door behind you, hanging up your jacket and kicking off your boots. Skipping towards the kitchen, you found Dylan prepping the chicken parm you were going to make together. Because of the constant attention that surfaced when you were found out together, on a date or otherwise, you agreed to have dates in together, spending time cooking and watching movies. Dylan only wanted your comfort, so he tried to do anything to make sure you were happy.

“Hey, baby,” he hummed, hugging you into his side when you skid to a stop. You shared a brief kiss, the connection lasting longer than you thought would happen. “Ready for a delicious dinner?”

“Of course,” you grinned. “I love your mom’s chicken parm.”

“Her recipe is the best.”

“And she taught you well,” you hummed, pecking his lips a couple times. He whined when you backed away.

“You’re mean,” he cried, watching you hover at the sink to wash your hands. He grabbed his classic ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron you got him as a joke when you started cooking together after leaving high school, tossing it over his head. “You can’t just kiss me like that.”

“Why not?” you teased, tying the apron for him. Once perfectly knotted with a bow, he turned in your grasp, tugging you closer by the waist.

“Because it only makes me want to kiss you more,” he whispered. His eyes ran up and down your body, biting at his lip. “You’re beautiful. I hope you know that. You drive me insane.”

“And you’re handsome,” you told him, cupping his face.

You brought his face to yours, kissing him again. This time, it was longer and sweeter, your body melting into his chest. His arms hugged you close, moving his lips against yours skillfully. They dragged downwards, sending shivers up your spine. The bliss of his lips on yours made your fingers curl against his stubbled chin, letting the prickles tickle the tips.Your noses bumped slightly, the passion hovering around you.

He backed away, letting out a shallow breath. “You know, we can just skip making dinner and continue this,” he pushed playfully.

You laughed, shaking your head. “No. I have been looking forward to this all day so I haven’t exactly eaten. Unless you want me to drop kick you, I suggest we cook.”

“You seriously fasted just for my mom’s chicken parm recipe?” he teased.

“Duh.”

“God, you’re so cute,” he laughed, pecking your lips.

The kitchen turned into a natural disaster, a tornado of flour, mozzarella cheese and tomato sauce passing through. You got a face full of flour thanks to Dylan while breading the chicken cutlets, your skin a powder white from the cloudy burst. Your response was to toss a handful of cheese at him, the man trying to catch as much as possible in his mouth when you did. From your distraction, you didn’t realize the sauce was boiling, a pop of red sauce hitting his walls. In the end, you fell over laughing, cleaning while the food finished.

After the meal was finished and the dishes were cleaned, you had cuddled on the couch to watch Liar Liar, one of Dylan’s favorite movies. You snuggled into his chest, his arms wrapped around you with a blanket covering your tangled legs. Though, the film was quickly forgotten. Before Fetcher could skip out on his son’s birthday party, you turned to glance at the man playing with your hair, pressing your lips to his after a second.

That was how you found yourself in a heated make out session with your crush. His head was perfectly tilted to cover your lips completely while your hands slid up his neck and tangled in his silky hair. The kisses were fast paced and sloppy, but full of emotion. They were all open-mouth, tongues sinfully and willfully rubbing against one another in a swirl of saliva and bliss. Your leg was draped over his lap when your body had turned towards him. His hand running up and down your leg, drawing circles to your outer thigh. Your eyes were closed, relishing in the way his lavished your lips. With his other arm around your shoulders, he was able to keep you closer than ever, the kiss never ending.

The hand on your thigh dared to move up a bit further, running over your behind that had lifted off of the couch. The shock of it made you shiver, a moan lost in his mouth. Dylan moaned in return, giving it a firm squeeze before daring to move a tad bit further. But, the squeeze made you stop. Flashes of criticizing words you had been haunted by for months appeared in the darkness of your closed eyelids, the murmurs of his fans when you were out and about ringing in your ears. Their glares pierced your soul, being the final straw to make you break the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” Dylan asked huskily, trying to catching his breath. He frowned at the loss of warmth when you crawled off of him, moving away from the couch. He blinked multiple times, trying to clear the spotted vision that came from his arousal, his hand moving to adjust his erection in his sweats. His hazel eyes followed you as you paced his living room, a hand running through your hair. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” came your harsh words. Dylan felt his heart physically plummet at your words, his eyes narrowing on your form.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asked harder than he meant to, only making you whimper at him.

“It’s just…”

“Babe, we’ve been like this for months now. You’ve never had an issue when I’ve kissed you before,” Dylan told with a hard tone. “So, why now are you doubting it? Has this just been a game to you? Because I sure as hell like you a lot and I’ve been waiting for you to be ready for us to be official. I haven’t pushed because I want you to be comfortable with the idea of us.”

“Dyl…”

“Just tell me why, Y/N,” he pushed. “Why don’t you want to be with me? Are you playing with my emotions? Because I know that’s not you. I’m so freaking sure you like me back and now I’m really confused because things have been so great. I love kissing you and you come on so strong. You kiss me as much as I kiss you.” He ruffled his hair with a loud, distressed groan that filled the apartment. The noise made you cringe, hearing his voice strain from the rippling yell. “I don’t get it. Why?”

“We can’t do this,” you repeated, trying to be firm. “They just… they don’t want this.”

“They?” he asked. “Are you talking about my fans?”

“Yes!”

“Babe, are you still letting their words get to you?” he asked sadly. Dylan moved from the couch, pulling you into his arms. “Remember, they don’t define our relationship. It’s our choice if we want to be together. So, why are you letting their words get to you.”

“I’m scared,” you sniffled. “I don’t want to be hated for loving you.”

Dylan’s heart dropped at the classic ‘L’ word, rubbing his lips together. “They won’t,” he whispered.

“Yes, they will!” You yelled louder than you wanted to.

“Why do you care what they think?” he pushed.

“They’re your fans, Dyl. You’re famous. You’re talented. People look up to you and when they see you with me…” You stopped, shaking your head. “You’ve never had someone look at you the way they look at me. They hate it, Dyl.”

“So what?” He asked again. “It doesn’t matter what they want. It’s about what I want. What we want.”

“You think it’s so easy, Dylan!” You cried, banging on his chest slightly. "It's easy to be like this in the confines of your house, Dyl. But out there, I'm a nobody compared to you.”

“So are they!” He yelled. “Y/N, they are just fans of mine. They are selfish, alright? People are delusional all of the time. All they ever say is how they love me. All they do is ask for pictures and autographs without the simplest of introductions. But you, you’re not like that. You are my best friend. You are the girl I have feelings for. You are the girl I want to date. You are the girl I want to be with for the rest of my life for fuck’s sake!”

“Dylan, you just don’t get it,” you cried. “The way they would look at us. The way everyone would look at us. I’m scared to be with you because they don’t want us to be together. I don’t want to live the rest of my life being the girl that is with Dylan O’Brien that doesn’t deserve it. They should be happy about this, but they aren’t. When it’s just us, it’s perfect. You make me so happy, I can’t believe how much my cheeks hurt when I go to sleep at night. But when we go outside, you’ll realize how worthless this is. How worthless I am. I don’t want to hinder you or your career because your fans want to think we aren’t right for each other.”

“Babe, we can make this work,” he tried to say, only getting pushed away.

“Just don’t, Dyl,” you cried. Dylan’s heart cracked at the sight of your tears running down your cheeks, hands shaking when he took a step forward to wipe them away. “Please, just don’t.”

“Babe, it doesn’t have to be like this,” he whispered.

“We can’t be together. You’re an actor, Dylan. You will always be in the spotlight, no matter what you do or where you go. You have fans and I’m not going to ruin your career like this. This is your life and I hate to say it, but it’s not up to you. It’s not up to me. This isn’t possible when everyone tells us who we can be or who we can be with. I want to be with you, Dylan. I want to be with you so bad. But, I wasn’t the one you were meant to be with.”

“Please, don’t do this,” he whispered, voice cracking with the inevitable tears he was going to shed. “W-we can do something to make this work. If I want you and you want me, then it’s possible, Y/N. You can’t let them get to you. Just, please, don’t go.”

“I’m sorry, Dyl. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be that perfect girl that everyone is happy you are with. I’m sorry I can’t make you happy. I’m sorry I’m not good enough.” You wiped at your tears, rushing to the door. “I’m sorry you had to fall for me.”

“Y/N, no. Wait, please. I-”

You slid on your shoes, the tears dripping off your chin when you turned back to him. “There is nothing that can change our fate, Dylan. They won’t accept us, so it’s better if I let you go before things get worse.”

You ran out the door with it slamming closed behind you before Dylan would move forward to stop you. Your figure was gone from his cloudy view, the tears no longer able to be stopped. His hand trembled before dropping from its outreached position, going limp at his side. It pained him to see you so distraught about this, holding back to appease everyone but yourself. He knew you were caring, but just once, he wanted you to be selfish. That compassion was causing you agony and all he wanted was for you to not worry about what everyone else thought.

It was supposed to be about you and him.

His words fell on deaf ears when he muttered the final words he wanted to express more than anything. “I love you, Y/N…”

♪No one can rewrite the stars/ How can you say you'll be mine?/ Everything keeps us apart/ And I'm not the one you were meant to find/ It's not up to you/ It's not up to me/ When everyone tells us what we can be/ How can we rewrite the stars?/ Say that the world can be ours/ Tonight♪

~

♪How do we rewrite the stars?/ Say you were made to be mine?/ Nothing can keep us apart/ 'Cause you are the one I was meant to find/ It's up to you/ And it's up to me/ No one can say what we get to be/ And why don't we rewrite the stars?/ Changing the world to be ours♪

It was early March in Los Angeles. The rain poured from the dark sky, the heavy drops pounding the ground in a steady beat. The pavement was blackened more than normal from the tears of the sky, people refusing to move about through the patter of droplets. Pellets tapped to your apartment windows, the splash of tired through the water outside somewhat sounding in your home. It poured much like your depressed emotions.

Another X over the day was placed in which you hadn’t seen nor spoke to Dylan. You avoided him like the plague. After your spat, you ignored his calls and refused to see him. And, it just broke your heart even more. Crying yourself to sleep every night was all you could do. Struggle with the feelings that would dissipate was what lumped in your gut. Wishing you could hear his voice whispering in your ear was what your dreamt about. Craving the feel of his arms around you was what you missed.

You were settled into bed, catching up on the latest episodes of some cooking show you loved, when you heard a knock at the door. The clock read some time after eleven, your eyes narrowing on it. “Who the fuck…?” You asked yourself. Who was knocking this late during a storm?

Moving to the door, you clicked on a light to see where you were going. Pushing up on your toes, you peered through the peephole at the late night visitor. You frowned, contemplating for a second that it was best to back away and ignore the person on the other side. But their second knock made you sigh. The lock clicked and the door cracked open to show Dylan’s form better. He was dripping wet, shivering slightly in the March chill. He stared down at his feet, Adidas squishing when he swapped his weight between feet. His hazel eyes looked void of emotion, the normal pop in his irises glazed over with sadness. His stubble had grown out more, framing his chiseled jawline that looked somewhat thinner than you were used to. He was paler, having lost the joy he normally had.

“Dylan,” you breathed. His eyes met yours, mouth opening to say nothing. He remained still, shaking from the wet clothes that clung to his toned body and muscles arms. “Why are you here? And, why are you all wet?”

“I just,” he started, teeth chattering slightly. He shook his head to clear his mind, water flying off the wet tips of his hair. “I had to clear things up. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you and talked to you. Ever since that night when we argued about everything, you haven’t answered my called and I haven’t seen you. I couldn’t leave things like this before I head to Vancouver.”

“Oh,” you whispered. He mentioned once that he was going to film The Death Cure, but you didn’t realize it was so close since you hadn’t talked to him since that night. “So, why are you all wet?”

“Well, I kind of drove over and um,” he breathed, rubbing his lips together. “I guess I hesitated. I had to contemplate what I was doing to say when I got up here. I figured if I didn’t already have some kind of speech ready that you would just shut me out again.”

“So you stood in the rain?” you asked.

Dylan smiled slightly, nodding. “I guess so,” he laughed before his face went back to being serious. “Listen. Everything that happened… I get it. I know being with me isn’t easy. The fame… it’s not easy to deal with and sometimes, I wish I didn’t have it. But, I can’t help that I like you. Most of all, I can’t help that you mean so much to me, friend or girlfriend or whatever. I didn’t want this to ruin our friendship, Y/N. I can’t lose my best friend. You mean too much to me to lose. I wish you wouldn’t worry about my fans, but I’m not here to talk about that. I came… I came to talk to you before I leave. I can’t work knowing we are upset like this. I want my girl back.”

You frowned at him. Your heart was pumping, staring at the solemn man. You liked this man so much and the fame made it impossible to be with him the way you wanted. But, he was still your friend and pushing him away was just doing more harm than good. He had come all this way before leaving for filming to amend things between you both because he, too, didn’t want to lose the friendship you held for so long.

“Come in please,” you told him, opening the door wider. He sent you a confused look. “You’re soaking wet, Dylan. You’re going to get sick if you don’t come in right now and get out of those wet clothes. We will run you a hot shower and we will dry the clothes.”

“Alright,” he mumbled, moving inside with you. The door was locked before you dragged him into the bathroom in your room, sitting him down on the toilet. You grabbed a towel from the rack, Dylan’s eyes following you. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

You sides, placing the towel on the counter. Your hand run through his wet hair, Dylan melting into your tender touch. “I wasn’t mad at you, Dyl,” you told him quietly. “I just…”

“I know,” he bemused sadly. “I get it’s hard. But it shouldn’t matter what people think. I wish you would accept that. They don’t define our relationship. We can make whatever we have work if we just try. No one can say what we are or what we have. It’s up to us what we want to be. But, if you aren’t comfortable, I get it. I just wish-”

“I know,” you sighed. “I know, Dyl. I wish too. I wish that we be together. I like you, Dylan. I always have and I always will. But,” you froze, shaking your head. “Can we not talk about this please?”

“Alright,” he agreed. The sadness was prominent in his voice. He took your hand, bringing it to his lips though, placing a light kiss to it. “I missed you, cupcake.”

“I missed you too, Dyldo,” you hummed, kissing his forehead.

His hand dropped, your hands moving to the bottom of his shirt. He didn’t fight it, lifting his arms so you could slowly pull the wet shirt over his head. When his head popped free from the opening, his hair bounced around happily. The cotton was carefully stripped off his arms, dropping in a wet clump beside the toilet. Your fingers ran down his shoulders and arms, across his chest. The way his muscles rippled made your fingers tingle, his arms tensing and releasing against the smooth touch. You silently admired how beautiful and handsome the man truly was, a picture of pure perfection sitting before you. You played with the hairs on his chest, resting your palm over his heart.

It was hammered against his ribs, skipping beats here and there.

He glanced up at you through his lashes, fluttering them occasionally. He took your hand from his chest, placing kisses to each of your fingertips before lacing your fingers together. You felt your stomach flutter anxiously, heart picking up speed like his. It was almost as if your argument never happened and you were reverting back to the romantic ways you shared before you left him alone. For a second, you though back to the times you shared and the happiness you felt when you were with him. But then, the reality of the situation poked its head out as a bitter reminder of what couldn’t be.

You pulled your hand back, backing towards the door. “I-I will go get you some clothes. Please, shower and get warm.”

You ran out before he could say anything, the door closing before you. You let out a shaky sigh, moving to grab some clothes from the drawer dedicated to him. Spare clothes were kept in case he would pass out in your bed, needing something to sleep in or wear to work the next day. Before returning, you sat on your bed with the clothes resting on your lap, folded neatly.

You thought back on his words, knowing how hard he was pushing to be with you; knowing how bad he wanted to be with you. You felt it too. You wanted nothing more than to call him your own. But the words people uttered behind your back kept you hesitant. You wanted nothing more than to be by his side but the fear made you tremble inside. Your eyes closed, seeing him behind them in all his glory. The image made your heart race, body craving more from him. You reminded yourself repeatedly that he was famous and the fans wouldn’t accept it, but he kept your spirits up, never pushing you to do more than you wanted. He hoped and prayed, sure, wishing you would accept him and only him, but he never wanted to lose you.

Was it truly that impossible to be with him? You started to wonder in that second.

Moving back to the bathroom, it was fogged up before you even slipped inside. Dylan’s figure could be made out behind the curtain, the shower running and falling over his body. The clothes were placed beside his towel, your backside leaning on the counter. You watched him move around, hearing the shampoo pop open so he could wash his hair. His shirtless torso came to mind again, your heartbeat picking up and your body beginning to burn. You wanted to run your fingers along it. Wishing he would run his along your body as well.

Is it impossible? You asked yourself, biting your lip. The pressure of his career and fandom weighed down heavily on you, the fear of acceptance like a cloud over your head. But the sunlight of his smile made you smile, the touch of his skin against yours intensifying the need to be with him. He was able to push away the fight and the anxiety, and you were reminded about how much he meant to you.

In a split decision, your clothes were shed, leaving you bare in the middle of the bathroom. You were scared that he was going to be alright with this and you were scared that this was the right decision. Everything was a whirl in your mind, everything around you not mattering when you pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the steaming hot shower with him. His back was to you, his face dripping with the water that showered over him. His head fell back to let the droplets slide across his skin, his perfectly round behind in plain sight. Your cheeks lit up, but you moved forward.

Your chest pressed to his back, your arms wrapping around his frame. Earning no verbal response, he took your hands in his, his head turning to the ground. You hid your face in his back, kissing it softly. Dylan was happy to feel you pressing into him, but he was confused. He knew where you sat with everything. He understood, despite how much he disagreed with it. And all he wanted was to be with you, no matter what. After everything that happened, the argument you had in his house, he wasn’t sure you would want to continue the potential relationship because of the things out of his control. He didn’t want the fans to make the choice, but they would always be something you would consider.

“What does this mean?” He asked quietly. His voice almost didn’t carry to your ears over the running shower, it was that low. Carefully, he turned in your grasp, his chest against yours. You looked up at him, seeing the whirl of emotions in his eyes. “What does this mean, Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully. He nodded. You were scared; there was no changing that. His fans were part of him and they made things difficult with the way they acted. But, you liked this man. A lot. And you didn’t want to let them change that. “I like you Dylan. A lot. Like, I never thought I’d like you as much as I do now. You are my best friend and I want nothing more than you to be by my side forever. And you know that. But, it feels impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” he whispered.

“Is it impossible?” you asked aloud. His hands cupped your cheeks while yours ran up and down his arms, letting the burn corrupt you. The fear was gone and replaced by him, the way he made you feel, and the love you felt for him. Everything felt impossible because of Dylan’s life because he seemed so out of reach. But, when it came to the two of you, none of that mattered. He was right there in your grasp, unmoving.

“Just say that it’s possible,” Dylan told you quietly.

With your face still in his large hands, he leaned down, placing a firmly soft kiss to your lips. It was sweet and screamed every emotion he felt. His lips enveloped yours, dragging down slowly. Your noses brushed and your foreheads collided tenderly. The kiss made your fingers curl into his arms, sinking into his hold completely.

And without hesitation, you returned the kiss.

Multiple sweet kisses were exchanged, the smack of lips on lps mixing with the rain of the shower. Some were open-mouth so his tongue could trace the innards of your mouth, running along your cheeks until he found the spots that made you moan, while others were just close lipped, smashing together like life depended on it. You were were clenched closed, enjoying the feeling of him in your arms.

His hands moved down from your face, skimming along your sides before cupping your ass instead. Your own hands smoothed against his chest, his pecs flexing under your palms. The kisses sped up slightly, not losing the sweetness that you enjoyed. His cock was twitching upright the more you kissed and pushed into him, trapped between your bodies.  When his hands moved back up your body, swapping from your butt to your breasts with a squeeze, you moaned into him.

His hands fondled at your breasts, thumbs passing over your hardened nipples. The touch made your shiver, moaning more with each passing second. His touch wasn’t hard, making you uncomfortable. It was just right: careful and delicate, almost as if you would break if he did too much. He moaned into the kisses you shared, gripping at your soft mounds desperately. The plump mounds under his finger tips made his mouth water and his mind race with a wild imagination.

His lips separated from yours, kisses lining your jaw until he settled into your neck. His hands left your chest and slid between your bodies. You whimpered when his hand brushed your core, not pushing inside without permission. Always kind, that man, not wanting to push boundaries if you didn’t want it. A sharp intake of air was heard when you answered his plea with your inaudible answer. Your hand joined him, grasping his large shaft in your hand. You stroked it casually, rubbing at the tip that was wet with more than water. The grip you had on him only made him groan louder, finally slipping his fingers inside you.

Together, you pleased the other. His fingers gently thrust into your core, tips curling to claw laviously at your tender walls and sweet spot. Your hand stroked his length, tugging bits of skin over the head before it was released to return to its normal position. Your bodies were flushed against one another, your head resting on his shoulder while his was hidden in your neck, sucking at it until it was red and spotted. The shower rained over your forms, droplets sliding down your skin to make you slick against each other.

He pulled his hand out of you, licking the digits clean while you were whining at the loss of heat. Your hand was pried off of him, your whines only growing louder. With an arm wrapped around your back, you were dipped backwards, his lips on yours in a steamy embrace. On instinct, one of your arms wrapped itself around his neck to keep you from falling backwards. The other hand rested to his chest, only making the entire embrace more romantic. To feel his soft, wet skin rippling under your fingertips while his lips lavished yours in hot, steamy kisses where your tongues twisted and twirled together was nothing but a dream you had multiple times.

You mewled into the kiss when he lifted your leg up to wrap around his waist, his moist shaft rubbing along your core. You were hot and you were aching, walls tensing with anticipation. But naturally, he didn’t do anything until he pulled back, giving you the questioning stare in the sultry brown eyes on his head. He wasn’t one to thrust without making sure you were ok with it first. He wanted you to want is as much as he did.

With a nod, he straightened himself, keeping your leg upright around him and a hand on the small of your bac. You hugged him close, wincing but moaning when he slid in completely, hilt deep in the blink of an eye. He kissed the stray tears that fell, knowing you were in pain from the lack of sex you had in the past. He was larger than most guys too, so taking every inch of his thick cock wasn’t an easy feat. You said nothing, letting yourself get accustomed to his length before bucking forward as a way to get him to move.

He pulled back, pushing back in swiftly just before the tip escaped your grasp. The sudden thrust into you made your head fall back with a loud moan, a hand threaded through his hair to give it a yank. His cock was buried deep inside you, the angle allowing his long shaft to find your sweet spot. The head tapped at it every time he pulled back, pounding into you repeatedly. Wet hips clapped together, skin on skin colliding together in heated slaps. The pistoning of his cock made you moan his name, Dylan’s ears bleeding joy. He had waited to hear you moan his name for so long.

You were quivering in his hold. His powerful, quick thrusts made your head spin and your stomach clench in flutters. His kisses made you hot and your cheeks flush. Your lips were plump and swollen from the multiple kisses he left on them, your neck spotted with red blotches. The hot water the sprayed over your bodies, amplifying the feeling. The heat helped to stimulate your nerve endings, his thrusts ten times more effective than normal. His touch made you whimper for more, needing the constant affection he was giving you.

As soon as you felt your stomach beginning to clench and your toes started to curl, he stopped moving. You were left empty, Dylan pulling out completely and dropping your leg. When you backed away to give him a sour look, you saw him turn to turn off the water. The curtain was ripped back with a scrape of the hooks on the metal rod, your body lifted off of the floor. You squeaked, afraid for a second he would slip, but he managed to step out of the tub, moving your soaked bodies towards your room. The chill of your apartment hit your dripping forms, a shiver running up and down your spine. Goosebumps formed on your skin making you curl into the natural heat Dylan provided. He was always a space heater and now you were glad he kept you so close.

He managed to push the blankets down, dropping you on the bed so it squealed under your weight. He laid to your side, pulling the blankets to your chests. Laying on your sides, you faced each other. Your hand stroked his face, tracing shapes along the speckled constellations on his cheeks. Dylan pulled your leg over his waist, the tip of his cock gravitating to your still yearning pussy.

Slowly, you pulled him forward into a delicate kiss, your lips moving against each other perfectly. They molded together like two pieces of the same puzzle, smoothing together in a lapse of bliss. Your legs twisted together, the leg you had over his waist pulling him closer with a nudge. The tip of his cock poked at your core, finally easing in when you used a hand to give his perfect butt a shove. Moans were mixed in with the kisses, vibrating throats and making the kisses hotter than before.

The thrusts he did weren’t entirely hard or wild. They were just right for you: steady, smooth and loving. He didn’t need to spank your ass or talk dirty to make you wet, though deep inside, you wanted to hear him talk like that as he fucked you relentlessly. Right now, you were glad that he was there in your arms. The sweet kisses made his powerful thrusts explosive, the tip hitting your g-spot over and over again. The kisses never stopped, foreheads resting on one another while your lips slid in rhythm with your clapping hips.

Slowly, they grew sloppy, Dylan’s chest heaving heavier. His eyes squeezed shut, panting with the inevitable orgasm he was about to have. Your hand scraped at his back to keep from screaming out in pleasure, leaving red marks along his tensed shoulder blades. Your walls clung around him, knowing you were close to your end. With one last kiss, you both broke. Your juices splashed around him while his seed spurt out in strings of white. They mixed together in an array of juices, warming your insides completely. Your walls hugged his length, milking every last drop he had built up into your core. His thrusts slowed, lips lingering with hot breaths.

Dylan pulled out of you, his hazy eyes opening. He watched your orbs flutter open, staring longingly at him. He rolled to hover over you, a mixture of sweat and shower water covering his skin from the passionate sex you had with each other. Finger tips ran along his cheeks, pulling him into a rare kiss where you covered his lips. The short connection still managed to make your lips tingle when he pulled away. With a happy sigh, his head fell to your chest, listening to your heart pound against your rib cage. He felt your lips on his forehead, hugging you close.

Things seemed to be perfect. You had the man of your dreams in your arms after a wonderful round of sex - honestly, the best sex you ever had. Now, you were laying in your bed together, legs tangled together, your hand running through his hair. It was like you were made for each other. You were happy. You were content.

Then, the feeling vanished and you were cold inside. The short lived moment was ruined by the bitter reminder of who he was. He was an actor. He was famous. He was hot. And you weren’t right for him. He deserved someone that people would accept. He deserved someone that would make him happy. And he wasn’t meant to be with you. You weren’t going to be accepted. As much as you wanted it, you knew it was impossible. The things people said and the way people glared at you - it was impossible.

His smile fell when you pushed him off your chest. He sat up on his elbows, watching you rushed around to grab a pair a shorts and a baggy Mets hoodie you stole from Dylan’s closet months ago. His lips pursed together, seeing your hand run through your wet, knotted locks in dismay.  

“Baby?” He asked lowly.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you said quickly. You paced the length of your room, biting at your nail. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“Are you serious?” He snapped angrily, falling back on the bed. His hands ran over his face, groaning loudly. “Are we really back on this? I thought we got passed this.”

“Oh, cut the shit, Dylan,” you grumbled.

“Babe, listen to yourself!” He yelled. “We just had sex. The best sex ever. And instead of cuddling, you are pushing me away. Again! I thought by this happening, you were ok with everything. It’s possible for us to happen, babe. But I don’t get why you keep pushing me away.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“Because of my fans?” he sneered. “Because of my fucking fans? Babe, I don’t give a shit what they think! I love you! I want to be with you! You are the one that makes me happy. God, I wish you wouldn’t fucking let them get inside your head. It doesn’t matter what they want. It doesn’t matter how many times they say ‘I love you Dylan’ or anything of the likes. I don’t want them and they can suck my fucking dick if they don’t like me being with you. Hell, I will quit acting if that means I can be with you!”

“But that’s what I don’t want, Dylan!” you cried. “You’re at your best when you are acting. It makes you happy and you are amazing. I’m not going to be the reason you stop. I’m not going to be the reason people dislike you. I’m not going to drag you down, Dylan! I don’t want to hurt you because I’m not accepted. You don’t know how it feels for them to look at you the way they do me. And I won’t let them do that to you as well.”

“Babe, it doesn’t matter. They will learn to accept you because you make me happy. That’s what matters!”

“This can’t happen, Dylan. If this keeps up, it’s just going to end badly,” you cried, tears in your eyes. You played with the ends of the sleeves on your hoodie, the cuffs covering half of your hands. “My hands are tied, Dyl. Your fans won’t accept a nobody like me with the likes of you. You are the most amazing man in the world. Smart, handsome, funny, kind. But, I can’t have you. We’re bound to break because of the lives we live. We weren’t meant to be together.”

“You don’t mean that,” came his cracked voice. “We can make it work.”

“I’m sorry, Dylan.”

“Is this really how this is going to end?” He asked, fighting back his tears. “I’m going to go off to film and this is how you’re going to leave it? It literally feels like you are breaking up with me. Please, tell me this isn’t how it ends.”

You stayed silent.

“Y/N, please,” he cried. “Please, don’t leave me like this. Please, Y/N. I can’t lose you. I just can’t. I need you.”

Without answering, you walked out of the room, heading out to the patio. The rainy air made you shudder, leaning back against the wall. You could hear Dylan’s movements inside, doors slamming hard enough to shake the walls. His words stung, the fact that he admitted to loving you the way he did making your heart completely crack.That made everything even harder.

When the front door slammed next, you peered over the edge of the balcony, spotting his retreating form running through the rain. His headlights came on and his black Charger backed out dangerously. Tires squealed against the wet pavement, water flying behind him. He drove from the lot, his car disappearing into the darkness.

You slid to the ground, finally letting your tears flow freely. Hugging your knees to your chest, your face buried in them, crying into the odd hours of the night for your lost love.It didn’t matter how cold you got from the moist air. Your soul was cold and your heart was ice, a crack ebbed in there for eternity.

♪You know I want you/ It's not a secret I try to hide/ But I can't have you/ We're bound to break and my hands are tied♪

~

It had been a long couple of weeks. People noted how pale you looked and how unhappy you seemed. Once Dylan left, nothing felt right with you. You were empty inside and out. He didn’t bother to call or text. And with him being out of town for filming, you missed seeing him. His words haunted you every night, making you wonder if it was all a mistake.

Had you been in the wrong to worry about others opinions of you? Had you pushed him away wrongly because of his fans - over something he didn’t have control over. He said over and over again how the only thing that mattered was you and him. Yet, you ignored him, telling him how impossible it was. He told you how he loved you and what did you do? Told him no. You told him that you couldn’t be with him because people didn’t accept you.

You hated the situation. You hated his fame. You hated his fans for being so negative when they saw you two together. But, most of all, you hated yourself for breaking Dylan’s heart. All he did was love you, care for you and want to be with you and in return, he was crushed.

Returning home from work one night in mid-March, you tossed your coat on a hanger, dropping your purse on the couch and left your boots in the hallway before taking the bags of groceries to the kitchen. You opened the bottle of beer before preparing to make yourself a small dinner, putting away the groceries you didn’t need. The chicken sat on the counter, staring back at you tauntingly. Dylan always loved his chicken, and the meat was a harsh reminder of the chocolate haired man.

Before you could crack it open, your phone started ringing. Your eyebrow rose, sipping at the beer. Fishing it out, you stared at the unknown number in confusion. With a quick swipe of the green button, you held it to your ear. “Hello?” You answered hesitantly.

“Hi. I’m looking for a Miss Y/N L/N?” the lady on the other side hummed. The line was loud on the other side, only confusing you more. People seemed to be bustling around so you weren’t entirely sure why they were calling, looking for you. You weren’t really sure who they were anyway.

“Speaking,” you mumbled.

“Hi. My name is Ariel. I am a nurse here at Mount Saint Joseph Hospital in Vancouver,” she said. Your brow furrowed, forehead crinkling together. Why was a hospital calling you? “I’m calling on half of a… Mister O’Brien?”

You choked on your drink, sputtering with a cough. Drops of the sour liquid fell to the ground, but that was the least of your concerns. “E-excuse me?”

“I can’t provide a lot of information at this time, but Mister O’Brien was brought in after an accident occurred on the movie set he was working on. You were one of the first on his emergency contact list.”

“W-what’s wrong with him?” You asked quietly.

“Well, he is currently in surgery. It seems the accident caused multiple breaks in the right side of his face and there is the possibility for some brain damage the doctors will assess. We will know more after he gets out of surgery.”

Hearing her words, the bottle spilled from your grasp, shattering on the ground by your feet. You couldn’t even feel the tears running down your cheeks. You wobbled to the side, weakly catching yourself on the table. The tears hit the wood, dark dots forming under you. You choked on your words, sobbing into the phone. He had been hurt after everything that happened. You blamed yourself, already fearing the worst.

“Miss Y/N?” Ariel asked.

“S-sorry,” you choked. “I um… am I able to come see him?”

“Of course. He won’t be out of surgery for a while, but you can come and wait until he can be seen.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible. Thank you.”

You hung up your phone, ignoring the broken glass in the middle of your kitchen as you ran to your room, throwing mismatched clothes into a bag. You called for an uber, making for the airport before you knew what was happening. The first flight to Vancouver wasn’t for hours, but you waited, not caring how long it took or how expensive it was. You were going to see Dylan, even if it killed you.

Arriving at the hospital, his parents and sister were there. They looked as wrecked as you were. Your makeup from work had smeared since you didn’t bother to remove it. It formed dark rings around your eyes like a raccoon without sleep. You still had your bag in hand when you ran in, dropping it to give Julia a massive hug. You sobbed in her arms, burying your face in the girl’s shoulder.

“It’s all my fault,” you cried. “It’s all my fault, Jules.”

“No, honey. It’s not,” she cooed with her ragged, tearful voice. “It was an accident.”

“No, no. It’s all my fault! I pushed him away. I told him we couldn’t be together. He got hurt because I broke him. What if he doesn’t make it through this? What if he stops acting? What if-”

“Shh,” she said, pushing you back to cup your cheeks in her hands. “He’s going to be ok. You just have to believe in that. You have to be strong for Dylan. My brother is strong and he will make it.”

“But, what if he doesn’t forgive me?” you cried. Julia smiled, kissing your forehead.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. And honestly, that boy could never hate you. He’s loved you since the day you walked over to our house. He will get through this and he will tell you the exact same thing. It wasn’t your fault.”

You cried for a bit longer before releasing her, giving hugs to the Patrick and Lisa. Together, you sat in the waiting room until a nurse walked over, informing you that he was out of surgery and in his room. You followed as a unit towards where he laid, your hand grasp tightly in Julia’s.

“He’s under some heavy pain killers and hasn’t completely come out of the anesthetic. He might be sleeping for a while.”

“But he’s ok?” You croaked.

“Well, he’s undergone some reconstructive surgery since the right side of his face was nearly crushed from the accident. He might need to get some more, but he has gotten four plates to support the structure of that side. There is some brain trauma that we will monitor to make sure it doesn’t get any worse, but he should recover from it. I think mostly, it will be afterwards. It’ll be hard to get back out there after something like this.”

You sniffled loudly. Facial reconstruction, four plates he would live with for the rest of his life, brain trauma. Your heart crumbled in your chest. The nurse stopped outside a door, letting Dylan’s parents in first. You were honestly scared to see him. You were scared to see what happened to him. You were scared to think about what would happen. Would he be the same old Dylan? Would he change because of this? Would the surgery change him? Would he still love you?

Julia went next, the three leaving to give you time alone with Dylan when they were done. The O’Brien’s weren’t stupid. They were privy to the feelings you held for their son just as they knew how he felt for you. So, they let you be, letting you have time alone at his side. Grateful as you were, you hesitated before walking in. The bag dropped from your shaky hands when you heart the heart monitor beeping steadily. You saw the IV drop in his arm and his limp body sleeping in nothing more than a hospital gown. Compression socks covered his feet that stuck out from under the blanket, his hand resting on his stomach as he snoozed. You could barely tell it was Dylan with his face bandaged as much as it was, skin a mixture or orange and red from blood and iodine.

Fresh tears sprung to your eyes, covering your mouth to muffle the cry you let out. Your heart shattered to the floor at his broken state. Still, you moved forward, pulling up the chair by his bed. You took the hand without the IV in it, lacing your fingers together with his. They felt colder than normal, his skin having lost the hot luster and rough texture you loved. His knuckles were neatly bandaged as well, your lips pressing to them with gentle kisses.

Under your breath, you hummed quietly, singing him a song you sang together. Since the first time Dylan played it for you, he always made you sing it with him. He once said it represented your friendship because amongst everyone, he was always able to see you. You were the brightest star that lit his path, being there for him no matter what. But, now that you were thinking on it, singing it to his unconscious form, you realized that it mean more than that. You were the only one for him and he was the only one for you.

“I don't care, go on and tear me apart. I don't care if you do ooh ooh. 'Cause in a sky, 'cause in a sky full of stars. I think I saw you,” you sang quietly, your tears falling on his hand. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I was being stupid. I was being selfish. I thought I was doing what was best for both of us but in reality, it wasn’t good at all. I hurt you, I hurt me.

“But, please, Dylan. I need you. I need you so bad. I’m so sorry I kept pushing. And I promise, when you wake up, I’m done running. I want to be with you. I need you by my side. I want you, baby. You were right all along. It doesn’t matter what others say because all that matters to me is you. I will be by your side forever, no matter what. Just please, you have to make it through this. For me. I love you, Dylan O’Brien. I always have and I always will. And no one can stop us from being together if you still want that. I understand if you won’t because I… I broke you beyond belief.

“Dylan, please. I love you so much.”

You fell asleep by his side that night. And for many nights. You refused to leave his side, not wanting him to be alone when he awoke.

On the fifth day, his hand twitched. His body ached as he squirmed under the sheets. Clenching his eyes tighter. He remembered the jerk of his body and the pain the erupted over him like a volcano. He could recall the screams of people around him before the world went dark. He wanted to cry. He hurt, every limb of his body screaming at him to make it stop. The IV twisted when he felt at his bandaged face, remembering how fast everything went. People told him he was hurt, but he would be ok.

Was this ok?

His other hand was warm, a weight hanging on that side of the bed. It hurt to turn, his eyes softening when he saw your slumbering form. You looked like a wreck with your tangled hair and wrinkled, baggy clothes. Dark bags were under your eyes from lack of sleep, the stress having been too much to let you rest properly.

Just having you by his side made his heart thump, the beeping of the machine picking up. He would have smiled if he could, glad to see you there. He was sure that you hated him after the way you shut him out after you had sex. With you by his side, he was elated. The one thing he could have hoped to see was in front of him, holding his hand. The words he heard may not have been a dream after all, your voice echoing through his head with constant apologies.

His hand weakly squeezed at yours, waking you up in the process. He loved the way your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks as you awoke, lifting your head from the side of the bed. It took you a few blinks to focus on his dull brown eyes encased by the bandages that stared down your soul. Tears were in your eyes instantly when he tried to give you a weak smile, squeezing your hand again.

“Dylan,” you sobbed, covering the noises you wanted to cry out.

You pushed up from your seat, the chair tipping backwards. You had to kneel on the side of the bed to hover over him, carefully taking his head in your hands. As tenderly as possible, you placed a kiss to his lips, letting them linger for a second. Your tears dropped onto his face, a smile on your face.

“You’re awake,” you cried. “I love you, Dyl. I love you so much.”

He groaned in response, his dry throat and fractured face not allowing him to talk. Taking his hand, he gave it a squeeze, making you cry more.

“You still love me?” You asked. He nodded slightly. You smiled, kissing his hand. “I love you, Dyl. I’m so sorry. For everything. I was stupid. But, I’m done being stupid. I… I can’t lose you again. I need you. I want you. And no one can stop us if you’ll still have me.”

His fingers twitched, slowing moving to lace with yours. You grinned, crying into your conjoined hands.

You were going to be ok.

~

“You will do great,” you said, playing with the fluffy curls that resided against his forehead. “Deep breaths, baby.”

“I’ve done interviews before,” he laughed, shaking his head.

“I know, Dyl. But this is the first since…”

“I’ll be fine,” he whispered, taking your hand. Dylan kisses your palm, his smile hidden from your view. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too,” you told him, flushing a bright red.

“Dylan, we’re ready for you,” Clarissa, one of the people working on the interview, said, gesturing to the empty chair he was about to rest in.

“Alright,” he told her. Before he left, he placed a kiss to your lips, repeatedly placing them on your skin. His multiple kisses made you laugh, swatting him away. “Wish me luck!”

“Break a leg!” You grinned, the man stumbling away over clumsy feet.

August over a year later had come quickly. Dylan’s accident was hard to overcome, the man dealing with many hardships the entire time. But, he got up off the couch and managed to overcome the plagues of his mind. He filmed American Assassin about six months after he returned home from Vancouver. He went back and finished filming Death Cure in South Africa that May. He was back to the bright and shining Dylan O’Brien everyone knew and loved, and it didn’t even feel like he had been in a life-threatening accident on set.

He was doing press finally for the American Assassin release in a month and he was nervous. This was the first time he was getting interviewed since leaving the hospital and you both knew every interviewer was going to ask about the incident. Dylan had a couple of panic attacks at night when he thought about it, the trauma still present deep inside him. But, after many pep talks and deep breathing sessions he claimed he was ready to talk about. A year and he was going to reveal enough about what happened and how he felt after it all happened.

You stood off to the side, listening to the interviewer, Carla, ask him about the movie and working with Taylor and Michael. She asked about being cast as Mitch and how it was different than the other roles he played. He happily answered it all, never once shying away from his thoughts. He smiled brightly, making you proud of the man you loved. You were giddy to see him having come so far.

“Now, the elephant in the room,” Carla hummed thoughtfully. “The Death Cure. The accident last March. We know it happened, but we don’t know the details. I was wondering if you could share some of your thoughts on that.”

You swallowed thickly, seeing Dylan do the same. This was the moment you had been dreading. Dylan rubbed his hands on his jeans, adjusting in his seat. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Yeah. The, um, accident,” he breathed. “It was hard. Honestly, it was something you know can happen but never thought actually would. One moment I was doing a scene and the next, I was on the ground, in pain, with people screaming around me. I ended up breaking most of the right side of my face and I thought I wouldn’t ever look the same after that. I was sure I was going to be scarred for the rest of my life and I wouldn’t look like me anymore. But, the doctors I had… they were amazing and made it look like nothing ever happened. Now, I just have four plates in my face that I will live with forever. There was some brain trauma I had to deal with but nothing I can’t handle now.

“After I got out, I… I almost didn’t come back. I was scared. I constantly thought that if it happened once, it could happen again. So, I wasn’t sure for a long time if I was going to get back into acting. I stayed in a lot because I didn’t know what to do with myself. But, I also realized that if I wasn’t acting, I didn’t know what I would be doing. Acting is such a large part of my life and I would feel lost if I didn’t get back out there. I couldn’t just give it up after all of this. And I had made commitments that I felt I couldn’t back out of. I didn’t want to give up. So, I got up off my couch, gave Cuesta a call and here we are.”

“So, what was training like coming off of that?”

“Not easy,” Dylan laughed. “I suffered from a lot of anxiety getting back into the swing of things. I spent eight weeks in LA with a trainer and throughout the weeks, I can’t count how many times I had a panic attack. He would pick up on when I was having a panic attack and end the session, helping me calm down. But, overall, it was good for me. It made me stronger, physically and mentally. And honestly, the accident helped me connect to Mitch on such a deeper level. I was able to understand what he went through, the pain and anguish and the anxiety that comes after a life experience like that. That connection meant so much more to me than I ever could have hoped for and I am thankful for that.”

“Well, we are definitely glad you came back,” Carla smiled. “But, I think what we want to know the most is how are you now?”

“Better,” Dylan said gratefully. “The last year hasn’t been the easiest, but I had a lot of support to get through everything. I honestly couldn’t have gotten through it without the support of my family, my friends, and…” He trailed off, glancing over at you. The thing you worried about for so long was about to be revealed. The secret you kept for so long was bound to be told publically. But, Dylan had said he wouldn’t say anything if you didn’t want it. But, you nodded at him, giving him the smile of acceptance he had waited for. “And my girlfriend, Y/N.

“I couldn’t have done this without any of them, especially her. She was there for me through… everything. She was the first thing I woke up after my accident. She was by my side no matter what. She took care of me when I couldn’t do things myself. She really was my rock, there to hold me up when I down. Y/N helped me through panic attacks and night terrors. She helped push me to get back into acting because she knew how much it meant to me. She told me one night that I would regret not getting back out there and honestly, she knows me well enough that she was absolutely right. She didn’t want me to stop what I love and I love her for that.”

“She sounds like an amazing girl.”

“She really is,” Dylan bragged. “She’s been my best friend for so long. I’ve known her for over ten years and I have been head over heels since high school for her. Even if she weren’t my girlfriend, I wouldn’t have gotten through this without her. I needed her just as much as I needed my family. The day I was leaving for London to film, I had a panic attack in the airport. Between her and my dad being there, I was able to calm down. They flew to London with me and stayed while I began the first few weeks of filming. But Y/N… yeah. She was my everything. She still is. She never once left my side. And I’m alive today because of her and her support. I love her dearly and she makes me incredibly happy. I’m lucky to have her.”

“Well, we are really glad you are ok now and back to filming,” Carla smiled.

“It’s good to be back.”

He thanked Carla for the interview, running back to your side. The second you were within reach, his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You laughed as he spun you around, your arms clinging to his neck. “Dyl! Put me down!” you screamed. You were placed down, only to find his lips on yours in a passionate kiss. It was short, but you were left smiling. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, cupcake,” he grinned. “Ready to go home? To our home? God, I love saying that.”

“Dylan, it’s been our house for a month now.”

“I know,” he mused, taking your hand in his, lacing your fingers. “But, It’s our home, babe. I’m not going to get over that.”

“You’re a dork.”

With your hands combined, you proudly left the studio with the man you loved. A guard escorted you to the car that would take you back to Dylan’s manager’s office where Dylan’s car awaited. Some fans were outside, cheering and waving at Dylan. Some were ever screaming your name, smiling at you as you passed. It felt surreal at some of his fans were finally coming around to you, even if nothing was officially said about your relationship status until today. They supported you even when you thought they wouldn’t.

Sometimes, you hated to admit Dylan was right about these things.

The ride back to the house was silent, the two of you munching on some Chipotle burritos on the way. When he parked the car, you took a second to stare up at the marvelous house he bought for the two of you after he begged you to move in with him. Literally, he had gotten on his hands and knees to ask you to move in with him roughly a year after he could properly ask you to be his girlfriend. The large house was perfect - just like him. It was everything you had imagined you wanted growing up; Dylan made it all a reality.

The sun had set by this time. Dylan opened the door for you, helping you out of the car and into the house. His hands sat on your shoulders, guiding you through the front door. He massaged them lightly, his hands a wonder against your skin. The front door was locked behind you, your shoes left in the entryway like always. Your bodies slugged forward, tired from the long day.

“I think I could sleep forever,” Dylan groaned, leading you up the stairs to your room. The light flickered on, Dylan moving from your back to strip off his shirt. “I did not miss this.”

“You’ve always hated press tours,” you teased. “You never have liked interviews and the likes.”

You pulled your own shirt over your head, leaving you in just the lacy blue bra Dylan picked for you recently. He joked that it was because it was Mets blue, but you knew he liked the way your chest looked in it. And it was comfortable, so you were all for it. A darker bit of material covered your nipples, but the tops of the cups were mesh and see through. Roses lines the top of the cups while a box rested between your breasts. It was cute and stylish while providing support. They also made your chest look plump.

Before you could find your baggy nightshirt, two arms snaked around your waist, tugging you into a warm, bare torso. Lips found their way to your neck, tender kisses left from it to your shoulder. You moaned at the careful touch, your head tilting away to allow the better access. Hot breath hit the wet skin from the countless kisses, your breathing increasing and growing ragged.

“Thank you,” Dylan breathed into your ear, nipping at the earlobe. “For everything.”

Your hands smoothed over his resting on your stomach, leaning back into his touch better. “I should be thanking you because my life would be incomplete without you,” you told him.

You turned to see him, finding Dylan staring down at you with a dark glint in his beautiful hazel eyes. In a blink, his face moved forward and he was attacking your lips with his. Sloppy, open-mouth kisses were exchanged, tongues swirling together between your cheeks. Your arm wrapped around his head, tangling in his luscious hair. It helped to keep his face pressed to yours, the loud smack of lips disconnecting and recolliding together filling your bedroom.

His hands traveled up your body, sliding under the end of your bra to grip at both of your breasts. You moaned into the kiss, squirming in his grasp. His fingers flicked at your nipples, making them harder. He fondled them lovingly, jiggling them in an uneven beat. The feeling of his hands against your chest made you ache, your backside grinding against his crotch where the very evident erection was hidden in his jeans.

You were spun in his arms, Dylan lifting you off the ground mid kiss. Your legs weaved around his waist naturally, allowing him to carry you to the bed where you were dropping remorselessly. He popped the button and pulled off your jeans swiftly before moving to hover over you. Your lips reconnected in a heated encounter, his body rolling perfectly into yours. Hips grinded together, sparking your nerve endings to go wild. Limbs tangled together in a jumble of arms and legs trying to feel up the other.

Dylan’s hands worked on your bra while you worked on his belt and jeans. The black leather belt he wore was pulled free and tossed aside with a loud clank of metal. The popped button on the black denim let the hang low to show his v-lines and the happy trail that disappeared into his Calvin Kleins. With the way you were laying, you couldn’t easily push them down. Dylan didn’t have the same issue. Your bra was across the room and his lips were on your breast before you could tell what had happened.

Your hands tugged at his hair, back arching off the bed. Your core pressed up into his covered length, the attack on your chest making it burn. Your matching panties were soaked, juices leaking down your leg. It left a wet spot on his jeans, it growing darker the more you rubbed into him. The man ravished your mounds, taking as much of the skin around your nipples as he could into his mouth. His lips and teeth tugged at it, pulling away with a pop occasionally. His tongue flicked the boisterous nipples left and right, up and down, blowing cold air until they were rock hard to the touch. They were red and ripe, swollen from the assault they were receiving. Red blotches were left between the mounds, the process repeated.

“Dyl,” you moaned, tugging at his hair. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

“Do you now?” He taunted, trailing the kisses down your stomach and along the hem of your panties. “How much do you love me?”

“So much, baby,” you cried, bucking into his face. “So much so that I want to suck your cock while you eat me out.”

Dylan choked, pushing up on his hands to look at you. “Seriously?” He questioned. “You want to sixty-nine?”

“Is that a problem?” You asked.

“No. No, no, no,” he breathed, licking his lips. “It’s really fucking hot. We’ve never done that.”

“Come on, Dyl. Be sexy and kinky for once,” you laughed. His brown rose, a smirk forming on his face.

“I can be kinky, baby. Is that what you want?” He hummed, moving up to kiss your lips. “You want to have some dirty sex with me, cupcake?”

“Yes, actually,” you mused, making him choke again. “Always have dreamt of it. When you were away filming, I would touch myself while thinking about some dirty, kinky sex with the love of my life. I came thinking about all the ways my wonderful boyfriend would please me.”

“Why am I just now being informed of this?” he growled. “I thought we had this agreement about masturbating while I was away.”

“I know. I just couldn’t help it. Finally have this man I’ve always wanted in my life and I can’t stop thinking about what I want him to do to me and what I want to do to him,” you teased. “And right now, I want him to cum down my throat.”

Forcing all of your weight onto him, you flipped Dylan onto his back, The man not bothering to protest. He inched back on the pillows enough to watch you kiss down his chest, the man squirming when you kissed at his sensitive nipples. You smiled sweetly up at him, a mischievous agenda behind your eyes. His jeans, Calvin Kleins attached, were tugged down to his ankles, his cock springing free from its confines. The long, thick length slapped his stomach proudly, twitching with its newfound freedom. The tip was red and swollen with bits of precum dripping out of it. You were tempted to leave his pants bunched around his ankles so you could have that dick in your mouth, but you knew he would whine until they were off. So, they were stripped off of hi completely, dropped off the end of the bed long forgotten.

Dylan gestured you forward with the curl of a finger, placing a kiss to your lips before you spun around on him. “I love you,” he whispered. “And I’m glad you’re mine finally.”

“I love you too, Dyl,” you hummed, kissing him again. “I always have and I always will.”

“Good. Now,” he bemused, smacking your ass to make you squeak in joyful surprise. “I suggest you turn you cute little around, put your pretty little lips around my cock while I lick your pussy until you cum on my tongue.”

“I like dirty Dyl,” you laughed, doing as he said. You nuzzled against his pulsating length, kissing up and down it. Dylan groaned, pulling you back so he could see your dripping pussy better, running a tongue through your folds. His hands kept firm holds on your legs on either side of his head, the actor wasting no time shoving his face completely in your core, tongue delved deep inside you.

You mewled, struggling to stay focused from the pleasure washing over your body. His magical tongue circled inside you, the tip massaging at your sensitive walls in search of the spots that made you scream. He normally found them easily with his cock, but his tongue was struggling; that, or he wasn’t trying hard to find it right away to prolong your delight. The more he licked at your moist center, pulling out occasionally to harshly suck at the swollen nub of your clit, the more he seeped precum that made your eyes widen and mouth water.

Your mouth wrapped around the head of his cock, hollowed cheeks sucking at it happily. Your tongue smoothed over the slit in the tip to savor the salty sweet gold he released, feeling the rough patch of the frenulum. Dylan groaned in approval, the noise vibrating your center and up your body. It pushed you to do more. Your head bobbed along his length, tracing your tongue along the pulsing veins on the underside that succeeded in drawing even more muffled noises from the man under you. The tip of his shaft hit the back of your throat, but it didn’t stop you from showering his length was affection.

His mouth stayed on your core while his fingers played with your clit, stimulating you in multiple ways. In return, you toyed with his balls, caressing them in your hand. Together, you pleased the other, moans muffled by the skin you were sucking at. Your toes curled while Dylan’s flexed, his legs tensing from the overwhelming ecstasy. Your stomach was tightening, coiled from his tongue buried deep inside you. It was burning up quickly, the smoldering fire inside you intensifying. Dylan was shaking, indicating that he was at that point.

With a snap of the fingers, you were moaning around him, your juices leaking out on his tongue. Dylan happily lapped them up, swallowing every last drop. And after two more hard sucks of your mouth, he was shooting his seed down your throat, ejaculating drop after drop onto your tongue. The strings of white cum slid down your throat in waves, not one ounce allowed to escape. When you pulled away, yu ran your tongue over your lips, making sure nothing had managed to escape.

Dylan was breathing heavily when you crawled off of him, his stubbled chin and area around his mouth glistening in the lamplight from your core. His eyes were hazy and his smile was lopsided, the entire aura screaming satisfaction. He didn’t bother to wipe his mouth clean, occasionally licking at them to taste your sweet arousal. You gave him a smile, leaning over his body to lazily kiss his lips. A breathy moan left his lips, pushing harder into it.

He groaned in disapproval when you pulled away, but the frown on his lips upturned quickly when you straddled his waist instead. Your hips rocked against his, his shaft sliding through your folds. It slickened from the roll of your hips, the tip prodding at your core, unsuccessfully sliding in every time. The man under you groaned, gripping your hips tightly.

“Come on, baby,” he scowled. “Stop teasing. God, I need to be inside you. Don’t make me wait. Show me what you got.”

“What do you want?” you asked, circling your hips over him. His mouth opened to answer, a disgruntled moan leaving in a gruff sound.

“Ride me like a fucking cowgirl,” he rasped. “I want to see you bouncing like crazy on my cock. I want to feel your tight fucking pussy hugging me while I cum inside you. I will smack your ass while you pound yourself on my cock. Fuck, baby. Just do something.”

You grinned, sliding his sock inside you with a shift of the hips. He was hilt deep in a matter of seconds, his thick shaft filling you to the brim. Placing your hands on his chest, you propped yourself on the balls of your feet, beginning to bounce on his shaft steadily. Slow at first, your pace gradually got faster, using his chest for leverage. Dylan never cared that you put weight on his chest when you started having regular sex. It allowed you to ride him better, your hips clapping together with a sweaty smack.

Dylan watched you quickly bounce on him, his cock sliding in and out of you quickly. Your breasts followed the same motion, jiggling up and down when you pushed against the balls of your feet. His shaft was wet when he emerged, covered in your arousal before he disappeared again into your depths. With his hands on your hips, he guided your motions, helping you slam against him as hard as you could. And when you had a good rhythm, Dylan would smack your ass to make you moan his name, your backside red with handprints.

Dylan tugged you forward so your chests collided, forcing you to turn onto your back so he was hovering over you. Your legs were pushed up, trapped by his arms so  your legs ended up perpendicular to the bed. The backs of your knees rested to his elbows, Dylan inching up your body so he was deeply inside you. It seemed like his cock was resting to your g-spot because you walls were spasming around him, your moans a constant stream from your mouth. His eyes were locked on yours, giving you a deep kiss before moving.

His thrusts were quick to start, slamming deeply into you. You mewled his name, clawing at his arms and back while he moved. His cock pistoned into you, your back being pounded into the mattress. Every thrust of his hips made a sweaty slapping sound that reverberated through the room. Every push into you allowed him to his your sweet spot harder enough to make you scream, rubbing against your sensitive walls with ease. Your legs bounced through the air, toes furling through the air.

“Fuck me, Dylan,” you cried, throwing your head back in the pillows. His pistoning sped up, slamming you into the mattress. His increased speed made you scream louder and more often. “Fuck! Fuck me, Dylan. Fuck me, Dylan. Fuck me, Dylan,” you chanted. His labored breathing picked up, but he didn’t stop, pushing into you as hard as he could.

“Fuck, you feel so good, cupcake,” he groaned. “So tight and warm. You feel so good. Shit, I can’t wait to fill you with my cum.”

His angle and depth, his speed and power - everything made the knot inside you twist into a million tiny coils before exploding. Deep claw marks shredded at his back throughout your orgasm, his shoulder blades red as you came. Your juices splashed around his length, splattering against your walls and coating his cock. His thrusts became slick, squishing to mix with the scream, the hip smacks, and the heavy breaths.

Dylan leaned down to kiss you one last time, unable to contain his orgasm that he had been chasing. With a muffled grunt that vibrated his throat, he spilled his seed into you. Strings of hot, white arousal seeped into you, ixing with the fluids you released around him. His thrusts slowed, remaining solely so you could ride out your highs. Your tight walls that were once spasming around him clung to every inch of his length, milking the last of his juices into you.

Dylan dropped your legs, rolling off of you onto his side of the bed. Both of you just laid flat, catching your breaths from the rigorous activities. Dylan turned his head to glance at you, you turned to glance at him. Without explanation, you both burst out laughing, rolling towards each other. His arm draped over your waist, tugging you closer to him.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I would be lying here with you now, calling you mine. I’m just so glad that we could be here now.”

“I love you too, Dyl,” you hummed, kissing his lips softly. “I can’t tell you how stupid I was for pushing you away for so long.”

“It’s fine, cupcake,” he said, playing with your hair. “I get it. My fans… they’re crazy sometimes. But, they will accept you because you are the perfect girl for me. They can’t keep me from loving you. They don’t make the decisions for us. I chose you, Y/N L/N, because you are the most amazing woman I know. You have always been there for me when I’ve needed you. You are my best friend and my girlfriend and my lover and…” he paused, kissing you softly. “No one will tell us who we can be or what our relationship is. All I know is that you were meant to be mine and I am never letting you go again.”

“I’m still sorry,” you murmured. “I hurt you so much. I never should have let them get to me.”

“Babe, it’s fine,” he said. “It’s the past and you are mine.”

“But-”

“No,” he claimed, rolling on top of you. He peppered your face with kisses, making you laugh. “No buts. You are an amazing woman and I will fight you.”

“Did you just say that?” you laughed, shaking your head. Dylan grinned before rolling off of you. His naked behind scurried away to the dresser, rummaging through it for a pair of socks. You watched hi in confusion until he returned with a pair of fuzzy Mets socks he rare wore. His half limp dick flounced with his steps, but he was uncaring to what you saw. Plopping himself back on the bed, he pulled you into his chest while his back rest against the headboard. The blankets were pulled up over your laps, your chests exposed.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” he started.

“About socks?” you joked. “Didn’t know you thought so hard about socks, baby.”

“Shush,” he scolded. “Just let me talk, dork brain.”

“Fine, fine.”

Dylan took a deep breath, taking you hand briefly. “Y/N, you are my best friend. You are my girlfriend. You are the girl I have loved for so long. I’m glad I can call you my own. You have been there for me through everything and I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for you. After my accident, I was so glad that you were there when I awoke. You gave me hope that everything would be ok.”

You glanced up at the man, concerned slightly. “What are you getting at, Dyl?”

“I’m getting to that!” he laughed. “What I’m trying to say is that I love you. I love you with everything I have. I love you today, I will love you tomorrow and I will love you for all of eternity. And, I wasn’t planning to do this right now, but, my parents told me to do it when it felt right. And it does.”

Slowly, from the socks he had grabbed, he pulled out a black, velvet box that made you heart stop. Your eyes were the size of golf balls. Inside the box was a diamond ring in the shape of a rose.

“Y/N, I want to spend the rest of my life with you because no one else can tell us who we can be with. We decide what the future holds for us, and mine is with you. So, please, Y/N L/N, will you be my wife?”

You gaped at the ring, making Dylan nervous.

“Please answer me,” he whimpered quietly.

Swallowing, you nodded, tears springing to your eyes. “Yes, Dylan. I will marry you.”

Dylan smiled, taking the ring from the box and sliding it on your finger. It fit perfect and once it was in place, he kissed it repeatedly. He turned to look up at you, finding you staring at him. He leaned up, connecting your lips in a heated embrace. Smiles were hidden in it, the love filling the room.

When you pulled away, he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied. “Now, I’m hungry. Can we order take out?”

Dylan cracked up laughing, burying his face in your neck. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.”

Errthang Tag 2.0: @catcrown21; @voidkitsune24; @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone; @savage-stilinski; @twilightparker; @rumoured-whispers; @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname; @caitsymichelle13; @addicttotw; @fox-lau; @xmadwonderland; @kaelyn-lobrutto24; @lobrien; @kal-pal; @espermirror; @nowthisiswaar; @belleknows; @ashpie97; @mixedupsammy; @dylobrienlover; @newtosaur250; @bandsweyhey; @offthewallspidey; @livinginadreamersparadise; @tommyswolves; @ashotofblues; @bilesbilinskix; @danathewitchywoman; @thisismexxo; @you-all-have-guns; @soulaura-canavel; @bojabee; @obrienswxlf; @feelingsareharddd; @xoitsjustmexo;@supernaturaltakeover; @suggsmate; @cassiee867; @spooky-lara-stilinski; @barryallenplease; @herscrunchiehairtie; @bottleoffirewhisky; @jadalecki-jackles; @evansesdust; @everythingthatisrandom; @puppiesarehappiness; @ixlovexpeterxparker; @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed; @tenseoyong; @jadav5; @mischiefandi; @myrandomzshit; @disbestiles; @mxtchsbxtch; @dafine18; @avadakedabitch; @girlwiththerubyslippers; @xpinkyprincess; @ssweet-empowerment; @jackles-jadalecki; @dobseventeen; @dylnobrien1911, @redstringlovers; @brien-odylan @xxxxdelenaxxxx; @katlovey14; @deajm2116; @loverofwaytoomanythings618;  @megreadss; @nooneelsethandacre; @dvlob

[laketaj24]

Friends IV: Muses and Couches

Author’s Note: Heyy!! Back with the update. Brace yourself. Petty is coming. Taglist open. Requests open! Let me know what you think!!! And thank you for participating in the pols last night and earlier this week!! It was fun as hell to see the little Fairies stake their claim. This one is for you. 

Warnings: SMUTTTTTT!!! TWICE. 

Friends I, Friends II, Friends III Vikings MASTERLIST

The two weeks blurred before your eyes. Ivar was furious but with school back in session and a girlfriend there was not time to talk to you, let alone bitch to his brothers, who had already betrayed him. You took it as the ultimate win. He would never fight Bjorn. Bjorn would win unless Ivar didn’t fight fair, he liked Hvitserk, even though he was an ass to him. So, you had won this round of the game and you were a spoiled victor.

But perhaps the game wasn’t over. You sat with Ubbe, Torvi and Hvitserk at Astrid’s. The small café was packed tonight. Sigurd was doing a secret show Kattegat. The younger Lothbrok had made a mark on the world with his first debut, AXED and ever since then he had been renowned for his music, especially his guitar skills. He was a force in the industry.

You never really spent time with him, Ivar wasn’t his biggest fan and the others never paid their small feud attention, but you did. It was all you heard when you were younger and perhaps it was a sign that your next move should be him. It actually had to be him.

You were the red dress with your beige fuck me heels. No one every said no to them, Sigurd wouldn’t either.

“Are you gonna do it?” Torvi whispered next to you. She was such a little instigator and you hated to admit it, you loved it. “He is looking nice up there, the tour done him some good.”

You laughed. “I actually think it would be a good idea to fuck him as a final goodbye to Ivar you know. Fuck his hated brother and let him and the demon have their spawn.” You twiddled with your straw. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“I think it is an amazing idea. And then we can move you onto a good guy, like Alfred.” She leaned in to whisper in your ear. “he is really interested in you, he likes you.”

“Little Alfred?” You questioned. “He’s younger than me?”

“So, he’s a good guy. Trust me they are rare.”

“Is that why we keyed your ex’s car that night?”

“He punched Ivar over it, it was a win/win.” She added. “You should have seen his face, he was so confused. It was perfect. Now, after this set take your sexy ass up there to Sigurd, work that freaky magic and get the dick! And remember receipts.”

 “Get whose dick?” Ubbe leaned over being nosey.

“That’s all you heard out of the whole conversation.” She griped and placed a playful kiss on his lips. “Watch your brother kill this set.”

  The show went on for another forty-five minutes and you took Torvi’s advice and waited for him on the side of the stage, like a groupie but at least he fucking knew who you were. His tatted hands and arms came to alarm you, Sigurd had changed a little, it was fitting.

His face lit up when he seen you on the side of the stage, his green eyes actually looked happy. “Y/N, fuck it’s been forever! I didn’t even know you were still around here.” His arms wrap around your body and he’s genuine as he rocks a few times with you and steps back. “How’d you like the show?”

“It was phenomenal, I didn’t know you could play like that.”

“Yeah.” He paused. “I know you remember Ivar talking about my music lessons.”

“Fuck him.” You spat. “I think he was jealous.”

“Likely.” Sigurd smiled. “You wanna talk for a second. I have to go back on in an hour or so, there is no point in talking to my brothers, they’re infatuated with Torvi.”

“Yes! That would be awesome. Where to?”

“She has a room set up for me back here. I would love to tell you about the tour if you wanna hear. It’s just so good to see a face I’m familiar with.” He opened the side door and you walked in after him and took a seat on the brown couch. The room smelled of jasmine. Astrid was all about essential oils.

“So, tell me about the tour. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yes, it was amazing. I went to some places that blew my mind. People know me now. It’s weird.” Sigurd takes his seat next to you and his arm brushes against yours. You weren’t too far from him, and you couldn’t take your eyes off his hands. It must genetics. They were riddled with tats but there was no doubt in your mind the thick fingers could work some magic.

“What are your muses?” You asked clearing your throat. You clenched your legs together, were you starting to enjoy this game a little too much?

“Pretty woman like yourself.” He blushed.

“Like me?” You sat back on the couch and uncrossed your legs. “Ivar didn’t think so.”

“He wouldn’t, he’s a child.”

“And you’re a man?”

“I like to think so.”

“Want to prove it, I can be your muse.” You whisper as you turn to him. His face is inches from yours and all you can think about is the way his lips will feel on yours.

“Are you not Ivar’s?”

“I belong to myself and no one, Ivar has a woman.”

He chuckles. “It would have made it sweeter if you were his…” He whispered under his breath as his lips touch you and the kiss deepens.

“We could make it sweeter for the both of us.” You slide your phone out of your purse and lift your eyebrow at him. “If you want to?”

“Yeah cut that thing on.” Sigurd laughs and he kisses you and pulls you into his lap. Maybe it’s nature but you rub yourself against him and feel his cock through the jeans. “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive.”

Everything moves quick. You unbuckle his pants and pull his cock out. You were impressed as you stroke him from tip to hilt and pull aside the red panties. He had magical fingers, maybe the guitar was playing so beautifully because of the way they worked. Sigurd fingers work your swollen clit like it had never been worked before, he kneaded and touched in just the right places that you came before you could even get him inside you. There were no complaints as he took his fingers from you and pushed into you with parted lips and eyes locked on yours. He was different from his hungry brothers. He was gentle. He fucked you slow,. He moaned each time you winded your hips on him and every time you heard him the melodic moans nearly sent you overboard.

You nip at his ear and he sucks air through his teeth. “You fuck me so well Sigurd.” You praise.

And it was just what he needed to get a untamed pace and start fucking into you with a vengeance, or a vendetta. He flipped you onto the couch and fucked you hard and deep until you forgot where you were even at. It doesn’t take long to cum beneath him and him to follow after. He rested on you and your hands sifted through his hair.

“This was worth it.” He laughed.

“I think so.” You smile.

“But don’t send it to him, please?” he sighed. “As much as that fucking twat gets on my nerves, I think he might go a little mad.”

“I won’t.” you assure him. “I swear it.”

   You sent the video. He saw it, read it. Not one word.

You sit in the restaurant with Hvitserk on your right and Sigurd on your left. It wasn’t even awkward as the brother talked and carried on with Ubbe and Torvi about what games they were going to this soccer season or not. Your mind was on the lack of response from Ivar. He responded with Hvitserk and Bjorn but not Sigurd.

“That’s it, you have to come with Ubbe and I to the cabin!” Torvi finished her beer and then grabbed another slice of pizza. “Right Ubbe.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Then that’s that! Yes! Girl’s trip plus Ubbe.”

Your eyes are hooked on the door. It was fucking Ivar. Why was he back in Kattegat? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “I have to go pee or something.” You push against Hvitserk, but it is too late as he makes his way to the table. “Fuck.”

“Y/N, brothers.” He glared at Sigurd and then you. If looks could kill you would have been on the floor, closed casket.

“I didn’t know you were in town Ivar.” Ubbe looked confused.

“Urgent matters came up.” He shoved his hands in his pocket. “But I am here now, can I join?”

“You don’t have to ask.” Hvitserk laughed. “Come on, finally us four are back together again.”

“Yeah, rare.” Ivar’s eyes narrowed. “How is the tour Sigurd? Fucking everything that can walk?”

Sigurd laughed. “No, the tour is stressful actually.” Sigurd had no idea you had sent the video. But he was starting to figure it out because Ivar was being uncomfortable with his glares and stares.

“Good for you.” He stares at you. “Well, I have to be going. Y/N can I have a word. I won’t take you away from your toys too long.”

Hvitserk looked up. “Don’t be rude.”

“Fuck you and fuck off, Hvitserk.” He waited at the door for you. He had a smile on his face. A part of you wanted to run the other way, while the other wanted to see what the fuck he wanted. You reach him. “Having Fun?”

“Yeah, I like this restaurant.”

“Don’t you fucking condescend me.” He growled through his pearly whites. “I will talk with you later.”

“No, you won’t. Go home to Angel, or demon tits.” You step back before he can reach your arms. “And Sigurd plays the pussy just as well as he plays the guitar.” You grinned. “I love your family baby.”

  Four in the morning came fast, you head to your apartment with Ubbe walking you to the door. “Thank you Ubbe, I got it from here.” You laugh as he lazily leans on the wall. He was worn out. “Get some rest.”

“Night.” He said heading down the steps.

You stumble into your home kicking off the heels and tossing the jacket to the ground. You just wanted your bed. A hand clasps over your mouth muting the scream.

“I told you I would see you later.” Ivar lifts you from the ground and your legs flail. “You think you are funny, fucking my brothers like I wouldn’t teach you a lesson. You are still mine.” He drops you to the ground places you against the wall. Everything in you wanted to bolt out of the door but his heavy frame made it impossible to pass.

“Get out of my house!” You yelled.

“I will go nowhere. I got over Hvitserk.” He paused. “I got hit by Bjorn, but I cannot stand for Sigurd. That little pompous shit is not worthy.”

“And you are? You lied to me. You got another girl pregnant.”

“We were not together!”

“But you promised!!” you hear your voice. “You said it was me, me forever! And then her, you just met her Ivar. You just met her and fucked her like it was nothing. I never meant anything to you did I? Did I!”

“You are everything!” He roared. “And now I have to watch you be some used slut for my brothers! I will not allow it!”

“Better a used slut than a godmother.” You gathered enough strength to push him out the way. “Get the fuck out of my house! Now. Go back to you just add water, instant family and get the fuck out!!”

“I told you that was not how I wanted things to happen. I wanted to be with you! I told you this!”

“But your actions, Ivar, they are not on your side. You lied to me.” You try to hold back they tears. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”

“We are talking all of this out, right now. You think I like seeing you fuck my brothers.”

“I don’t care.”

Ivar invades your space. His hands cup your face and everything about him in this moment is soft. His eyes, his face. He strokes your face and leans in and he kisses you. You fight the urges to punch him in his face and allow yourself to fall victim to the way he touched you. Every spark triggered memories, every moan made you weaker. You place your hands on the wall and he looks down at you. “Tell me you care.” He breathed.

“I don’t.” You add.

“You lie.” His nose softly drags across your jawline and Ivar’s lips press onto yours. “Tell me the truth.”

“I don’t.”

You blink and he’s flipped your around on the wall, his big hands grip your ass and a groan escapes. “You lie to me? Hmmm? You fucked my brothers and you think I am not supposed to care.” He pushes his hands beneath the hem of the dress, and you suck in air. “We can fix this. Who can fuck you better than me?”

“I’m not doing this.” But you were. Your body have given in to Ivar the moment he appeared in your apartment. This fucking bastard was good at bending your will. You don’t protest once he slides the dress over your head or throws you over his shoulder too the couch. The same ouch you’d almost fucked Hvitserk on a few weeks back. Guilt tings you a bit as he starts to spread kisses all over your body. Leaving a small trace of him with each kiss. “Ivar.”

He looks down at you as he throws his shirt to the floor and reveals the tattoos. You were toast. Fucking dead to the world. “What?” he smiled.

Your mouth was dry and perhaps you now understand why people associated thirst with lust, you wanted to drink every bit of him. Fuck his girlfriend. This man was supposed to be yours. “Nothing.”

“Exactly.” He pressed his hand to your throat as he slams into you. This was a fucking punishment.

Your body tenses and a squeal escapes, you’re unsure if it’s in pleasure or pain but he continues to fuck you. His hands get tighter and you gasp for air.

“Short of words?” He snarled. Ivar pushes into you again. “Who can fuck you better than me?” Ivar asked.

Your not able to speak but your body answers, you twitch as your legs are in a frenzied state below him kicking and gripping him to go harder, faster.

“Hmm!” He yells. “Not Bjorn.” His hips snapped onto yours. “Not Hvitserk.” And again. “Especially not that backstabbing cunt Sigurd.” Again and again until you feel the dam break in you. Emotions, fucking tears and your body shook. “Yes, answer me! Who!” You can’t answer as your body ripples into one orgasm and then another. “No one. No words huh. He lifts his hand and you take a big gulp of air only for it to be taken as he continues to fuck you senseless.

Minutes pass and his phone vibrates everyone of them. “Answer it.’ You breathe on top of him.

Ivar answers with a sigh. “Hey, Angel.” Pause, you hoped he couldn’t hear your heart beating erratically. “I will be home tomorrow morning. Yes, mom is okay.”

So he lied to get to you. You shake your head and stand up from the couch. It didn’t seem like a task to collect his clothes from the floor and throw them at him. You take your dress and walk into the kitchen. You wished he would get the fuck out and let you wallow in your sorrow. The call ends and you make your way back into the living room with your hands planted firmly on your hips. “Go.”

“I’m leaving.” He smiled. He stood up and started to dress. “I will never forgive you for fucking my brothers. I hope you know that.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” You lied. “Get out.”

“Gladly.” He says still shirtless but leaving.

He leaves and you climb in the bed, it’s soaked with tears, but you find sleep. It was all you wanted anyhow. The morning, or afternoon comes quickly, and your peace is ruined by the never-ending raps on the door.

“Y/N! Open up!” It was Sigurd.

You barely dress tossing on the first shirt you see and open the door. “Sig?”

“Did you send him the tape?”

“Uhm, why?”

“Because it’s fucking leaked all over the internet!!!” He yelled.

Taglist: @ivarsshieldmadien @equalstrashflavoredtrash @whenimaunicorn @akamaiden @siren-queen03 @titty-teetee @sparklemichele @wilddrabble @imgoldielikehawn @greennightspider @tomarisela @scumyeol @raindrop-dewdrop @naaladareia @vikingsmania  @readsalot73 @oddsnendsfanfics @amour-quinn @wheredidallthedreamersgo @unsure-but-trying @lisinfleur @ceridwenofwales @leaderradiante @microsmacrosandneedles @valynsia @captstefanbrandt @therealcalicali @lol-haha-joke @b-j-d @cinnabearice @tephi101 @grungyblonde  @ivarslittlebadgirll @igetcarriedawaywithyou @honestsycrets @sunnyfortomorrow @earthsmightiestasses @sincerelysinister @dangerousvikings @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @tgrrose @tierneygonzalez @ivaraddict @alicedopey  @brownsugerhippy @purplerain85 @quaint-and-curious-being @doloreschanal @ilvebeenabad @strangunddurm @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @pebblesz892 @young-ugly-god  @blackspiritshake @starrmoondaisy @trailerthoughtstexas @booyouwhore @athroatfullofglass @riottkatt  @honeyofthegods @funmadnessandbadassvikings @jennadoll19-blog @khiraeth @geekandbooknerd @innerpaperexpertcloud @rabeccablake @savismith @boo-youwhoreee 

[jessahmewren]

when the monster is too big to slay / Queen Angst/Fluff

Written for the Queen/BoRhap Fluff Challenge. My prompt was “Don’t worry, I can’t sleep either.” Tagging @bowieandqueen11 who is the awesome leader of this challenge!  Thank you for letting me participate!

Also at AO3

Fandom: Queen

Pairing: Brian May/Roger Taylor 

Rating: T

Words: 1339

This is ANGSTY but also fluffy.

Summary: In light of devastating news, Brian and Roger find comfort in each other 

-0-0-0-

The curtains rustled gently, buoyed on a soundless breeze that circulated through the still quiet of the room.  Brian could feel it just above him, joining the drifting current of endless thoughts that stole his sleep.

Again, he peeled back the light blanket and walked to the balcony of his hotel room.  The stars were dimmed by the city’s ambient light, but the sky was beautiful all the same.  Wisps of clouds earlier in the evening had cleared, revealing a stark, pale moon and a smattering of stars scattered as though mere afterthoughts to the untrained eye, but Brian knew better.  From his vantage point, he could just pick out Orion.  

The scene did nothing to lift his bleak mood, however.  

Frowning, he thought of last night.  

He worked his bottom lip, teeth worrying the flesh until sparks of pain urged him to stop.  Last night, before everything changed, he thought.  

And suddenly, a knock came at the door.  

There was no need to glance at the clock; he’d been looking at it every twenty minutes or so.  It was three am by now.  

He strode to the door, heavy on his bare feet, the white buttondown he’d worn to the after party unbuttoned to the waist of his jeans.  He didn’t bother with the peephole, having a good idea of who it might be.  

Brian unchained the door, still somehow surprised to see Roger standing on the other side of it. He still wore his clothes from the party… a black semi-sheer shirt that shimmered in the light from the hallway, black jeans melted to his slim frame.  His usual stunning blue eyes were red-rimmed and a little dull, from crying or drinking Brian couldn’t tell.

“Did I wake you? Ah Christ, I woke you didn’t I,” Roger rattled off.  He’d definitely been drinking, but he was far from drunk.  

Brian grabbed one of his restless hands, rubbing a thumb over the knuckles there.  “Don’t worry. I can’t sleep either.”

Roger met his eyes then, his lips curling downward into a soft pout.  “What are we going to do Bri?” He was on the verge of tears again…Brian could just tell, so he pulled him inside and closed the door behind them.  

“The best we can,” he whispered into his hair.  “That’s all we can do right now Rog.”  

He could feel Roger begin to tremble in his arms, and then pull away.  “Jesus,” he muttered, and smoothed a hand over his hair to steady himself.  “Have you got anything to drink?”  There was a tremor in his voice, and he was as frail and vulnerable as Brian had ever seen him. It made his heart seize to see it, and whatever personal grief he was experiencing at the moment multiplied tenfold at the sight of Roger in such a state.  

“Sure,” he soothed as he ran a hand down his arm.  “Scotch ok? It’s in the cabinet.”  

Roger poured himself a double, hands shaking on the decanter, and put it down with a loud clatter. He looked up sheepishly at Brian. “I’m a right mess, aren’t I?”

Brian rushed over to him, a hand settling at the small of his back.  “You are handling this as expected, Rog.  This is a shock to all of us.  I’ve been up all night trying to…” he plunged a hand into his deep brown curls, “trying to figure out how to even process this. It’s just a lot.”  

Roger bent his head forward as if in agreement, and Brian took the opportunity to stroke the back of his neck, just under his hair.  Roger looked back at Brian, a few tears streaking down the soft skin of his cheek. “Let’s go outside, yeah?  I need to smoke.”  

They sat on the balcony, neither of them saying much.  A barge passed through the canal below, and they watched it in silence.  Roger lit another cigarette, and when Brian held out his hand for it, he didn’t tease him about never smoking.  Not this time.

“How is Deaky,” Brian asked between drags.  “He hasn’t said much about it to me.”  

Roger’s eyes watched the water, then the sky.  “Me neither. It’s like he’s pretending nothing’s wrong.  That he’s fine.”  Roger flicked his cigarette out into the blank canvas of night, the cherry tumbling down into the dark.

“Nothing’s fucking fine Bri,” he said as he looked at Brian, then stood to leave.  “It’s never going to be fine again.”  

Brian followed him off the balcony and back into the relative warm of the hotel room.  Roger’s arms were folded over his middle, like he was cold.

“Here now,” Brian said comfortingly.  “Let’s get you out of this.”  His arms found Roger’s, and he fingered the flimsy material of his shirt almost lovingly. “You have to be freezing even in here.”

“You can wear one of my t-shirts…much more comfy.”  Brian bent his head and tenderly kissed the man’s cheek, tasting salt and sweat.  He moved his mouth to Roger’s ear.  “Why don’t you change and then come to bed.  We can both try to get some rest.”  

Roger reluctantly nodded, still at war with his emotions and utterly exhausted.  Brian got him the t-shirt and some pajama pants and left him to change, settling in bed once more.  He stared at the ceiling for a while until he felt the bed dip and Roger curl his warm body around his.  

“What if we lose him, Bri?” Roger’s voice was as small and delicate as his body felt in Brian’s clothes, and Brian wanted nothing more than to cover him with his own flesh, skin to skin, to protect him from harm, to protect Freddie, to protect Deaky, to—

“We’re not going to lose him,” he replied automatically, threading his fingers through Roger’s golden hair, pressing his sweet body against his as he sighed in the dark.  

Roger sniffed.  Crying again.  “He has…AIDS, Bri.”  A choked little sob escaped Roger as his face fell into Brian’s chest.  

Brian’s mind began to race. He could fix this.  For Freddie.  For Roger. For Deaky.  Selfishly, for himself.  “We’ll get the best doctors,” he stammered out.  “It’ll be ok baby.”

“We’re gonna lose him, Bri,” Roger murmured miserably into the tearstained patch of Brian’s shirt.  “We’re gonna lose our Freddie…”

Brian closed his eyes as the tears started to seep from under his lashes.  He let his lover cry against him, holding him tightly until he was finished, his small body hot and trembling in his arms with the aftershocks of his grief.  Sometimes tears come, and you have to let them.

“Roger,” he said after he was finished.  The blond lifted his face from the crook of his neck; it was puffy and his eyes were bloodshot and he was desperately in need of rest.  

“Do you know how much I love you?”

Roger quirked his mouth a little, his eyes showing the first glimpse of their old sparkle.  He nodded quickly, and if to prove his point, Brian dipped his head to give him a long and passionate kiss.  

“And do you know how much I love Freddie,” he asked Roger.  

Roger furrowed his brows before replying, “at least as much as I love him.”  

Brian smiled.  “Exactly.  And Deaky loves him that much as well.”  

Roger sniffled.  “So, what do we do Bri?”

Brian hugged him close. “We do what Freddie wants us to do. “We make music.  We go on like business as usual.  And we love him until we give him bruises.”  Roger smiled at that last part, nuzzling Brian’s neck before kissing his pulse point.  “Do you think you can do that, love?”

Roger nodded emphatically, pulling Brian so close their bodies were flush against one another.

He frowned suddenly, his lower lip between his teeth.  “But will that be enough Bri?”  

Brian placed a kiss to the crown of his head, fresh tears stinging his eyes.  “It will have to be love.  It will have to be.”

-0-0-0-

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

Hey @orionwritessomething remember when I asked for writing prompts for Lyric the Magic Shop Owner well over a month ago and you gave me one and then I never wrote it? 

Well I wrote it. Thanks for the prompt!

Prompt: “What about a group of chaotic adventurers stumble upon said shop and try to scam shop owner?“

“Um, Pandora, my dear, I don’t think this is... you know. A real magic shop,” Darcy said carefully. 

He had stopped some distance away from the shop his companion had led him to, and was gazing up at the battered old sign that hung above a weather-worn door. ‘The Raven’s Message,’ the sign proclaimed, and beside those words, an illustration of a raven perched atop a stack of books was discernible despite the old paint’s apparent determination to get up and leave. 

The front window, when Darcy stopped trying to look through it and instead just looked at it, was coated with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. It was’t the dust that blocked his view of the interior, however- it seemed like shelves had been purposely placed in front of the window. Unusual for a shop. Downright strange for this street, where every little locally-owned business seemed to be trying to outdo each other with their window displays. Darcy frowned. 

“But isn’t that the point?” Pandora countered with a grin. She had made it all the way to the door of the shop, only to double back and join him there on the edge of the street. “You’ve got like a billion glamours and shit on this thing, any mage you take it to is gonna see right away something’s up. You gotta go to someone who thinks they know what’s what, but doesn’t actually.”

“You say that like you’e done this before,” Darcy teased. He knew full well that she had, which was why he had asked for her help in the first place. At his words, she laughed.

“Yeah, well, usually just with trinkets. Little stuff. And this shop is new to the neighborhood, so I haven’t actually been here before. So you’d better not be all talk and no skill.”

Darcy flashed her his most charming smile, and patted her cheek. 

“Five minutes,” he assured her as he sauntered toward the door. “That’s all I need.” 

The inside of the Raven’s Message was nearly identical to the outside: generic. The place felt barely lived in. Most of these small, family-run businesses tended to feel somewhat ruffled. Shelves were browsed, items picked up and later placed in a completely different spot. Some semblance of organized chaos made of up hand-written price tags and scavenged display bins. Full of love and hard work- people doing their best with what little they had. 

This shop had none of that.

Items were arranged carefully, almost mechanically, and had clearly not been moved since they had been placed. There were certainly a lot of items- sage, incense, crystals; everything one would expect to find in an imitation magic shop- but none of these items seemed, in any sense of the word, loved. 

“Is this place a front?” Darcy muttered to himself as he looked around. There was not a customer in sight. He did at least spot a cash register on the back counter, wedged between a display of salt lamps and a glass case filled with many colored crystals, but no one around to man it. Feeling uneasy, Darcy adjusted his grip on the item he held, wrapped carefully in a soft blanket. 

“Oh, if I had wanted a front business, I would have gone with an Italian food restaurant. At least then I could eat good food while I was up to no good.”

Darcy turned, startled by the voice. A man had stepped through the curtain-shrouded doorway to his right and now stood only a few feet away. He had somehow made no noise in his approach and Darcy, who had not been snuck up on since he was five, was both impressed and unnerved. 

“And speaking of being up to no good,” the man continued, “You seem like someone on a mission. Can I help you with something?”

Darcy took a moment to study the man before answering. He was not a particularly tall man, and of average build. He certainly dressed the part of an eccentric magic shop over, with the long, flowing coat at the ribbons and beads threaded throughout his long dreadlocks. His pierced ears had a slight point to the- elven blood, perhaps? He did move with a surprising grace for a blind man- that is, if the cloudy white eyes and the faded burn scars surrounding them were being correctly interpreted. There were not many elven-blooded in this city. They were children of the forest, after all. Darcy’s last observation before he spoke was that this may not be as easy as he’d thought. 

“Yes, hello,” he said at last. “I do hope you can help me, my good sir. See, I have recently come into the possession of a curious artifact, and I am hoping to find someone who may be interested in acquiring such an item.” 

“I may be interested, or I may know someone who is,” the shopkeeper answered smoothly. “Please, have a seat.” 

The man gestured toward the corner of the room, where sat a small table between two chais. Of all the spots in the cramped little shop, this seemed the most lived in. There was not a speck of dust to be seen upon the table’s wooden surface. A black cloth was laid out upon it, and a spread of tarot carts sat abandoned. Darcy tilted his head slightly. 

Tarot. How cute. 

“I should apologize for my lack of manners toward a... distinguished gentleman such as yourself,” Darcy said after a moment’s silence. The man paused in his efforts to clear off the table, and a faint look of amusement flickered across his face. Darcy continued speaking.

“My name is Darcien. Darcien Lux, though friends call me Darcy. I’m hoping we can be friends, Mr...?” 

“Lyric,” the other answered. “Just Lyric. And I do hope we can be friends, as well.”

Darcy smiled. Lyric smiled back. An awkward moment passed, then Lyric cleared his throat. 

“So. Darcy. What is it you’ve brought for me?”

“Oh? Oh, but of course.”

With well-rehearsed care, Darcy placed his bundle onto the table and, ever so gently, peeled back the layers of blanket until the item was unveiled. 

Darcy found himself suddenly grateful he had spent the extra time to enchant more than just this item’s appearance, but even so, he found himself holding his breath as Lyric reached out, hand hovering several inches above the jewel-encrusted goblet that sat unwrapped upon the table. 

“May I?”

“Oh,” Darcy answered, “By all means, friend.”

He watched warily as Lyric carefully lifted the goblet and slowly rotated it about in his grasp. His fingers gently traced along the inlaid jewels, and followed the lines carved into the heavy cast metal. 

The goblet, of course, was worthless: a cheap imitation of wealth; any value it might have carried once upon a time had been eroded away by the years spent buried in the depths of the cavernous dungeon where Dacy, Iris, and Pandora had found it. The journey had been otherwise fruitless: whatever sort of lair the place might have been, whatever secrets still lurked beneath the earth, the collapsed tunnels and heavy rocks had cut the unprepared adventurers’ quest short. But Darcy was not one to walk away from an adventure with nothing to show for it. And if he had to trick a few foolish shopkeepers into purchasing a few worthless trinkets, then so be it. 

Lyric took his time inspecting the goblet. Darcy let him, silently focusing on the magic he had placed upon the cup so that it screamed “wealth” and “rarity” to the one who helt it. Finally, Lyric set the goblet down, and lifted his milky white eyes toward Darcy. 

“This truly is a wondrous item you have brought me,” he said with a smile. “Very magical. I like that.”

Darcy- who, despite Pandora’s insistence that this particular magic shop was not a real magic shop, had kept a very close watch for any signs of the Detect Magic or Identify spells a true retailer of magical wares would know to cast, and had not seen the man cast anything- tilted his head slightly. 

“Er, yes,” he answered. A lie came quickly to his tongue. “This is... not my specialty, but I have been assured this is an item of awesome power, capiable of neutralizing any poisons that may find their way into this cup. Certainly a useful item in some instances. Perhaps for a victim of paranoia... or someone with less than trustworthy friends.”

“Mmm, yes, it certainly is,” Lyric replied evenly. Darcy’s eyes narrowed as he observed the man across from him, searching for any tells. There were none- the man seemed genuine, at least as far as Darcy could tell. And, typically, Darcy could tell quite far. 

“So, my friend,” he continued when there were no further comments from across the table. “What do you think? Does such an item strike your fancy? I assure you, you will not see an item like this again, not in your lifetime.”

Lyric seemed vaguely amused by that, a hint of a smirk touching his lips. But after a moment, he nodded.

“If you accept gold as trade, I would be more than willing to offer you fifty gold pieces for such an item. Is that agreeable?”

Darcy had to bite his tongue to keep his initial reaction a silent one. Fifty? He would have considered ten gold pieces to be a win. Fifty was...

“Friend, I believe we have ourselves a deal.” 

He stuck out his hand, and before the thought occurred to him that this was probably a foolish gesture, Lyric took his hand and they shook. Then, Lyric stood and crossed the room toward the cash register, while Darcy rubbed the warmth back into his hand. Lyric’s grasp had been unnervingly cold. 

Not two minutes later, the exchange was made. Darcy pocketed the gold with his most charming smile upon his face.

“It truly has been an honor doing business with you, my friend. I truly appreciate your time.”

“And I, yours,” Lyric responded in equal measure. He wore a serene smile upon his face as he held the goblet. Darcy was mostly out of the door when Lyric added, “And if you stumble upon any other interesting items in the same place you found this one, please do bring them to me.”

From the rustle of clothing followed immediately by the slam, of the shop door, Lyric figured Darcy had simply waved at him on the way out. He shrugged, unbothered, and made his way into the back room of his shop. 

Niiro was seated at Lyric’s workbench, valiantly trying- and failing- to keep the cats from investigating the spell components he had carefully laid out. When Lyric stepped into the room. three pairs of eyes immediately turned to him.

“What was that? A customer?” Niiro asked. Both cats, one a familiar in cat form and the other a cat in the more traditional sense, chirped. Likely asking the same question. Lyric lifted the goblet he had just acquired in answer.

“What is it?” Niiro asked dubiously. “Is it magical?”

Lyric grinned. 

“Not in the slightest, dear,” he replied. “In fact, objectively, it’s rather worthless after all this time.”

There was a clink of glass and the rustle of old parchment. Niiro had turned back to the spell he was working with. 

“If it’s worthless, why’d you buy it?” he asked.

“It seems like time and the elements have finally begun to unearth long-lost secrets,” Lyric answered. He was met with silence, but he could feel Niiro’s exasperated expression on him. Lyric sighed and held up the goblet.

“This is from one of my old hoards, from centuries ago. Last month’s rainfall must have finally uncovered it. I imagine many more treasures from my youth will soon find their way to me. Now, have you seen my spellbook anywhere? I must dispel all of this rather pointless illusion magic-”

As Lyric wandered off, voice fading as he continued the conversation with himself alone, Niiro just sighed and turned back to the mess of a spell he had laid out before him. Cricket, the orange tabby cat that was not exactly a “cat” per se, mewed at him. Niiro just shrugged.

“Fuckin’ dragons, man. What can you do?” he told the cat. 

Cricket seemed satisfied with that answer. 

[drawsndrabbles]

I’ve seen this prompt idea floating around but I don’t think anyone’s actually written something for it yet so maybe you’d be interested. In which Bruce gets really anxious when the Avengers argue because it low key gives him flashbacks of his abusive father, but he doesn’t want to ask them to stop and make a fuss so he just avoids the yelling. Thor notices though, and when Bruce explains he gets protective and tries to make the others keep it down. (P.S. Your writing is awesome 😎)

Oh shit boooooi I’m back if you’re even following my blog anymore wonderful anon I am. so sorry. But I really liked this idea ‘I hope you enjoy! Took a bit of a dark turn though. 

Tw for implied physical and emotional abuse (nothing explicitly detailed) and the description of a panic attack

Bruce wasn’t confrontational by nature.

I suppose a childhood under the care of a monster wouldn’t allow someone to be so. The heated flesh and bruised skin of a word said out of line would silence a loose tongue with little conditioning. And so Bruce became compliant, though the pain often remained unchanged.  

The bullying of other children and degradation both at home and in the schoolyard only made a quiet boy silent in his suffering. And lo the anger and frustration of those wrongdoings twisted a righteous fury within him, but lest he became his father, it lay behind his defenses for fear he may become the monster his father claimed he was.

And so Bruce stays out of conflict, where ever it may be. He shied away from those being picked on in the locker rooms, would speed walk past arguing couples and cover his ears to block out the cries from the next room over.

And life went on.

Until the accident.

It was a curse that the misunderstood called a blessing, a tool, and a weapon. The hulk was everything his father told him he was, a monster, and a mistake. The amalgamation of his frustrations in a cruel and unjust world that swung it’s fists as carelessly as his father. And Bruce hated him.

But, sharing their bodies, their lives, hate is an uncomfortable feeling to hold to someone who knows you as well as you but is not “you.” And so they’d come to an uneasy understanding.

And life went on.

Strangely, it wasn’t so bad anymore. Bruce returned to Stark Towers with Thor and hundreds of Asgardians in tow and was welcomed back with open arms.

When they’d arrived Thor slung a comfortable arm around Bruce’s shoulders and offered him an encouraging smile as the elevator doors opened to the reveal the waiting faces of their comrades.

The reunion was a happy one, with Thor being the boisterous one as Bruce smiled tiredly while they were swarmed with questions from their friends. But as Bruce looked around he noted everyone looked a bit older, haggard and grim rather than the youthful faces he remembered. Even Tony, whose childlike exuberance seemed unending, looked worn, with deeper bags under his eyes and more lines to was the product of a little more than insomnia.

Not only that but when otherwise unoccupied he would glance to Steve every now and again with a grimace that seemed to be mirrored back at him by the captain.

Suddenly a large familiar hand clapped down on his shoulder, startling the scientist as he turned and found himself face to face with Thor.

“Friend Banner, may I request your presence for a moment?”

“Oh, yeah sure. What’s up Thor?”

The god of Thunder smiled lightly before taking Bruce’s hand and leading him out to the balcony. “I-Is something wrong?” Bruce murmured.

Thor’s upper lip curled a bit as he shrugged too mechanically to be nonchalant. “Not presently, however, I wished to ask for your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

Thor nodded. “Is it just me, or does our team seem to be divided down the middle?”

Bruce exhaled, feeling strangely relieved but newly apprehensive at the same time as he glanced back to see half their friends on one side of the room and the other half at the other. “No it’s not just you, but I get the feeling they won’t tell us the truth about it if we ask.”

Thor nodded grimly before turning and offering Bruce a bright smile. “I’m sure they will come together again soon. Loki and I have managed to reconcile our brotherhood so I’m certain the rift will mend with time.”

Bruce gave Thor a small smile and nodded despite the unease knotting his stomach. “I hope you’re right…”

-

Thor wasn’t right.

It had been about a month since their return but it felt like years had passed and Bruce was exhausted.

It seemed like each day brought new reasons for his team to be at each other’s throats, whether it warranted an argument or not. Not only that but with Thor having an entire kingdom to run and educate on the ways of earth, Bruce found himself alienated from his comrades in the time past. So he couldn’t help but feel a little melancholy without a certain God by his side after all that time together in space.

And so Bruce was left to deal with the uncomfortable tempers of his teammates alone.

Now while Bruce himself wasn’t confrontational, he also avoided confrontation whenever possible. Though being strong-armed into the Avenger’s team did little to allow him to lead a peaceful lifestyle. Either way, some of his companions blood ran a little hot compared to his, and many of them refused to back down from a challenge.

He did his best to avoid it under the best of circumstances, and at worst, he had to either find an excuse to leave the room or sneak back to his room or the lab while whoever was arguing was occupied.

It seemed to work well enough for a while, but one day it all came to a bit of a head.

Tony and Bruce were doing business as usual, slumped over their desks and testing new results of different experiments before the sliding door opened and Steve walked in, his eyes downcast on a piece of paper.

“Hey Bruce did you manage to make any progress on-”

Steve paused as he looked up from whatever was in his folder and made eye contact with Tony from where he’d risen from his seat. “Ah, I see your busy.”

Tony bristled slightly and inclined his head in Bruce’s direction. “Yeah, we’re busy. We always are. What’d he ask you to work on Bruce?”

Bruce froze as a familiar feeling of dread began to knot his stomach and the onset of a panic attack cost him his breath. “I, well, That is-”

“Something I asked him to look into. Privately.” Steve interrupted.  

“Oh yeah? Are we not a team Cap?” Tony sneered.

“Why don’t you ask yourself that question.”

“Why you-”

From then on it was just white noise as both Tony’s and Steve’s voices rose with the tension in the room and Bruce did all that he could to try act nonchalant. But as the argument grew more and more heated Bruce felt the pull of hysteria gnawing at his psyche as random splashes of color flashed behind his retinas.

Tony and Steve didn’t seem to notice the chair clatter backward as Bruce bolted out from his desk and stumbled into the hall, using the walls for support.

Bruce managed to get to his room thankfully without encountering anyone else and curled up in the far corner of his bed, grabbing his blankets and encasing himself as he did so.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there in the dark, attempting to calm his frayed senses. He must have been quite out of it, however, he didn’t notice that anyone had entered his room before he felt the bed dip gently.

He reacted violently, nearly jumping out of his skin as he whipped around to see Thor, now standing, with his arms up in a manner that said Bruce had scared him as much as he scared Bruce. But when Bruce registered who it was in the dark he let out a pathetic whine and Thor closed the distance again, sitting close to the trembling scientist and nearly pulling the other man into his lap as he hushed him and rubbed soothing circles into his back.

They stayed like that for quite a while. The sun was setting through the windows when Bruce finally pulled back to look Thor in the face.

The God smiled gently down at him and brushed a stray curl from Bruce’s forehead. “Feeling better?”

Bruce felt his face heat as Thor’s hand lightly brushed his head before returning to its previous position on his hip, but when he tried to pull away Thor just hauled him closer. “I-I, yes? Yeah, I’m sorry you had to see that. After you, uh, yknow, you finally got the time to come to visit. Not, not that running your kingdoms not important, and then teaching everyone earth stuff and-”

Thor shushed the rambling scientist gently. “It’s quite alright, I’m pleased to have been here in your trying time.”

“Oh yeah… that.” Bruce replied, crestfallen.

Thor waited for a few moments before prompting; “May I ask what happened to upset you so?”

Bruce flinched ever so slightly and turned to tell Thor no, but when he looked into his eyes, there was something there, that made him want to talk. “I. It’s a long story.”

“I’d wait years.”

“I-It’s not a pleasant one either.”

Thor placed his hand over Bruce’s squeezing tightly. “I know.”

-

Thor was quiet for the duration of Bruce’s story, his face remained unchanged for the majority of it but at certain cruel and difficult parts, Bruce noted the slight clench to his jaw. And when he finished Thor let out a soft huff like he was scared if he was too loud Bruce would run away.

And Bruce, almost felt better at the end of it all. It was like something exceedingly heavy had been lifted off him, and since he’d grown accustomed to the weight he felt like he could float away.

These things wouldn’t solve themselves overnight, but it was more of a start than he’d had in his entire life.

Bruce smiled at Thor and when Thor glanced at him, his pensive expression melted as he mirrored his expression. “I’m glad you told me, Bruce. I know this was not easy, but I do hope you feel that you may call upon me any time for anything, and I will return to you.” Thor squeezed his hand around where it was resting on Bruce’s and the scientists cheeks reddened but his smile didn’t fade.

“Now then,” Thor began as he reluctantly moved Bruce from his lap. “There is something I must discuss with the team. Though I assure you nothing you’ve told me will be heard from outside ears.”

“Y-You’re not mad are you?”

“Of course not.” Thor answered with a smile as lightning flashed outside. “I just need a moment.”

Thor left Bruce where he was sitting and went out into the main part of the tower, but it only took about 15 minutes before his curiosity got the better of him. Bruce snuck into the hall outside the living room and managed to catch the tailwind of what must have been a massive lecture.

“-peoples lives are at stake due to your childishness. If we were to get attacked now there would be no way you all would be able to act as one and would most likely make things worse rather than better. I’m not telling you to erase the problems nor am I expecting things to be fixed by morning, however, you are obviously all here with the intent to work together again. But that cannot be done if you won’t put the effort towards it. Meet in the middle as Loki and I have done or else you will bring everyone else down with you. Act like the adults you claim to be and cease your useless fighting lest I take Bruce on a holiday and leave you all to do his work by yourselves.”

A chorus of “no’s” had Bruce stifling a laugh from the shadows, but Thor’s wink in his direction had him grinning.

[animationnut]

Uncle Trap: Prologue

Summary: Parent Trap AU. Huey, Dewey and Louie were raised separately, believing that they were only children for twelve years. When fate reunites them at a camp, they realize that they are triplets and that they know very little about their family history. Determined to reunite Donald, Scrooge and Gladstone and make their family whole again, as well as find out what happened to their mother, the triplets decide to switch places. Chapter Rating: T (mild violence and character death) Note: Inspired by @adamarinayu Family Trap AU, which I highly suggest you check out.

                                                    Chapter List

The snowmobiles churned through the mounds of white powder, two black dots against the barren landscape. Donald hunched his body against the wind, wrapping his wings tightly around Della’s waist as she maneuvered their vehicle over the bumpy, treacherous terrain. He squinted through his goggles but all he could see was a swirling mass of white, the back of the snowmobile ahead barely visible.

“This is stupid!” he cried. “Can’t we go back?”

“No way!” exclaimed Della, barely heard above the roaring wind. She turned around to flash him a quick grin. “We’re already this far. Besides, we’ve been searching for this crystal for months and it’s finally within reach!”

“I wouldn’t call an ice cavern deep within Antarctica within reach,” returned Donald, flinching as the snowmobile went airborne for a second, leaping off a slope.

“We’ll be there soon, Donnie! Stop worrying!”

A few feet ahead, Scrooge and Gladstone were leading the way, following the map to the supposed ice cavern that would hold the item they’ve been desiring. Gladstone stared at the worn, frayed piece of parchment, at the black markings and landmarks that were meant to guide them to their target. He glanced up, relieved to finally see three tall rock pillars which formed the shape of a triangle ahead of them.

“That’s it!” he called.

Scrooge slowed the vehicle to a stop near the formation and Della and Donald joined them a few seconds later. They huddled together over the map, the wind rushing past them and rustling the hoods secured to their heads. Squinting at the vertical, frost-covered stones, Donald scowled. “This is the entrance? It’s just a bunch of rocks!”

“Yeah, because we’ve never gone through secret hidden entrances to mystical chambers before,” drawled Gladstone.

“It does nae say how tae access the entrance,” said Scrooge, ducking his chin to keep the wind from slapping his face. “But we’re in the right spot. The snow has been gettin’ stronger the closer we’ve gotten tae this area.”

Della went to inspect the seemingly plain pillars, humming thoughtfully under her breath. “Well…these are in the shape of a triangle. And the crystal is supposed to look a prism, right? So what if…”

She trailed off and gave the pillar closest to her a hard shove. Putting all the strength she had into her wings, the pillar slowly began to budge, tipping forwards bit by bit. Soon the stone was positioned at an angle, where it refused to move further.

Scrooge’s eyes widened and he exclaimed, “Well done lass! Lads, get the others! Form a prism with the stones!”

“Uh, yeah, I don’t do heavy lifting,” said Gladstone, flipping the end of his dark green scarf over his neck. “Come on, Uncle McDunkle, you know this.”

Glaring at him, Scrooge snapped, “If ye do nae want tae help, why do ye always come with us?”

“Excuse me?” said Gladstone, offended. “It was me who got the map in the first place and every other secret key you ever needed to find your magic treasures.”

“By dumb luck,” said Donald sourly. “Like everything you do. Pure dumb luck, no effort involved.”

“Aw, don’t sound so jealous, cuz. It’s not my fault I was born awesome.”

“Stop bickering you two and let’s do this!” shouted Della, excitement building within her at the prospect of solving yet another mystery. Without waiting for her relatives to respond, she raced over to the next pillar.

Donald let out a sigh and went to the last one. Together the twins finished constructing the prism while Gladstone and Scrooge watched. Once the tips of the stones connected, there was a brilliant flash of blue-white light and the ground in the middle the prism started to shake. The ice cracked apart, slowly parting to reveal a set of clear crystal steps, leading to a dark chamber.

Smirking, Gladstone rolled up the map and stuck it inside his winter jacket. “You’re welcome.”

Scrooge removed a flashlight from his pack and started down the steps. Della eagerly followed after him and Gladstone trailed behind her. Donald reluctantly followed after them, peering through the transparent steps. His heart lurched into his throat at the depth of the chamber.

“Boo!”

Donald squawked and jumped. When the flash of fright passed, he sent a glare at Gladstone, who grinned at him. At Della’s giggling, the frazzled duck muttered, “Not funny.”

They reached the bottom of the stairwell and found themselves facing three tunnels to choose from. “It can never be easy, can it?” grumbled Donald, stretching his wings to work the chill from his bones.

“It wouldn’t be much fun if it was,” said Della optimistically.

“Does the map say anythin’ else, lad?” Scrooge directed at Gladstone.

“If it did, I wouldn’t have put it away,” said Gladstone pointedly. “I’m not Double D.”

“Why, you--!”

“Honestly,” sighed Della, snagging her brother by the back of his jacket as he made to lunge at their cousin. “You two always have to bicker.” She paused for a second before admitting, “Though he does have a point.”

Donald sent her an offended expression while Gladstone grinned and slung a wing over her shoulders. “Once again proving you’re my favourite cousin, Dels.”

“Stop foolin’ around,” ordered Scrooge, shooting a quick, reprimanding glare at his niece and nephews. When they settled, he peered intently down each tunnel, though it was useless, as his flashlight barely illuminated much ground ahead of them. “We’ll have tae split up.”

Donald’s loud cry of “No!” was expected, but Gladstone’s sharp, “That’s not a good idea,” was surprising.

Della crossed her wings over her chest, amused. “Nice to see you two agreeing. That certainly doesn’t happen often.”

Donald sent Gladstone a curious glance. His cousin never cared about splitting off to go exploring, because he didn’t have to worry. His supernatural luck was his protection. Bad things rarely happened to Gladstone.

But there was a sudden, stinging sensation in the goose’s gut, and it was ominous and uncomfortable and rather alarming. Gladstone kept his expression cool, not wanting his sudden emotional surge to show. “I just think it would be better if we stuck together. Who knows how long these tunnels go for? Don could get lost.”

“Very funny,” muttered Donald, though he was grateful to have Gladstone on his side.

“Nonsense,” dismissed Scrooge. He rummaged through his pack and came out with three different coloured markers. He handed the green one to Gladstone and the blue one to Donald, keeping the red one for himself. “Mark your path with this.”

Donald reached out and made a quick slash on the smooth, glittering wall. The blue stood out boldly, and didn’t disappear when he rubbed against it. “What about Della?” he asked, not missing her lack of marker.

“I’ll go with Uncle Scrooge,” she offered. “Someone really should be there to reign him in.”

“I do nae think ye are the right one for that job, lassie,” said Scrooge, regarding the girl with a raised brow but unable to keep the affection from his voice.

“Hey, I know my limits! More so than you, anyway.”

“You won’t leave his side?” said Donald suspiciously.

“Promise,” said Della, placing her wing over her heart.

“Relax, lad. I always keep her safe, do I nae?”

“Okay,” said Donald reluctantly, knowing it was useless to argue when the two agreed.

Gladstone hesitated, the twisted knots in his gut only tightening. “I don’t know.”

“Since when are you a Nervous Nellie?” asked Della with a laugh, playfully punching him in the shoulder.

“Ouch! Fine, whatever!” Gladstone threw his arms up and picked a random tunnel, uncapping his marker and making a line on the wall. “We’ll see how generous I am when I find the crystal first!”

“Here we go,” sighed Donald, starting down the middle tunnel.

“Come on, Uncle Scrooge! I’ve got a good feeling about this one!”

Gladstone made his way down his tunnel, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. His marker scratched sloppily against the wall, making a wavy line as he progressed. He paused at a fork in his path and before he went to turn left on instinct, there was a loud buzzing that sent vibrations through the chamber, causing the ceiling to rattle and chunks of ice to be dislodged.

“What the heck?”

Aware that this was a man-made sound and not a force of nature, Gladstone hastily retraced his steps to investigate. As he rounded the corner he came beak-to-nose with a wolf dressed in thick black gear. His webbed foot hit a snag in the floor and Gladstone went down just as the stranger went to punch. His fist cracked against the wall, a sickening crunching sound echoing through the tunnel and he howled in pain.

Gladstone was up and running in a second. He cursed the lack of radio to warn his relatives and kept running. He encountered two more assailants near the entrance to the chamber, but as the pair started towards him they slipped on the ice and clunked heads, immediately falling unconscious.

Gladstone stumbled outside, the roaring snow immediately engulfing him. He cupped his wings around his goggles and looked around frantically, the ground still buzzing beneath his feet, getting more intense by the second. His eyes locked on massive metal drill a distance away from the stone pillars, drilling ruthlessly into the ice.

“No!”

He spun around, about to sprint back into the tunnel, but only found himself falling into the snow as a solid form crashed into him. Donald hastily stood up, eyes locking on the machinery attempting to pierce through the thick layer of ice.

“I’m going to find Della and Uncle Scrooge!” he said, grabbing Gladstone by the wing and helping him to his feet. “You go stop that thing!”

Donald raced back down the steps and Gladstone froze, the cold, bitter wind assaulting from all sides as he struggled to think of his next move. He could stop the machine, there was no doubt about that. But even from his viewpoint he could see the sizable cracks forming, snaking across the surface, and he felt the shaking of the land as it grew increasingly unstable. The ice trembled beneath him and Gladstone knew that a cave-in was inevitable, whether or not he stopped the hostile forces.

His family was out of his protective bubble. If he was above ground while the stability collapsed, he wouldn’t be able to save them.

The sick feeling in his gut only intensifying at the thought, Gladstone ran as fast as he could back into the ice chamber.

“Don! Dels! Uncle Scrooge! Where are you?”

…

Della and Scrooge reached a long, rectangular cavern, where sharp ice spikes covered the floor. At the very end was an intricate pedestal which bore an ornate wooden chest. With a wide grin, Della exclaimed, “That has to be it!”

“We just have tae get over there,” said Scrooge, eyeing the room with a critical eye. “Lass, do ye have your rope?”

“Always.”

Della lifted the item along with a hook out of her pack. With precise movement, she swung the hook to latch onto an outcropping of frost-covered rock jutting out from the ceiling on the other side. She tied her end of the rope to the nearest spike.

Della went first, slowly inching her way down the line. Scrooge was about to follow after her when a shout of, “There they are!” grabbed his attention.

Whipping around, his eyes narrowed at the bulky bulldog and bear storming out of the tunnel towards them. Della started to flip around, intent on helping her uncle, but Scrooge called, “Keep goin’ lass! Ah can spot Glomgold’s goons a mile away. Get that crystal!”

“On it!”

With urgency Della started to crawl along the rope. Wielding his cane, Scrooge dodged the first punch and tripped the bear, who came at him first. While he was on the ground, he raised his cane and whacked him over the head with a strength unexpected for a duck his age, rendering him unconscious. The second goon grabbed him from behind, but Scrooge wrenched his body downwards, forcing his attacker to flip over him and land head-first on the hard ground, cracking his skull.

“Uncle Scrooge! Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine!” answered Scrooge, taking a quick glance to see how his niece was faring. She was more than halfway towards the chest. With a furrowed brow he poked at the still bulldog lying at his feet. “Though Ah must say, Ah’ve never known Flinty to be so…lackluster in his plans tae thwart me.”

There was a sudden shaking as the cavern began to tremble. Scrooge jumped backwards as large cracks appeared in the ceiling, leaking in sunlight from above. Chunks of ice began to fall, shattering the spikes beneath into mere splinters. Holes began to open up in the floor, revealing an inky black depth, where Scrooge could distantly hear the sound of rushing water.

“Della!”

“I see it, Uncle Scrooge! I’m almost there!”

Focussed on the treasure within her grasp, Della strained for it. She yelped as a rock narrowly missed striking her in the head. Heart in throat, she forced her limbs to stop shaking and reached for the chest once more.

“Della, come back at once!” ordered Scrooge, terror beginning to rise as the ice ceiling above Della started to split apart.

It was then Donald appeared, stumbling to halt next to Scrooge, breathing heavily. He caught sight of his sister and he screamed, “Della! What the heck are you doing? We need to get out of here!”

“We’re this close! I almost have it!”

“Della, please, we have to go!”

“Not yet! McDucks don’t quit!”

Donald went for the rope, intent on grabbing his sister himself, but Scrooge restrained him. “The rope is no longer stable enough tae support two of ye!” he said.

“I don’t care! I have to get her!”

As Donald struggled in his uncle’s grasp, Gladstone hurried into the room, feathers askew and out of breath. “What the heck are you people doing?”

“What are you doing?” returned Donald, horrified. “You were supposed to stop the machine!”

Scrooge’s spine straightened with dread. “What machine?” he demanded, though he already had a good idea of what the answer would be.

No one got a chance to explain, for just as Della grabbed hold of the chest the ceiling split apart, creating a giant crevice down the middle. After their vision adjusted to the abrupt burst of sunlight, they could see Flintheart standing atop the ledge, a wide grin on his beak.

“Aha! I got ye nao, McDuck! On the first try, too! Bless modern technology!”

“Glomgold!” snarled Scrooge. “What do ye think you’re doin’?”

“Claiming that crystal! The energy it provides will bring me a flood of money, and Ah’ll finally be richer than ye!”

One goon lowered through the gap on a rope, straight for Della. Eyes narrowing, Della hissed, “I don’t think so!”

With all the strength she had she whipped the chest across the cavern, so it clattered at Scrooge’s feet. He picked it up and watched desperately as Della hung above the crumbling floor. “Lass, ye need tae move!”

Della started to wiggle her way back down the rope, the goon pursuing her. But they did not get far, for there was a giant cracking noise and Flintheart let out a shout, scrambling backwards as the ice began to cave in completely.

“Everybody move!”

What happened next was a series of consecutive events that blurred together, colours mixing with sounds. The cry of the goon as the ice under his hook displaced, sending him tumbling straight to one of the few fully formed spikes below. The screeching of metal as the drill was swallowed by the hole, creating yet another avalanche of ice and snow. Donald, Scrooge and Gladstone screaming as the rope gave way, leaving Della to plunge into the dark abyss with a terrified, haunting shriek. Donald charged forwards, ready to follow his twin into the depths, but Gladstone grabbed hold of his coat, pulling him back, just as a tremendous rush of wind exploded behind them. blowing them upwards and through the ice along with a geyser of snow.

For a while, there was silence. Donald, Scrooge and Gladstone lay in the snow, still with shock. Donald was the first to react with a scream of pure grief and agony which echoed in the artic wind. Scrooge clutched the wooden chest, body shaking with silent sobs as the realization of what had just happened struck him. Gladstone swore loudly and viciously, cursing Glomgold with everything he had as tears trailed down his cheeks.

Why¸ why couldn’t he control his luck? Why couldn’t it have saved Della?

Incoherent with rage and despair, Scrooge and Gladstone had to drag Donald to their snowmobiles. The two vehicles managed to remain unscathed by the chaos. The stairwell was now closed in, blocked by snow. With a tremulous voice Scrooge radioed for help.

It took three days to recover Della’s body. Donald, Scrooge and Gladstone remained in the freezing atmosphere, refusing to leave without her. None of them spoke with each other, cold anger and resentment simmering beneath their stony facade. They kept it reigned it for the sake of Della, for she did not deserve to be surrounded by anger as they bid her farewell from life.

It was after the funeral when the fallout happened.

“This is all your fault!” screamed Donald, shaking with fury, glowering at his uncle who sat stiffly behind his desk. “Why didn’t you go after her?”

“What would that have accomplished?” demanded Scrooge. “Ah had Glomgold’s goons pursuin’ us. If Ah did nae stop them they would have cut the rope themselves! Why did ye nae warn me aboot Glomgold’s plan from the start?”

“I didn’t think I needed to!” Whirling with a ferocious glare at Gladstone, he snarled, “Someone was supposed to put a stop to the machine!”

“What good would that have done?” hissed Gladstone. “Maybe I could have disabled the drill. But that ice already took damage! If I didn’t come down there, all of you would been lost!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do!”

“I though you couldn’t control your luck,” said Donald scornfully. “How could you possibly know you would have been able to save us?”

“I don’t know how it works, I just have guesses,” said Gladstone tightly. “When you’re in my immediate vicinity, my luck covers you, so long as I will it.”

“Guess your will wasn’t strong enough for Della. So much for her being your favourite cousin. But then again, you never cared about anyone but yourself.”

The punch came before Donald was prepared for it, sending him flying across the carpeted floor. Donald sprang to his feet and launched at Gladstone with a wild cry. Scrooge hastily got up from his chair and intervened, forcing himself between his brawling nephews.

“Stop it!” he ordered, trying to keep his voice steady. “This is ridiculous!”

“No,” said Donald shakily. “What’s ridiculous is that I lost my sister. Because she took your lesson to heart. When you’ve gone so far, never turn back, no matter how hard the road ahead is. Look where it got her.”

“Do nae blame me,” said Scrooge angrily. “Ah told her tae come back. She did nae listen.”

“Probably because she knew how you’d react when she returned without the treasure,” said Gladstone bitterly.

“I never would have—”

“You’ve never given us a reason to think otherwise,” interrupted Gladstone. “The time Donald lost the gold lamp in the river escaping from crocodiles? You gave him the silent treatment for three days. The time Della dropped the sacred jewel down the mountain to keep her foothold steady? You were mad at her for a week.”

Scrooge went silent for a minute, slowly lowering his wings. “The problem with ye lot is that ye never listen,” he said at last, voice cold.

“We never listen?” cried Gladstone. “That’s rich coming from you!”

“Like you’re one to talk,” hissed Donald.

Their arguments overlapped, resentment and anger rising above their grief as they pinned blame on one another. They only stopped when a knock came on the thick wooden door and a lawyer along with a Child Services worker entered.

The sight of them sent the trio into silence. Immense guilt swelling in Donald’s chest, he immediately went to where three eggs lay snug in a stroller. He knelt next to them and he whispered, so only they could hear, “I’m sorry.”

He hoped they couldn’t feel the negative energy in the room. They had already lost their mother, they deserved a happy life from here on out. But as the reality descended upon him, Donald screwed his eyes shut. He wouldn’t be able to give them the life they deserved, not with in his income. But it would destroy him if he had to give all three of them up.

Della had not left explicit instructions on what should happen to her sons if something befell her. She didn’t think she needed to, given that she was young and fit. With their parents gone, it left Donald as her closest living relative, and therefore the first choice for guardianship.

“I don’t…of course I want them,” he said helplessly, feeling tears gather in his eyes. “But I just can’t afford to take care of all three of them.”

“Ah can help—” began Scrooge, but Donald cut him off.

“I don’t want your money. You’ve done enough.”

Scrooge bristled at that, but even as anger flashed through him, he couldn’t miss the devastation on Donald’s features. Neither did Gladstone. Crossing his wings over his chest, he looked away and said tightly, “If you can’t raise all of them, you can at least raise one.”

Donald shifted his gaze to look at Gladstone, eyes narrowing. “You mean split them up?”

“If you won’t accept Uncle Scrooge’s money and I know you won’t accept my lucky influence, then you really have two choices. Raise one or let one of us raise all three.”

Gladstone knew Donald wouldn’t accept the second option. The duck had already made his decision not to have anything to do with them. Gladstone didn’t blame him, for he was eager to leave as soon as possible and not come back, for if he had to stay in this environment any longer his emotions were going to strangle him. And he couldn’t forgive Scrooge and Donald for their decisions, for their behaviour. It was much easier to live with himself when he could pin responsibility for the tragedy on them.

Donald seemed aghast by the idea, though nothing about this was ideal. He scrubbed a wing down his beak, staring at the eggs. The notion of splitting the triplets up made him feel horrible. But not being able to raise even one of them made him feel worse. He knew that made him selfish, but he needed this.

“On one condition,” he said at last, voice shaking. “You treat them right. You keep them safe. You give them the life they deserve.”

Scrooge gave a short nod. Huffing out a shaky breath, suddenly realizing what he was committing to but refusing to back away now, Gladstone said, “All right then. We’ll each raise one.”

It wouldn’t make much sense for Donald to take an egg and Scrooge to take the other two. Though nothing about this was fair, they knew they couldn’t keep one triplet separated while the other two grew up together. Gladstone knew nothing about raising kids, but for once, he was more than willing to make the effort.

Anything for Della.

The documents were made up and soon enough they were finalized. Donald and Gladstone went their separate ways, Donald to the coast and Gladstone to Las Vegas, and Scrooge remained in Duckburg.

They never spoke again.

[the-roanoke-society]

So uh....I know this might not be the easiest but how about that trip to hell via the gate??

i’m guessing you’re talking about nova and seraphim’s first mission!

step right up–this one’s a bit of a doozy. and decidedly lacking in the aesthetics i had in mind when i first started it and morphed into something wildly different… hopefully the disappointment is more of a dull ache and less of a shooting pain.


there are also depictions of body trauma and other violence below the cut. proceed with caution.

“lillith gave me a briefing on the way down here but uhm–run it by me one more time.”

seraphim grinned, slipping on her forearm guard. she began, reaching up to adjust the goggles over nova’s eyes, “this particular part of the underworld is, to us, gate point seveny-nine point three. it’s not a part of our hell, per se, but it’s–look, it’s close, hit me up on a day off and i’ll explain the finer theological points. our job today!” seraphim pivoted on a heel, grabbing her bottle of body armor and swallowing the last of it with a backwards tilt of her head, “is to go free the prince. name’s kreuger. not a bad–uhh. well he’s not as bad as who’s overthrown him.”

nova swallowed, shifting. the armor was heavier than she anticipated, but lighter, all at once. not something she’d worn before on any previous run. it was a blood-rust red, matte finished, and was more streamlined than bulky. she figured it was because they’d have to be stealthy. move quickly. move unseen. the only thing heavier were the pistols that hung on their hips,fueled by a cell pack that gave off a faint green glow.


she also remembered drake and wyvern positively beaming the day before over the tech that currently cloaked their frames. “the place you’re headed’s not exactly human-friendly. think the mojave with a little more punch and a lot more poison. this–” wyvern tapped on the outer shell. “–will protect your skin, help regulate your temperatures so you don’t get overheated.”

“and this,” drake took the liberty of lifting a mask to his face, “will help you breathe. we’ve got goggles to match for eye safety ‘cause gettin’ ocular degeneration over a period of ten minutes once you get back is a mega bummer.”

“don’t you mean macular?”

“nah, this shit’s a lot worse, we gave it a new name.”

“oh.”

but seraphim’s gentle touch on her elbow brought her back. “it’s okay to still be nervous. from what i’ve heard, every time feels like the first time for the few couple of months that you’re jumping. but you’re with me, and lillith wouldn’t send me in with a rookie if she didn’t think you could handle it, which means i already think you’re a badass. we just have to work together, okay?”

nova smiled at the other agent’s earnest expression. she couldn’t help it. 


this was an adventure that she’d been wishing for, for a long time.

“let’s go take ass and kick names. … wait.”

“close enough!” seraphim laughed as they walked towards the gate, glowing a faint blue around the outer rings. someone had put down stage tape at their mark. it clashed with the long, red rug that rolled out beneath the gate to the doorway. 


“final safety check, equipment secure?” nova noticed wyvern’s voice had dropped a pitch. maybe this was his proper officer tone. she pushed down on her mask, her goggles, taking deep, deep breaths. 


“equipment secure,” she answered him, turning back to meet his eyes at the console at the other end of the room.

“copy. initiating travel sequence. please remain still.”

(”dude we’re not talking over radio, do you still have to say ‘copy’?” “drake shut up!”)

and it sparked. that was the best way nova could think to describe it, even now. like seeing a heart pulsed back from the dead. then the tendrils of white light that branched out from the inner ring, like tentacles looking for each other, right up until they snapped forward, wrapping around the two of them. their feet remained rooted to the floor as they were surrounded by light, and then eventually, lifted.

everything was perfectly silently. that was the barrier building. all of the tethers tying them to their home timeline being carefully snipped, so they could be pulled in. nova glanced at seraphim, who just gave her a swift thumbs up, before there was a violent snap; to drake and wyvern: they were just gone.

but nova and seraphim landed roughly on their feet on rock that looked a bit too much like freeze-dried… well. nova picked her eyes up as soon as she could. didn’t want to look at it. her stomach caught. deep breaths, deep breaths, you’re fine, you’re fine…

but seraphim was hunched over, her breathing sort of staggered, just like hers was. “jeremy, do you have our signal?” her voice was a little weak, hoarse. a little muffled because of the mask. “… good. we’ll signal when we’re ready to be brought back. copy. … and remember to record the thunder game while i’m gone, i think we play los angeles or something. copy for real this time… hey, see, you made it!”

nova just stretched out an arm, which seraphim took, helping her take a few adjustment steps forward. and as nova walked, she was able to take in the landscape that surrounded them–and that seraphim’s gait was a bit stilted.

wasteland. that was the first thing she thought of. a sky the color of a rotted bone. mountains in the distance that weren’t wounded-colored but rather more like aged, rotted wood, jutting up from the cracked, jagged ground. something was coming down from the sky like a faint, soft snow. it was grey. and definitely wasn’t snow.

beyond everything was a faint red glow. like they were standing in a volcano’s mouth, and the rim was wide, wide around them.


“have you been here before?” nova asked, her tone hushed. the space here was oppressive, closing in, heavy. sort of like a sauna set too high, even with the armor. there was a beat before seraphim answered her.

“… a few times. i wouldn’t say i’ve been through the gate often, but i’ve been often enough to know that i really dislike being brought to places like this, and enough to know i really want us to go to gate point nintey-three point one after this. it’s a wonderful kingdom, el. haven’t been in a while. hope the princess is all right, she said something about a man named ganon before i left last...” her voice seemed to trail off for a second, before she coughed, shaking her head. “not sure why lillith keeps bringing me here. i’m not a prime candidate for jumping. … not like you.”

“not like me?”

the goggles were so reflective that all nova could see when she looked at seraphim’s face was either mask or a reflection of an alien horizon. an unholy horizon. “i may or may not have looked over your file before this. you have… i can’t remember the specific words they used. but you have something in you that makes you an absolute fit for this role. i’d called it god-crafted. a gift from the spirit. other people would call it other shit. but i said what i said.” seraphim nodded, like she was adding emphasis, before turning her face to look at the landscape. “okay. they sealed kreuger underneath the end of the palace–”

“the palace? hell has palaces?”

“my sweet little chicken nugget, all underworlds have more than we’ve been told. and to answer that question, yes. like… c’mere, look, look…” seraphim beckoned her over to a ragged cliff, which overlooked a valley that seemed to stretch on for eternity.

it was like a cradle full of darkness. the only light that existed seemed to be that of fires, torches. candles.

and in the center rose up something that towered over everything, something that–reminded her a lot of maleficent’s castle from sleeping beauty. weird. 


“that’s where we need to go. if i remember from the last time i was here, i know a shortcut we can take, we just have to stay low and stick together. you good? … awesome. follow me. keep your eyes peeled. we don’t want to fire unless we absolutely have to, it’ll draw attention to us that, trust me, nobody will want.
“

*     *     *

it still took them hours to reach the palace. hiking through the worst kind of desert, dodging rogue demonic entities, hiding. seraphim discovered that their armor had built-in cloaking (”were you going to fucking brief us on this or did you just forget?” “… uhm.”) which made it infinitely easier.

it took nova–well, to be fair, she still hadn’t quite gotten over how they all looked. and none of them were the same. each demon was fairly humanoid in shape… except for when they weren’t. and each one had viscera showing where a body part was missing… except when they didn’t, and then proceeded to have way too many eyes or mouths or teeth than any being anywhere had the business of having. and the sounds they made when they walked. if she wasn’t going to ask cherub for something for her bath before…


“think dinosaur rules,” seraphim had whispered over her shoulder, crouched behind the corner of what nova thought looked a little like an adobe house (not even the ability to become invisible could quite break her out of sneaking behind everything). in fact a lot of the aesthetics of the city–could she call it a city?–reminded her a lot of taos, jemez springs. new mexico. “if they don’t see movement, they don’t see anything.”

“wait, didn’t someone disprove that?”

“lucky for us nobody told these assholes.”

as they snuck further and further into the heart of the metropolis, the aesthetics seem to… shift. from rustic adobe to more alhambra. if she could easily pick out things from her own world to compare all this too, then surely, it was tied to earth somehow, right? “uh, morgan…” nova began. she kept close to her side. the alleyway they were walking down was vacant. seraphim took the opportunity to stretch her neck, roll her shoulders.

“this place looks a lot like this catle in granada…”

“that’s because it–sort of is.”

and there was a bit of silence before: “… i’m guessing i should wait until we get back before i lay into you with questions about how the fuck that’s possible and what the hell that even means.”

“first bath, then a nap, and then i know this great brunch place not too far from the estate, i promise i’ll tell you everyt-!” her voice cut out abruptly and one of her arms shot out in front of nova, pressing her against a wall as something huge, hulking and smoking lurched in front of the opening of the alleyway. seraphim let out a long, shaky exhale. 


“the only place worse than this is centralia…”

“where?”

“put it on our list of sleepover topics. it’s gonna be long. this place tends to do that. although it’s honestly not that hard to sneak through as long as you’re careful and you’ve got the right tech. you just gotta be smart.”

they both carefully started towards the end of the alley, sticking close to the wall. nova thought she could smell something… it wasn’t brimstone, not quite. but close. just as unpleasant. “speaking from experience?” it came out before she could stop it. 


seraphim didn’t answer until they reached the end, motioning for nova to look upwards. the spire of the tallest tower looked a lot closer than it had an hour ago. they were getting close. “… yes. once. once is all it takes for you to learn. i had amy tattoo my left calf for a reason.”


*     *     *

it was only when they reached the actual outer wall separating the palace from the rest of the city did the vibe turn a bit more–gothic was an apt descriptor. the spanish vibes gave way to something more once upon a time, something more disney, and somehow it was worse than what they’d walked through. a glossy surface trying too hard to be romantic hiding something insidious underneath, like organs wrapped in plastic wrap.

there were vines of roses along the upper edge of the wall with thorns the length of nova’s palm.

seraphim stared up at the blossoms, “okay. climbing over the wall is a no-go. each of those packs enough poison to kill something three times our size. the front main gate in and out has about sixteen different layers of wards on it and as much as i love our basement boys, i don’t exactly trust their cloaking shields to withstand that this close to the throne room…” seraphim started taking one step, then another, eyes on the flowers, lost in thought.

and nova was, too, up until she remembered: “oh! wait, i have an idea.” she unclipped a small box the color of gunmetal from her belt over one of her back pockets. “i’ve been helping jeremy and joseph with this. we’ve had a few successful test runs, and i think now would be a good time to give it an actual field test.”

“well, shit, okay, you thought of an idea first so we’ll go with that. uh–what is it?”

and nova actually swayed a bit, like an excited child. “i’ll show you. but first, you have to tell me… if you could make a hole anywhere in the wall, where would be the best place?”

that was about the time that they heard shouting, too close to be comfortable. it was in a tongue deep, guttural, with a lot of clicking interspersed. “definitely not here. c’mon, i think i know just the spot.”

after about fifteen minutes of fast-paced creeping, seraphim stopped. nova could see the roof of something like a shack over the roses, which she no longer doubted were circling the entire place. “just on the other side of this wall is a part of the chambers for the staff. i’m positive that he’s under that, and that there’s gotta be a way down there. i don’t think they’d let him starve to death, he’s too useful alive.”

“awesome. okay, stand back, calibrating this is a bit tricky…” seraphim took a few wide strides backwards as nova tucked the nondescript box into the crook of her elbow, but quickly jumped when she realized the agent was doing so to remove her glove. 


“ellie, wait, no no no–”

“i have to have skin-contact in order to activate it, i promise i’ll hurry. call it a sacrifice for the mission.”

as soon as the glove left her hand she very immediately realized that she wouldn’t have a choice. she’d been expecting a burning sensation, and that’s exactly what she got, but it still sort of took her breath away, for the first few seconds. it felt like something that you could almost get used to, if given enough time. almost. seraphim’s own covered hands went to the sides of her face. “oh jesus, okay, go do your thing sugar–”

with her thumb on the top of the box, and with her jaw clenched trying to fight through the persistent stinging, she traced a well-practiced pattern. for a moment, nothing happened. then from the end of the box shot out a circle of light, that landed on the wall in a perfect oval, like an outline.


“oh it’s so pre–”

seraphim didn’t get to finish. there was a sound like a large rubbing band being strung, almost like a bass guitar strum–and there was a perfectly cut hole in the wall.


nova was struggling to put her glove back on so she didn’t quite notice how seraphim had thrown her arms out and was just wildly gesturing to nova, to the wall, back to nova, back to the wall, “what the fuck. what the fuck. what the fuck. oh my god. that was awesome. holy shit. what the fuck did you just do. i just. oh my god. oh my god let’s go i have so many questions when we get back–oh. ellie, you all right?”

she was taking in breaths through her teeth, cradling her hand against her chest. “yeah. yeah. just feels like a really really re-he-eally bad sunburn.”

“well hang in there starkid, as soon as we find kreuger, he can take care of the rest himself. and ah, we won’t want to be here when that happens anyway. pray that nobody’s in here.” she brought up her pistol, “i know i said no firing, but–wait, was that your trigger hand?”

“uh–yeah.”

seraphim took the liberty of taking nova’s pistol of its holster and putting it in her uninjured hand. “as long as you don’t shoot me, this’ll probably work. probably. okay…” her voice lowered. “team break.”

*     *     *

lillith must have timed their jump on purpose, seraphim reasoned, or had some kind of premonition about how long it would’ve taken them to get to the castle, because right as she pushed open the shack door, there was a single, long gong from far above them. “what was that?” nova couldn’t get above a whisper. 


“given that no one’s in here, i think it’s a feasting hour. all the help’s off serving that absolute fucking batshit son of a--” a huff. “we need to hurry and take advantage of this while we still can. the servants here are the only creatures i pity. … well. they’re at least on the top five.”

nova could see why. the room was rotting away in places, black, black, blacker, an absolute absence of color amidst what looked like concrete and wood. two sets of bunk beds, and the word ‘bed’ was generous. more like just four stone slabs large enough for an adult human attached at different heights to the wall. and that was all, except for a scrap of off-white fabric on the floor.

“but where do they go to the b–”

“trust me, you don’t want to know.” seraphim interrupted, peeling back the rug to reveal a trap door. she sighed, “i know this is the right way, but this seems too easy… you got us through the wall, i’ll be body insurance going downstairs, deal? cool.” she lifted the heavy door, grunting under the weight, revealing a very narrow stairwell that looked like it was carved out of brick. there was a dim light coming from somewhere they couldn’t see, just enough to make the stair landing visible. seraphim shook her hands, taking a deep breath. “here goes nothin’, wish me luck.”

she didn’t get very far.

seraphim put one leg out in space, aiming to awkwardly go down the steps, when her leg jerked hard to one side. she swore under her breath and grabbed nova’s arm, quickly pulling herself up to sit on the floor.

she had a needle roughly the same thickness as a knitting needle shoved through the top of her boot. blood was beginning to ooze from the wounds. “ohhhhkay. i don’t know what else i was expecting.”

“morgan–”

“this is fine.”

“morgan.”

“this is okay.”

“do we leave it in?”

seraphim swore again, this time with a little more enunciation. “no. i don’t know what this is made of and now it’s currently inside of me, so we’re just going to uhm–ellie you have to do it.”

“what?”

“ellie i can’t pull this out you have to do it, you gotta not hesitate and just go for it, i don’t have the g–FUCK.” nova wrapped a hand around one end of the needle and jerked it clean in the middle of seraphim’s rambling, replacing it as quickly as she could with her hands, adding pressure. there were a few moments where the only sound was seraphim’s ragged breathing, which eventually calmed, as she braced her foot against the opening to the basement. safe in nova’s hands. “… thank you.”

“don’t mention it… but what do we do now? is the entire area down there going to be like that?”

seraphim sighed. “probably. and we could stop and look for the way that the help disarms the hallway, or we could do it my way, which will take a lot less time…” she awkwardly shifted up into a squatting position on the floor, staring down into the dark. “and because we did the right thing and properly hydrated before the jump, i should be able to do this even with my gloves on… just gotta focus for a sec…”

seraphim took one huge breath in, and out. ignore the pain. ignore it. we’ll deal with it later.

she held her palm out flat, and then lifted it. as she did, spots all along what they could see of the lower level glowed a faint lavender shade. 


nova’s eyes widened. were… were those all the traps that had been set?

seraphim raised her other hand, and tried to snap her fingers. no dice. she hissed, making an abrupt fist.

what followed was a soft cacophony of things breaking, falling, or shattering.

“morgan that was–oh!”

seraphim had yanked her mask down in time to vomit violently off to the side, rib cage moving erratically underneath her armor. it honestly didn’t make the room smell that much worse.


“are you–?”

“yeah, just uh–don’t ask me to do anything like that again for a few hours.”

“that was… amazing.”

seraphim threw her head back, laughing roughly. “yeah, we’re both pretty rad, now let’s–let’s go get this fucker so we can go home, i need to go to medical like yesterday.”



*     *     *

with the traps disabled, the going down was easy, and straightforward. they crunched over needles, arrows, and metallic shapes as they went. everything around them was like sod, with torches embedded in the walls. 


nova tried not to think about that they looked like arms, eternally smoldering just bright enough to light the way.

“what, no labyrinth of endless twisting hallways? i’m a little disappointed.”

seraphim was trying to not limp but pain spread up her leg with every step she took. shit, shit, shit. she kept glancing to nova’s hand, hoping that she couldn’t see behind her goggles. “for one, they think that the traps will kill or maim anyone not authorized to be down here. for two, if they are authorized to be down here, why waste their time?” their voices were quiet. they hadn’t seen anyone else down here, but…

the torches stopped. and there was a long stretch of darkness before they came to another pair. nova grabbed a hold of seraphim’s arm, and she let her keep it there, up until they entered the rim of a dim glow by a wall of bars.

a cell.

“kreuger.” seraphim began, gently. “… kreuger.”

“hush–exorcist.” nova’s grip on seraphim tightened as he spoke. she had to twist back when she realized she’d almost buried her face in seraphim’s shoulder out of some kind of reflex. he sounded like… the buzzing of bees, the low growl of a monster, with a canyon beneath all of it. she hated it. “i hear you… who is this? this is not john.”

“no. it’s not. enoch has… left our little club, since we last saw each other.” 


as seraphim spoke, voice laced with pain, kreuger stepped up to the light, although nova could see the backlight, inhuman reflection of his eyes before he got close to them. she wished he’d stayed away.

he did look human. almost. limbs a little too long, face a little too angular. his eyes were a solid pink, no pupils to speak of (where did the reflection come from, where did it come from?). he had horns, like a ram, that rose up and wrapped around his pointed ears in a tight spiral. 


he… was hunched over. nova felt a little bad for him, then. somewhere in her chest. like you’d pity a vulture in a cage too small.

“good. i hated him.”

“you hate everyone, kreuger.”

“oh, now, dear lady morgana, be kind. i tolerate you, do i not?”

“you’re going to do more than tolerate me here in a second, we’re here to bust you out.”

“… bust me…?” but seraphim was too busy digging into a pocket by her kneecap, pulling out a small bottle. it was crystalline, marked with a cross. holy water. kreuger’s eyes widened in what might have been surprise. “… you are releasing me.”

“psellus is not the rightful ruler of this place. you are. and i don’t know the intimate details of the politics of this fucking shitshow but you can be damned sure that where we’re from we greatly prefer lawful evil to complete, uncontrollable chaos. now if you give me one second–” seraphim uncorked the bottle and kreuger quickly recoiled back away from his bars; the senior agent hobbled along the length of his cell wall. the metal seemed to dissolve as soon as the water hit it, and then there was nothing.

nova became very acutely aware that she was standing in the same room with what was essentially a demon king.



this was going to make a good story someday.



but as he started to walk forward, there was clanking. “… shit. water can’t cut through that.”

kreuger stood to his full height as soon as he passed where his threshold had been. he was easily seven feet tall, and dressed all in black, in–a suit. this guy had a taste for aesthetics, nova would give him that. 


“everything in me is suppressed because of these chains. i do not know where psellus found them…” he had thick, chain link cuffs on both his wrists and around his ankles. it reminded nova of the same stone she’d seen on the ground where they had landed. they were massive. probably needed to be. her heart was in her throat.

“ellie, you still have your box from earlier?”

oh no.

“y-yes.”

kreuger smiled and revealed a mouth full of knives. well, fangs, but they looked like knives, for all intents and purposes. “oh how adorable! and she smells so good…” 


“can you focus that circle into a point? that circle you made?” seraphim tried to make her voice as solid, as reassuring, as possible. because now nova was staring up at kreuger’s face and maybe trembling, and-well. 


now she’d really see what she was made of.

“we–i can. yes.”

“okay. kreuger, you stay still, spread out like this. ellie, focus that thing to a point and cut through his chains.”

“you–you can’t magic them apart? like the traps?”

“oh that was you? excellent work, exorcist.”

“–thank you, your highness. and no, el, i can’t. that level of tinkering–if i tried that again this quickly there’s a good chance i’d rupture an organ. i’ve had lots of practice but there are still things i’m not able to do, not yet. ellie, look at me. … kreuger is not going to hurt you.” her face went to the king himself. “he needs us, and knows exactly what’ll happen if we don’t come home.”

“mmm, yes. how is our dear lillith.”

“she’s fine. ellie, if you would.” she stepped closer to her, muttering by her face. “i know that you’ve already burned your hand once today, do you think you can push through and do it again? if you don’t, then you’ll have to tell me how to do it.”

“no–no. i can do it.”

kreuger assumed a strange position, wrists and ankles spread apart. his gaze made nova feel naked in the worst way. 


and seraphim watched with not a small amount of pure, unadulterated admiration as ellie readied the box, and removed her glove. she was even brave enough to glance at his face once. 


“ready?”

“ready, little solider.”

solider. strange.

and it may have been to comfort her, or it may have been a warning, looking back, but as nova traced a different pattern over the top of the box–her skin feeling like it was being cut a centimeter at a time--kreuger began to talk to seraphim.

“oh lady, tell me–how has your spine been lately?”

“fine, besides the usual. why?”

“oh, no reason. i just know you wish for a certain thing.”

a heavy sigh. “not this again–”

“and you’ll get it. after… a few trials.”

another strum, like before.

kreuger was unbound.

and as soon as he was, the hallway positively lit up. the torches’ light was amplified as kreuger drew in a breath too big for human lungs, and a pair of wings, that hadn’t been there before, stretched and touched the walls with their span. “… thank you. darling little solder. darling little exorcist. i fear i am in your debt. tell me, how can i repay your kindness pending the slaughter of half of my kingdom?”

nova’s hands shook as she clipped the box back onto her belt, and she tried to focus on being able to tell wyvern and mothman how it preformed afield.

seraphim began, “we’ll call you. for now, we just need to get back to our land point so our crew can get us back.”

“oh, allow me.” without warning, kreuger put his hands on their backs, reaching around them. his limbs seem to elongate, to stretch, and nova thought to herself, hm, that’s strange, i’ve never had a hand on my back that was the entire length of my spine before.

seraphim tried to stop him, in her defense. “wait, no, kreuger, if you push us through then we’ll–”

too late. 


drake, wyvern and longma let out high-pitched shrieks as seraphim and nova were launched, unannounced, from the gate’s mouth. they landed roughly on the carpet, hacking, grasping at their masks and goggles to breathe air natural and familiar to the lining of their lungs.

“holy shit! are you guys okay? what happened?”

nova blinked at the sight of the three faces looking down at her. she smiled to the tune of seraphim’s voice.

“we fucking saved the world. … also please call karen and aly we need them like, right now.”


[selenelavellan]

Finding You

Raised by Uthvir AU

Previous

Mana’din, Selene’s family (mentioned), and Dirthamen are @feynites

It is a short conversation with the disguised spirit.

Apparently she is being asked to Lord Dirthamens lands, though when she asks for what purpose they are particularly vague in details.

They assure her she will be gone no longer than three days.

It means three days away from her posts, but if she is being summoned, then surely her absence has already been cleared with her Lady Mana'din.

She leaves a note for her family to keep them from fretting, complete with a doodle of her sword beside her name so that they know she is not leaving unarmed.

She clasps her favorite cape to her shoulder guards, hooks her sheath to her hip, and follows the spirit through the crossroads without hesitation.

Selene has never been to Lord Dirthamens lands before. Has only been to cities under Mana'dins protections, and her one trip to Arlathan.

It is very exciting to be so far from home, she thinks.

The spirit is quiet for much of the journey. They remain a bird, flying a few feet ahead of her and opening the necessary eluvians, until they finally arrive nearest to their destination.

She is expecting a meeting hall somewhere. Perhaps someone's home, or place of business. But the spirit leads her through the gates, and into the castle of Lord Dirthamen himself.

Whoever has summoned her must be very high ranking here, she realizes.

She glances back up at the spirit; a raven, still. Nearly identical to the one she had found in the garden in Arlathan, that had been so close to her mysterious dancing partner.

She wonders....hm.

There is very little time to ponder the possibilities, before she hears the music. Low, and slow, and nearly muted through the heavy stone walls. It becomes louder and clearer as she continues behind the spirit, a grin spreading over her face as realization dawns on her and she picks up her pace, sure of her situation before the 'surprise' is revealed. Two large doors are pulled open by Lord Dirthamens sentries, revealing a man standing inside of a large ballroom. It has been decorated in a similar manner to the one they had met in, back in Arlathan, and she wonders for a moment if he has actually gone and borrowed some of the decorations for re-use. There are musicians arranged by the back wall, and her dancing partner is staring back at her through his mask. The same one he had worn that night.

I'd have brought mine if I had known, she muses internally as she steps towards him, no longer needing the spirit to show her where to go.

She can't stop her smile from spreading as she moves towards him, sweeping her cape back in a flourish as she moves into a deep bow before he might make yet another grand gesture of his own. He has had enough upper hands for the day, she thinks.

She extends one hand towards him, palm upturned.

He places his own in hers, still gloved as a palpable feeling of relief emanates from him.

“You found me,” She grins as the orchestra strikes up a new song for them.

“When I asked you if I might, you did offer permission,” He points out, following her lead as she glides them through one of the classical steps.

“Still. Sounds like an awful lot of work for a dance,” She teases as she spins him out before pulling him back towards her.

“It was a very memorable dance.”

Selene hums in agreement, moving them into a more complicated step. His own cloak billows behind him as they twirl across the dance floor, feathers fluttering across his neck and shoulders. If she had known why she were being summoned, she might've worn something more aesthetically pleasing for the occasion. Her armor is meant to cling close to her, to keep from making shadows move in the wind and giving away positions, to be silent during patrols so that her quarry won't know she is approaching. It is white and stark in contrast to the dark of his gown, the crimson of her cape a brilliant burst of color around them as he briefly changes their position to spin her himself, switching quickly back into the following role as Selene turns back to him with a laugh.

“Why did you summon me?” She finally asks as the song comes to an end, her hands resting on his waist, his own settled onto her shoulder and hip.

“I wanted to see you again,” He admits.

Selene laughs again, shaking her head fondly. “You could have come yourself, if you knew where I was. Why didn't you?”

He hesitates, and she frowns as doubt starts to rise in her gut at the silence.

Her eyes dart across his face, and she moves one of her hands up.

“May I see you without the mask?”

He hesitates again, but gives her a slow nod before she can become too uncomfortable.

Her fingers carefully tuck beneath his chin, pressing gently between the smooth material of his mask and the skin beneath. The mask falls from his face and lands in her palm. There are four slate blue eyes looking back at her nervously from dark skin that reflects the multicolored lights of the room beautifully. Selene licks her lips anxiously, not in any way off put by the extra features, but concerned about the absence of any kind of markings.

“You don't have any vallaslin,” She says. Not that he probably needs to be notified of it, surely he knows already.

“That is true,” He nods.

“...I do not suppose that is because you are so young that you haven't gained them yet?” Not that that would be a better situation. It might even be worse, really. But they are alone, in a ballroom, with a private orchestra, and he is very finely dressed. There is an obvious answer as to why he wouldn't have any markings, even if he were very very old.

...and he would indeed, she realizes, be significantly older than herself, if it's true.

“It is not,” He admits.

Selene nods slowly.

For a very long time.

Much longer than she means to.

“You're Lord Dirthamen, then.” She finally says.

“Yes.”

She nods a bit faster, now, anxiety starting to override her usual confidence.

“That's great! Congratulations,” She blurts, unsure of how she's supposed to act. She's met Mana'din on more than one occasion, but she's also been assured that the way Mana'din interacts with her people is far from the norm of most of the Evanuris. Selene has never been very good at stopping her mouth when her nerves overtake her though, and they've never overtaken her quite so suddenly before, either. Her voice begins to rise in pitch as she continues, “And you were Lord Dirthamen back in Arlathan then, too. When the spirit of Deceit was your spirit of Deceit. Which means I...called you a spy. Did I ever apologize for that? I didn't mean any offense or anything, some of my best friends are spies you know-”

“I found it very endearing,” he assures her as her voice starts to crack. “You do not have anything to fear from me.”

“Good, that's-that's great! Fantastic. Awesome, really. Not that I was afraid of you. You're not scary or anything like that-unless you want to be scary?”

“No, not particularly.”

“Good,” Selene repeats. “Because I don't think you are.”

“What do you think I am?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head and a note of curiousity.

This time it is Selene who hesitates.

“...I think you're very pretty,” She says honestly. “I think you are a very good dancer, and very romantic, and I like serving your daughter so I think you might not be so terrible, really.”

The skin around his cheeks and ears darkens, as his lips quirk up in a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Silence pervades for a moment, before the orchestra decides to break it and begins a soft tune around them.

“Would you like to dance again?” He asks. “If you are hungry, or would like to see more of my home, we could do that instead. You are my guest, during your stay here. Most everything is available to you.”

Selene glances back at the orchestra, takes a deep breath, and resolves herself. Just because she knows his name now (and what a name it turned out to be) doesn't change things. He's still the same man with the beautiful laugh she met in the garden and spoke with at the party. He seems to like the way she's been behaving around him so far, so...probably there's really not any danger here.

“I'd love another dance,” She admits, moving back to a starting position with him. “Thank you.”

–

She doesn't expect it to be comfortable.

It's surprising when it is.

When he has food carried in for them, when they discuss current events like old friends, when he lifts her off the ground during one of their dances and she makes an embarrassing squeak at the motion and he only laughs again and radiates more affection around them.

He shows her to one of his gardens, and the two decide to rest together beneath a tree that is probably older than she is, a small stream passing near them that carries all the way down to the river near the base of the mountains.

“Is your job dangerous?” he asks as his shoulder brushes against her own and he readjusts his position slightly against the tree trunk. His mask has been re-affixed to his face since they left the ballroom, but it does not seem to impede their conversation in any way.

“Not really,” Selene shrugs. “It can be, certainly, but I'm not usually sent on the more dangerous excursions. I mostly stick to a patrol around my lady Mana'dins council chambers and various locations in and around the palace. Most of my job is just shooing people away from places they shouldn't be.”

“And you enjoy it?”

Selene shifts awkwardly, eyes drifting upwards to leaves above them. “S'okay.”

His head tilts, and she glances down to see him staring back up at her. 

“You are lying.”

“It's a good job,” She asserts, because it is, and her Nanae had been very pleased when she had gotten it. “It's not, perhaps, what I would like to spend eternity doing. But it is a very honorable position that allows me the freedoms to pursue my hobbies in my off time. The land there is still trying to repair itself; we're in need of people who can do physical and applicable jobs. There is less of a need for...theoretical positions right now. But one day things will be better, and maybe if I have come up with a real, quantifiable hypothesis by then, I could present it to my lady. And perhaps if it is good enough, she will permit me to do real research on it.”

Dirthamen rumbles slightly beside her, perked up by her admissions. “Do you have a topic in mind?”

Selene flushes slightly. “Ideally? Yes. Quite a few. I have several journals filled with them, though most will only make minor changes, if any noticeable ones at all. I've dropped a few off with those who could use them; equations for magical inputs to help promote growth and necessary erosion in the soil, or to better distribute some of our limited resources. A few were even implemented, which was very gratifying! But change on a large scale takes time, no matter what. And when your basic principles are faulty...”she drifts off, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Which principles?” Dirthamen pushes.

“It would be treasonous to say,” Selene sighs. “Even to you.”

“I am very good at keeping secrets,” he notes.

Selene gives him a wry grin.

“You will almost certainly have to keep this one, if I tell it to you.”

He nods, suddenly serious as he raises a privacy barrier around them.

She rubs slightly at the back of her neck, the ends of her hair tickling her knuckles as she does. “Elvhen and spiritual sacrifices are a poor energy source,” She says quietly. “It is wasteful, and cruel. There are better options out there, if only we could be given the option to find them.”

Blue eyes blink from beneath the mask at her, as the air goes suddenly somber. “You truly believe that?”

“I do.”

“Do you have any evidence, to such a claim?”

Her nails scratch at the skin on her neck “...I do. There was a dwarven woman I met once, during a patrol. I was still young, and new, and I had never killed someone before. Nor did I wish to. So I...spoke to her, instead. The dwarves do not sacrifice people and spirits the way we do, but still their cities are powered from deep beneath the earth. They are doing it somehow, without bloodshed or shattering, which is proof in itself that there is another way. There are other sources of power, of magic. Perhaps they are even more efficient! There is so much run off from shattered spirits, it is...it is wasteful, and it leaves so many scars....”

“Oftentimes, that runoff finds its way into the dreaming,” Dirthamen explains. “New spirits can be born from it.”

“I am aware. However, many of the spirits in my home have been touched by death. Even if they do not always realize it...” she shakes her head. “The experience lingers. Even as new life sprouts, and new experiences overwrite the old, it does not make them vanish. Those spirits are more likely to succumb to corruption, sprouting from the scars left in the spaces where they pulled themselves back together.”

“They are a risk, then.”

Selenes face scrunches in distaste and tension. “No! It is still a very small percentage that corrupts. Not nearly enough to draw attention to it, unless you are looking for the pattern. There is no reason to give them such a dangerous label. It would only sow panic, and distrust. I only meant it as one possible positive outcome of solving the issue.”

Dirthamen blinks beneath the mask. “I did not mean to offend you. My apologies.”

She lets out a breath, and leans back against the tree. “I forgive you,” She says. “You promised to keep this a secret though, remember.”

He nods in agreement, and the privacy barrier falls away from them.

Selene takes a moment to allow herself to be bold,in the aftermath of her admission, and carefully places her hand over his.

“Your home is very beautiful,” She tells him, looking out over the mountain range, the expanse of soft greens beneath their feet, and the river where the two lands meet. “I can see why you wouldn't want to leave it.”

He stills for a moment, before his fingers find their way between hers, and his head leans against her shoulder.

“I am glad you enjoy it.”

–

After her admission in the garden, Dirthamen decides that Selene might enjoy seeing one of his libraries.

He is not wrong.

The sun sets and rises while they pour through the aisles together, pointing out their favorites and discussing various subjects as they arise. She is making a mental list of authors and articles to search for when she returns, even knowing this library is far larger than any near her own home.

They are debating over the merits of an old eluvian security measure when Selene lets out a long, rather loud, yawn.

“Ah, I forgot to show you to bed,” Dirthamen realizes, glancing up at the afternoon sunlight coming through the windows. “That was inconsiderate of me.”

“It's fine,” Selene says, covering her mouth as yet another yawn tries to escape. “I'm fine.”

“You should sleep,” He frowns.

“I'll sleep tonight,” She assures him.

Dirthamen seems dubious, but does not push the issue. Instead much of their day is spent doing activities that permit her to sit for long periods of time (although she will concede that some of them are necessary responsibilities of his). He shares a very large dinner with her before escorting her to his rooms for the night. His rooms.

Selene is no stranger to sex. She is very familiar with it in a theoretical, anecdotal, read-several-stories-about-it, sort of way.

She's just never quite gotten around to the act herself before.

As she walks out of his (private) baths, one of his robes pulled tightly to her body, she feels like this is something she should probably tell him.

So she clears her throat and does just that.

He blinks.

“...not even with a spirit?”

“There was a desire spirit I almost tried with once,” she admits “But we were too similar, and then time passed and I just...never got around to it.”

“But you are very popular,” He blurts.

Selene raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“The...When I was looking for you. I was told you were a 'heart-throb'. I understand that to mean you are very popular in manners such as this, yes?”

“Oh. Oh! That's-no. I've been courted a few times, and there have been a few dates, but I've never done sexual activities with a partner before.”

“Oh,” Dirthamen notes, and she's glad to see there's no judgment or disappointment at her admission, that he seems to simply be filing away this new information like any other. “We do not have to have any tonight either, if you do not want to.”

“You're not going to be upset?” she checks.

His eyebrows crease in concern as he places his mask down on a small table beside the bed. “I did not bring you here for sexual purposes. I only wished to dance, and to speak with you again. We have done both of those things, extensively. There is very little you could do to upset me, I think.”

“Good to know,” She grins, her grip on the robe relaxing slightly as she crawls into the bed beside him.

She falls asleep flat on her back, her sword within arms reach as it leans against the side of the headboard.

When she wakes, she is curled almost entirely around Lord Dirthamen. 

His back is pressed tightly to her chest, her legs tangled up with his and one arm laying over his hip, and the arm she can no longer feel because it somehow made its way beneath him is being tenderly held between his own hands.

It might be embarrassing, if it were not quite so comfortable.

Instead she nuzzles her head gently against the back of his neck, shifts to a more comfortable angle, and falls back asleep to the soft snores of Lord Dirthamen.

–

On the third day, he arranges a picnic in the garden for them. She is wearing an outfit he gifted her, made of silk and starlight and feathers, her armor safely stowed away in a new leather pack as well. Her legs are bared, and she thinks her Nanae might disapprove of the vulnerability, but it is very comfortable, and he has not shown himself to be untrustworthy.

“I had a very nice time with you,” She smiles as he finishes off a small sandwich. “Thank you for finding me.”

“You could stay, if you'd like,” He offers slowly. “I could send a messenger to your family, tell them your summons has been extended...”

Selene snorts at the mental image of some poor messenger having to tell her Nanae that their daughter is staying an unspecified amount of time longer in Dirthamens lands when they have likely already been fretting since they found her note. Probably they would return full of holes with much of their past dug up and an angry, buzzing Nanae in their full armor behind them demanding to see her and verify that she is still alive and unharmed.

“I do not think that would go over well,” She admits without further detail. 

Dirthamen does not push the matter, and she stretches and lays out in his lap instead. His fingers card carefully through the strands of her hair, and she lets her eyes close in contentment at the motion.

“I would still like to see you again,” Dirthamen muses.

“You could come visit me,” She offers.

“I cannot leave for long periods of time. In truth, I do not usually have as much free time as I have given you these last few days. I had to reschedule several tedious but necessary appointments.”

“Well, thank you for making the time for me anyways. It was very sweet.”

“I would do it again, if I could.”

“I don't doubt that,” She grins.

Deceit arrives in the late afternoon to escort her back through the crossroads, to ensure she makes it back to Mana'dins lands safely.

Selene stands, slinging her pack over her shoulder and verifying her sword at her hip and turning around to see Dirthamen one last time. The look he is giving her makes her ache; like he is missing someone who hasn't even left yet, and she will blame that, she thinks, on what she does next.

Her fingers slip beneath his mask and pull it away from his face, as she presses a kiss to the soft skin of his cheek. She watches in pride as the skin begins to flush and one of his hands darts up to touch the space.

“Come find me again sometime pretty boy,” She hums, carefully placing the mask back on and straightening. “I could always use a dance partner like you.”

He nods, his exposed throat bobbing as he swallows down his nerves. She strides off behind Deceit, a bit more sway in her hips than usual.

It was a very good trip.

[aelin-and-feyre]

Ten Minutes Ago (Part 7)

Feysand - Cinderella au

Fic Masterlist

“Rhys.”

“Clare,” the prince breathes, resting his forehead against hers and ignoring the odd looks from the people around them. “I didn’t think you came.”

“I almost left, Cassian stopped me though,” she whispers back and Rhys smiles, slowly wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Nuala also made me food, which was delicious.”

“They’re both pretty awesome aren’t they?” They laugh softly, breath mingling in the small space between them. Rhys feels ecstatic. This girl in his arms, so close to him he could pick her up and run away if he wants, makes him so happy he can barely comprehend it. “Why were you crying?” He asks quietly, the kitchen resumes it’s bustling behind them, politely giving them space. Cassian and the girls are sitting by silently, which Rhys is grateful for.

“I-” she is cut off by a loud bang above them. The clock tower.

Clare jerks from his hold, standing and moving around his kneeling form. Rhys catches her hand before she can get far, standing up as well. “Where are you going?”

She looks so torn, close to tears again and pulling against his hand. “I have to go! Please, I have to.”

“Why? Please, just tell me who you are, tell me how to find you!” Rhys begs as she continues to fight his hold.

“Rhys, please, I have to go. I will be back tomorrow I promise but please!” She cries.

“Rhys,” Cassian says quietly from behind him and a second of indecision is enough for Clare to pull free, darting away though the cooks. And as her fingers slip from his, Rhys feels it—a string connecting him to her that was so faint before, but is now pulling taught.

Without thinking, the prince darts after her, witnessing as she quickly pulls Nuala in for a hug, whispers something in the cook’s ear and then runs again.

Rhys sprints, pumping his arm as he chases her through the halls. A sense of deja vu hits him in the chest but he keeps running. He can’t let her go again, not again. And especially not now that he knows who she is, why he’s been feeling this way.

Cassian runs with him, a couple feet behind but she is fast, even in those delicate glass heels. They reach the front entrance and she is already halfway down the grand staircase, a golden carriage waiting at the bottom.

The horses have odd tails, Rhys notices, and the footmen have weird hats, sticking up in two places. Clare jumps in and they start speeding away almost instantly.

“No!” Rhys yells in despair as they finally reach the bottom far too late, the dust settling after the retreating carriage.

He stares after where the vehicle disappears into the night for what seems like forever. Eventually he hears Mor, Amren, and Nuala join them, all extremely confused. “So you really don’t know who she is?” Nuala asks and Rhys shakes his head distantly.

“But I know that she’s my mate,” he admits suddenly. The bond connecting them is pulling at his heart and making it hard to breathe. He doesn’t even know her name and he doesn’t think he can live without her. His friends gasp at the revelation but Rhys can barely hear them.

He let her go. Again.

“Would you like me to summon the guards? We might be able to still catch her,” Cassian suggests quietly when Rhys doesn’t move from his spot. He is still staring through the now black of night and hoping to see the carriage coming back, Clare hopping out and jumping into his arms, apologizing for running and promising never to do so again.

Rhys waits another thirty seconds before slumping down on the bottom step and putting his head in his hands. “No,” he answers finally. “She doesn’t want to be here with me and I can’t force her to be.”

Mor sits beside him, placing a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. After a couple more seconds the prince looks up to the hard gaze of Amren. He sighs, “Why am I being stupid now?”

“No offense, Your Highness, but you are absolutely blind,” Amren accuses and Mor nods, causing a perplexed look to cross Rhys’ features.

“What do you mean?”

She scoffs. “I’ve only known the girl for an hour and I can already tell how much she loves you. It’s especially sad because she is just as clueless as you, so confused when we suggested you were heartbroken over her leaving last night.”

“And so depressed when she saw you with all those other maidens.” Cassian interjects, standing in front of where they sit with his arms crossed. Nuala stands on the driveway still, wringing her hands and staring after where the carriage went.

“That was not my fault,” Rhys defends. “That was my father’s fault. In fact, everything that went wrong tonight was his fault,” Rhys groans and drops his head to his hands again.

“Not to pry but….” Mor starts hesitantly and Rhys opens one eyes to peek at her through a gap in his fingers. “Why won’t she tell us who she is? When Captain Cassian pushed earlier after the whole food thing she just burst into tears.”

Rhys fully lifts his head now and glares at Cassian. “You’re the reason she was crying?”

Cassian hastily raises his hands in surrender. “You didn’t see how she ate that food Rhys, like she had never eaten a meal in her life. You would have asked too if you had been there.”

“The Captain is right, Your Highness,” Nuala finally speaks up, walking over. “I have only seen that look once before, in the eyes of a stray who hadn’t eaten in days.”

Amren nods. “She started crying from happiness… I think. And then cried harder when she couldn’t tell us her name. I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Your Highness, but this girl? She’s broken.”

“I know nothing about her.” Rhys frets. “I need to know everything, I need to be able to take care of her, put the pieces back and make her feel loved. I need to know who she is.”

“You’ll figure it out Rhys. Go shut the ball down and then meet us in the library after a good night’s sleep. We’ll put the clues together and figure out who she is, don’t worry,” Cassian assures and Rhys knows that he is right but he doesn’t think he will be able to sleep until his mate is once again in his arms.

...

Feyre and her carriage do not make it to her house before the spell falls apart. Bryaxis now races ahead of her, the bunnies around her feet, and four mice in her hands. They walk along the dirt road, the remnants of a pumpkin awhile back and any hints of the glorious dress forgotten but a long strip of gold fabric.

Feyre found a similar strip of white in her apron pocket that morning, another reminder that the night before wasn’t a dream. She hid it away under her mattress and plans to do the same with this golden piece. Small souvenirs of the dresses she wore on the best nights of her life. She will cherish them always.

The mice scurry up her arms and she grips the fabric tight so it won’t blow away as they keeps trailing along. Her stomach is full for the first time in more than a decade and Feyre feels heavy, almost wrong, like she shouldn’t have eaten as much as she did. Whatever the feeling is, Feyre brushes it aside because the food tasted so good, and she will not taint the memory of it by thinking it wrong.

After a little while Feyre realizes she is crying again, sorrowful that her time with Rhys was so short lived. She wants to spend so much time with him, wants to see him constantly, she even feels as if an invisible force is tugging her back towards the palace—back towards him.

The way he held her tonight soothed her worries and doubts for those few minutes and she wishes the spell hadn’t worn off so quickly. It hurts her to run away from him but she knows that it is for his sake as well as hers.

Rhys would be mortified if he finds out that his mystery princess is just a servant, not to mention that she will be heart broken and probably disowned by Amarantha. So once again, Feyre resolves not to tell Rhys who she is, no matter the cost.

The rain begins falling as she nears the house, successfully disguising her tears. The mice crawl down to find refuge under the garden wall and Bryaxis and the bunnies speed ahead to hide in the garage. Feyre simply keeps walking, tucking the gold strip into her pocket and letting the rain wash away her sorrows.

Her dawdling costs her, however, when the sound of hooves come from behind. She runs into the driveway and realizes if she goes inside, she will have no excuse for why she is soaking, not to mention that Amarantha will throw a fit if she tracks in mud.

So Feyre goes to the garden, kneeling in the weeds and beginning to pull just as the Hybern’s carriage drives up.

The girls noisily tumble out, shrieking as they are pelted with rain and rush to the door. Amarantha walks solemnly through the downpour, a large umbrella open over her head as she avoids the larger puddles.

Before she opens the door, Amarantha’s head swerves to give a long look towards Feyre, a suspicious glint in her tired eyes. She finally seems to resolve herself and says, “Finish up soon Cinderella, but go in the back way. The house is filthy enough thanks to you. I’m going to bed.”

“Yes, Stepmother,” Feyre responds over the pitter patter of hooves retreating and the heavy rain on the concrete. Amarantha nods once and then proceeds into the house.

Feyre waits for five seconds after the door slams shut and finally lets out a long breath. She’s survived two nights without her Stepmother interfering—she might be able to accomplish a third, but only if she’s lucky. 

Masterlist

[plumoh]

[HQ!!] Then again

Part 1 | Part 2

Word count: 1348

Summary:  Atsumu is the better alchemist, after all. / FMA AU.

Note: AO3 link. Slightly more based on 2003 than on mangahood!

Chapter 1: Then again

You know you've always been the most childish, or that's what people keep saying; you speak the loudest, you complain, you pull pranks on your brother, in short you're the little brother, despite being born before Osamu. Technically, you are the older brother, but many people dismiss the mention since you guys are twins, it doesn't matter who got out of your mother's womb first, you're identical anyway. Yeah. Yeah, identical, identical hair, identical face, right down to the right dimple when you both smile, identical legs that run just as fast, identical hands that draw symbols and circles to perform the best alchemy.

You both love alchemy, you started studying together and still do, but at one point it turned into a competition—who could transmute the fastest, who could add the most details, who could learn a trick the easiest. Osamu has always been the more level-headed, but you pride yourself in being the focused one when it comes down to alchemy. You can, and you quote Tobio, 'absorb anything like a sponge', whereas it requires a little bit longer for Osamu to grasp the concept you understood twenty minutes ago. You can't help but be smug and gloat about it, because hey, you're not identical anymore! You're clearly the superior alchemist, you know more than Osamu and you read more than him, nobody can tell you it's not impressive.

“That's good for you, 'Tsumu,” 'Samu has the gall to say with the most neutral expression he's ever worn.

“Come on, don't tell me you're not jealous!” Because there is no way 'Samu isn't feeling the teeny bit frustrated. You've fought for the last piece of cake, you've fought for the top bunk, you've fought to get first into the bath, there's no way the topic of alchemy will be disregarded that way.

“Well, I'm a bit envious, that's true.” 'Samu shrugs and takes a bite of his pudding (hey, when did Mom buy puddings? You wanted one too!). “But I'm not as passionate about alchemy as you, you know? Like, understanding and creating stuff is nice, I guess, but I'm not going to smother you with a pillow because you're better than me.”

You stay silent. This...is not what you expected. Osamu looks perfectly calm, staring at you with his sleepy eyes, like he just announced it was only four o'clock and that you could eat snacks. It's unnerving. It doesn't satisfy you.

“Wait, so you're willing to smother me with a pillow for other reasons?” you point out, gasping and widening your eyes. 'Samu rolls his eyes.

“If you come down and try to wake me up again for one of your stupid jokes, I won't hesitate.”

“That's fratricide, 'Samu!”

Osamu shrugs again and decides his pudding is more interesting. To this day, you don't know if he deliberately dropped the subject because he sensed something was off.

***

You are twelve when you come up with a formula for human transmutation. Mom died two years ago; you feel you should have studied harder, should have dug deeper into Dad's books, because two years are way too long to come up with one single formula you're not sure will work. Osamu helped a bit, though you didn't tell him what you were researching; you spouted some lies about healing alchemy and preventing other people from dying because of illnesses, and Osamu might or might not have bought it, but in the end you managed to achieve what you intended to do.

On a sunny morning at the Kageyama's dining table, you whisper to your brother, “I know how to bring Mom back.”

'Samu doesn't move. He doesn't drop his fork, nor does he tear his gaze away from his plate.

“That's what you've been researching,” he flatly says.

“Yes.”

He slowly, slowly turns his head towards you. “Human transmutation is impossible.”

“You don't know until you try,” you argue with a frown. “The world is huge, there's at least someone who succeeded.”

“And why haven't we heard from them? If they succeeded in something impossible, then I'm sure every alchemist would know.”

You grit your teeth. No, you can't hesitate now, after looking and looking and finally found the last shard of hope.

“Maybe they didn't want people to know, with notoriety and all,” you suggest.

'Samu finally puts down his fork in his plate and lets out a heavy sigh, staring at you with worry, anticipation, confusion? That's too many emotions, 'Samu.

“I don't know, 'Tsumu. I can't think of an exchange equivalent enough for Mom's body and soul.”

“I have everything figured out, don't worry, okay?”

You offer him a grin, one you always used to show whenever you thought of a good prank to pull on Tobio, and somehow it's enough for 'Samu to give back a tiny smile that makes his dimple appear.

“I kinda figured out you wanted to bring Mom back. I'm not one hundred percent sure about this, but I trust you, 'Tsumu. And you're better than me at alchemy, after all.”

Hell yeah you are. You know you are. That's why you took it upon yourself to find a way to recover the happy family you've lost.

Tobio comes back from the kitchen, and frowns that adorable frown when he sees you're still not finished with breakfast.

“We're gonna be late for school,” he mumbles. “What were you talking about?”

“Your little head won't understand it, Tobio-kun!” you cheerfully reply.

“Alchemy again?”

“It's not as if you don't spend your days inhaling some sort of oil or dust in that workshop of yours!”

“Well, we're not so different then!”

“'Tsumu, stop teasing Tobio and eat your food, he's right,” 'Samu butts in.

“Yeah, yeah, school.”

Who needs school when you have the most awesome plan in existence?

***

No. No. No, no, no, no.

No no no no no no no—

This isn't what you wanted. This isn't what was supposed to happen. No. Gods, blood. There's blood everywhere, splashed on the ground, on the walls, on your clothes, on your face and—

Red, flaring pain shooting from your leg that drags the paint over the whole room as you crawl, cheeks tear-stained and throat strong enough to let out rapid, choked breaths. You can't think, you can't process what's happening, yet your brain is full, full, full, on the verge of taking control of your body to keep moving, to do something.

You're dying.

“'Samu...”

Osamu is nowhere to be found, and only a pile of clothes lies where he stood. You choke on the smell of blood and the bile you just threw up, eyes stinging and ears ringing, head swimming in a fog you can't clear out.

This isn't what you wanted.

“'Samu...”

You crawl, nails digging in the concrete of the basement, elbows scraping on every tiny rubble. The gaping hole left by your missing leg grounds you in this reality, and then you lift your head and empty eyes stare back at you. Your mind is reeling; you saw things, black tendrils reaching for you, eyes watching with hunger, and they all come together to snap in your brain and that's when everything becomes lucid.

The armor drops on the ground as you punch it. The helmet comes off. Biting your lip in pain, in regret, in hope, you dip your finger in your blood and trace an array inside the armor, on your arms, on your chest, on your forehead, the symbols and the form springing up as if you've always known them. You believe the shaking of your hands is due to adrenaline (not fear, not fear).

“Bring Osamu back. Give me my brother back!”

You slam your hands on the array. Bright blue light envelops you, taking you to a white, blinding place.

The black Gate is sneering at you.

You scowl back. You demand your brother's soul—you stand proud, unwavering, just as It takes your toll.

It's okay. You will fix this. You're the better alchemist, after all.

.

.

.

.

Osamu wakes up with knowledge he didn't ask for.

[charlie-and-yoshi-rp-hell]

Episode 46 Part 4: 2 for 1

Teamwork and an Ifrit is what brings the sin demon down. But this victory has a consequence. Only time will tell if this is good or bad.

Charlie McCarthey: The rakes to his back hurt like fire, but Lewis supposed he deserved it, and with a grim look just fired back, shoving the broken frame of a mirror out of his path.

They were gonna have so much bad luck for this.

He lifted his head, spotted the sin way to close to Arthur and closed the distance as quickly as he could, shoving Arthur behind him and letting the monster's talons dig through him, the ghost getting the brunt of the attack. Lewis did not bleed--but he cried out, purple smoke ebbing in thin trails from the shallow wounds.

A-actually I'm pretty fucked up without him, go figure. Lewis muttered, steadying himself from the attack and getting his bearings back as he held his torso. He's the reason I didn't rip you apart the first time I sensed you--but guess what? He told me to show you what kind of ghost I am. Lewis curled his growing claws into fists as his body grew and the horns sprouted. I think I will. His voice was low, and a steady growl now.

Yoshi Raven: Pride was looking up at Lewis, eyes wide with surprise. Then, he looked at the broken mirrors. Most of them were gone, so he couldn´t jump to many places anymore.

"Get him, Lew." Arthur growled, an evil grin on his face.

Shit no -

The lion moved his hands and the broken mirror parts started floating and attacked the giant ghost, making a lot of small cuts on his whole body - but then he dared to go after Arthur again, he let several pieces fly to him. The mechanic uses his left arm as a shield but one of the pieces made a small cut on his cheek.

Charlie McCarthey: Glass crunched under the Ifrit's boots as Lewis pushed against the ceiling, the foundations cracking warninly under his girth as he turned in a half circle. One arm swept around Arthur, blocking anymore hits as he let out an enraged roar that shook the few remaining mirrors. After a quick rumbling purr to make sure Arthur was alright, the Ifrit turned on the sin again and breathed out a thick stream of fire, slamming it into the glass.

Yoshi Raven: Pride was roaring with anger when the fire hit him and when it started to melt, he was pushed out of the mirror. He shrinked a bit now that he wasn´t connected to a mirror anymore, the mane looking like poison that was floating.

You bastard... you´ll get that back...!

He shook his mane and purple drops were flying out of it, hitting Lewis but it didn´t do much. It tickled but vanished due to his high body temperature.

No... no!!! Damn it!! The sin turned away from Lewis and ran to the exit.

Charlie McCarthey: The Ifrit roared after him challengingly, and when that didn't get the response he wanted he stomped after the sin in a few steps. He pushed Arthur onto the safety of his horned shoulder--did he have more spikes than usual?--and used his free hands to grab the demon by its back, pinning it under his heavy body.

Yoshi Raven: Arthur was grabbing onto the horn, keeping himself steady. He had noticed the slight change of Lewis´ Ifrit form, too - or was it just his imagination?

The sin was screeching and roaring, trying to claw himself free but the Ifrit´s grip was too strong.

Bastard...! But don´t think you´ll get away with this that easily!

Prides eyes flashed purple and one shard of a mirror was send into Lewis´ arm, stabbing him and releasing poison. It didn´t hurt much, but then the sin started a spell.

Break the mirror of a wrong reflection that is not what it seems. Break the lie and reveal the truth -

"Lewis don´t let him finish that spell or you´ll get in trouble tomorrow!!" Arthur warned him quickly.

Charlie McCarthey: Lewis' massive hand came down, wrapping around the lion's throat and pressing the entire creature down into the rubble. It was a bit of a brutal solution, but it was nevertheless effective. Lewis brought their faces close and opened his jaw wide, fire twisting and turning in the back of the ifrit's throat as it summoned fire breath straight from its core.

Yoshi Raven: Arthur just hoped the half finished spell wouldn´t do damage... he might had to check that later. He activated the Serpentarius spell that was still on Lewis´ arm and let it mix with his fire, making it shine white instead of pink.

Pride wasn´t able to fight back much after that last attack, he could only give one last warning growl.

One day you´ll regret this...

"Yeah, sure. Lew, get rid of him." Arthur mumbled, glaring at the sin with cold eyes.

Charlie McCarthey: The Ifrit's growling melts into a purr of affirmation, his eyes narrowing darkly before he twists his head up and lets a pillar of fire slam into the sin's poisonous body. This time, the fire isn't even warm to Arthur, Lewis is so focused obliterating the entity he doesn't let up til stuttering can be heard in the back of his throat. His fire was dying down from continual use, which was common and fixed by rest.

Yoshi Raven: The spell mixed with the fire hit Pride and dissolved him completely. He was gone - another of the sins was gone. Arthur noticed Lewis didn´t want to stop the fire so he gently petted the horn and kissed it. The surface was very smooth and it felt very nice and soft. "Lewis, you can stop now. It´s over, you were awesome." he mumbled, smiling at him and continued the gentle kisses until he had stopped the attack.

"If you would put me down on the ground before turning back, that´d be very good."

Charlie McCarthey: The fire died slowly, and Ifrit closed his mouth slowly. He shifted his head a fraction, eyeing Arthur but not unkindly. That expression just seemed to always be there. He noticed the affection and Lewis leaned into it slightly, letting a low purr escape him at the gestures. A hand carefully plucked Arthur off his shoulder and lowered him to the ground slowly, letting him go when his sneakers hit the floor. Mumbling tiredly, Lewis let his eyes dim in a lazy blink and began shrinking, not-quite but almost tapped out.

Yoshi Raven: "Thanks, Lew. Damn, this place is quite damaged but at least, we have another sin down. That´d be... 4 of 7. So just three more to go." When Lewis was finally his normal size again, Arthur hugged him carefully.

"You look exhausted... come on, get into your locket, I´ll get us home with a cab. You need some rest."

Charlie McCarthey: You'd think they get easier the less there are of them. Though I guess that one wasn't as bad as Envy. And Envy's power was only excaserberated by Lust.

Don't... let me... sleep long... He tried thinking about those strange sensations, but couldn't quite muster the energy. Lewis faded into purple smoke, which sucked into the locket and dropped limply toward the ground.

Yoshi Raven: Arthur caught the locket before it hit the ground, smiling a bit. "I don´t think they won´t get easier, they´re probably on the same level... unless they absorb another core..." he mumbled and pressed the heart against his chest right over the mark, knowing Lewis would like the warmth of his body.

He walked out of there, avoiding the shards on the ground and got into a pub. The owner was kind enough to call a cab for him and half an hour later, Arthur was back in the flat telling Vivi about the case.

"Yeah... I´m sorry we already solved that problem, it was just coincidence that Lewis and I were flying close to the place. Besides, it was another sin. Pride, I guess, judging by how he talked... and was getting power from mirrors. Anyway, can you heal the burn marks, maybe?"

Charlie McCarthey: "Arthur..." Vivi had her hands on her hips, and Mystery echoed her serious, scolding look. "I should make you keep those just to teach you to not go into stuff alone... but I won't. Lew did those, didn't he?" She sent Mystery into her room to get her first aid bag--a large, worn bag with contemporary and not so contemporary medical supplies. She choose a little jar with a thick, foul smelling green salve and some normal looking ace bandages with markings wirtten on them in sharpie.

Yoshi Raven: The mechanic sighed, giving her a worried look.

"Yeah... but it was a trick of that sin. He put me in the place of a wrong reflection just when Lewis attacked it with his fire. And... I promise we won´t run into missions alone anymore unless it´s necessary."

Arthur smiled at her shyly, looking at her with that cute gaze where you just couldn´t be mad at him.

Charlie McCarthey: "...and I wonder where Mystery got his begging face." Vivi sighed, shaking her head fondly as she pulled back to study his wounds. Her smile came back though, and she got to work on applying the ointment gently and swiftly. "Now, this should take down the sting and inflammation. Keep applying once or twice daily though to get the burn to heal, otherwise recovery will be as slow as usual. I'll make some more if you get low." On some of the more open places she wrapped the cloth around the covered marks, but it was lose to allow air flow.

"Feel better?"

Yoshi Raven: "Oh you bet... it´s cooling the skin very well. Thank you so much, Viv." When she was done treating the burn marks, he hugged her carefully so that the bandages wouldn´t fall off.

"Best modern age witch I know." he giggled and ruffled her hair. "Alright you two, sleep well and see you for breakfast!" Arthur patted the messy blue hair, then walked to his room, closing the door quietly. He could feel the small burn marks heal already, they were itching a bit. He was able to shield his face with his arms, so his right one might take a day or to more.

Arthur gently placed Lewis´ locket on the bed and changed his shirt and pants before dropping next to the heart, pulling it close to his chest. "Sleep well, Lew."

Charlie McCarthey: Gear snuggled up against Arthur's head on the pillow, tiny pudgy body vibrating from sheer joy as the small ghost settled down against the human's warmth.

For Lewis, though he wasn't really awake, he still responded. The heart pulsed after Arthur bid him goodnight. The glass warmed in time with the glow. As Lewis regained power, the heart would only keep warming as long as he was crammed in there 'resting.'

Yoshi Raven: Arthur petted Gear a few times but now he felt that he was tired just like Lewis. His other hand was holding the locket, this time it was him that kept the other "safe" while sleeping. It didn´t take long until Arthur was asleep, too.

The spell Pride had used against Lewis wasn´t finished, but it still had an effect on the ghost. And it started its work during their sleep.

Charlie McCarthey: Lewis' body formed out of the locket like usual, and the glass dropped in temperature from the loss of the spirit residing in it. And then, rather oddly, a second body followed, this one taking up space at Arthur's back. It looked like Lewis, it was the same size, same fiery hair, same warm body. There was little room for all three bodies, so one of the Lewis' was half in the wall as they all slept.

Yoshi Raven: Arthur woke up late in the morning and slowly opened his eyes. Lewis was lying in front of him in his human form. Good, that meant he felt fine again. He smiled and gently touched his cheek - but then he noticed something warm was lying behind him and was snuggled against his back, one arm on his hip. At first he though it was Vivi - the only other person in the flat, but since when was she taller than him...? And since when was her skin black with... white bone-like markings...?!

Arthur turned his head and saw Lewis - in his ghost form, but solid and instead of a hovering skull, he had a skull-like white marking on his face. He turned back - there was human Lewis. It confused him a lot, his movements were frozen and he just couldn´t decide which one of them was the real one. A dream. Yes, it was probably a dream. He bit on his tongue, hoping the pain would wake him but no. Both were still there. So, which Lewis should he wake now?!

Charlie McCarthey: The black hand on his waist that belonged to Skele!Lewis shifted a fraction, the ghost mumbling in his sleep. He pulled Arthur closer, not quite away from the other though. Human!Lewis' lips twitched, his eyebrows bunching in his sleep as he dreamed of... something. Whatever it was, it pushed him to awake, his movements slow and sleepy.

Waking up and seeing Arthur first thing just made him smile, and he blinked a little, vision coming into focus.

"Hey..." It was then he noticed the slightly worried look. "...you okay?" He slurred, reaching over to pull him closer and colliding with something behind Arthur. The thing grunted and started to stir.

Yoshi Raven: "Eh... I... don´t... I don´t know... maybe? I-I´m either still dreaming or Vivi tested a weird potion on me - or I became crazy?" he squawked quietly, looking at the human and then back at the ghost.

Arthur wasn´t quite sure if he should panick, attack them or be happy about having another Lewis by his side, his brain was working on this but currently, it was just in an endless circle of processing what happened.

"Tell me do you.. do you see him too?!"

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

(Previous) - (Next)

[theredwallrecorder]

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) pt 4/1 - Steadfast

Haha, I just recently realized that when this post is viewed on the blog it makes the lenny face look like the eyebrows are stabbing the eyes. Accurate.

If anyone’s curious, this is part of an ongoing series of fics about Redwall Hell and its characters. Here is part one, part two, and part three. I really need to catalog these fics since there are so many now.

Somebody *cough cough @thegoldensoundtwice cough* really needed to know about Nivedita’s fighting style... and well how about this? She’s first up in our Redwall Hell unofficial tournament! @raphcrow I hope this pleases you, my queen~

We last left our intrepid babes facing off against the Great Vulpuz himself, but not one to be outdone, the ruler of Hellgates has sent Nivedita and Willow Slay off to fight his lackeys while he gets the Lady all to himself. Smooth move, Vulpuz. Don’t mess this one up.

Do enjoy Redwall Hell: The Anime pt 4.1 - Nivedita vs. the Mask of Malkariss. There is a reason nobeast in hell will cross the Lady’s esteemed right paw, as one unfortunate creature is about to find out.

Here is Nivedita’s theme. Feel free to peruse this translation of the lyrics, for they describe her well. Also, here is the theme for when her shadow rises. How deep the wellsprings of mercy that dwell within her, but if ownage is what you seek... through her, it will find you.

Man I love this AU.

Moments after she had stepped forth into the darkness, Nivedita found herself on the pebbled shores of the black sea of Hellgates. In front of her the dark, frothy waters churned ceaselessly, lapping against the smooth-worn bellies of the dozens upon dozens of gargantuan obsidian boulders scattered across the broad beach like a seer’s divining implements. The pale sun of Hellgates had nearly completed its laborious trek across the sky; it hung suspended just above the expanse of the sea, casting its sickly light over the water’s agitated surface and bathing the area in varying shades of crimson. The obnoxious, salty stench of the surf ruthlessly assaulted the female rat’s nostrils as she gazed at the creature she had chosen to confront.

Framed by the eerie, bulbous sphere of the weary sun sinking into the sea, a polecat stood silently before her, the blood-red waves swirling about his unshod footpaws. Upon his face he wore a half mask of honed white marble, the jagged edge of the mask rearing up above the crown of his head. Nivedita could make out a series of curious patterns carved into it. In one paw he held the thonged whip with which he had threatened the Lady, and in the other was a long prodding spear, of the kind typically used by slavers to keep their wretched charges in line. A soft tinkling sounded when the wind surreptitiously moved the fringe of his chain mail tunic. The strange polecat regarded Nivedita without speaking, his lip curled in a gesture of derision beneath the bottom edge of the mask.

“I am deeply disappointed,” he said finally, the deepness of his voice carrying over the alternating crash and hiss of the surf. “Do you not remember me, concubine?”

Nivedita stiffened. Something dark and heavy stirred deep within her soul and she frowned, staring quizzically at the masked polecat.

“Forgive me, but I’m afraid I’m not sure I know you.” Nivedita offered him a polite curtsy. “Have you come to the Lady’s nightclub before?” she inquired.

Chuckling, the polecat shook his head. “Silly girl, I have never been within a league of the usurper’s indulgent nest. I knew you before, when you were just a frightened slave rat eagerly willing to do all within your power to keep everybeast around you out from under the harsh stroke of the whip.” He paused to study her closely. “What has happened to you? How fierce and terrible you appeared that night, your tortured soul dripping with infinite will and purpose! Whence has the fire fled? Has that vixen truly succeeded in transforming you into a shadow of yourself?” Taking a step forward, the polecat gestured with the point of his spear, indicating her entire body. “Did you forfeit the power I saw once, so long ago? Did the vixen wrest it from you, to claim it as her own? Where is the black knife that struck down the one who paved the way for my kingdom, whose blade scintillated joyfully in the light of the torches of the horde?”

Nivedita’s eyes grew wide, the realization of the meaning of his words dawning upon her. She regarded him with thinly veiled agitation, an uncharacteristic sharpness in her tone when she spoke, “I do not know how you came by this knowledge of me, but I would ask that you stop speaking of that night at once. I no longer wish to remember it.”

The masked polecat seemed to consider her request. Without warning he hurled himself forward, jabbing with the prodding spear. Thinking quickly, Nivedita turned to one side, the spearpoint whooshing harmlessly past her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes and raised her right arm, just in time to receive a lashing from the polecat’s whip as he pivoted on his footpaws, striking at her with the cruel weapon. Nivedita gritted her teeth at the pain, forcing her left footpaw to receive the brunt of her body weight as she retreated out of the polecat’s reach. He began to circle her, his eyes glittering from within the confines of his mask.

“I was there, concubine,” he rasped, the mask failing to muffle the reluctant awe in his voice. “I was there when, in the same breath, you both hailed and cursed our master. I was there when he knelt to receive you, and when he reeled from the murderous blow you dealt him. I was there, rat, when you clothed yourself in his blood and committed his foul corpse to the depths of the earth! Not a soul in the entire horde dared to stand against him, and yet—! You! You, an insignificant trull, struck down his mightiness even as he lounged casually on the proverbial throne of the height of his reign!”

Whirling, the polecat dealt Nivedita a series of swift blows with his spear and whip. She did her best to dodge, ducking and weaving as fast as the mangled side of her body would allow. He watched her struggle to avoid his attacks, frustration and confusion evident in the sloppy nature of his movements. Panting with exertion, the polecat skipped backwards, surveying the new injuries he had inflicted upon her with obvious annoyance.

“Why?!” he snarled, jabbing in her direction with the spear. “Why do you not fight back? Return the pain and suffering to me, blow for blow, gash for gash! Where is your ferocity? Your hatred? Your bitterness and loathing? Where are the indelible emotions that gave you the strength to slay our master?”

Nivedita rubbed the sweat off her nosetip with the back of a paw, wincing as her whiskers brushed against the angry, glowing gashes on her arm. She stared levelly at the polecat, a faraway look in her glimmering eyes.

“You must understand, I let them go when I…” her thoughtful voice faltered. Nivedita’s gaze strayed out over the black sea, taking in the raw beauty of the hellish sunset. “You’re right,” she continued softly. “That anger and hatred once had power over me, but no more. I released them when I forgave him for what he did to the ones I loved… and for what he did to me.”

The polecat’s mouth was agape. “You… you foolish girl!” he snarled. “You willfully gave up the source of your power just to feel better about your miserable past? All that righteous fury you bore was for nothing? Nothing?!”

Furious, the polecat struck out at her with his whip, the stinging barbs catching and tearing off bits of her fur and flesh. Again and again he beat her, bringing the whip down upon her upraised arm with increasing ferocity. Nivedita bore the onslaught without moving, her eyes burning into his as he unleashed a rage born of incredulity.

“How?! How could you just throw away an awesome wellspring of power? Not even our master could stand in your way… and you gave it up! Fool! You could have found immense favor in the eyes of the Great Vulpuz, but instead you grovel at the footpaws of that ragged vixen, playing the games of babes with the rest of the rabble of Hellgates and that traitor mink! How can you stand to linger amongst such rubbish and filth? Don’t you understand you are only titivating their feckless souls, adorning worthless baubles with value they do not deserve? They are nothing to you, and yet you leave your strength in the dust to be with them! Rash! You have wasted your—”

Nivedita had heard enough. She had been monitoring the progress of his assault, biding her time as each wild blow brought him ever closer to her. Finally, the opportune moment arrived. She swung her arm in a wide circle as he brought the whip down for another stroke, and the thongs of the whip entangled themselves in her claws. She tugged fiercely on the weapon, causing him to lose his balance and stumble forwards.  With their faces nearly touching, Nivedita smiled wistfully up into the polecat’s shocked eyes.

“I am sorry you think my greatest strength was born from my hatred and anger,” she murmured, odd hints of lingering gratitude in her voice. “You are wrong. I learned of my own strength through forgiveness. Everything I am I owe to those who helped re-shape my heart, bringing me to a place where I could forgive. It is because of love that I fight you now, and it is because of love that I am more powerful than you.”

The sound of a mighty exhale interrupted her. An enormous paw descended from the air above Nivedita, its gargantuan bulk momentarily hovering around the polecat’s head. A barely audible squeak escaped between his lips as the paw gripped his torso and squeezed none too gently. The whip and prodding spear fell forgotten upon the strand as the polecat was lifted bodily off the ground, forced to come face to face with a nightmarish beast. Its features wreathed in shadow, all he could see was a pair of fiery red eyes, twin pools of unquenchable flame. The shape of the monster seemed to pulse and fluctuate, the darkness beneath its eyes parting to reveal a gaping maw lined with saw-like fangs. A globule of foul-smelling phlegm dripped from between the beast’s teeth, splattering across the polecat’s mask. The unfortunate vermin’s nerve completely deserted him.

“N-no… how can… how can this be? I understand, I understand! You are still strong!” he cried, his voice hollow with desperation. “P-please! Don’t let the slavemaster devour me!”

The great beast bowed, bringing its forehead to rest against the polecat’s mask. For one breathless moment, only the sound of the wind and waves could be heard. A low rumbling noise heralded the slavemaster’s stirring, and a terrible roar ripped from its throat, splintering the marble mask into a thousand jagged shards. Drawing its arm back, the monster cloaked in darkness hefted the polecat as though he was naught but a stone unearthed by the tide. With a powerful heave, the slavemaster hurled the polecat far out into the sea, echoes of the vermin’s scream ricocheting off the boulders on the beach even after he had disappeared from sight. Nivedita sighed, turning to glance at her protector with brows upraised.

“You are getting very good at that, but I wish you wouldn’t throw them quite so far,” she admonished gently.

The beast moaned, a guttural cry that culminated in a gurgling trill of contentment somewhat akin to laughter. Gradually, he bent down to Nivedita’s level, nuzzling her with the rough affection of one who is unsure how to mindfully handle his own bulk. She embraced and rubbed his proffered head with infinite tenderness even as his body began to shrink, his immense form merging with the contours of her shadow.

“Thank you for protecting me,” she whispered. “I love you, my son.”

[ixvyupdates]

Every Time I Think About Leaving the Classroom, My Students Remind Me Why I’m Here

Last week, teaching almost killed me. Again.

I was driving home from work, having stayed later than typical for a meeting and some organizing. The later drive meant hitting rush hour square in the face, meant a doubling of my drive home.

I dozed off driving home, staring at the family stickers of the car in front of me, wondering if I loved or hate them more for including their dogs, not-quite swerving this ton-heavy metal box with a meaty middle going death-probable speeds before I shook myself awake.

I drove the last 10 minutes or so fighting my eyes open, promising myself I would let them close as soon as I parked.

Teaching makes me so tired.

Teaching is tough on teachers. I know, everyone’s job is tough on everyone. I don’t necessarily believe that teaching is harder than the work anyone else does, but it is differently harder than a lot of them.

It’s hard on my friendships. You know those things at water parks? The big bucket type thing that slowly fills with water and then dumps it all out at once? That’s what my free time is like. I disappear for months at a time, and then scratch out time to connect, do all the catching up I can and say so super earnestly that it cannot be so long until the next time. During the summer I have a whole bunch of time, but suddenly almost no one is around.

There are friends who are only really friends when they need a letter of recommendation, or when they need to know about publishing or someone to come speak at their thing, or when they need someone to listen to the story about the racist at work and then tell them they are doing a good job not liking that person.

There is all the resistance this year, there are the nasty parent emails and student eyerolls, and the colleagues smack-talking me and my work over lunch or to the students in their classroom or to the parents they live near, who then send me nasty parent emails. More than my other 12 years combined, and it’s hard, especially when, really, I am just trying my hardest to do this hard thing well.

There are all of those things, plus the work all day of 150 kids who you love even when you don’t always like them, who need your patience and energy, who are consistently the reason for loving this job, even when it almost kills you.

One of Those Teachers

I recently traveled half across the country to meet one of those teachers. The woman I met teaches literacy in a district that long ignored it, has transformed her school’s approach by sharing her own successes and innovations. She is invited to regional and national gatherings, is lauded for her work, her passion, her leadership. I visited her to learn how she did all these things, how she remained successful and impactful in and out of her classroom so consistently, but now I won’t tell you who she is.

“I know in my heart that I am here to teach,” she told me over lunch on my first day with her, “but I also know I can’t do it anymore.”

I won’t tell you who she is because she doesn’t want you to know, doesn’t want to go on record as one of those teachers who became one of those other kind, the kind who quit, the kind who walk away. She’s pretty sure she’ll come back, pretty sure she’ll teach most of her life, so long as she stops for now.

She is tired.

She is tired of the heavy lifting. Of working in a school in a district that seems to not worry about her bad principal, even when they lose nearly half their teachers every year. She is tired from leading her department, a curriculum team, developing and teaching a new elective, doing her best to push her colleagues to undo some of their more damaging behaviors, and feeling, always, like she’s not doing enough quick enough for the kids in her room every day.

She’s tired, and my god do I get this, did years of this before now, of getting no support from administrators who are more than willing to claim victory for her successes. She’s sure that if she stays for one more year, she’ll be done teaching forever, so she’s leaving. Off to do other things where she can, off to take a breath so she can hopefully come back.

When We Walk Away

When we walk away, it is for so many reasons.

There’s not always a good way up, and not always much to do sliding over.

When we walk away, it is for so many reasons. If you’re not interested in administration, in consulting, or in multi-level-marketing scams, which seem to be the three most popular choices, then we often aren’t leaving to something, we are leaving from.

So, sure, there are days I think about what it would be like to wake up after sunrise, to write increasingly bizarre short stories that no one will read (my in-laws have this cabin up north with this one room fish-house thing that no one uses anymore that looks out over the lake that plays a large part in just about every post-teaching-writer fantasy I have). I think about long train rides and bathroom breaks, and maybe about having a job that people don’t shout about online all the time.

Some days I think about how our work seems harder, and not in a “kids these days” or “parents these days” sort of way, because I generally and genuinely love kids and parents these days. I think our work seems harder because our world has gotten harder. We’ve gotten nastier and increasingly polarized and awful things are happening so often it’s gotten normal. It’s not an easy time to teach.

Why We Stay

I’ve been less good at teaching lately. I’ve been too tired. I’ve been too cranky. The days that I am the worst at my job are the days I feel most like leaving. They are the days that I am too busy or too frustrated or too worn-all-the-fuck-the-way-down to reflect and remember why I’m inspired to do this work, to remember that every day I have 50 minutes with each group of kids that can be transformative, that can give them tools they will need to make this place better.

The world kinda sucks right now, and so the world needs us to keep teaching. The world needs teachers who are willing to teach their asses off, willing to teach and struggle and fight for schools that deserve our kids.

I know, somewhere deep in me, that when I leave the classroom it will almost surely be for something that is less important. I know I need to stick with it for as long as I can.

I know, even when I forget, that the things that make the work hard and important in a good way far outweigh the things that make it hard and exhausting in a bad way.

When we stay, we stay for those important reasons, and because it’s still a job that very often feels like a privilege, and very often feels like one of the best things you can spend your life doing.

We get to be there to tell someone on the exact right day that we know they can be better, on a different right day to tell them that they are already enough.

We get to be there on days when the world’s adults seem impossibly awful, young people doing hopeful and beautiful things.

We get to be there to get those other emails, the ones we tuck away for when we need to remember. Emails like the one I just got, just now, that says

“I have to thank you. I’m a white mom to a black son. That’s terrifying to me for lots of reasons. I didn’t know how to get him curious about his identity and struggled with how to approach him and the conversation—he’s a quiet guy at home. Can you believe that? I think through your class, he’s become more curious and proud of who he is. He asks questions, he brings it up independently, and even asks “was that guy just being racist?!” I laugh a little because we’ve sheltered him and protected him as long as we could. He recently asked to learn Amharic, he’s going to meet his birth family in Ethiopia. I know he’s nervous (I am!) but I have to credit his growing curiosity about himself to you and the other awesome teachers there.”

I was so tired before. So tired five minutes before. I’ve found my energy again, right where I left it, in the beauty and the power of this thing I get to do every day.

Photo by National Renewable Energy Lab, CC-licensed.

Every Time I Think About Leaving the Classroom, My Students Remind Me Why I’m Here syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com