#~mutual pining edition~

[shatouto]

両片思い

[mediumgayitalian]

The best part of being his own camp counsellor is that he can wake up whenever the fuck he likes.

Nico’s a fan.

Because, however, his dumb ass made friends with the camp’s head medic, he doesn’t get to sleep in as often as he would like. He is instead often woken up before the clock strikes nine, which is a tragedy and one of the forty thousand reasons he is going to be present on Will’s judgement day. (The scales tip any which way on a regular basis, but as of last week, Will is going to hell. Unfortunate. Nico’ll still visit him, though. Bring him one half of a twizzler or something.) So when he wakes up, one lovely morning, mouth tasting like something rotted in it and sun well past halfway across the sky, he is capital-C Concerned.

What a horrible tragedy that is. Finally, for the first time in months, he was able to sleep in. And his first thought is not gratitude. Solace may indeed have to die — Nico was not this way before he started planting his annoying ass front and centre in Nico’s life. He’s quite fairly certain he used to be frightening and badass. Now Will orders him to drink milk for the sake of his calcium and he does. Gods.

“Morning,” he hedges, approaching the archery range, feeling marginally more alive than twenty minutes prior.

Kayla raises an amused eyebrow. “Dude, it’s, like, two.”

“Well fuck you, then.”

She smirks. “Aw, did baby not get his Sunshine fix of the day? Is that why he’s so grumpy?”

It really sucks that Will is so fond of his siblings. Nico wonders if Will would still like him if he knew how many times he daydreams of transporting Kayla onto the moon per day.

“As soon as I figure out which god would appreciate you as a sacrifice, you’re gone.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorts, turning away and lining up an arrow. She lets it fly, watching as it shaves a splinter off a hunk of wood fifty feet away. “You couldn’t get close enough to kick my ass before I’d skewer you, di Angelo.”

Remembering the warning arrow Kayla had shot through his shoulder last week, he wisely chooses not to press the matter any further. The power visibly goes to her head. Fuck.

“Just — tell me where Will is.”

“Why?” She strings another arrow. The grin on her face is a level of shit-eating that Nico has only before seen on a Stoll. She should spend less time around Julia, or else the camp is in for some serious trouble. “What are your intentions with my dear brother?”

Nico, on principle, refuses to answer that question. Kayla shrugs, finishing her shot and then turning around to stick her tongue out at him.

“No answer, no location! Find him yourself, loverboy. And remember that I am always watching.”

Stomping away, and ignoring the smile twitching at his lips — she is so annoying, truly, gods above he owes Bianca a thousand apologies for ever opening his mouth — he heads towards the infirmary. There are only six locations Will is at any given time, after all, except when he disappears for several hours randomly but Nico doesn’t know how to bring that up yet. As he approaches the infirmary, though, he hears it absolutely blasting with music, like genuinely shaking the ground a little bit, and knows exactly where to find him.

As he approaches the door, wincing at the door, he finds it closed. Odd — Will likes a breeze when he works. Even odder is the hastily-written sign pasted onto it:

ANNUAL CLEAN OUT DAY. IF YOU NEED ME, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU NEED A BANDAID, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU’RE BLEEDING OUT, CALL AN AMBULANCE AND PRAY. I AM BUSY.

(‘Busy’ is underlined three times.)

In smaller print, under the all-caps monstrosity, is:

Unless you’re Nico, in which case disregard the previous sentiment. No, Cecil, this does NOT mean you.

The note is written again in Ancient Greek, Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Mandarin, Italian, Polish, Korean, Morse Code, and another ten languages Nico can’t even name. Actually, wait — the top left is Klingon. And middle right note does not appear to be language, showing instead a poorly drawn stick figure in armour being shoved into a cannon and shot into the sun by another poorly drawn stick figure in a lab coat. Nico loves a man who’s multi-talented, indeed.

Hesitantly, Nico cracks open the door. He is immediately assaulted by a solid wall of sound, and then nearly bowled over by the enigma himself, William ‘I Can Restructure A Human Brain But Cannot Tie My Shoelaces’ Solace. He catches himself at the last second, and then barely manages to catch Will, grabbing him around the waist just before his head hits the floor.

“Nico!” he shouts over the music, smiling brightly. “Hi! You’re here!”

“I’m here.” He can physically feel his voice cracking, but luckily the music drowns it out. Hopefully. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Cleaning!” Will straightens up, although he stays within the circle of Nico’s arms. Nico tries real hard to keep his gaze firmly planted on his face and not on the hands he still has in his hips. “I do it once a year, kick everybody out and deep clean the place. Helps keep it fresh and minimize the bloodstains on the floor.”

“Ah. And the music…”

“It’s fun!” Will shouts. He gasps when the CD player skips and a new song comes on, heavy base and funky synths blasting so hard the window panes shake. “Oh my gods! I love this one!” He turns his bright grin at Nico full force, absolutely no holdbacks on the dimples or freckles, gods help him, and bows cheekily. “Can I have this dance, good sir?”

“It’s Britney Spears’ Outrageous,” Nico protests weakly.

“Yeah!”

…Very, very weakly.

“…Okay.”

Will whoops, grabbing his hands and spinning him around. Nico yelps, nearly tripping over a cot, but when he looks back up Will has his eyes closed and is shimmying not unlike a worm on a fish hook, and it’s so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. Will pries one eye open, grinning widely, and shimmies harder.

“You’re such a dweeb!”

“Join me in the dweebiness! Free yourself!”

Nico rolls his eyes fondly, squeezing Will’s hand, and lets himself get ridiculous. He’ll deny it if anyone asks, but it’s fun.

…And not just because Will is next to him, smile brighter than any star, dancing like a massive dork, hand clasped in his.

[jjkyaoi]

LOVE ships that are best friends first and lovers second. childhood friends to lovers is my absolute shit. i know everyone loves enemies to lovers rivals to lovers whatever but i love people who just know each other inside and out. who, when they’re together, are still silly and friendly first and foremost. the type of relationship that can have slap fights and know every single intimate detail about each other. who are constantly glued together and sometimes speak at the same time like freaky twins in a horror movie. i love friendship as a deep aspect of love u bitches js don’t get it

[raayllum]

RAYLLUM S5 MEME:  touches [7/8] 5x09, “infantis sanguine"

[fanaticsnail]

Despiértame mi Corazon

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,454

(Image Source: Actor: Alex Pettyfer + @fanaticsnail's dodgy photo editing skills)

Synopsis: You have been on the run from Donquixote Doflamingo, sheltering and caring for a young, sick child. Your emotions catch up with you as you process the change your life has led you to. You’ve left it all: family, career, friends - all to support Rosinante in his quest to cure the boy. Upon seeing you in this state, your Corazon will do anything to see you smile again. 

Themes: mutual pining, sickness, love, Rosi is a daddy, Rosi is a sweetheart, idiots in love, friends to lovers, Trafalgar Law is a child, baby Law is an edge-lord, angst, crying, hurt/comfort, dancing, Rosi is a dork, sad ending (I’m sorry), Dance reference link here.

Notes: This is a gift for @writingmysanity. You get two Cora fics, because we both need it. The other, more happy one, is coming soon, sweety!! 

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @vespidphoenix @i-am-vita @sexc-snail I don't know if you guys like Corazon, but I hope this convinces you to love him.

Song Suggestion: “Wake Me Up” - Postmodern JukeBox

The air carrying the tide towards your feet felt as thick and heavy as the encumbering weight on your heart. Frozen remnants of falling snow stuck to your cheeks, your eyelashes collecting a small amount of dust to coat your follicles in the crisp breeze. Aside from the peace found in momentary stasis, your mind was racing and your soul screaming for release. 

Trafalgar D Water-Law was dying. The boy you took under your wing, the child you cared for, the adolescent who held your heart in his hands was dying. He was not going to make it without consuming the Op-Op Fruit, a cruel reality that had finally caught up with you. 

You were so close. So unbelievably close to getting his cure - his fate balancing on the edge of a knife in the steely grasp of Donquixote Doflamingo. A cure like this was not something that would be gifted freely, both you and Rosinante knew this for a fact. There was no amount of convincing, scheming, bribing, groveling, or begging you could do to gather this cure for the sickly child you both loved. It needed to be claimed by force, and claimed now. 

Finding solace in the small moment you carved aside, you allowed yourself the luxury of hot tears rolling down your cheeks: consumed by the grief in the dire situation you found yourself within. You were simply unable to carry the weight of these harsh and raw emotions any longer. What began as a small sniff through your nose quickly and quietly escalated into soft sobs. As the sorrow was released, you felt the weight grow heavier in your heart and expand to encumber your chest.

Drawing up your knees and cradling them against you, you turned your head away from the shack as your shoulders shook with each whimpered sob. You desperately hoped to any deity that was listening that you were far enough away from your home for the night to hold your sobs in silence, not alerting or disturbing your two companions as they lay in slumber. 

Stalking slowly towards you, aided in silence by his devil-fruit abilities, Donquixote Rosinante was approaching you in your sorrow. His hand stuttered forward, wanting desperately to place it down on your shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze in consoling your release of your emotions. 

He, himself, knew this feeling, and he knew this feeling well. Giving into his feelings a few weeks earlier, while drinking a vast amount of sake straight from the bottle. He felt helpless in the overwhelming devastation that currently held the three of you hostage. Desperate to provide you comfort, although not desiring to give you a touch you were not expecting, he halted his movement from descending upon your shoulders.

Retracting his extended hand away from you, he stumbled backwards towards the shack to check in on the sleeping Trafalgar Law. Clambering up the steps, he looked over the peaceful form of the boy nestled up in his blankets to keep warm in the cool night. Noticing the fluttering rise and fall in his chest, the subtle wheeze extending and catching in his throat, he felt the return of helplessness overcome his body. 

Turning away from the child, his fingers absentmindedly brushed against the surface of the steely frame of his radio, flicking on the valve to wake its static call. He began turning the knobs, seeking out a whisper of a song to drown out his circulating devastation and distract himself with. 

The rustling static did nothing to wake Law from his rest, but did alert you of the fact Rosinante was awake and skulking around. Hastily drying your tears with the inner sleeve on your wrist, you ensured you were the very picture of positivity should the leader of your expedition join you in the cool air outside the shack. 

Your relationship with the younger Donquixote brother was complicated. 

Pledging your undying loyalty under pain or death to Doflamingo in your youth, your proximity to the younger brother had you develop the swell of infatuation with him. Through the years, your heart always had a soft simmer threatening to rapidly boil towards the surface. He was quiet, he was calm, his skills as a fighter were a privilege to behold in battle, and it was an honor to fight beside him. 

Under the orders of the older Donquixote brother, you had done  terrible things that required atonement to cleanse your hands of it. As you were both introduced to the young child who wished for death to claim him, you both became as hardened as the other to force the will to live upon him in repentance for your transgressions. 

Watching Rosinante take the lead in Law’s care, your infatuation rose once again: a rise which prompted you to cast aside your loyalty to Doflamingo and aid ‘Corazon’ in the task of betraying him. You were in exile, hiding while searching for a cure for the boy that you only now learnt were in the clutches of the very hands you were attempting to flee from.

You loved him. You loved watching the lanky man fawning over the sickly boy. It had your heart soar and fly ever higher. The way he loved with his whole heart had a ripple effect, prompting you to open your own heart to love both of them even more. When Rosinante displayed his heart, it was worn on his sleeve and given unconditionally. And when you saw this love for others, it made you long to be a recipient of such devotion. 

The rise in static volume prompted you to turn around, glancing at the looming figure exiting the door of the shack, a radio within his hands. He placed it on the wooden frame lining the porch and gestured for you to come over to him with a subtle sway of his hands. You offered him a soft, melancholy smile and rose to your feet from the cool sand beneath you. 

No words were spoken as you approached him, keeping your head bowed from him as the static crackled and roared to life. A familiar tune from your youth rose in the speakers, your smile broadening as the lyrics shepherded you into a gentle sway. 

Rosinante’s outstretched hand flitted fluidly down to you, a small bob in his head indicating for you to place your hand within his own. You returned this gesture with your eyes closed and shaking your head in disbelief at his invitation. He smiled, reaching forward his other hand down and claiming your unoccupied hand and began swaying you to the beat. 

“What are you doing, Rosinante?” you slowly hummed your question up at him, brow twitching up in intrigue. His warm smile pulled you in, alongside the slow shimmied-shake of his arms with your own. 

“We’re dancing,” he confessed with a rumbled chuckle, his toes accidentally colliding with your own: both flinching at the contact. He shook his head, adding to his answer, “I stand corrected: we’re trying.” 

Although the mood was filled with sorrow, the sway of Rosinante’s awkward movements had your smile rising up your cheeks and eyes drying of their prior downpour. A small swell in your heart at his attempt to make you smile had your cheeks begin to pull upwards by the smallest smile you could muster. 

Everything about the way he danced with you was stiff, awkward and rigid: a memory rising in both your minds of earlier in your youth springing forward.

“You remember when we first danced together?” Rosinante asked you, his painted lips attempting to hold back a toothy grin. You giggled at him, ushering his body to spin in your arms and gently twirled his body. The dark feathers tickled your skin, a sneeze rising in your nose in response to the subtle brush from the inky follicles.

“I remember it being about as ah-... ah-... ahh-...!” you sneezed, shaking your shoulders as you turned away from him to save him from the spray. He chuckled as you recovered from your sneeze, continuing, “-As awkward as this one. You didn’t have your feather coat then, either.” 

“Oh, right!” Rosinante laughed, twirling his body away from yours and removing his feathered overcoat from its place on his shoulders, casting it over the wooden frame beside the speaker. “Alright now, where were we?” His pink shirt dipped in his chest, the subtle rise of his lungs and exposure of soft skin tempted a warm flush to rise in your cheeks. You shook your head to rid yourself of such thoughts about your friend, recovering enough to plaster a small smile on your face. 

Swaying your hips and tapping your toes against the ground, you skillfully twirled your body to rejoin your hands within his. He gleefully laughed at your gesture, his own hips swaying to the beat and rocking his shoulders as the rhythm picked up. His knees were unpracticed and unskilled in this artform, but his enthusiasm overtook his inability to dance. 

Twirling his body away from you, he clapped his hands and began stomping his feet lightly on the floorboards. He tapped twice more before kneeling himself down on one knee, his other leg arched into a deep lunge in front of him. He placed his right hand on his hip, rising his left above his head and brandished it with a playful flourish. 

“Oh, we’re doing this one, are we?” your tone picked up, your brow arching on your forehead as you leant forward to claim his left hand within your right, “You remember how I tripped over your lanky legs when I did this last time,” you smiled, circling his body and hopping yourself over his calf lying flat behind him.

“I do,” he chuckled in return, following your movement with the lull of his head. His smile rose further as you playfully watched him from the corner of your eye. “You remember how we recovered, though? What we did to balance out the dance?” 

“Yes, Corazon,” you half-laughed, half-sighed, as you recalled how the evening progressed, “We drowned ourselves in several bottles of sake and laughed at our own idiocy.” Rosinante shook his head, rising to his feet after releasing your hand from within his. 

“No, mi amor,” he whispered, placing his hands on your hips and swaying you from behind, “I meant this.” He turned you within his arms, raking his hands over your hips, hands circling over your waist and holding you firmly against his torso. You hooked your arms over his shoulders behind your head, shepherding him to embrace you further while swaying to the rhythm. 

Rosinante pressed his cheek against your own, your eyes instinctively fluttering closed as you felt the rise in his grin on your skin. His breath tickled the nape of your neck, you breathing along to his rhythmic pattern with each passing moment. 

You felt all of your worries cast themselves aside each moment he held you in his arms, all anguish and melancholy passing from your body and reigned within his embrace. The pressure of his own sorrows fled from him and onto you, the sharing of the emotional labor departed each of you in this moment to simmer and smother between you.

“Why were we dancing again?” you whispered to him, your lips almost making contact with the shell of his ear. You felt him shudder against your touch, instinctively pressing your back further against his chest and nuzzling into your neck. 

Spinning in his arms, his hands tugging at your shifting shirt as you turned to face him, his eyes widened as he sought out his answer to you. Humming thoughtfully, he finally located his answer in his memory.

“I think it was Doffy’s birthday, or celebrating a raid on some unfortunate-,” Rosinante began, halted by you pulling away and glancing into his eyes. 

“-I mean now, mi corazon,” you floated your eyes between his, looking for rhyme or reason within his steely orbs, “Why are we dancing now?” He stuttered in his sway, freezing like a fainting goat being startled by a loud sound. 

“Y-You called me-...” his breath caught in his throat, lips parting as he floated his gaze between your own eyes, briefly caught in gazing longingly against your lips. “You called me ‘mi corazon’, mi amor.” He held you in silence, his heart swelling and adrenaline urging his body against his will to surge forward. 

The air was tense, the deafening silence being broken only by the smooth rise in melody from the radio beside you. His eyes softened more, wordlessly asking you a question with his lips quivering and eyes frantically darting between your own.

A small nod from him, answered by a nod of your own was all the answer he needed to join his lips with yours, softly molding himself to your lips and breathing in your air. 

The world came crashing down around you, the realms of unanswered questions from your youth were retorted by the soft lips of Donquixote Rosinante’s pressed against your own. You squeaked against his lips, eyes wide and watching as, his were closed with his brows furrowing in deepest concentration. He hissed in a breath through his nose, turning his head by the angle of his chin to deepen the embrace. 

Raking his hands up from your hips, he claimed fistfuls of your shirt in his needy grasp. He whimpered against your lips, prompting you to reciprocate his passionate kiss. You felt his heart, his spirit and his worries pass from his body into yours further. This intimate and wordless confession had your heart racing at the impossibilities that brought you here. 

Slowly pulling your hands from his shoulders, you slid them down his neck and grasped the embroidered pink collar of his shirt and pushed him back towards the railing. As his beck hit the hard, wooden pillar, he gasped into your mouth and desperately clawed at you to hold you firmer. Angling his head away, he pressed lengthy kiss after kiss against your lips, cheeks and chin: a trail marked by his pink lip-paint. 

“I want you,” he whispered against your lips, hovering them above your own before pressing his own against yours twice more, “I want us. I want all of us-.” He peppered your cheeks with lengthy kisses, the smear of his lip paint rubbing against your skin and tinting your flesh. “-The three of us. I want to be our own family: go where we want to go, wherever our hearts take us. I want to forge a life with you and that kid.”

“What are you saying-?” you whimpered for him, your hands claiming his cheeks within them and ushering his face away from yours. He groaned, leaning forward and claiming your lips beneath his own before fully allowing you to push him away.

“I want to adopt Law,” he continued, his hand rising to your hair and caressing your scalp, “You already mother him, fawn over him and treat him like your own.” Your hand flew to his hair as he pressed a long kiss against your neck, “I want to do this, and I want to do this with you, mi amor. I want to marry you, to be yours and you to be mine.” 

“I want us to be happy, mi amor,” he concluded, a melancholy smile finding his cheeks as he dipped his brow down to seek out your eyes, “I will have you smile again: a smile mirrored between the three of us.” He pressed a gentle kiss against your brow, adding a muffled, “Three against the world.”

The shock of it all happening at once held you in momentary silence. Feeling the pull to confess your own adoration and wants for the future onto him, your lips formed words before you could withhold them in your throat. 

“When this nightmare is all over,” you gasped, tugging at his blond locks to subtly weave him away from your neck to look in your eyes. “When we wake up from the darkness,” you slowly caressed his cheek, your thumb finding his bottom lip and attempting to press the paint within the boundaries of his lip line, “I want all of that with you, mi corazon.” 

At your confession, Donquixote Rosinante’s heart soared for you and his tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes. He truly didn’t know those words were needed to grace his ears and soothe his mind, but so thankful you formed them. 

He loved you from the moment he met you all those years ago. The urge to protect you from the evil his brother ushered into the world was so strong, he nearly broke the mask he made while infiltrating the crew. Seeing you hold your own against them, your skill in combat ushering a swift death to those who opposed you with mercy had him swooning at your kindness amongst the brutality. 

“Te amo, mi corazon,” you whispered, your lips again hovering over his own, “I always have, and I should’ve acted on it sooner. I just got caught up with the mission, with loving our child. You are doing such a good job with him, I want you to know that.” You soothed over his blond hair, brushing your nose against his while confessing your admiration further, “I love you, and I love Law so, so much-.” 

Surging forwards, the contact he made with your lips was wet: the stale aftertaste of his last cigarette was eclipsed by the salty tears falling over his lips. He didn’t know when his tears started to fall, nor did you grasp when your own intertwined with his against your lips. You laughed against his lips, feeling the lingering tingle of affection spark and ignite in your chest. He swooned for you, raking desperately at your body to hold you as close as he could without breaking through the material of your clothes. 

You broke away from his lips, gazing into his eyes with nothing but pure adoration and love. His own unspoken confession lingered in the air, the atmosphere tense and swollen with the lust-stricken adrenaline. The spark of the adoration tinting your eyes surged his confession forward, his words clumsily jumbled over his lips. 

“Mi tesoro, mi amor, mi familia,” he whimpered for you, his voice stuttering and stumbling over his words as he stooped down to you, “Te amo-... I-I love you. I love everything about you, and I should’ve told you sooner. I wanted to tell you from the day I first met you. I swooned for you when you danced with me all those years ago. My heart beats for you, and propels me to complete this task all the sooner to start this adventure with you and Law.” 

He pressed his forehead against your own, the feeling of hot tears rolling down his cheeks at the confession had you both sobbing and laughing at yourselves. Sniffling and collecting your own tears on your wrist, and he with his, you both glanced up at each other and allowed your smiles to rise. 

“We will get this done, Donquixote Rosinante,” you hardened your resolve, nodding through every word, “And when it’s all over, we will be una familia- a family, mi corazon. The three of us. Together.” You held each other close on the deck of the small shack: swaying between kisses as the darkness plaguing your journey was eclipsed by the light rising between you. 

Hanging on your every word, a small sob hitched at the crack in the door, Trafalgar Law’s hand clasping over his lips to mask his presence. Law had never witnessed so much love pouring from one person to another. The fact that you both held such love for him too had him openly sobbing at the interaction. 

He wanted this too. 

He wanted to be a family with both of you: two absolute idiots that loved both him and each other unconditionally. Two complete idiots who were hardened fighters, pirates, and war criminals. His idiots.

He wanted this so desperately. 

He wants his imperfect, perfect family. 

But some things were not meant to be. 

Law would call on this memory often. Each time that melody played over his personal radio, his heart would both consequently swell and shatter as tears threatened to pour down his face. He wanted to wake up, for it to all be some horrific nightmare and still be searching with you and Cora-san for a cure for his illness. Your love was real, and he was thankful to play his part in it.

However small a time it was, it was his. His perfect, imperfect family.

[wendeeesaucy]

Kasumi’s thoughts on the Shakarian romance

[harringroveera]

Well I don’t think it’s much of a secret anymore, Billy

[blue-bujo]

Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader) Chapter Masterlist

You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.

Roy Kent x female reader.

Comment below to join the taglist!

Chapter One: The Other Beautiful Game

Chapter Two: Being Better

Chapter Three: Dual-Purpose Distraction

Chapter Four: Feelings

Chapter Five: First Date

Chapter Six: A Disastrous Date

Chapter Seven: Deserving Something Good

Chapter Eight: Roy Kent, Baby Whisperer

Chapter Nine: coming end of January/beginning of February

[lilsjames]

MERLIN AU, SEASON 1: Morgana escapes from Camelot to Nemeth, where she befriends and eventually falls in love with Princess Mithian.

[fandomnerd33]

I'll find your lips in the street lights I wanna be there with you...

[mynonclicheblog]

when you need shelter, i will cover you / smother your tears and i'll show you mercy i see you in the morning sun, a shadow of the man i love i watch while you're sleeping so far inside your dream / i lie here wondering i wonder, "am i what you're needing?"

[goxjo]

I want slow burn but like with a lot of fucking

[teruel-a-witch]

Like ships in the night

You keep passing me by

We can feel so far

From so close

Like ships in the night

You keep passing me by

© Jason Lehning / Joshua Crosby / Mat Kearney / Robert Marvin

[raayllum]

— golden hour by Abby S

[thatmexisaurusrex]

The Love and Care of a Beloved Falcon

This is for the @sambuckylibrary's "Redwing" prompt for their TFATWS Anniversary Event. This is a little edit of a Modern AU idea where Sam and Bucky are roommates and Sam is Captain America (but Bucky doesn't know it). When Sam has to go away on a secret mission on short notice and Redwing isn't cleared for the mission, he bribes his roommate to take care of his falcon for a month (not knowing Bucky would have done anything for Sam already - a mutual pining scenario). Enjoy! 🥰

[abronzeagegod]

ETS WIP Chapter 4: The Problem with Dreams

<first>|<more>

The drive back to the office was quiet and slow.

After turning in the company van and clocking out, Aeth went and found a small room set aside for rituals. There they participated in a deep cleansing ritual and even a protection spell to keep the bad dreams at bay. They knew that this case would be haunting them for days and weeks.

Just as the magic faded and the incense started to dissipate away to just smoke, Lyta stuck her head into the room.

"Hey, I saw you're back. How was it?"

Aeth shrugged, not really up for vocalization.

"I'm about to finish up my shift, you want to go get something to eat? It's my turn to buy."

Aeth nodded. Lyta was a good friend, a great friend, their best friend. She could read their mood and their whole demeanor with a glance.

"Great, I'll order us something to pick up and we can go to my place and eat and watch some TV. You feeling And the Fifth Rose was Black or do you want some truly silly nonsense like Real Monsters of the Sea?"

"Sea," they mutter.

"Great! I need something mindless tonight. Let me get my desk together and I'll meet you in the break room?"

"Yeah."

Before she left, Lyta entered the room and gave Aeth a quick hug.

The day was deeply draining. Aeth felt so very tired, but Lyta had a way of making them feel better about everything. They hope that she doesn't mind.

Even though they know if they asked, she would say that she doesn't mind if it is for them.

Aeth didn't have to wait for Lyta for very long, she just had to grab her stuff out of her locker and then their friend drove to her apartment.

They often worked the same shift, so Lyta almost always drove the both of them to and from work.

Lyta's apartment was small, full, and deeply comforting to Aeth, who made a beeline for the couch, where they plopped down and snuggled up to the plush bat named Bat-tholemew. Lyta had gone into her room to change out of work clothes and put in food order. She knew their likes well enough by this point that she didn't even bother to ask what Aeth wanted.

Eventually, she returned and went to the couch, gently picking up Aeth's feet, sitting down, and letting Aeth lay across her lap.

It was right about twenty minutes into Real Monsters of the Sea (when Urrephetilgoth the Emissary of the Dark Tide was calling out Herominish Lor'gillth as a horror, as if Herominish would be offended by being called a horror) when the food arrived.

By the time the food was consumed and the fight between the two ancient sea creatures had resolved, or at least come to a truce so they could fight with a third friend/enemy/fellow-horror-form-100-fathoms-below-the-sea, Aeth was feeling much better.

It was around the time that they had finished food and the second episode of Monsters was wrapping up that Aeth finally felt good enough to talk to Lyta.

“It was the last job,” they said. “It was a typical family that had their computer for too long and it was starting to give up.”

Lyta didn’t interrupt. She never interrupted when Aeth spoke especially about things that were bothering them.

“But the kid, about seven or eight, believed in the computer enough to create a small god that lives in it and kept it working long past it’s lifespan.”

Lyta reached over and grabbed Aeth’s hand, just held on to it. She knew what was coming next, where it was going, but sometimes it was necessary for the person to say it out loud. After a moment she pulled their hand into her lap.

“She believed in her computer so much. She named it, had a bunch of plastic dinosaurs she named and gave permanent make overs to. She reminded me of me, but, you know, with a better home life.”

Lyta rubbed her thumb across Aeth’s knuckles. A soothing, repetitive gesture.

“Got me thinking about… you know,” Aeth said with significant pauses. “I called the Bureau, and they assured me it’s still in lock up under constant surveillance.”

“It hasn’t tried to get out?” Lyta asked. She was the only person that knew of 3812-B. But even she didn’t know the whole story, not the whole truth of it. That was something too much even for Aeth, something they didn’t even believe or want to share ever again.

“No,” Aeth responded. “They would have told me if it did.”

There was a long silence between the two of them. “How are you doing?” Lyta asked.

“Better now, but tonight is going to be rough dreaming.”

“You can stay here,” she said. Please stay, is what she meant.

Lyta always said stuff like that. Aeth wanted to stay, they really did, but they also needed the comfort and privacy of their own place.

They thanked Lyta for everything and called themselves a car to take them home. Lyta kept Aeth's hand in hers for as long as she could, kissing the back of their hand as they finally had to pull away.

They don't dream that night. At first.

When they did dream it is intense and violent and full of spiders.

Well, maybe it wasn't supposed to be violent.

But all the spells they did to keep from dreaming also kept the underearth spider aspect from sending them their thanks so they increased the power of their dreams until they broke through their thorough magic and it was basically a nightmare.

A nightmare built on the strength of the generosity of a spider aspect, a being from the inner earth, so far below the surface that things are naturally dark and twisted. A nightmare built from their everyday experiences strong enough to pierce through the wards and defenses carefully crafted by a hurt mind.

The thing with gods and their gifts is that one can't refuse them. Not really. Refusing a god outright is a terrible idea, and being coy about it is simply a worse one. Because nothing is more horrifying than a god who has been thwarted in their attempts to thank you.

They had honestly forgotten about it. Especially after the small god.

The corridors Aeth was lost in were twisting, dark, made of stone that was hot to the touch and rough and coarse. They twisted in and back on themselves like the paths of stone were moving, living things. Like a spiderweb turned stone.

Aeth knew something was in the tunnels with them and was chasing them, pursuing them, just like before.

They weren't strong enough to fight them the first time and had only survive through sheer luck.

To fight a second time was something that was just beyond their capabilities.

So they ran as far and as fast as they could, but their legs were loose, and numb. They couldn't move fast or far. They were trapped and this was the end for them they knew.

It was coming.

It was coming for them.

And they were caught in this web and labyrinth.

Suddenly the nightmare tilted on it's side, everything slid to one angle and Aeth found themself face-to-face with a spider aspect.

"Thank you," the spider said enigmatically. They were already big, bigger than Aeth was in the physical world but now they were massive, gargantuan even.

All of their many arms reach out and hand Aeth a thing made of the darkness around them. It is small and soft as they reach out and touch it.

It is unwise to refuse the gift of something that wants to give you a gift, especially one even so tangentially related to divinity.

Aeth took the gift, with only a little hesitation.

They knew that they were still being pursued, it was still coming after them.

"Thank you," Aeth responded, looking over their shoulder.

"It is authentic spider-silk. Very soft. Amazing to sleep upon."

Oh, it was a pillowcase. That made more sense.

Suddenly, the spider tilts it's massive head. They just noticed the thing that was persuing Aeth throughout the nightmare.

"Something is stalking you," the spider pointed out unhelpfully.

There went any hope Aeth had that it was part of the nightmare the spider aspect crafted.

"Yeah," Aeth said. "It's something from a long time ago and it won't ever stop."

"I shall delay them, and you should wake up," the spider said before moving deeper into their nightmare of their own creation.

Aeth wanted to wake so badly. They wanted to free themselves from nightmares and sleep without fear, and they wanted to free themselves from this specific nightmare immediately.

The spider had gone and Aeth could feel wakefulness just beyond the skein.

They rose and tried to break through, they tried to move through the dream, the nightmare, to the waking world where their pursuer was locked away safe, they tried to rise but it was like surfacing through the water, the light was distorted and made the surface seem so much closer than it truly was, the tension of the water holding strong even as they rose fighting against breaking, not letting Aeth leave the nightmare and the thing that wanted to chase them and consume them, even though they had risen seemingly past the surface the water refused to break the skein refused to tear and Aeth then feared truly drowning of facing the thing they had spent so long running from of the thing that had tried to engulf them and would try time and time and time and time again until Aeth awoke, breathing hard, unable to move, unable to do anything besides breathe heavily as they rose out of their nightmare, in their bed, safe and sound.

Their heartbeat was loud, intense, and the only thing they could focus on.

Eventually the cobwebs of the dream left them, and Aeth climbed out of bed.

It was still dark outside, and they turned on lights as they walked through their small apartment to find water. It was something for their shaking and anxious hands to do.

With the lights on and their heart racing, Aeth knew that sleep was basically a lost cause.

They sat in their bed and scrolled on their phone looking at pictures of couatl and memes. They even sent a few to Lyta, knowing that she had her phone muted and wouldn't respond until she woke up.

Despite the distractions, the fading adrenaline, and the threat of terrible nightmares, Aeth's body demanded sleep and rest, so they found themselves slipping into sleep once again.

Mercifully they didn't dream any further.

When they awoke again, they found the lights still on and redundant.

Not feeling particularly rested but awake, Aeth moved through their apartment.

After only being awake for a few minutes, their phone lit up with a notification.

It was from Lyta.

"i'm coming over with coffee and snacks! [kissing emoji]"

Sure enough a few minutes later Lyta had let herself in with her spare key. She had a pair of coffee cups, a bag presumably filled with some kind of pastry, and a giant bag filled with all sorts of things.

"Hey," she said softly when she spotted the tired looking Aeth, "how are you feeling?"

"Tired, and annoyed, but you come with coffee and breakfast so less annoyed."

Lyta smiled as brightly as her yellow sundress.

"You seemed like you were having a bad day."

"How could you tell?"

"You sent me three cute couatl memes at 4am. You only do that when you can't sleep," Lyta responded, the concern in her voice obvious and unmissable. Aeth's heart swelled a little. Lyta knew them so well, and cared for them so much that she dropped everything on her day off to bring coffee and pastry.

"Yeah, the spider aspect from earlier yesterday really wanted to thank me."

Lyta's eyes went wide and she made an "oof!" sound. "And the underearth things always wanna communicate via dreams."

"But I had blocked my dreams since the encounter with the small god."

"Oh no."

"But the spider wouldn't be denied."

"How bad?" Lyta asked.

Aeth didn't speak, just opened an email on their phone and pushed it across the kitchen island.

Displayed was an email from the Catalog and Archive Bureau about Aeth's subject. There was a vicious escape attempt that was thwarted at approximately 3:49 AM. The subject did not manage to escape, and only caused damage to it's holding prison, but as per regulations, the Bureau was required to inform Aeth of the activity.

"Well, I'm really glad I brought this," Lyta said as she indicated the large bag she brought with her.

"What's that?"

"Unless you very explicitly tell me no, we're going to the beach. Leaving you here, inside, alone, seems real bad. So you can come with me to the beach, we can watch the people, look at the creatures in the bay, and play in the sand."

Lyta knew that the temptation hook was landed, Aeth loved to try and build elaborate sandcastles, and Aeth is very susceptible to Lyta in a sundress.

"You don't have to even do anything if you don't want," Lyta said to further sweeten the pot. "I just don't want you sitting in your place moping the whole time, thinking about your dreams. We'll stop and get snacks."

Aeth knew, objectively, that they should say yes, but they were still tired and reluctant.

"I got a new bikini and everything, it would be shame to show it off to no one."

Once again, they knew, objectively, that they shouldn't be so excited to see their best friend in whatever new swimsuit she got, but Aeth was only human and particularly weak for Lyta.

"Sure, I guess."

Lyta smiled brightly (almost as bright as her sundress). "Yay! Drink your coffee and eat your breakfast and then get ready. We'll head over and spend the day in the sun and the sand together."

Together.

Aeth wouldn't admit, ever, how nice that word was.

my kofi where you can read these early