#[ but how can it be anything but painful when he's their northern star he's their Captain and he just let go of them

[pirateborn-a]

lies down,

#[ ooc ] ✧〖 bid farewell to weaver’s town 〗 #[ visage ] ✧〖 so spread your tale 〗 #video. #[ I AM SO NORMAL AB THIS MAN. #[ SHANKS TRYING SO HARD TO NOT CRY.... #[ Roger just Smiling at him as if things are fine but they're NOT #[ to him they are but they're not and i shaking biting maiming #[ roger being strong for them while also giving the impression that it's not okay to cry but it is and it's not bc of toxic masculinity or #[ some shit but bc he wants to try and make this as painless as possible for them #[ but how can it be anything but painful when he's their northern star he's their Captain and he just let go of them #[ he has to let go of them or else they'd follow him to his grave and he doesn't Want that for them #[ he is equally so fucking selfish and so selfless i am Putting him into the plinko #[ RYE is once again shaking a dead man #[ going through eps for edits/icons and just............. pain...... #[ wano flashback rly did something to me </3

[cyantomatos]

Even Stars Will Fall - Ch 12

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader x Ellaria Sand Word Count: ~5.5k Warnings: I'm gonna forego warnings on this chapter for the sake of spoilers, just this once. It's not anything worse than any of the previous chapters, so you should be good if you made it here, but if anyone has any concerns, just shoot me a message. Notes: Buckle up, we made it to the end. More notes after the chapter.

Last Chapter | Masterlist

Ellaria wakes in a dark room with alarm bells going off in her head.

It takes a moment to get her bearings, but she’s out of the bed before she’s fully stable and striding to the cradle tucked into the corner. She’d never been one to let her child be cared for by a stranger and kept in a nursery, and it wasn’t going to be any different with Dorea.

When she peeks over the side, careful to be quiet, the little newborn is sleeping peacefully. Ellaria lets out a breath, certain it was just paranoia over her child that woke her, but then she realizes the alarm bells haven’t quieted. Something is wrong, she doesn’t know how she knows it, but she does. And then she feels it, a weak tug in her gut, pulling her down the hall.

Oberyn is still in the main hall, still laughing and talking to guests when Ellaria bursts in. He’s never seen her like this before, so frantic, not even about their children. Immediately he’s at her side, stopping mid-conversation with some Northern lord to go to her. Her eyes are wide, hands shaking as he takes them in his. “What is it, what is wrong, my soul?”

“She isn’t in her room, she’s gone!”

You have a headache. Like, the worst headache you’ve ever had. Well, not the worst. You got a migraine once when you were twelve, and spent the whole day in bed because it hurt to move your eyes. This isn’t that bad, but it’s still bad.

Your brain boots up slowly. First the pain in your head registers, and then just how bright wherever you are is despite your eyes being closed. Soft fabric rubs against your cheek, and you realize you’re laying on your side against sheets that feel coarser than the ones on your bed despite their softness. 

Finally, you manage to open your eyes. The room around you swims into focus, and you blink a few times trying to clear the blurring from your vision. 

You’re not in the palace anymore.

Whatever room you’re in is small and windowless. The bed you’re lying on is shoved into the corner, and there’s a dresser and a small vanity with a stool agains the opposite wall. The furniture is all well made, and obviously expensive, despite the dreary appearing of the room around them. The walls are bare wood, and you think it might be some sort of shed or storage room that was hastily outfitted.

The door at the far end of the room opens, and your stomach drops. Rylan is standing in the doorway, and in the few seconds before he steps in and closes the door you can see bright green plants behind him.

There’s a wide grin on his face, and the open friendliness he looks at you with stuns you for a moment. You’re so used to seeing him angry or smug or pretending at civility that the genuine expression almost breaks your brain.

“You’re awake! I was beginning to think you’d sleep the day away, my dear.”

You stare at him for a moment as he steps into the room and pushes the door closed with his foot, a tray balanced in his hands. As he walks towards you, you push yourself into a sitting position, scooting up against the headboard as far as you can. “Where am I?”

Rylan sets the tray on the vanity, and turns towards you with a cup in his hands. “My lands. Not in the main house, for right now, it would be too dangerous to have you there. Once it is obvious to my cousin that you belong with me, as my wife, you can move in there properly and have a room that befits a lady of the house.”

He holds the cup out to you with a smile, and your eyes flicker between it and his face. When you don’t take it, his smile falters, and it looks more like genuine upset than a mask slipping like it did the previous times you spoke to him. Instead of insisting he just shrugs, turning to place the cup back on the tray. “I know this may be a bit of a shock, my dear, but it is just temporary. I had to get you away from my cousin, he was clouding your mind. You could not think clearly, could not see that I only have your best interests at heart. He has that kind of effect on women, I am afraid.” Rylan shakes his head, frowning down at the tray of dishes for a moment. 

After a moment of silence he turns back to you, smiling once again. “I cannot stay, my dear, I have important matters I must attend to. You will be safe here, I promise, and I will visit again soon.” He gestures to the wall above you, and you see a shelf above the bed with several books stacked on it. “Feel free to read while I am gone, I will see about getting you some other entertainment as well. Do you know how to embroider? Or draw? Well, no matter, you can learn all of that once we are married.”

Your mind is whirling, too much information to process at the moment making it hard to think. This isn’t the same confident, smarmy lord you’d dealt with at the palace. No, it seemed like he’d genuinely managed to delude himself into thinking you would go along with marriage if he only got you away from Oberyn.

Before you could react properly he turned, striding to the door. You scrambled off the bed, tripping towards him, still uncoordinated from whatever he used to knock you out.

“Rylan, wait! Wait, please, I don’t want to be here!”

The door shut firmly behind him, and you fell against it, desperately fumbling with the knob. It wouldn’t turn, and you leaned against the wood with a sinking feeling in your stomach.

You were locked in here, at the mercy of that man.

The palace was in chaos. 

The moment Ellaria had told Oberyn you were gone, he began tearing the palace apart. Every guest was ordered down to the main hall, and every room was searched. He lead the search himself, tearing apart rooms without concern for the consequences. Doran was summoned, but by the time he found his brother, Oberyn was already deep on the warpath.

The elder prince found his brother in a guest room, one that hadn’t been occupied by anyone that night, ripping the mattress off the frame. There were a handful of guards standing against one wall, expressions of concern fixed on the younger prince. Doran sighed as he watched his brother, gesturing for the guards to leave.

“Oberyn. This will not solve anything.” His brother turned to him, fury etched onto his face, and flung his arms wide.

“She is gone, Doran. Someone took her, from my palace, during my party. What do you expect me to do, sit quietly until they return her? She is our soulmate.” Some of the fury leaked out of his expression, morphing into desperation as Doran stepped towards his little brother.

“I expect you to think clearly. You are a prince, Oberyn, and currently you are not acting like one.”

Oberyn clenched his jaw, looking away from his brother. When he spoke, his voice was rough, like the words themselves pained him. “I cannot just sit here, Doran. I do not mean I do not want to, I mean I cannot. Every fiber of my being is driving me to look for her. For my soulmate.”

Doran softened at that. He sighed, reaching out to grip his brothers shoulders. “We will find her, brother mine. But you need to calm yourself. Flying off in a rage like this will not help her.” Oberyn nodded tightly, still refusing to look at his brother.

It’s late, when Oberyn makes it to bed that night. The entire palace had been scavenged top to bottom, a large quantity of it by Oberyn himself, but there’s still no sign.

Ellaria is in his room when Doran finally convinces him to get some sleep. She’s awake, sitting on the edge of his bed, and when she lifts her head Oberyn feels his heart break a little at the sight of her. Her eyes are red, and she can barely hold her head up from the exhaustion he feels dragging at his own bones as well. He knew Ellaria had been searching for most of the day, but they rarely crossed paths in his single-minded pursuit of their lost soulmate.

“Any news?” Her voice shakes, and he wishes he could give her something good.

Instead he shakes his head, swallowing hard. “No. No one has seen her.”

He steps forward, kneeling in front of her, grasping her hands in his as her head lowers again.

“We will find her, my soul. I swear. We will find her, and whoever took her will pay.”

You’re not sure how long it’s been since Rylan left, but a maid came in a few hours later and took the tray of untouched food away. You don’t want to take the chance that he’s put anything in the food, despite the pit growing in your stomach from hunger. For a moment, you consider overpowering the maid when she turns away with the tray, but she looks nervous and scared and won’t hardly look at you. You refuse to hurt someone innocent, not even to get yourself out of this situation.

When Rylan comes back, it’s dark outside behind him. He’s carrying a tray again, which he sets on the bed this time before sitting next to it. You try not to, but as he sits you shrink away, your body rebelling at just the thought of being near him.

“You need to eat, my dear. I know you are upset right now, I do understand, but starving yourself will fix nothing.” He looks at you with pleading eyes, and it’s almost enough to make you feel bad, until you remember what he did to you.

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment before something falters in his gaze, and he lets out a sigh. “I know things are difficult right now, and you think I am being unfair. But trust me, my dear. You will be much happier here, with me, than you ever would have been being a third wheel to the prince and his whore.”

You do managed to keep your expression neutral at his words, despite the anger building inside you at the way he talks about Oberyn and Ellaria. There’s an instinctual rage deep in your heart, listening to this man talk like he knows what’s best for you, like what’s best for you isn’t being with your soulmates. It’s hard to ignore, but you keep your expression neutral, worried that if you upset him you’ll lose the weird kindness he’s been treating you with.

You do not, however, manage to keep yourself from jerking away when he puts a hand on your arm. He looks surprised, and then hurt, his hand still hovering where your arm had been moments before. For a moment, as emotions flicker across his face, you’re worried you managed to upset him after all, and you’ll get the angry, selfish lord that you knew him as before.

Instead, he smiles, the expression wavering slightly, and stands. “You need time. My cousin’s influence over you has to fade on its own. I will wait, my dear, until you understand the favor I am doing you.”

Doran bursts into his brother's room very early the next morning. Early enough that it’s still mostly dark out, and Oberyn and Ellaria sit up in bed with a start, a knife in Oberyn’s hand instantly. 

“I apologize for the early hour, brother, but there is news you need to hear.”

Moments later he is in Doran’s office, staring down a scared woman that looks like she’s trying to blend into the fabric of the chair in front of his brother's desk. Ellaria stands at his side, hand gripped tightly in his own, as the woman speaks.

“I-I work at Lord Rylan’s manor. He was out very late, the night of the prince’s celebration, and when he came back he had a woman with him. I did not know who she was, and she was unconscious, but I did not say anything. I could not risk my job, I-” She pauses, shrinking away from Oberyn’s thunderous expression. Ellaria nudges him, glaring up at him, before turning to give the woman an encouraging look.

“I did not see where he took her, but yesterday afternoon, the housekeeper told me to go fetch a tray from one of the outbuildings. The woman was in there, and she looked scared. I still did not know who she was, or what I could do to help her, but then last night we got word of your missing woman, and I realized it must be her. I do not…trust his intentions with her, my prince, he has been talking all day yesterday to anyone who will listen about how we will have a new lady soon, he just needs to convince her. I was not able to get away until very late last night, not without someone noticing, and I came here immediately.” The words all come out in a rush, and when she finishes speaking Doran sighs.

“It was brave of you to come, my dear. I will have someone show you to a room you can stay in, here in the palace, until this situation is dealt with.”

The silence in the room hangs heavy until the woman is gone, and Doran finally looks at his brother. Oberyn’s gaze is on Ellaria, and for a moment Doran feels like an intruder with the way they seem to communicate without words.

Finally, Oberyn’s shoulders drop, and Ellaria lets out a breath, apparently the winner in whatever silent argument they were having. Oberyn looks at his brother, voice shaking. “We cannot leave her there, brother.”

“No, we cannot. I already suspected Rylan had a hand in your soulmate’s disappearance, but without proof I could not act. This is the proof we needed.” He stands, his expression grim. “You will have to wait, just a bit, until I have the men to go with you, but I will not stand in your way Oberyn.”

You're not sure how much time passes. There's no window in this little building, and you're almost positive food isn't being brought on any real schedule. After Rylan leaves, you sleep for a while, and when you wake there's another tray sitting on the vanity. It concerns you a little, that someone must have been in here while you were asleep without you noticing. It's enough to make you sit up in the corner of the bed, back pressed resolutely against the wall, determined not to sleep anymore.

You also still don't trust the food. Rylan seems nice, for now, but you still wouldn't put it past him to drug the food somehow. You don't know this world well enough yet to know what kinds of drugs are possible here, and what they might do to your mind or body if consumed. It's safer, for now, not to eat or drink any of the food or water brought to you.

After a while, you think a few hours, the door opens and Rylan enters again. This time, when he sees the still-untouched tray of food, you see a flicker of the rage in his eyes that you'd been expecting since you first woke in this tiny room. It's gone a moment later, however, and that pleading sadness is back on his face by the time he looks at you.

"I do not understand how my cousin sank his claws into you so deep in such a short time, my dear. Is the thought of being with me truly so repulsive that you would rather starve?" You hate the tone he's using, like you're a child that needs to be reasoned with, and before you can stop yourself you're replying.

"You kidnapped me. You stole me out of my bed in the middle of the night and locked me in here, and you expect me to be happy?"

Rylan flinches. It'd be satisfying if you weren't mentally berating yourself for provoking him. There's no telling when his mood might finally shift, and you don't want to find out what the Lord Rylan you knew before will do with no one around to stop him.

As you brace yourself, Rylan looks at you for a moment, lips pursed. Finally he sighs, deflating slightly, and his voice has an edge to it now that wasn't there before. "You still do not understand. I am doing what is best for you, my dear. My cousin gets everything he wants, women, money, power, but he cannot have you. My methods were rough, I will admit, but you will see." He crosses to the vanity, looking thoughtfully down at the uneaten food. "You know, my dear, if you do not choose to eat soon I will have to force the matter. I do not want to upset you further, but if you give me no choice..." 

A spike of fear shoots through you at this glimpse of the old Rylan, and without thinking you press yourself back against the wall behind you. Your eyes dart to the door, mind frantically working. You don't think you've seen him lock it the few times he's come in. If he comes at you, you might be able to get to the door. You don't know where you are, or what might be waiting for you outside, but anything is better than being at his mercy. You're sure of that.

Before you need to worry about any of that, however, the door opens. Rylan turns away from the food, annoyance flashing on his face in the few seconds you can see it and filling his voice. "What."

There's a scared looking young man peeking through a crack in the door. He's only opened it enough to wedge his head and shoulders through, and the look on his face suggests he'd rather be baiting rabid dogs than delivering whatever news he has. "M-my lord, the prince is here."

Rylan goes perfectly still as your heart immediately soars. You had hoped Oberyn would come, but you couldn't be sure he would even be able to find you. It hits you, faintly, that just a few days ago you might not have been so certain the prince would come for you, but after the discussion with him and Ellaria the night of the party, there wasn't a doubt in your mind that they would both move mountains to find you.

For a second, you almost feel sorry for Rylan when you look at him. He's spent his life being overshadowed by his royal cousin, that part you have no doubt is true despite his delusions around everything else, and now Oberyn is here to take you away. Again, in his head most likely. You'd feel sorry for anyone, really, standing between Oberyn and what he wants. That sliver of pity, however, promptly shrivels up when seconds later you see Rylan straighten and sneer at the young man. "The prince. My cousin finally deigns to visit me, then. He's smarter than I gave him credit for, if he worked out I was the one to take her this quickly."

He turns to you, and you feel proper fear this time at the expression on his face. "Worry not, my dear. I will not allow him to take you from me."

Rylan was gone for less than a minute before you moved.

You needed to get out. You were over the moon that Oberyn was here, but there was no guarantee he'd be able to find you, and you couldn't just wait and hope. All you had to do was get out of this room and find Oberyn. It was a much more manageable list than before, especially since you still had no idea what was waiting outside that door. 

It was easier than you thought to get the door unlocked. Well, unlocked wasn't really the right word.

The benefit to your kidnapper trying to make you as comfortable as possible and deluding himself into believing he could make you want to stay was that he hadn't put any thought into how useful the things in your room could be in an escape. For instance; heavy books make great tools to knock handles off of doors.

It took a few tries, and with every loud thump your anxiety ratcheted up a notch, but with one last swing, the handle finally clattered to the floor. You dropped the book, sliding a finger into the hole left in the door to slowly pull it open. When there was no immediate sign you'd been spotted you peeked out from around the edge of the door, finally taking in the sights outside your prison.

You knew Dorne was a diverse country, but most of what you had seen at this point pretty closely resembled a desert. You'd never ventured far from the seaside castle, however, so it came as a bit of a shock when you realized the area surrounding your prison was a riot of green. It looked like you were in the middle of a rainforest with the amount of dense vegetation surrounding the clearing you were in. There was a rather large building that you only just now realized one side of your room was connected to, and after your senses adjusted you realized you could hear the sounds of animals coming from it. Rylan must have outfitted some kind of storage shed attached to a barn to hold you.

That right there spoke volumes to how he regarded you.

You took a cautious step out of the building, looking around. There didn't seem to be anyone in the area, and for a moment a paranoid part of your brain wondered if this was a test to see how you would react to an opportunity to escape. You physically shook your head to dislodge that thought, determined not to let fear guide your actions. You needed out of here, and sitting in your pretty prison too scared to move wasn't going to get you anywhere.

Slowly, placing your feet carefully, you crept forward until you reached the edge of the barn. You weren't letting fear guide you, but that didn't mean you shouldn't be cautious. When you peeked around the edge of the building, a wall of the same dense vegetation you'd seen all around you met you just a few feet away. There was a path leading through the foliage, and you could just barely see the same kind of stone that was used for the palace at Sunspear peeking through the bright green vegetation. A quick scan showed that there wasn't anyone in the area, so you crept forward along the path, praying to any gods that might be listening no one caught you.

As you came towards the end of the path the building came into view. The clearing it sat in was large, and the building itself was absolutely massive. Not as massive as the palace, but still, obviously what would be considered a home fit for a lord. It was built in the same design as the palace you'd spent so much time in at Sunspear, with the same sun-bleached tan walls and open window designs. Just the sight of it made your heart squeeze in homesickness, and you realized in that moment how deeply you'd come to regard the palace as your home. You'd only been in this world for a matter of weeks, and yet you already felt like you belonged here more than you ever had anywhere else.

You followed the edge of the house towards what you hoped was the front, slowing your steps as you got closer and realized you could hear voices. You instantly recognized Oberyn’s voice, hearing the tension in his otherwise cool tone as he responded to something Rylan said. You crept forward, peeking around the corner of the house.

Oberyn was standing at the front of the house, several men dressed in his house’s colors standing behind him. Rylan stood in front of him, his own men behind him, arms crossed as he obviously tried to make himself look more visually intimidating in front of Oberyn’s casual confidence. You could see the tension in Oberyn’s shoulders, however, and you knew how tight of a grip he must be keeping on his temper as he faced down his cousin. Ellaria stood several feet behind Oberyn’s group, two men standing on either side of her, a mixture of anger and anxiety written on her face.

You’d meant to stay back far enough that hopefully no one would see you, unsure what situation you were walking into, but Ellaria’s eyes met yours almost instantly, like she was drawn to you. You saw her mouth open, to far away to hear anything, but she must have gasped with the way Oberyn instantly turned to look at her. He turned back, following her gaze, and his own eyes went wide when he spotted you.

You took a step forward, forgetting for a moment the situation and where you were, and were instantly ripped back into reality at the sound of swords being drawn. Instantly, there were five different swords pointed at Oberyn, close enough that his own guards would be able to do little to protect their prince. Rylan’s men had stepped forward as Oberyn had spotted you, the lord spotting you at the same time as his cousin thanks to Ellaria’s reaction.

Rylan closed the few feet over to you, one hand closing roughly around your arm to drag you out from around the side of the building. “I should have known you would come running at the chance to see your prince again.” He spat out the word like it disgusted him, coming to a stop a few feet behind the men that currently had swords pointed at one of your soulmates.

You’d never seen Oberyn scared, before, not even when Ellaria was in labor. You’d seen him ruffled, perhaps worried, but never scared. You felt fear spread through your own body like an icy river at the pure terror in his eyes now, though, as he watched his cousin drag you forward. Your eyes darted back to Ellaria, fighting back panic at the fear on her face as well.

Oberyn held up one hand, slowly, eyes darting quickly to one of the swords pressed close to him before focusing back on his cousin. “Rylan, please, think this through. Doran already knows you took her, he sent me. What do you think is going to happen here?”

Rylan sneered at his cousin. “You think you’ve won again. You think I will cave, let the girl go running back to you and your whore because, what? Because of fear of you? Of your brother? If you have not noticed, cousin, you are the one with swords to your throat, and your dear brother is all the way in Sunspear. I could slaughter you and your whore and be halfway across the continent by the time Doran manages to mobilize his men to come after me.”

You took an involuntary step towards Oberyn and Ellaria at the threat against them, only to be jerked back by Rylan’s grip on your arm. He looked down at you then, rage twisting his face into a grimacing sneer.

Rylan quickly yanked a knife out of the sheath at his side with his free hand, bringing it up to drag under your chin, forcing your head up towards him to avoid being cut. “Then again, that would leave me with a woman forever pining for someone else. I could break her, I suppose, loving me would be a bonus, not a necessity. But it would get tiring. And it would be oh so satisfying to kill her in front of you.”

He looked back up, knife still pressed to your throat, a malicious grin spreading across his face. “Suddenly, cousin, I am the one holding all of the cards for once.”

You met Oberyn’s eyes again, reading the terror written there, and you could practically see his mind racing as he tried to find a way out of this situation for all of you. “Rylan, cousin, don’t do this. Would you really rather live in exile, or die, than see her with us?”

Rylan scoffed, and you winced as his hand jerked slightly and dug the knife further into your skin.

"I would rather see us all die, cousin, than see you win again."

All of the fear flowing through your body like icy spears suddenly went hot, like a switch being flipped, morphing into rage and indignation.

How dare he?

How dare he try and steal you as though you were a toy to be taken from his cousin? How dare he tell his men to point swords at your soulmate? How dare he use your life to threaten them? How dare he?

You turned to him carefully, forcing yourself to look away from where Oberyn stood with swords to his neck and Ellaria stood in helpless terror behind him, ignoring the way the movement made the knife slide against your skin.

"Look at me."

The force in your voice, more power than you'd commanded before, compelled him to look down at you, a sneer still plastered on his face. The moment he met your gaze, however, his face went slack.

“I see you, Lord Rylan. I see your blackened, rotted soul. You want to be a big, scary man, but you aren’t. You’re a scared, lonely little boy, lashing out because he could never make any friends or get a girl to give him a spare glance. You thought it was because your cousin distracted them with his title and his riches, but that wasn’t it, was it?” You sneered right back at him, channeling all of your hate and anger into your voice. “It was you, Rylan. They all saw you, who you really were, and wanted nothing to do with you. You would have been alone with or without your cousin there. You always were, and still are, worthless and repulsive. I never would have wanted you regardless of if I had met my soulmates, because I always saw what you are. A jealous, possessive, mean little man that thinks he can take what he wants and blames others for his problems.”

The slack look on Rylan’s face slowly morphed as you spoke, horror spreading across his face as he stood there, frozen. He shook his head, stammering, “What…what are you doing?”

You reached up, wrapping one hand around the wrist of the hand holding the knife to your neck, easily pulling it away from you. “But I have a present for you, Lord Rylan. A gift. You wanted my magic so badly, so here. Have a taste.” You watched as his eyes clouded over, and held tightly as he tried to jerk his arm out of your grasp. For a moment he stood there, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, and then he screamed.

You let go, letting him stumble backwards until he tripped over his own feet, landing hard on the ground. He writhed where he fell, simultaneously reaching out to ward off something only he could see away and also clawing at his own face, his screams filling the air around you. You watched, a feeling of satisfaction and pride spreading through you. 

A hand on your arm broke your concentration and you turned, finding Oberyn and Ellaria standing at your side. You glanced over their shoulders, seeing Oberyn’s men holding swords to Rylan’s men, his side apparently distracted enough by their lord falling into a fit to be overtaken by Oberyn’s men. 

You realized then that you were clutching your necklace tightly in the hand that hadn’t been holding Rylan’s wrist, and when you managed to uncurl your fingers from the death grip you’d had on the pendant, the sight that met you somehow didn’t surprise you at all.

The brilliant blue had leeched out, leaving what looked like a hollow, plain glass pendant hanging around your neck.

You looked back up, eyes suddenly filling with tears as the adrenaline from the last few minutes bled out of your body. Instantly you were engulfed in your soulmate’s arms, pressed between them, and you finally relaxed. 

“We have you, my sunflower, you are safe.” Ellaria’s muffled voice washed over you, soothing the lingering terror you felt. Oberyn pressed a kiss to the top of your head, whispering a promise against your hair. “No one will take you from us ever again, my soul. Never.”

We made it guys. Almost two years and 12 chapters later and we made it, finally. I am genuinely so sorry for how long it took for me to finish this fix, it ended up being beefier and so much more work than I was expecting, but I got there in the end. There's going to be an epilogue eventually, but I don't know when that will happen.

For now, thank you guys for sticking with me, welcome to the people just showing up, and I hope you enjoyed the ride ❤

(And now that we're done, if any of you want to send me questions, feel free!)

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#oberyn martell #ellaria sand #oberyn martell x reader #ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand #eswf #even stars will fall

[mins-fins]

❛ nap of a star ❜ — seok matthew

| synopsis . . . he misses watching the stars, but most importantly, he misses watching the stars with matthew.

| tags . . . seok matthew x m!reader , technically angsty but the fluff overshadows it , childhood lovers (kinda) , they get separated but not reunited , god i hate them , mentions of constellations because constellations are cool , fueling my astronomy interests

| warnings . . . none!

stars, they interest y/n.

his interest in astronomy has always existed, he has fond memories of getting his first telescope, gasping aloud when his mom actually got one for him after he'd been begging for months and months.

he would spend hours studying constellations, mesmerizing their names so that when he sees them in the sky he can recognize them. along with the northern lights, they were his favorite things to see when he looks up in the sky.

another thing that made his astronomy interest even better was his best friend. (do note that he hasn't seen said best friend in years though)

now, matthew was definitely slower when it came to astronomy. the only thing he really liked was the stars, just staring up at them and making random sounds of amazement.

he enjoyed listening to y/n talk about different stars and constellations for hours, then he'd learn something new and get excited because he finally had some context on what he was going on about.

somehow, y/n could almost always find a way to sneak matthew out of his room in the middle of night, and they'd sit down to watch the stars together.

y/n is sure he's almost broke his head from how many times he fell on his head trying to climb through matthew's window.

that night was no different, matthew was sound asleep in his bed, the small thumping at his window barely distracting him, he's too much of a heavy sleeper.

y/n pushes the window open, frowning at the sight of matthew still being asleep. he hauls himself up, trying his best with how careful he had to be.

surprisingly, he tips forward and falls face first on matthew's bedroom floor, a little "ow" escaping his lips as the pain began settling in to his body.

fortunately, he caught the attention of the boy he'd been calling for just moments prior.

"uh.. y/n?" matthew mumbles, and said boy raises his head as he blinks innocently at his best friend. "what are you doing he.."

"we have to see the stars, matthew!" y/n 'yells', though he has to yell quietly because the rest of the seok family are soundly asleep in the other rooms.

"right now?" he asks, though he doesn't sound like he wants to disagree, as he slowly makes his way out of his bed. "i mean— not like i don't want to go or anything!"

though he was unconvinced, eight-year-old y/n wasn't about to walk through the dark streets of vancouver by himself once again. "come on, hurry up!"

holding in his sigh, the young matthew stumbles into his shoes and helps (shoves) y/n out of his window to follow after him. he almost misses a step, and y/n quickly throws his arms around him to stabilize him so he doesn't fall. "okay?" he asks in his usually excited voice, matthew's ears go red as he gives a small nod as confirmation.

so here they were, two eight-year-old kids walking through the dark streets of vancouver, matthew squeezing his hands as he didn't want to get lost. their only focus was on the sky, trying to see if they could catch sight of any stars.

"ugh, we can't see anything" y/n whines, holding onto matthew's hand. "the street lamps make it pretty much impossible".

"we didn't miss it, did we?" matthew whispers, momentarily looking back to make sure there was no one following them. y/n shoots him a look, then looks back to the sky. "no, i don't think so, we have to go higher".

"higher?" matthew's eyes go wide at the words, y/n turns back to him and nods. "like up the hill?" he asks.

"it's the only way we'll be able to see the stars".

y/n begins up the hill, making sure matthew was following him as he makes his way up. the much smaller boy tries his best to keep with y/n's fast walking pace, stumbling towards him and taking his hand to make sure he didn't lose him.

"hurry up slowpoke!"

"i'm trying! you walk too fast!"

"if we miss it, i'm beating you up in front of the whole school" y/n threatens, it was an empty threat, he'd never hurt matthew in his life.

matthew gasps dramatically, not even realizing that they've made it to the top already. "you wouldn't" he replies, pouting.

"yes i woul.."

y/n is left speechless, and matthew looks up to see why, only to also be left speechless by the sight of the stars. he tilts his head, blinking at how beautiful the stars are, shining in the dark night sky.

"ursa minor" y/n whispers, jaw basically dropping at the sight of the stars creating a shape in the sky.

"ooh, it's so pretty!" matthew exclaims, letting go of y/n's hand to give a small applause. "is that the big dipper?"

y/n only gives a hum at matthew's question, he is way too focused on the stars to look at his best friend directly. his eyes seem to shine as he stares up at the pretty shapes forming in the sky, a clear interest in them.

matthew smiles as he stares at his best friend. he doesn't know how many times he's seen an eight year old have a look of such.. passion, in his eyes? it honestly made him feel happy.

y/n doesn't remember snapping out of his daze until he feels matthew take his hand once again.

"y/n?" he calls out, making him finally look over to stare at his best friend. "can you promise we'll see the stars together again?"

y/n tightens his hold around his hand, giving a small smile accompanied by a giggle.

"i promise".

if only he could change the past.

he would've taken that back.

#seok matthew #zerobaseone #zb1 #seok matthew zb1 #zb1 matthew #zb1 imagines #zb1 scenarios #zb1 drabbles #zb1 x male reader #seok matthew x reader #seok matthew imagines #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

[raayllum]

So with the new art of Aaravos in mind, let’s talk about stars, skits, and foreshadowing

It seems to be child Aaravos, gathered around stars. Now, most of what we know about stars were jokes included in the “Written in the Stars” skit from a comic con in 2019, where Callum (Jack de Sena) and Rayla (Paula Burrows) stargazed together their first night in Xadia, discussing different constellations between their cultures. It is adorable, and you should watch this animatic of it right now if you haven’t already, and even if you have.

Rayla talks about Garlaf ruling the night sky (with his merciless boot of crushing), Callum talks a baby banther mama banther constellation that’s clearly an Usra major / minor reference. (Perhaps Garlaf is a famous Moonshadow or Startouch elf of old?) But most notably, Callum references something called the South Star, a parody of the north star. What he says is this:

“What about that? Brightest star in the sky. A single point of light. We call it the South Star. Humans used it to navigate, you know, to find their way in the endless darkness of the night.”

Why does this matter? Well, Rayla has been consistently associated with light - not just moonlight - with Callum in her framing and in their dynamic, mostly notably in season one and season two. There is also the general theme of them being Truthtellers for each other, helping them see through the illusions they held concerning each other: Rayla to shame and murder, Callum to self worth and magic. Callum’s arc with magic and how it pertains to Rayla is also very interesting, because of the way magic (and an arcanum specifically) is defined as a Spark, like fire, the tiniest flicker of a primal source inside you.

The framing below because it is also consistent, but more specific examples to show:

[Callum walking out of the dark and into the light after his date with Claudia / now that he knows the truth, but Rayla could’ve been in darkness to signify his mood. Instead, she’s in the light (and her white hair) because although shattered, their relationship and her presence in his life is the Truth, and what ultimately helps him deal with the truth]

[More lighting and Rayla turning him towards her, toward the sun]

Which is to say, if the South Star is the Xadian equivalent of the North Star, something that Rayla comments as being like poetry (poetry clearly being important in the world of TDP, as the only information we have about Startouch elves at all are in two poems), well... Let’s look at the associations we typically have with the North Star and see if they match up, shall we?

The North Star is the anchor of the northern sky. It is a landmark, or sky marker, that helps those who follow it determine direction as it glows brightly to guide and lead toward a purposeful destination. It also has a symbolic meaning, for the North Star depicts a beacon of inspiration and hope to many.

So despite being an inverse in name, the South Star holds the same meaning in TDP’s world that it holds in ours. But, you may be saying: this all seems like a Reach. A good natured little skit, a handful of screencaps, what does this all have to do with anything, really?

And I’m not saying it isn’t a reach, and that the majority of TDP’s cute little con skits aren’t just silly (they are), but there are two skits that have some loaded symbolism behind them.

At the SDCC in 2020 when we got the confirmation for the full saga, the entire voice cast at the time did two skits. One was a fairly silly DND skit, but Aaravos, notably, was DM, controlling the game and pushing the players forward. It’s easy to see the parallels to this in show, as currently, very few characters know Aaravos is even a player in the events that have happened in s2 and s3 in particular, and only two characters really know what he can do: Runaan (whose coined) and Viren, who was using it to his own advantage. And even then, there’s a lot Viren doesn’t know.

The more interesting and painful parallel, to me, is from the opening skit of the Zoom, initially just a play on the characters having to deal with the pandemic the way we would, facetiming, social distancing, etc. However, I just want to remind you that Through the Moon, where Rayla leaves Callum to hunt Viren down on her own, came out just a couple months before the con was released, and the writers absolutely knew it was a plot point. Which is to say, this?

Rayla: Hey guys. Long time no see Callum. Good to see you, from far, far away. Ezran: Wait a minute, you guys have the same background. Are you in the same place? Callum: Uh, nope! Nope. Totally different places, separate, far away locations. Ezran: Callum, I can see part of your scarf in Rayla’s background. You’re supposed to be distancing. Callum: Oh come on, it’s a big castle! There’s — there’s lots of distancing. Rayla: Not so much that we miss each other too much.

Can be seen as foreshadowing, because in canon they are far away from each other, there is going to be loads of distancing, and they’re definitely going to miss each other (way too much). So if one skit had meaning in a small way, and this skit has foreshadowing in a bigger way, and the show loves its one off jokes being rooted in lore, like the famous explorer Sir Phineas Cursed...

Rayla is hunting down Viren, Aaravos’ current ‘vessel’ / partner in crime (even if that may be on the outs in s4). Callum has Aaravos’ Key.

All of this is to say if the Written in the Stars skit is foreshadowing that Callum and Rayla will become entangled with Aaravos’ plotline by S4’s end, and that Rayla is Callum’s chosen South Star and vice versa, to lead and help each other get through the dark times they’re going through... I will burst into tears and you can count on that.

#tdp #tdp theory #rayllum #aaravos #skits #sdcc 2019 #sdcc 2020 #zoom into xadia #written in the stars #the dragon prince #twitter #predictions #cube hostage exchange theory #parallels #analysis series #analysis #light and darkness motif

[ina11rarepair]

Anonymous asked: Can I get Fuhirou Headcanons if its not a problem?? :3

TODAY'S GUEST IS @ubizoide !!! ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

They both like cold places and Suzuno likes to visit Fubuki in Hokkaido because of this

Fubuki likes to drag Suzuno to one of the igloos near Hakuren just to be closer to him, he never misses the opportunity to rub his cold nose on Suzuno's cheek

Suzuno has a dream that one day he and Fubuki will go to a polar region and see the Northern Lights together. He wants to see this phenomenon with someone special

While Fubuki is an avid ice sports enthusiast, Suzuno prefers a calmer enjoyment such as just walking through the snow or lying down and Fubuki often joins him and convinces him to make snow angels

When doesn't snow and the sky is free of clouds, Suzuno invites Fubuki to watch the stars, teaching him how to map the constellations

The extremities of their bodies are always cold and they gather around bonfires or fireplaces to warm themselves or simply exchange heat by hugging each other

Suzuno is a nerd for northern arctic animals, he loves polar bears and arctic hares and Fubuki simply loves the bright look that Suzuno has when talking about these animals

Fubuki loves Furano City's lavender ice cream and whenever Suzuno visits him, he takes him to Furano just to enjoy the ice cream together - regardless of the weather!

Suzuno gave Fubuki an arctic fox plush and Fubuki gave Suzuno a polar bear keychain - Fubuki named his plush Gazelle, for obvious reasons

Their first meeting was at an ice skating ring, which led to a lot of laughs and falls as neither of them were very good

The beginning of the relationship was a little strange since Suzuno lives in Tokyo and Fubuki in Hokkaido, but they were able to talk through phone calls and messages + Suzuno didn't know about Fubuki's PTSD until he witnessed a crisis in person + When the crisis happened, Suzuno had a little difficulty calming him down and since then he started to research more and stay alert to anything that could be a trigger

The fact that they are both orphans is something that keeps them together as they both know the pain of not having parents. There is a quiet comfort in being around each other

Suzuno calls Fubuki Yeobo (여보) (honey) as a tease because she loves how his face turns beet red

In counterpoint, Fubuki calls him Menkoi (めんこい) (cute in Hokkaido dialect)

Fubuki uses the Hokkaido dialect when he is with Suzuno because he feels comfortable knowing that he won't be judged for it

Suzuno taught him some basic Korean words and thinks it's cute how sometimes Fubuki mispronounces some words - but he's a good boyfriend and always encourages him to improve!!

Fubuki became addicted to Korean Doramas while Suzuno is not a big fan but accompanies him on marathons under the warm blanket

It's rare for both of them to fight, but when it happens, it's the kind of cold, silent anger. They apologize after some time, even if they have to give up their pride

They wear matching socks!!

Suzuno always accompanies and helps Fubuki pay posthumous tributes to her parents and brother. Atsuya is still a sensitive subject and Suzuno respects the space Fubuki needs

Suzuno has the dream of adopting children, after all, he grew up in orphanages and knows how sweet the children there are. Fubuki always gets butterflies in his stomach at the thought of starting a family with Suzuno and would be happy to have some children running around and playing in the snow

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

SUCH SILLIESS ALSOO GIVEE UR LOVE TO OUR GUESTS AS ALWAYS!!! -👛

#ina11rarepair guest #inazuma eleven #fuhirou #suzufubu #suzuno x fubuki #fubuki x suzuno #suzuno fuusuke #fubuki shirou #inazuma eleven headcanon #IE headcanon #inazuma eleven rarepair

[sea-1antern]

Pirate Kwazii snippet that I wrote:

Kwazii was no stranger to the water. Indeed it was quite odd that a cat would take such a liking to the ocean but Kwazii was practically born and raised to sail the waters of the world. It was in his blood after all.

As a pirate, he would sail the seven seas in search of treasure and a grand adventure but those days were seemingly coming to a close. There is only so much of the ocean that one can explore before becoming familiar with the salty sprays of the ocean and its overwhelming vastness. Kwazii admits, it gets familiar and sometimes boring after a while.

At present he finds himself at his ship’s deck looking longingly at the night sky.

It’s a pretty sight really. When you’re far away from everyone else, far away from the cities and port lights that litter the world, the stars are bright and clear.

The night sky in all of its unfiltered glory is a familiar sight when sailing the ocean and is an effective tool in navigation.

But just looking up and admiring the stars can never get old, Kwazii thinks.

“Enjoying the view, Jackdaw?” A voice asks from beside him.

Kwazii jumps for a bit before coming face to face with the person standing idly next to him.

His captain had always had a habit of sneaking up on people. Given she is a fox, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t get creepy from time to time.

“Captain Finley!” Kwazii yelled. “You have to stop doing that y’know..”

The sly fox giggled at the scaredy-cat. How predictable.

Finley Rook, Kwazii’s captain and captain of the Sea Lantern; an exploration and navigation vessel. The ship had a reputation of rescuing lost sailors and getting into trouble every once in a while but to Kwazii it’s all in good fun.

Kwazii stared into the sky again, lost in thought. His captain knew better though.

“Was this trip not what you expected?” Finley asks.

Kwazii can’t help but frown at that statement. It was true; he’s gotten bored of the same scenes and daily routines nowadays. The last time he remembers having a blast was when the crew had to infiltrate and interrupt an illegal shipment of captured exotic animals. Don’t get him wrong, he loves sailing; but at times he can’t help but wish for something else to do besides cleaning the deck and mapping routes.

Sometimes his hard work pays off. Like that one time they had to navigate through strong winds and sharp rocks to get to Alaska and got to witness the northern lights for the first time, or that time when his quick thinking saved the ship from colliding with a trading vessel while his captain was sick.

But going through harsh weather and strong winds to arrive at their current destination, Nemo’s point, felt underwhelming.

Quite literally, there was nothing here. Nemo’s point was an area in the ocean where there was no civilization in sight for miles and miles away; further than Kwazii can ever imagine. 

It was indeed the loneliest place on Earth.

Kwazii had no idea why he even suggested to travel here. It was lonely and dark; and the journey to get here was difficult and scary at times.

Maybe he just wanted the journey. A great adventure rewarded with a vast empty ocean. No, that doesn’t sound like him at all.

He wants more.

He wants more than what he can see right now. As much as it pains him to even think about it, being a pirate was getting tiring. But what else can he do? The ocean is all he’s ever known; being a pirate was all he’s ever known. And being a pirate was great, exciting even.

Was there anything in this world that can ever match that feeling?

But pirate blood runs through his veins. He knows he can never be satisfied with any domestic job. And there were only so many sailing professions a person could choose from. 

Enlisting in the Navy? They’re practically his sworn enemy and vice versa. Plus he finds their lot to be stuffy and too posh for his liking. A fisherman perhaps? Nah, too domestic and boring. Piloting a trading vessel wouldn’t bring him much excitement either. 

He was stuck.

“Captain?” Kwazii asks; still staring at the sky.

Finley turned to look at him. She tilted her head in anticipation. “Yeah kid?”

“Is there anyone in the world like us?”

Finley stays silent for a bit, deep in thought. Thinking of a certain special group of people before answering.

“I can only think of one group of misfits who can stand to rival most pirates” She finally replied.

Kwazii is surprised. As far as he knows, only pirates can juggle between being a sailor, navigator, explorer, archeologist and (technically for some) an international vigilante all at once. Damn, that was a lot.

Finley chuckles at his expression. Sometimes she forgets that Kwazii is a true pirate, being born to a pirate lifestyle and culture. Unlike her who had a vastly different life before setting sail.

Only a few people have heard of the special group of people who dedicate their lives to explore, rescue and protect. And those who have heard are most definitely not pirates. 

No, pirates couldn’t care less about underwater affairs and certainly not about what they can find under the water.

However, she is certain that the pirate right next to her might be intrigued.

“If you ever get tired of what you find above the water, maybe you should try looking underneath it” Finley suggests.

Kwazii is perplexed. He hadn’t really put much thought to it before. 

But what kind of vessel can possibly sail the world underwater? What would it be like? Would it be just like the kind of sailing he’s used to?

So many questions plagued his mind.

"Can they really sail underwater?" Kwazii asked. Such a feat seemed impossible to him. Sailing on the ocean's surface was hard and exciting enough. What more could sailing underwater offer?

Finley chuckles again at his expression before saying: “If you’re up for it, I can get you to travel with them if you’d like”.

“Can you really do that?” Kwazii says, his chest puffing up with the same excitement he felt years ago. The same feeling when his captain invited him aboard the ship.

“Well, I can pull a few strings…” Finley replies.

Finley supposes that it's about time Kwazii explores the world around him. Not literally of course as he’s already done that, but to meet new people. People who are different from him. People who come from all kinds of backgrounds. 

And certainly people other than pirates.

“You should go to bed,” Finley tells him. “When we return to Australia I can make an arrangement for you”

Without a word or warning, Kwazii tackles her into a big hug. “Thanks captain” he says. Finley smiled and embraced him back. “No problem, you clingy cat,” She says. “Now go back to bed before Doctor Carre straps you to bed for missing a few hours of shut eye.”

Kwazii lets go and squeals in excitement before going back to his sleeping quarters.

Now alone, Finley thinks of what she can do to get Kwazii a spot in the Octopod.

Perhaps she can call in a friend to help? After all, Captain Barnacles does owe her a favor.

#lantern writes #octonauts #octonauts above and beyond #octonauts a&b #octonauts pirates #pirates #pirate kwazii #kwazii #captain barnacles

[erinnkenobi]

I do my best to take care of you | Coriolanus Snow x F!Reader

Warning content: anger issues! stress! between life and death path! angst! blood mentions! Angst!triggering! Friends to lovers to enemies to... Who knows? — pain!wounds! stress edgy ticks! Complicated love story! You're at your own risk! mentions of makin!love.

Words: 7.4k

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x F!reader

Synopsis: [District 12] Your father, a studious philosophical man, taught you since you were a child to survive anything, taught you to not believe in anyone, even though you just wanted to read, draw and help your mother to bake and cook, yet there you are, learning not to die. Until Snow appeared into your life, the reaping day and the fortunate news that Coriolanus Snow being your mentor, would you either impress him or make him a fool? You're about to go against what you urged to protect, your morals.

Notes: after this drabble, I changed and added a ton of stuff, I'm almost dying 'n I hope you all enjoy my suffering, besides, I would let my morals off and let him get on top of me.

If you liked, please give me an ♥︎ or a reblog, I love reading your feedbacks. It helps me a lot.

Your name? [Name] Amleth, living in northern extreme side far from the District 12, you grew up alongside your younger sister among your parents, your mother? A good baker salesman door by door, offering great food for a cheap price so you and your family didn't need to pass any day without food or at least, clean clothes, appearance mattered for your mother, while for your father, he needed you to survive and achieve anything if he wasn't there.

You never understood the real reason why, since you were just a little gal, your father did what he did. I am going to tell you, everything what he had done to you, if it was cruel to a scared wee child? You've could say so, but all of this, would eventually help you.

Your dear father taught you how to read 'n write, how to sparkle a fire with kindling, to hunt, even math, oh dear God, you hated, you cried because it couldn't just get into your mind, but you solved some problems he gave you, you always solved them, even in a day where he throws you into a lake, a day you never forgot because you didn't learned how to swim, however, as you almost died that day, he helped you(well, he threw you there, and he couldn't lose you, so of course he got you out of the lake) though the next day, you went to the same lake again, but at least he taught you how to swim, or at least not to die. Father taught you to survive in the woods, but guess what? Yeah, he left you there, you were twelve years old, you felt cold, anger against your dad, hungry and fear, however you found your way home, followed the stars and to deal with the hungry? You killed your first reindeer, but you cried the whole night and even apologised for the animal life:"Sorry...But I needed to eat something, your sacrifice will keep me alive, thank you.." and you broiled the organs from the animals that you would need that night. And when you arrived at home? You cried and shouted towards your father, but he didn't fired back, yet, he was even able to taught you a lesson (well, your mother almost killed your father when she discovered what he did, who leaves their firstborn girl alone of 12 years old in the woods for five days? He said you were at some friend's house, though your mother needed to have suspected, since you didn't had any friends).

Your dad said:" My dear lov, If you thing that tough men are dangerous, wait until you see what weak men are capable of..-He paused to sniff and smile at you.–However, I think, you already saw and even did..Can you give me an answer for what I just said think, my dear."

And it clicked, yet you weren't proud, you felt worse and wanted to cry, curl like a little baby in a corner and cry, but even if you wanted to cry by,now, you faced your father with your eyes burning(cuz you held you tears):"I'm my moment of weakness by fear and...hungry, I took an animal life, his sacrifice kept me alive...It just shows what men are able to commit to anyone, just be alive in later hours.."-then you sniffed trying not to cry, the animal's eyes, so pure and beautifully looking at you, lacerating its body in change of food, you were silently crying.

After that experiences and others lessons that you father made you get through, at least with the animals you apologised. You became a fine hunter of big and small animals, after you father passed away from the flu, just because you couldn't even afford a dammit medicine, life took him away from you and your family, so after you father you took care of all his past burdens, you even trained your sister to hunt if you were able to do so, and in exchange, when you dad was alive, he taught your sister too, she gave you tricks and taught you to difference different plants, flowers and about the colours of venomous animals like spiders, scorpions and snakes.

Since your father were gone, you read all of his diaries and notes on his books, your mother still selling tasty cakes, muffins and even bread, most of them you couldn't even eat, because even a small portion of what she baked, she needed to sell, and now sometimes she mends some clothes, from male to female, to gain extra coins. You had a dream, to become a writer and go to an university, however within this reality, you couldn't dream, so yeah, you kept and saved all of your father's teachings, because...

You would need them, like, right now. At the reaping day.

You were at the last row, hidden by the shadows when you heard your name being chosen by the governor from your district, you looked up at the cameras and at the distance from yourself to where the governor was standing with a goody stupid smile. It wasn't right, how woyldnit be possible? You didn't even communicate with those people from "your district", they weren't supposed to know your name, yet here you are, with slowly steps following thine path towards the wooden stage. You heard whimpers and whispers among the folks, due to your surname, they knew your mother, but they have thought that it was her, not her daughter.

When you wen up those stars passing near the peacekeepers, you say a ginger girl smiling, "this bloody cow."-you thought, last week you saved her ass up, when this bloodly bastard were doing nasty things with the Biddle boy from a lonely wolf, you,killed a hungry animal to save this bastard? Shouldn't you had let the poor animal, that just wanted a good snack, eat alive this witch alongside her stupid boyfriend, should you? Yeah...In this day you said your name when the dumbass Mayfair asked your name, well, ta-dah, this is what you win after saving someone's else ass.

You cursed and fired a bad word, in which, you received a slap across your face from the president, Mayfair's dad, making you stumble, the peacekeepers took the man away from you, while you were processing everything around your surroundings, you lowly laughed, unbelievable, when you stood up and looked at the cam, you controlled your breathing, you were angry, you wanted to strangle the redhead girl, what had you done wrong? When you tried to get down and fly towards her throat, two peacekeepers were needed to hold you up and stop you from killing her, while you were being dragged you screamed that you needed to see your family for one last time, but they didn't granted you this.

The only two things that you were thinking was, 1-your family and 2-your father lessons, you were a tribute now, a turmoil of confused feelings within you and well, the inlu company you would have by now was the boy, from your, supposed, Disctric.

The Reaping Day

During the Academy's mentorship selection

All the students is their bright red uniforms were watching as Casca Highbottom selected their tributes to their selected mentors. Sejanus wasn't in a good mood after Marcus being chosen as his tribute, yet his father, cruel man did this purposeful, however this wasn't a concern for Coriolanus Snow, each time Casca Highbottom passed over the districts tributes, near the 7-8 tribute, Coryo was almost losing hope, anxiety eating him alive.

Coryo mind thinking in any possibilities he could achieve with each tribute that wasn't his, until the 12 district appeared on screen, the male tribute wasn't his, but the girl, that Casca Highbottom put him in. Coryo scowl face with grimace to your face, everyone watching as you were dragged by two peacekeepers away from the daughter of the president, you were a savage. How was he supposed to make you win the Prize Plinth for him and the games? He thought for a sec he was doomed, yet, he doesn't accept failures, Snow needs to lands on top.

So Coriolanus comes to meet you at the train station with a white flower in his hands.

He passes through the others tributes, that were carrying hatred faces here and there, with reason, anyway, he then stops at the wagon that was supposed to be yours and Jesse, the boy from your district.There you are, Coryo looks at you while Jesse tried to help your way out of the wagon, but you declined, you jumped out off the wagon, yet you almost stumbled when your feet hits the floor, Coryo instincts almost touched you to help you stay still, but Jesse was faster.

You thanked him, and then you look up to your other side, trying to tidy your hair unsuccessfully, the tall blond lad caught your attention, you averted his gaze, damn, he is handsome, but unfortunately he was one of them, capitol future leaders, you figured out looking for mere seconds the pin in his clothes.

"Welcome to the Capitol."-he says with a handsome smile, you hesitate to take the flower, the flower wasn't venomous, so no need to attack him, right? Right.

"Mhmm...It seems like you shouldn't be here"-He gives another smile, you father told you, smiles from handsome boys are signal of danger, yet by now, you would ignore his voice inside your mind.

"Well, I shouldn't be here, but I'm your mentor"-he says, and you continue:"And what does my mentor besides bringing a flower to me?" –he quickly answers you:"I do my best to take care of you."

It didn't convinced you, but you took the flower from his hand, anyway, when you all hear a thud on the floor, it was a signal that it was time to go:"I wish you good luck, handsome boy".-As you might die anyway, why not risk saying those bold stuff? it wouldn't hurt anyone.

So the peacekeepers calmly dragged you and Jesse to an another vehicle, and yet fascinated by you, not trying to kill him or even stare weird at him, he finds a way to be in the same vehicle as you, and the others tributes.

Under your breath muttered:"Stupid decision", you can't believe that you mentor was so well committed to you, there's something off, and you will go on with it.

Until the others tribute were eager to kill him in front of you, so you quickly got up to spare the boy far from your mentor, even after Coriolanus mentioned that each one of them received a mentor, they still wanted to get rid of yours:"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid to say that I can't let you kill my mentor, I think I'll need mine, and I'm sorry (not sorry) that yours aren't so committed to show up and well, make a stupid decision to come here and see if I am "safe", so.."-before you could finished it, something happened outside there and Coriolanus quickly held your body, and you lead by uour instincts hold onto him body, when the door were open and all of the other tributes fell, eventually both of you also fell, after hitting a tough surface you and Coriolanus meet the grass, you on top of him.

Quickly you got up and even helped him, you adjust your vision and it was unbelievable, a zoo? Really? You stared now at your mentor, who was lost just like you, but not in the later seconds, the TV was recording right now, he needed to sort things out quickly, so he holds your hands into his, you would shrugg him off you, but under his breath, almost like a serpent he said:"Act up, we're gonna need it from now on, please, listen me carefully."

Everything worked well, too good for you, it felt somehow odd, but for Snow, it was great, he still believes that you might not win the game, if you played it clean, you would need him to set things up for you.

So meeting again at the capital zoo, he brought you food, in which you shared back with him, you even played with his face and criticism against the Capitol about not feeding him well, in which, begrudgingly he lowly giggles, oh God, you can't fall for the way he looks with his lips, "don't be a fool, you're going to be thrown in the arena, to kill or be killed."

The day to discuss strategies, where Coriolanus in a safe distance from you tried to reason, you finally spoke, facing and holding his eyes:—"You need to believe that I have a chance, if you don't believe in me, neither me nor you will have high expectations and hope to keep alive,well, at least me, you, I don't know, but I'm sure you need me to have something, it's all over your face, so go on, tell me what you need, what I'm suppose to do in the arena, I want to live as well as everyone here, you might just win a damn prize, but by your eyes, it seems you need it the same amount as I need my life."

You read him well, in lesser days than most of his classmates, you made Coriolanus think twice before answering you, then he answered you with honesty, what he needed and for what reason, you sympathised with him, so things wouldn't go wrong ,right? WRONG.

When both entered the arena to discuss, you two were right near the center, while the others mentors alongside their tributes were, until you guys were bombed, everything was blurry when you started to run with the others to the exit, but...Coriolanus wasn't by your side, shit, you could just go on and save your skin from the horror of the game, but you were a human being as long as you could remember, so you ran back, you saw Coriolanus, he was hurt and you guys exchanged looks, you came back for him when you could've just let him die there, but you didn't, and with your very being, you were able to get the wreckage from him, he was astonished, he was going to take your hand so both of you could get up and run, but the peacekeepers took you away from him, this was the last time he saw you before he blackout and when he wake up, he was in the Hospital wing with Tigris by his side.

Coriolanus when was aware of his surrounding he got out of the bed, he asked for you, if you were well, if you was hurt, Tigris tried to keep him in bed, but he didn't wanted to be there, because of him you might be hurt o, only God knows...Until you appeared on the screen, in where Coriolanus stopped in his tracks, as well as Tigris and Sejanus and others nurses. You were in the showcase, in front of the microphone, with an awkward smile, you hesitate to approach, but the broadcast man encouraged you, so you step closer and greetings the people that are watching you.

"Hello, Hi, I guess everybody knows my name after the reaping day, I'm not a performer, but I'd like to sing a song that my mom used to sing for me when she put me to sleep."—Yeah, you sang without a guitar, no strings, but only your vocal chords, in which you bewitched everyone, Coriolanus blinked, you're making him feel disgusting emotions, yet, he wasn't fighting against em.—"Don't you dare look out your window — Darlin', everything's on fire. The war outside our door keeps ragin' on... Hold on to this lullaby, even when the music's gone, gone..Just close your eyes..The sun is going down ...You'll be alright...No one can hurt you now, come morning light... you and I'll be safe and sound [...] Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh."-your voice, you sounded like an angel, like your voice could touch people's hearts, indeed, yours touched Coriolanus Snow's one.

Oh dear, you with out your knowledge made Coriolanus Snow make a bold decision, he would do everything to keep you alive in the games, even though you told him to trust you and say that you could do it even without his help, he'd follow his own agenda, do as he thinks its better, Snow wants you to live, and now, its not only for the Plinth Prize, it means something more.

At the night, in your beautiful cage among the others, you heard something, you just wanted to sleep, but a voice keep calling out your name:—"[name] Amleth, Amleth."-you quickly got up and put your head near the bars, in the middle of it, Coriolanus face was near yours, too much near, you wanted to keep distance, yet you couldn't, you needed to hear him well. Caught off guard he asked if you were okay, if you were hurt by the bombs, also you asked the same things about him.

"I don't have much time, but here, take this, its going to help you, it was from my mother, but what is inside of it, it's extremely dangerous, juat a bare sniff and you're dead."-he explains about it and also gives you advices about the tunnel under the arena, you could only sustain his eyes, after he explained everything, both of you being so near each other, tension grows between you two, Coriolanus were changing glances between your eyes and your lips, too much for you disregard, so well, you didn't thought twice, you stole a kiss from him and, oh geez, he leans in, until both of you distance yourselves.

"Tell me, is it real? Tell me"-his face near you, you could feel his rose mouth breathe."if it is real, everything might change for me and you."

What was you supposed to say? Yeah, of course Im going to fall over a Capitol's boy, for my mentor, this is going to keep me alive, right? Holy moly, you wanted to say this, but what about your father teachings and your values, you weren't supposed to believe in people from the Capitol, it's wrong...Though who knoes the aftermath, why not risk it all?

So you answered him in a hurry, staring at him, he was even more handsome at the night's sky.

"Yeah, yes, this is real, you're the first bloody lad I kissed, I don't waste my time in things that means nothing to me so...Yeah, this is real, this is real for you?"

Coriolanus put his hands on top of yours:"This is real and I'll do anything, just believe in me."

"But Coriolanus, I'll ask you something, I don't want to take people's lives."-Snow stiffened looking at you, you weren't being serious, were you? Good, he might be the killer if you don't want it, he'd be for you [and eventually for Sejanus, since well, *spoiler* went to see and care for Marcus].

After the shared kiss — The 10th the Hunger Games starts

The signal was shot and everyone started to run like crazy animal, Snow was watching you in his seats, his blue eyes just had to pierce the television screen when he saw that instead of running straight to the tunnels you went to the center, where everyone went and started killing each other, you didn't want to kill anyone, however that didn't mean you wouldn't try to protect yourself from others and you would show not only the audience, but Snow that you could still, give him a performance, a show.

However, Coral almost hits you with a trident, which you quickly dodge and your parallel vision sees Jesse, you run to him and take his hand and drag him running towards the tunnels, after all, he was from your district, wasn't he?

On the other side of the screen, Snow clutched at his desk, his eyes burning, grimacing anxious for YOUR life, wishing you had listened to him in the first instance and run to the tunnels before getting weapons or saving Jesse, when he thought it couldn't be worse, it just got worsen, at the tunnels from both sides you two were about to get killed, until you quickly entered inside the down door, you quickly got Jesse hands, when one of the districts tried to follow you two, she got killed, so as far it seems, you were safe, for now. Coriolanus were finally able to breathe accordingly, he stayed up and didn't went to his home, Casca Highbottom provoked him, yet he stayed stil, before going home, he was there just to see if you wouldn't die if he returned, he knows you asked him to believe in you, but...There's no but, he doesn't believe fully in you, he doesn't know if without his help you would manage to keep yourself alive, from now on, he hopes you follow what he planned for you to get through this game alive,that well, in parts he helped to plan it.

The night was turbulent: Bobbin was killed, the cameras were frozen for an hour, and Coriolanus Snow received a serious injury to his back as well as a new title on his account, a killer, when he was forced to save Sejanus against his own will. , which until now, is causing more problems than solving them, this made Coriolanus angry, assigned as a babysitter.

The next day, back at his seat, you were still in that area with Jesse, until he noticed that something was wrong eith the boy, no no no, he urged you to go away, retreat or just kill him, but you weren't a killer, damn, you didn't wanted to kill. You tried to reason with Jesse, howevwr you noticed the bat bite, you couldn't let him be near you anymore, if he bite or hurt you, straight in your flesh, you'd be gone too, so out of mercy...You took the bow and arrow that you were able to bring, you killed Jesse in the tunnels, you sent the arrow in his chest, he fell and you felt awful, this was the first human you killed, you wanted to thrown up, but you weren't able to do so, because Coral and her former alliances started to run towards you, chasing you, yet, yu ran like a thunderbolt, no water and no food, what the hell is you mentor doing? Geez, you're alone.

When you were at a good distance from them you shot some arrows, you killed the boy,from the same district as Lamina, there's Coral and another three alive, and others that didint appeared yet, so you shot again, breathing calmly.

One...Two...they're s near you...Three. The arrow killed in the chest a girl, you started to ran again, you couldn't hide, not now, damn it, Coral and the other boy put you in a corner, no way to run out, but fight, the arrow wouldn't help you now, but thanks God you caught two daggers from the wreckage at the center before, Coral scowled face threatened you, Coriolanus that was watching you looked at the screen in front of him and selected multiples drones that would carry waters, since you received a lot of donations, since the day you sang, a lot of people had linked to your cause.

His knuckles were white, his eyes couldn't get off your face, to your figure, until the drones arrived and made all of thise around you,be startled while you ran, when you wete at some distance, out of you,boldness, your arms even tired, due to Coral having hurted you, you manage to throw at her a mini knife that was hidden in your leg, the knife didn't hunted Coral, yet, the knife made a good contact in Coral cheeks, however this just infuriated her.

"Oh shit"-and then you started to run like a mad deer, for your luck or misfortune, Ripper appeared, bullocks, you're doomed, you didn't want to face him, he was the strongest among everyone, due to his tall figure and strength.

"Kill her, she killed the girl from your district!"-Coral screamed at him, you frozen, nah, you,wouldn't let her accuse you in that way with lies.

"Your filthy liar, I didn't! I just protected meself from your allies, and the ginger girl wasn't by,your side, you killed her! She killed her Ripper, not me! Damn, why would I kill someone that was sick?"

Ripper was angry but instead of trying to cut your head, he forgot about it and went after his colleague body, what was he doing? You wouldn't be there to see, because you started running again, since Coral was at your back with another boy, until the boy and her started to argue and well, she killed him too, but when she tried to go towards you, Ripper ripped the flag, shit, something bad would happen, and Coriolanus, his mind raced against the minutes, he knew that Dr.Gaul was going to do something, and this, peharps involved the mutant snakes, Coryo was ready to cheat for you, and he did it, you wouldn't survive the snakes, you might survive Coral, but not the snakes.

Coriolanus knew that something like that would happen, at the first day that Clemsy lied and Gaul showed them her new pets, Snow knew, so fast forward, the handkerchief he used to clean your face and clean your tears, the tears of weakness on front of him, there was your smell, the snakes wouldn't kill you and you would win as well as him, he thought, somehow, after the game your worlds could meet again.

After his cheating move, the serpents killed the rest of the tributes, poor Wovey, you cried when you saw the purest soul part her ways in a cruel way, you feared snakes, you noticed they're mutates, you thought you would be killed too, but no, the snakes curled as if they were hugging them, as if you were their loved one, you knew, that it wasn't lucky, it was Snow, how he managed to do it? You thought again, he cheated, but cheated to keep you alive, it was unfair to others, but here you stand, alive, now when the adrenaline washed her way from you, you cried of pain while snakes, even not biting, but curling around you, in your hips, arms and legs, the places where Coral scratched in your flesh, open wounds that you finally allowed to feel, it felt terrible, you didn't cried your lungs out, but your tears silently, one by one until a lot appeared in your cheeks, turmoil running crazy in your mind, the fear of snakes and them pressing their nasty body around you, it was breaking you, tearing you down. You didn't felt like a victorious person, you took lives, you're hurt, you're afraid and couldn't tell it to anyone, Coriolanus on the other hand, his burning eyes piercing the screen, his knuckles white after he let them go back to normal, he, under his academic clothes, he was sweating out of nervousness, the game has ended, why didn't they take her out of there yet? She's afraid, she's...Is she crying?

Seeing you tearing up, even in,silent, Coriolanus demanded to them to take you out of the arena, the games has ended, he was about to lose it, sinxe everyone was in numb silence, they needed a survivor, they need someone to be a victorious, so he used it against Gaul, using his cunning into his favours, he didnt cared about the Plinth Prize, he needed you to be safe, he have said to you when he welcomed you, he'd take care of you, because he's a good mentor and because...He put you into his cold heart, which only had placr for his dearly mother, his family and now you, would he allow himself to fall for someone? Wouldn't love make him a fool of his own principles?

His colleagues begin to chants, demand that they should take you out of the arena, others commemorate your winning, others wanting to sing again the same song or a new one. While Coryo just wanted to be the first one to congratulate you, however the next day, everything happened so fast, you were sent back home with an amount of money, you weren't able to contact Coriolanus nor did he, he was punished, sent to become a peacekeeper, because Casca Highbottom discovered about his cheating methods, his mother item (that was filled with venom, that you,didn't used, because you used the bow and the arrows, which made him feel proud yet, judge you for being a rascal, and then...The damn handkerchief that saved your life, he wasn't sorry for it, he faced Highbottom terms, unhappy indeed, but he wanted to see it, it was unfair to him that you two couldn't see each other, after all he had done, to keep you alive inside the arena.

Coriolanus Snow wouldn't lie, you surprised him not only once time, but more than twice, he thought you were a savage, a rascal during the time he was sorted to be your mentor, there you surprised him, a bad impression, peharps, but your defiance made others feel jealous of Snow for having you as his tribute, second time: when you gave the cookie to him even though you needed it more than him, but he was just stubborn and selfish, so accepted, third: was when you choose to save him rather than running away, fourth: when you opened your beautiful mouth, with those fancy lips that he longed to kiss after the game, to sing, to sing a comfort song, a lullaby, if most children had a mother or father to sing good lullabies, he'd bet most people wouldn't be monsters, fifth: when you shot the arrow and when you made the whole audience laugh, when you complained about needing your glasses, that you missed them back at your house, you was able to do a good damn it shot without your glasses? How would you be like then, with them? Sixth: when you denied that you didn't killed that girl with breath issues, that you wouldn't kill people with disadvantages, honour? Dumb think, he thought to himself when you said that, yet, he fancied you even more, you weren't corrupted, not as most of em were. Seventh: When you were obviously hit, when you fell sometimes and managed to run, he is not blind, his icy blue eyes, every damn time, when you,were hurted and in pain, if he could, he'd demand to stop the game and sent you straight to the hospital, even if you being one of the districts, you stood up, fighting against your own pain, but the most important detail, the one that caught him off guard is the eighth reason: your lips, when your were pressed against his, how could your damn lips taste so well, and be just like a plumped velvety? For brief seconds, he thought he was in heaven, tasting the good things it offered him. He wanted it more, if only your lips tasted like it...He could even imagine the whole you, what it would do to him, he wanted as much power as he desired for his hands be touching behind your neck, holding you against his body, on the mattress, where he could just stay on top of you, possessing you, power over you, his wills on you.

He subordinated an office official to send him to the twelfth district, he was going to see you again, yet, he'd find a way to come back to the Capitol, not alone, but with you by his side, if you were loyal to your own words, so the kiss you both shared worth everything for him.

Part III:

The Peacekeeper

Sejanus was there with him, this moron, why would he be around him, Coriolanus didn't wanted problems, but well, Sejanus affirmed that everything would be different, that both of em could finally live, be free.

Yet their first day wete brutal, they needed to be still, a citizen, a rebel were sent to the hanging tree, while a woman screamed, Sejanus was ready to go towards her and try to help, but Coryo controlled him, he couldn't let him make a stupid decision.

Finally, he and his others colleagues had the rest of the day off from their shifts, Sejanus invited Coriolanus to a bar, where he accepted, his mind once again thought about you, but until now, you didn't showed up, he wasn't able to find you, not until after a good singer Lucy Baird left the stage, and the blonde girl called a very known name, yours, [name] Amleth, you were shy, just like in the last time he saw you singing, but the band starts to play their instruments and then you followed them, but before you started to sing, you said:" This is a song that I wrote after, well, after the games, hope you all enjoy"

And there you stand, beautifully, with a beautiful dress, your hair down with two braids that meets behind your head, and a rose, a white rose set behind your right ear, just like the time Coryo put the flower in that same place, your voice full of life as well your lips, with a soft red velvet juicy shades, you were using lipstick, Snow mind went feral, he wanted to smash his lips on your, see if your kisses would let his as red as yours. Yet, the song caught his attention, he stopped to drink what he was supposed to drink.

"Let us greet with a song of hope each day, though the moments be cloudy or fair — Let us trust in tomorrow always...[...] yee-hee!"-your smile full of life after finishing the song, until your face froze, you noticed him, finally, are you blind? Snow thought to himself, however due to the affairs of Mayfair and Lucy Gray ex, a fight happened out of nowhere, and to make his pace in your direction, Snow halted to your side quickly, as well as a man all drunk trying to touch yu in the middle of this mess, he wasn't even able to touch you, Coryo blow his strong closed fist into the man face, more than two times, you were caught off guard, the hell?! Nonetheless, Sejanus in a hurry stopped his friend, your lover taking him from over the man that face was dripping blood, they had to run away from the bar, and you by the band were dragged away from the place to safety after other peacekeepers in duty stomped the fight.

Coriolanus wasn't happy that Sejanus stopped him, it was his moment to meet you after the bar, after the game, his grumpy face was kind of adorable, yet not his death stare towards Sejanus, that noticed and shared an information.

"I'd like you to stop looking at me like that, you know, I never thought I'd be the one stopping you from a fight, but here we are."

Coriolanus scoffed, unbelievable.—"What is the information about, does it worth anything?"

"It's about the girl, the girl that seems to haunt your very being or just your icky lips, I'm not blind, I saw you at the bar."

His face fell and a warm sensation start to show up, his cheeks becoming pink.

"What...Tell me, what do you know, tell me'-Sejanus smiles, threatening not to tell him.

"A little bird told me, she would be far in the north of the district, after the lake you mind find a cabin that only she lives, her mother and sister moved to somewhere else, she stills at the house because of the memoir of her father, you might find her at the house or up the Hill near the lake, wish you good lucky"

Coryo thanks Sejanus for the information, thank God, he was eager to see your pretty face again, peharps, things could be different from now on, right? Right.

In the next day, he wears a simple white t-shirt, blueish trousers, his usual shoes whilr using his dog tag, he took the shift off today, he followed what Sejanus gave him of information, he was now in the Hill, it was when he heard a very known voice, humming some lullaby, instead being directed to someone, it was for yourself, your voice humming your father's lullaby.

If Coriolanus could immerse himself in your few songs, he would be addicted; your voice came as a complete package along your lips, so sweet, a a sinful temptation that seemed like a drug

You had your backwards turned to him, but a twig snapped when he makes a move forwards, you quickly became aware of your surroundings, startled; your grimace and frown were incredible, he thought, quite funny to see you like that, he bet you would be willing to scream at him for scaring you.

"Easy, easy, I am not a threat, well, I'm not on duty"-he giggly mocks you, [name] takes a step back, looking up and down, "Last night was real then, he is here in this district, but why?-you thought.

"If you keep looking at me like that this long, I think you might need a photo."

You scoffed at him, putting your hands around your hips, —"he's an unbelievably idiot, but a freaking gorgeous one"-you thought again. Should you just run towards Snow and hug him or just say that he was an idiot for coming to your district and not chose one of the 1 or 2 districts, because Highbottom told you, that because of you and Snow cheating schemes, he was about to be sent away without your knowledge to where, yet, besides all of this, you chose to just trust your guts.

You ran straight to him, quickly jumping over him, in which he quickly grabbed you, smilling and aomost out off air, the hug seemed just one of those hugs that both lovers that haven't been by each other side for a long time.

[GEEZ, I'M GOING TO BREAK THE TIME, BECAUSE IF I DETAIL everysingle thing that my mind wants, this story would take a year]

[Break of time]

Your head was laying on Coryo's legs, it was so comfortable, Snow was stroking your hair strands, caressing your pretty resting face, while he also watches your face while you rested with your eyes closed, "so life is just like that, when there's no worry"-he thinks. However the silence wasn't enough when he suddenly asked you what would you rather have, chose, betwen loyalty to trust or love.

You opened your eyes and then your gaze was upon him, he couldn't decipher what you were thinking and this makes him nervous, he usually previews what people wete thinking ,but not you, you were too good, well, he only knows and read you perfectly, when you want his lips smashed against yours, and it drives him mad, yet curious.

—Tough question this one, but, why not both of them? Why not loyalty in love, Why would I just choose one, when within one, you can have both.-He would explain to you, but you quickly continued.-I know, love, some people might say that love is treacherous, nonetheless, I don't think like that, in my head, within my mind, I believe that if you love someone, so dearly, you're giving your heart to someone else besides you, isn't already too much trust and loyalty, to give your heart for someone, you must trust this person, where you're willing to give what is the most precious thing for you, your whole heart, this is the things we do for love, isn't it enough? Love is not treacherous, but people are.-you shyly hold his hand and look deep into his blue eyes.–I meant it, I don't think you understood me, but I hope dat you do, because, Oh Jesus, I'm awful at this matters, but right now, right, I'm choosing love, the whole package, I'm giving my heart to you, so you can protect it, so you can believe that I'm not lying, I don't know the kind of love you've received and know, but this, this one that I'm offering over you, right now, is everything dat I have, and it's important to know your answer.

Snow was taken aback, again, you surprised him with your words, the way, so in love, so caring, this is too much, you keep making Coriolanus amazed by your acts, the words that you use, the face that you are right now glancing at him, was it love into your eyes?

If Coriolanus Snow knows what love is, it's because of you. Coryo have for the first time found what he can truly. He have found you, so he wouldn't hold back any longer.

Snow gazes locked with yours, and a tender silence enveloped the air, pregnant with unspoken emotions. Slowly, as if drawn by an unseen force, he leaned closer, feeling the warmth of each other's breath. In that fleeting moment before your lips met, the world stilled, and your hearts beating in harmony. When your lips finally touched, it was an explosion of fervent love—a soft, passionate exchange that spoke volumes without a single word. Both of you poured your souls into that kiss, a tender affirmation of your undying affection, sealing your bond in an embrace that whispered of a love that transcended time and space, yet mainly, Snow ideas, his misconceptions, his skeptical and analytical mind, right now he just wanted to pour more of himself on you, this kiss, dumb child, you took it as his answer.

His strong hand, passing behind your neck, touching part of the nape of your neck, pressing and caressing your hair as well as your neck, Coryo was making you lie down on that soft grass, under the tree, where the sunset was taking place. The weight of his body subtly making you surrender to his command, you didn't complained, you were too immersed already to make him stop, however when you both needed to catch breath, you quickly and sheepishly asked him:—"Then, what is your answer after what I have said? Mhmm?"

You brushed your lips, teasingly, when he tried to capture them, you'd simply turned your face away, Snow scoffs, he couldn't believe you were teasing him, but oh, you was, you would only let him kiss you again if he replied with honesty, and he knows, duh, this idiot handsome man knows really well what you wanted. Coryo left hand smoothed the strands of your hair away from your forehead, his piercing blue eyes stared into your eyes, he said in a low, deep tone, that gave you butterflies in ur stomach as you contained the smile at the corner of your lips. Before he gives you your answer, he brushed his nose on yours, muttering that you were persistent, if only you knew what he was capable of doing if people didn't give him what he wanted, oh darling.

"You want me to be honest, right..."-he hums near your ear.-"It was instinctive, the way you did me fell for you, it was effortless, we never had to force love, I wete drowning in it, the moment I saw you at the station and you wished me good luck, so now, only us two right here, right now, you have what I thought I was lacking, my will to love, the love I restrained and kept to myself, it's yours, you can take it, oh God, you can even break it if you promise me that you would mend it again, I'll have your heart, your love as well as you will have mine, so it means..-"you were ready to interrup him, but he stole a kiss and came back to finish what he was saying.–"I'm yours, but you're much more mine".

You could hear from afar your dad voices deep into your mind, saying that it was too dangerous for you, but what do you just did right now? You picked up your pure morals and put them aside, you freaking smashed your lips against his, well, when you tried to turn him over and you,take the top or dominant position, he was quickly to grab your hips, your body and keep you still, haha, dear, you aren't going to do what you want, he said too much, he will not regret, still, Snow likes to have power, and since you belongs to him now, not only as a tribute anymore, but real his, he will have power and control over you, above all, the time that he was supposed to take you, eat you, it was your first time and it made him feel great pleasure. The first thrusts, passionate, but after 30 seconds, the game changed and you couldn't brush this idea off your mind, but hus thrusts were harder to bear comparing the time you were at the Hunger games fighting for your life against the others tributes, it was strange, but for the sake of your mental health, you were thrilled up, your legs around his hips, his hard thrusts, you were a mess moaning his name as well as he was moaning, he restrained himself a lot, yet he couldn't hold his moans, it was good, it makes him feel prouder, so why he should keep it to himself, right? Right.

[BREAK OF TIME] a/notes: I know, I'm mad for doing it guys against you, sorry(not sorry at all hehe)

Your meetings becomes frequent, both of you end up making love in the dead of night in the hut that belongs to Amleth's family, your family, and that place has become a comfortable place for Coriolanus, it was like a home for him after he was off his duties, including being Sejanus's babysitter. At the night, you and Coryo, mainly you, would share your knowledge, you would tell him what your father taught you and then, he understood why you was so good with daggers and as archery, he pitied you when you told him your father left you alone into the woods and when he threw you into the lake, yet, he saw that your father as well as your mother have cared for you, it made him feel a tinge of jealousy, he loved his ladygrandma'am, yet, not having a paternal and motherly constant figure, yeah, he was kind jealous, yet, if possible, even more delighted by your stories. When was his time to share his past, when him and his cousin were hungry, eating awful stuff, he felt comfortable when his head would be on top of your legs, while you were comforting him and caressing his manly handsome face.

However, things were starting to seems odd, as if an eerie song around were giving you an alert. Sejanus started to act strange, Snow doesn't likef it, and then the moment of betrayal happens, with an inconsequential decision Snow makes, a horrible decision that resulted in the death of his friend, Coriolanus was a mess, he was destroyed, even saying that he only tolerated Sejanus, it was a lie, he kind cherished, deep down his friendship, yet, he was fed up with Plinth weird behaviour, here and there, he made a move, and this move costs Sejanus life.

Coriolanus reunited with his love, you consoles him, but you doesn't know anything about Plinth death, so you suggests that you two should run away from there, far away from the District 12, go as far away from the districts as possible, to live care free, no worries, a humble life, however, somehow you couldn't believe in it either, Snow wouldn't be happy, he wasn't made for this kind of lifestyle.

Although Snow feels guilty and regrets, for his friend's death, he was also due to the connection he had with Tigris, his grandmother and she were evicted from their old house in the capital, he needed to help them, they were his family, he had a duty and an opportunity given by the official, he couldn't miss it, though, he couldn't leave you too, he needed you, the way you know about politics, history, arts, your creative mind, you were a source of extra knowledge for him as well as, his only source of true love...

Despite of his agenda, he agreed to meet you behind the hanging tree, whereas you two were suppose to ran away together.

However, Coriolanus behavior seemed strange; you know that something was wrong, odd though. You heard really well that recording tape, you're not a fool — you wished you were one. While Sejanus was brought to his death stance. Then later, after the idea of running away with Snow, you made a move, an act of both selfish and mercifulness towards your love...

You leave him, you leave a letter for him, saying that you know what he have done, that it wasn't right, and even though it wasn't right, you still loved him and longed for his love.Nevertheless his family needed him, and it was okay; you're gonna leave his life without him asking you to do so, without giving him the chance to stop you and him trying to put on you; "some sense into your mind". Your morals were killing you inside, and it hurt as hell. You left him, you gave him a goodbye last kiss and even before he fell asleep, you sang him the same song your father's sang to you before going to somewhere better than this world, what a liar you were, safe and sound, mhm...

Next morn', when Coriolanus woke up and complained for not feeling your warm body by his side, in the eventually day that you two were supposed to ran away together, you weren't there, but your letter with your well-known handwriting.He went crazy about this, he tried to find you in the woods, hills, but without success. He returned and went back to his place among the others peacekeepers, soon leaving the 12nd district, he hated that place now than ever, he hated districts people, you lied to him, you promised and you have broken it, if only he could see you again...We don't know the odds, what would he do, what he was capable of doing so after seeing you, after you broke his heart, after you made him feel like a fool that fell in love.

He took the train, hoping for the job offered by the officer. However, he went straight to Dr. Gaul's hands, if only you'd knew about it...Where she made him her protégé, pupil, for the games design and all management, and well as his college being paid for by President Plinth since his believes that Sejanus and Snow were best friends...Guilt ate him alive, each day, but with deceit and ambition, he wore masks every day, making room for ambition and power in his core, his existence depending on it.

Still, the- mere-memory of your existence haunted and chased his thoughts when night fell, you were there, by his side, in his dreams, your laughter, your freaking stupid face, your awful lips that tasted like heaven itself, your letter and he waking up every morning looking around his surroundings, to make sure that none of this existed anymore...

He didn't have the power to go after you yet, but he tried to use what he had, his betrayed heart, betrays his own mind restrains, it longed for your homecoming, his other half, you broke his heart, the poor thing that still waited for your, that didnt allowed none other women, besides you, to be by Coriolanus side, Snow hated it. Besides guilt and anger for what he did to Sejanus, he replaced that and distilled the anger and resentment towards you.

After becoming the president of Panem at such a young age, 23, that was his last year looking for you. He expelled any mere thought about you(though his heart did not, it denies every day).

You opened a hole in his core, a hole so deep that he couldn't close it, no matter how many girls he could be with or date. His heart, even broken, only wanted one, one that haunted and destroyed him.

You two could have worked; you would have been the triumph of everything he could have accomplished. He would share everything with you, especially his successes. He didn't commit failures, yet the only failures he committed, you're the only one who knows and could use against him, but you never showed up all these years.

And that drove him mad, the mere thought that you were murdered or died, with nothing to send to him, to know if you were still around or that you cared for him.. Acceptance was difficult. However, he couldn't even support the thought of you having another love, oh dear, if he knew and found you that you were loving someone else, he'd kill the man, he would be willing to put his bare hands on the man that pursuit you, kill him, it was not an option, so to not go insane, he wouldn't even think about it, the thought of you be gone, it was better, though... Accept the facts of your fate and his, was, unbearable.

....

"It's the things we love most, that destroy us"

Part IV:

The Hunger Games continues

You were well alive, living a good life with your mother and younger sister, and well, with a five years old boy, Thomas Amleth, piercing blue eyes and the looks, that the resemblance was just alike the new president of Panem.

Tag list:

@earphonejack09

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #snow x reader #the hunger games #imagines #coriolanus snow fanfiction #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #f!reader #the hunger games imagines #the hunger games fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x f!reader #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds &amp; snakes

[sadprosed]

𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬  𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

↬   THE  LANGUAGE  OF  THORNS,  midnight  tales  and  dangerous  magic.   (  2017  )  by  leigh  bardugo.

sentences  taken  from  or  inspired  by  the  collection’s  dialogue  &  narration.

+   feel  free  to  change  pronouns  !

i.    AYAMA  AND  THE  THORN  WOOD.

‘  love  speaks  in  flowers.  truth  requires  thorns.  ’

‘  we  all  know  the  story  of  how  the  queen  becomes  a  queen.  ’

‘  we  should  leave  this  place.  ’

‘  no  doubt  it  will  come  and  devour  us  all.  ’

‘  the  beast  will  laugh  you  right  out  of  the  wild  lands.  ’

‘  you  know  how  the  stories  go.  interesting  things  happen  only  to  pretty  girls.  ’

‘  is  the  wood  much  worse  than  a  garden  overgrown  with  pricklers  ?  ’

‘  stupid  girl  !  do  you  wish  to  become  a  monster  ?  ’

‘  strike  me.  cleave  me  in  two.  ’

‘  you’re  as  thorny  as  the  wood.  ’  

‘  there  is  but  one  rule  in  my  wood.  speak  truth.  ’

‘  perhaps  you  might  show  mercy  freely.  ’

‘  just  eat  a  bit  of  the  sun  to  fill  the  sky,  and  you  will  feel  empty  no  longer.  ’

‘  what  nonsense  !  of  course  that’s  not  how  the  story  ends.  ’

‘  some  people  are  born  with  a  piece  of  night  inside,  and  that  hollow  place  can  never  be  filled.  ’

‘  what  do  i  care  for  winter  ?  no  season  touches  this  wood.  ’

‘  you  know  the  only  bargain  i  will  make.  ’

‘  sometimes  the  unseen  is  not  to  be  feared  and  those  that  are  meant  to  love  us  most  are  not  always  the  ones  that  do.  ’

‘  bad  fates  do  not  always  follow  those  that  deserve  them.  ’

‘  no  prince  is  worth  your  life.  ’

‘  are  you  so  eager  to  be  eaten  ?  ’

‘  they  have  told  me  to  return  with  your  heart.  ’

‘  you  think  to  love  a  monster  ?  ’

‘  a  man  like  you  is  owed  no  words.  ’

ii.    THE  TOO  CLEVER  FOX.

‘  you  are  doomed  to  a  miserable  life.  ’

‘  better  to  be  hungry  now  than  to  be  sorry  later.  ’

‘  what  will  everyone  say  when  they  see  such  a  face  ?  ’

‘  we  have  not  gone  so  soft  as  that.  ’

‘  you  think  that  we  will  let  you  live  on  foolish  promises  ?  ’

‘  you  have  bested  me.  that  much  is  clear.  ’

‘  will  you  not  free  me  ?  ’

‘  you  will  have  a  fine  time  of  it,  i  can  tell  you.  ’

‘  i  can  bear  ugliness.  i  find  the  one  thing  i  cannot  live  with  is  death.  ’

‘  if  you  will  only  cease  your  talking,  i  will  gladly  go.  ’

‘  where  he  went,  he  bled  the  woods  dry.  ’

‘  what’s  a  bit  more  blood  ?  ’

‘  you  should  leave  this  place.  you  are  not  safe  here.  ’

‘  with  such  big  eyes,  i  think  you  see  too  much.  ’

‘  will  you  not  tell  me  what  troubles  you  ?  ’

‘  why  do  you  stay  with  him  ?  you’re  pretty  enough  to  catch  a  husband.  ’

‘  just  because  you  escape  one  trap,  doesn’t  mean  you  will  escape  the  next.  ’

‘  first  i  must  find  my  courage.  ’

‘  few  can  resist  the  sight  of  a  pretty  girl  crying.  ’

‘  the  trap  is  loneliness,  and  no  one  escapes  it.  not  even  me.  ’

‘  in  the  wood,  even  songbirds  must  be  survivors.  ’

iii.    THE  WITCH  OF  DUVA.

‘  there  was  a  time  when  the  wood  ate  girls.  ’

‘  be  back  before  dark.  the  trees  are  hungry  tonight.  ’

‘  who  can  say  what  shapes  an  appetite  ?  ’

‘  this  is  my  home,  you  can’t  just  send  me  away.  ’ 

‘  don’t  be  foolish.  there’s  plenty  of  light.  ’

‘  well  then,  come  help  me  stir  the  pot.  ’

‘  i  will  warn  you  just  this  once.  go.  ’ 

‘  you  cannot  come  and  go  from  this  place  like  you’re  fetching  water  from  a  well.  ’  

‘  hope  made  me  stubborn.  ’

‘  stay  there  and  keep  quiet.  i  don’t  need  rumors  that  i’ve  been  taking  girls.  ’

‘  i  will  not  have  you  bring  a  monster  to  my  door.  ’

‘  you  know  that  you  are  welcome  to  remain  here  with  me.  ’

‘  i  will  follow  her.  i  will  peck  out  her  eyes.  ’

‘  believe  me.  say  you  believe  me.  ’

‘  dark  things  have  a  way  of  slipping  through  narrow  spaces.  ’

iv.    LITTLE  KNIFE.

‘  it  is  dangerous  to  travel  the  northern  road  with  a  troubled  heart.  ’

‘  if  you  are  lost  in  your  own  thoughts,  you  may  find  yourself  stepping  off  the  path  and  into  the  dark  woods.  ’

‘  she  was  beautiful  from  the  moment  of  her  birth.  ’

‘  why  must  i  be  the  one  to  hide  ?  ’

‘  do  you  think  i  am  so  foolish  or  so  cruel  ?  ’

‘  water  only  wants  direction.  it  wants  to  be  told  what  to  do.  ’

‘  always  you  have  done  my  bidding,  but  what  good  are  you  to  me  now  ?  ’

‘  soon  i  will  be  very  rich,  but  will  i  have  a  good  man  ?  ’

‘  that  is  a  question  for  the  river.  ’

‘  your  tongue  is  not  fit  for  my  true  name.  ’

‘  will  you  come  with  me,  and  be  bride  to  nothing  but  the  shore  ?  ’

‘  she  was  terrifying  in  her  beauty,  bright  like  a  devouring  star.  ’

‘  remember  that  to  use  a  thing  is  not  to  own  it.  ’

‘  should  you  ever  take  a  bride,  listen  closely  to  her  questions.  ’

v.    THE  SOLDIER  PRINCE.

‘  this  is  the  problem  with  even  lesser  demons.  they  come  to  your  door  in  velvet  coats  and  polished  shoes.  ’

‘  you  will  find  great  love  and  more  gold  than  you  could  wish  for.  ’

‘  he’s  a  charming  fellow,  but  most  unusual,  and  peculiarities  seem  to  follow  him.  ’  

’  it  seemed  harmless  at  the  time.  ’

‘  he  needed  a  girl,  still  malleable,  one  that  he  could  make  admire  him.  ’

‘  this  is  pleasant.  this  is  enough.  ’

‘  are  you  my  soldier  ?  are  you  my  prince  ?  ’

‘  i  have  not  come  to  fight,  only  to  talk.  ’

‘  wanting  is  why  people  get  up  in  the  morning.  it  gives  them  something  to  dream  of  at  night.  ’

‘  i  am  perfectly  real.  ’

‘  she  loves  you,  though,  and  that  will  make  it  harder.  ’

‘  best  not  to  ask.  i  think  the  answer  would  please  no  one.  ’

‘  we  can  stay  forever  in  the  land  of  dreams.  ’

‘  kiss  me.  take  me  from  this  place.  ’

‘  i  sent  you  to  die  a  hundred  times.  ’

‘  i  eat  the  wonder  in  their  eyes.  ’

‘  you  were  an  idea  in  my  head.  you  were  nothing,  and  to  nothing  you  will  return  when  i  think  of  you  no  more.  ’

‘  you  wanted  only  that  i  might  live.  you  would  sacrifice  your  own  life  to  make  it  so.  ’

‘  are  you  my  darling  ?  are  you  mine  ?  ’

vi.    WHEN  WATER  SANG  FIRE.

‘  you  wish  to  strike  a  bargain.  ’

‘  make  me  someone  new.  ’

‘  this  is  the  problem  with  making  a  thing  forbidden.  it  does  nothing  but  build  an  ache  in  the  heart.  ’

‘  easy  magic  is  pretty.  great  magic  requires  that  you  trouble  the  waters.  ’

‘  no  one  expects  me  to  accomplish  anything.  ’

‘  i  can  smell  your  ambition  like  blood  in  the  water.’  

‘  i  know  that  you  should  keep  it  like  a  secret,  not  shout  it  like  a  curse.  ’

‘  yes.  i  can  imagine  it  all.  ’

‘  you  are  worth  more  than  that.  you  should  not  have  to  earn  him.  ’

‘  hope  rises  like  water  trapped  beneath  a  dam,  higher  and  higher,  in  increments  that  mean  nothing  until  you  face  the  flood.  ’

‘  there  is  no  pain  like  the  pain  of  transformation.  ’

‘  take  your  pleasures  as  you  will.  ’

‘  come,  and  i’ll  tell  you  all  you  wish  to  know.  ’

‘  he  made  me  dream  of  things  i  cannot  have.  ’

‘  i  do  not  care  for  dancing.  ’

‘  look  into  the  mirror,  and  try  to  deny  it.  ’

‘  you  have  never  been  like  the  others,  and  you  never  will  be.  ’

‘  we  were  not  made  to  please  princes.  ’

‘  i  am  not  quite  mortal  either,  and  i  have  many  lives  to  live.  ’

‘  i  wouldn’t  care  if  you  were  part  human  or  part  frog.  ’

‘  my  voice  is  not  enough.  ’

‘  you  know  i  was  never  strong.  ’

#rp meme #rp starter #rp prompts #sentence meme #sentence starter #sentence prompt #ask meme #inbox meme #askbox meme #rp sentence starter #rp memes #rp resources #leigh bardugo #language of thorns #shadow and bone #grishaverse #rp prompt #dialogue prompts

[yejiroh]

Astronomical

Yuuta is totally astronomical...gn reader

reblogs are highly appreciated <3

W: none. sfw. may be a little confusing but nothing bad.

A/n: For @cylas

WC: 753

It was midnight, and the moonlight streamed in through the windows softly, gracing your bodies with an ethereal glow. The overhead fan was on, your hair swaying gently every now and then.

Legs tangled, you pulled away as Yuuta reached for you hand. The mattress dipped as you rolled over, smiling at Yuuta, who in return, smiled back. The dark circles you were so accustomed to were barely visible now, replaced by the pink blush that dusted his cheeks. He leaned over, pressing his forehead against your own and closed his eyes, his lashes kissing your skin.

Sighing, he looked at you, blue eyes tired.

“I’m kinda cold.”

“I could turn off the fan?”

He shook his head, wrapping his arms around you before placing his head on your chest, closing his eyes.

“Let’s stay like this…just for a moment longer,”

“I never said I was going to leave.”

You chuckled. Running your fingers through his hair, he hummed.

When was the last time Yuuta was able to completely relax? You don’t remember. Looking over at the nightstand, you could still see the glint of the blue rock on the ring of his past lover, Rika.

The pain was surely still there, and you were in no hurry to replace her. One can never forget their first love- that wasn’t it?

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice he had fallen asleep. A light snorer, his chest rose slowly, with soft wheezing being heard every so often.

A soft patter outside started; it had begun to rain. You held Yuuta closer, remembering his discomfort in thunderstorms. His closed eyelids were moving slightly- he was beginning to dream, and a smile lifted his lips.

Was it wrong to profess your love now? You hadn’t said it before- neither of you had- but it wouldn’t hurt to say it when he couldn’t hear, right? It would be like a practice.

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Settling for just this for now would be fine. There’d be another chance. Maybe not now, but…

You kissed his head, resting your chin on him before closing your own eyes and starting again.

“You’re like a painting, Yuuta…I only see you, you know? I wonder if you see me- not that I wanna rush anything-” you stopped, letting him shift before continuing- “...Sometimes I wonder if we met in a past life. I don’t know how to explain it, but you’re astronomical. Like the Northern Lights- every color imaginable.”

You stopped again, not knowing where to continue, but you hadn’t noticed the tears that began to fall, and in turn, waking Yuuta up.

He stayed still, frozen even. Not daring to make a sound, he waited for you to continue.

“I’m here at your place- but I feel like I shouldn’t be. You haven’t moved on and I wanna respect that but”- you hugged him closer to you- “it’s starting to hurt.”

It was then that he let go of you, moving to lean over you, hands propped up on either side of you. You didn’t process that he was awake sooner then he glanced at you, with you quick to look away.

At this time, you could see all of the little details of Yuuta- like your tear-glossed eyes could see every star in the sky.

All was still for a moment again, but his lips trembled.

An unspoken request: Say it.

How many times have you been at a loss for words tonight?

He laid a hand on your cheek, thumb running over your lips slowly.

“I’m...astronomical?”

This was too intimate; everything was happening all at once, too much, too much, too much-

“Y/n,”

You glanced at him.

“...You’re astronomical.”

“A painting you can’t look away from?”

“A painting I can’t look away from.”

“You only see me?”

“I only see you…”

Yuuta looked back at the ring on the nightstand, then back at you.

“You mean it?”

Yuuta pulled you up, holding your hands together. The scars, the callousses, the cuts...it was all able to heal.

“You’re astronomical, Y/n…you’re a painting I can’t take my eyes away from. My own northern lights…”

He leaned closer, and looked at your lips, then back at you.

May I?

You nodded, and he closed the gap, kissing you once, twice, three times. Seeing if this was real. If everything that had just happened had happened.

Again?

Again.

And again.

Because Yuuta is astronomical, and in his eyes, so were you.

#yejiroh oh! #yuuta x reader #x gn eader #fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen sfw #jujutsu kaisen yuuta x reader #yuuta x gn reader #yuuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu #jjk fluff #jjk sfw #jk x reader #jjk one shot #jjk imagines #jjk yuuta imagines #yuuta imagines #yuuta sfw #yuuta fluff #okkotsu #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #gn reader #comfort fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen comfort #jjk comfort

[oumaheroes]

Stargazing

Word Count: 2030

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘If you could go back to any era, which would you choose?’ There is a stone in-between France’s shoulder blades, something that finally tips the scales from being comfortable into not, so France rolls onto his side, cradling his head in his hand.

From his spot in the grass next to him, England turns his head lazily, the movement long and slow. His eyes are the last to move, fixed on the stars, and they find France’s with a sharp flick, ‘What?’

‘Are you too drunk to listen?’ France lifts a heavy arm and reaches across the small distance between them to brush some errant hair away from England’s forehead and lets it stay there, tangled in his roots. France himself is wine soft and slow, warm in his stomach and chest from both the day and the drink which settles within him.

England huffs, ‘More like drunk enough that I can stop pretending you’re worth listening to.’

France hums indulgently, far too jovial at the moment to search for any unintended offense, ‘oh, the lies you tell yourself. They do amuse me.’

England frowns, head still facing France and cheek pillowed in the grass.  Wine is not enough to soften him entirely, it seems, ‘that is rich, coming from you.’

France brings his hand down from England’s hair to lay it across his mouth, ‘I’m not starting anything with you this evening, I’m too full.’

England opens his mouth and, very gently, bites the meat of the pad of France’s hand. Just to show that he could and to be difficult, showing that he won’t go down without a fight. France’s small input in the ridiculous battle is to leave it there, refusing to give in. Eventually, England lets go and moves his head away, although not before pressing his teeth down just that bit harder. France reclaims his hand and allows him escape without protest.

‘What drivel did you ask me?’ England looks back up at the sky again, high and cloudless above them.

‘If you could be in any era again, any that we have lived through,’ France repeats, ‘which would you pick to go back to?’ He has caught England in a good mood, one where he has allowed himself to be seen, for a time, without anything sharp covering him. Drink has made him pliant and loose tongued and France, in a similar mood, is keen to make the most of it.

England rolls his head slightly back, considering the question, ‘How long do I get in the era?’

‘No, don’t do that, don’t make it technical. It’s not a difficult question.’

‘It most certainly is, running water always influences things,’ England’s mouth twists in a wry hint of a smile, ‘and it’s one thing to pop back to the Tudor times for one of the court parties and quite another to have to spend more than a week there. I do not lament the loss of hose and codpiece.’

‘I do, they made my legs look fabulous.’

England snorted and rolled his eyes, ‘Why am I not surprised.’

‘You’re avoiding the question,’ France twists away from him briefly to feel for the wine bottle they’d been drinking from. It had rolled away slightly, the slight incline of France’s garden causing it to move easily as they shuffled about and he takes a long swing of it before laying it between them, neck resting on England’s stomach. He’s past beyond the point of using glasses now.

‘I’m not avoiding the question, I was trying to-‘

‘No stop, you’re ruining it; I’ll go first,’ after brushing the grass underneath to clear it of stones, France returns to lying on his back, arms behind his head, and ignores England’s tut of annoyance, ‘I think I’d actually want to go back to the days under Rome, just for a visit.’

England sits up on his elbows and takes a sip from the bottle himself, ‘I hadn’t expected that of you.’

‘No?’

‘God no. I would have thought you’d want to go back to one of your King Luis. You know, peak opulence, decadence- all that faff. You still love the fancy balls and the clothes, and the needless tat that came with it,’ England takes another sip of wine and runs his tongue over his teeth, ‘the dances and the jewels, the silly little court rules of behaviour. The gossip.’

France chuckles, ‘you were so funny every time you were dragged along- so out of place! You couldn’t go more than an hour before letting your true colours slip free.’ England was never truly refined for very long, especially when it came to the Versailles’ court standards.

‘Anyone with a lick of sense was immediately out of place,’ England quips drily and lays down again, placing the cork back in the wine as he goes.

It sounds nearly empty- shame. It was a nice year and the last of the bottles that they’d brought out to the garden. Dinner had been a late, informal affair in France’s kitchen- homemade bread and creamy, locally made cheese with chicken. Simple and filling, comfort food for the both of them. The summer heat made them both unwilling for anything too excessive and the entire day had been spent doing lots of nothing much at all; England lounging about in shorts that France refrained from teasing him about lest he stop wearing them.

‘Yes well,’ France lifts his head and clumsily bats him in the stomach with the top of his hand, ‘despite that indeed being extremely enjoyable, I do mean it. My choice of era, I mean.’

England makes a soft noise that gently demands elaboration, a low rumble in the back of his throat but France needs no prompting. He presses a knuckle into the softness of England’s stomach and feels him breathe in deep and slow.

‘I’d love to have nothing to be responsible for again. Everything was done for me, as a colony- the way my cities were built, the improvements made to my industries, the negotiations for trade and commerce, everything. I’d like to revisit being a child, in the closest sense of childhood our kind has,’ France pauses, mulling that over, ‘Imagine that again, being small but without fear of being so. No politics, no money driven economy, no push for growth. We have spent so much of our lives racing to get somewhere, striving to be more that I can hardly remember what it was like to be nothing more than an idea, existing just to speak for the lives that called themselves mine.’

France turns and catches England watching him, eyes searching and heavy, ‘Does that make sense?’ he asks him.

‘No,’ England’s answer is immediate, ‘no, and yes. The desire to be I understand, but I detested that age.’

France smiles at him, understanding masked by the dark. England does not, and never did, like being anything other than in perfect control of himself. Relinquishing that to someone else, even for his own benefit, has never been anything more than a horror.

‘Well,’ France says, ‘that is my choice. I liked being looked after and I have so much to do nowadays that it would be nice to have nothing to do once again. Nothing more than wander about my fields and see my people, or visit a northern barbarian across the sea.’

‘Don’t talk about Scotland that way, you’ll hurt his feelings.’

France laughs and reaches down to find England’s hand, open palmed and curled fingers by his side. He intertwines his own with it and brings them upwards, watching as together they cut across to block the light from his house and silhouette into a tangle of them both.

‘So,’ he says, running a thumb across the skin of England’s knuckle, ‘what era would you choose?’

England sighs, a light thing but France can hear a yearning there, ‘Any of the years I was at sea. The 1500’s when I was first starting out and even up to the 1700’s when things became more regimented- any of them. To be able to just get in a boat and go, no one knowing when I would come back or even where I was going.’

France shudders, the idea of being out in ocean that deep and so alone chilling him. For creatures that revive after death, who can wake again and again and again as long as there is a body to return to, the ocean is a lonely, painful place to die. To sink lifeless into murky depths, only to reawaken there in the dark press of salty sea; most nations avoided it as much as they could, wishing to avoid the long, drawn out death choked by waves and forgotten on the seafloor.

England never had such a healthy fear of the oceans. He went out into thunderous storms and monstrous waves as if enchanted, unable to resist the pull of something untamed. England sailed off as soon as he was able, going out for further and longer than anyone else dared and losing himself in the harsh life of the brine. He was a different creature far out at sea, something so strangely alive and perfectly at home for a man made from the soul of the mountains and land.

‘You always were a strange one for the macabre,’ France drops their hands back down and finds England once more looking at the sky, the reflection of stars glinting in his eyes.

‘The seas never change,’ his voice is quiet and distant, ‘some things do change, of course- the boats we sail on, how we do so. Things shift on the sea, the lands we travel to and from are washed away and changed with time but the sea itself is always the same. I appreciate it for that, it is predictably unpredictable. Constantly refusing the press of mankind by being the one thing we can never truly understand, for all of mankind’s new fancy gadgets.’

England gives a sudden, dry laugh, ‘I used to navigate the world by constellations, now I have to travel just to find some stars. To the highest peaks I have, or deep in my countryside to avoid as much light pollution as I can. But out at sea they are as they have always been, the same things I have watched and tracked for thousands of years. That is when I can just be as I have always been.’

The sky hangs overhead, speckled and bright and now, France notices, startlingly empty, ‘I often forget that they’re there,’ France speaks to the sky, ‘Funny, isn’t it? How something so fundamental can disappear and mankind not even notice. How odd to forget that stars are there, then to not notice they’re gone.’

‘We are cursed or blessed to remember what’s past,’ England offers, ‘which one depends on who we remember for.’

They lay in silence for a moment. France feels the collected years sit with him openly, laying on his chest and heart like tiny weights. The ground pushes against his back, firm and unmoving, and he breathes in deeply, smelling the heat of the summer in the air. He is here. He is now. He is. Still, after all this time. He watches.

To exist is to change, to live is to evolve and move with the flow of time, but France understands the want for something constant in the flood, something that stays recognisable and the same throughout the years. The older he gets, the more he yearns for it keenly.

‘You’ve gone and made things serious,’ he lifts himself back up on an elbow, England looking at him without moving his head, ‘just like you to take a light conversation and ruin it.’

England raises an eyebrow, “Oh the lies you tell yourself; they do amuse me.”

His French is accented with a Norman dialect, a gentle dig and refusal to fully let France have what he wants and France laughs at it, at this one unchanging constant he is stuck with. He leans down to kiss him, hair curling into England’s face and hiding what remains of the night sky.

----

AN: Every time I try writing one of these small drabbles, I start out with a particular idea and tone in mind but gosh darn it they never go where I intend for them to.

Today we have ended up with this, two old men talking themselves in circles in the summer grass.

#My writing #aph france #hws france #aph england #hws england #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia fanfic #hetalia #aph #hws #arthur kirkland #francis bonnefoy #nationverse #i have so may writing styles and one day i will stop flip flopping between them #another thing to clean up before going on AO3 #fruk #aph fruk

[samstree]

Hug a Witcher Day (4/4)

In which Geralt makes plans, but everything goes wrong.

(geraskier, 4.7k,  hurt/comfort, sick jaskier, love confessions, first kiss, second kiss, cuddling, geralt talks about his feelings!)

This story ends here. Remember to give your local witchers a hug!

AO3, previous: [1] [2] [3]

Loving someone is unbearable, Geralt has recently realized.

In the big medical camp, when they can only sleep with hundreds of healers and patients in one big room, their single beds are arranged next to each other in parallel. The night renders the place pitch dark and Geralt is the only one still capable of seeing anything.

Geralt watches Jaskier drift off the moment his head hits the pillow, his breathing calm and his heart slowing.

The bard is tired, but he’s safe.

Geralt watches for a few more moments longer and, gradually, a warm pool of fuzziness begins to gather in his stomach again. He revels in it, in the feeling of loving Jaskier.

He reaches out a hand towards the bard and stops at the edge of the bed, a mere foot away from Jaskier’s sleeping form. The steady rhythm of Jaskier’s human heart lulls Geralt into oblivion but his hand remains there, so close and yet so far away.

That’s how Jaskier wakes Geralt in the morning, with a brush of knuckles, a gentle squeeze on his wrist and a soft, bleary smile. His brown hair is sleep-rumpled and there’s a long pillow crease on his cheek, and Geralt almost blurts it out on the spot.

Loving someone is unbearable.

Loving someone while not telling them is even worse.

But Geralt will tell Jaskier one day. A witcher can’t afford to be a coward. He didn’t get through the worst trials only to be intimidated by a simple human bard. No, the reason he can’t voice those three words is only…bad timing. Jaskier has been through too much in the span of just a few seasons, and yet his smiles are still flowing with patience; he persists with the gentleness that is so distinctly  Jaskier .

Geralt won’t weigh Jaskier down, not until they can pack their bags and leave this city.

And they do.

The end of summer brings the first chill in the air, and Geralt finally leads Roach out of the gates of Vizima. Jaskier follows not far behind with the lute on his back and a spring in his steps.

It all feels like a dream when Geralt remembers being cooped up in one place and isolated from the world, but he walks out of the city as a new man. The love flowing through his veins is the tangible proof of his change of heart.

“Roach must be dying to stretch her legs, don’t you think?” the bard offers when Geralt mounts the mare, her gait anxious.

“Catch up to me?” Geralt asks.

“Always.”

The corners of Jaskier’s eyes crinkle and the sun spills down his hair and threads it with gold. With a gentle nudge, the mare takes off eagerly. The bard’s silhouette grows more distant and Geralt gives up on hiding the lovestruck grin on his face.

*

For a long time, Geralt anticipates he will tell Jaskier in the most dramatic, world-ending way.

After all, the bard does everything so dramatically and world-endingly that anything related to him should deserve the same treatment. Geralt reckons even if he tries to keep it down, Jaskier will find a way to make it the grandest scene there is.

Geralt thinks about doing it in Dol Blathanna, a poetic symmetry to their first meeting that the bard will certainly wax poetic about. The idea churns for two days and suddenly he realizes how terrible it is. The fall will soon render the valley of flowers barren and they’ll just be standing on rocky ground.

So Geralt turns his eyes to the north, where Kaer Morhen must be hiding behind the mountains. Within the walls of the ancient keep, there’s a tower just next to their training yard that he has spent so many sleepless nights in. Standing on top of that tower and watching the stars and northern lights might be the rare moments when he’s truly at peace. It’s when he’s at home.

He silently decides on taking Jaskier home for the winter.

“Why are you taking us this far north, Geralt? Urgh, and why do you have to push me like this? You truly have no pity for me.”

The bard sits on his bedroll and rubs at his eyes at dawn, his face scrunched up with displeasure.

“Hmm.”

In his mind’s eye, Geralt can almost see Jaskier’s face when he steps into Kaer Morhen for the first time, the bard raving about all the songs the ancient keep could inspire and exploring the place with wonderment. He can see the way Jaskier’s eyes would light up under the night sky at the sight of those colorful lights, awestruck and gleaming.

If Geralt was any other man, he would be giddy with anticipation.

And perhaps, that’s why he doesn’t see it when sickness creeps up on Jaskier in the most unexpected way.

Surviving a terrible plague and falling ill right after sounds way too anticlimactic. Jaskier would be disappointed in a twist like this if it’s in a story. It never even crosses Geralt’s mind that Jaskier’s increased complaining is a result of discomfort, of months’ exhaustion silently building up. It never occurs to him that Jaskier, now with his waist and shoulders thinner, might need to take more breaks on the road and wear more layers on harsher days.

An autumn storm catches them off guard and that’s all it takes.

“You got lucky. There’s only one room left.” The man behind the desk throws a pitying look at the bard, dripping on the creaky floor and swaying on his feet. “The rest are all booked for the festival.”

Geralt pays no mind to his remarks. His world narrows down to getting Jaskier into a warm room and stripping him of these wet clothes. He has no choice but to replace them with one of Geralt’s dark shirts—the bard has never been good at keeping his pack dry.

Now Jaskier is shivering under the covers and groaning like a dying animal. His hair is damp from the residual rain and cold sweat, his frame drowning in the too-large tunic.

“Can you light the fire, Geralt?” Jaskier asks through chattering teeth. The blanket is slipping from his shoulders, the open collar exposing a patch of skin and sending a chill down his body. Geralt wraps the blanket tighter around him and looks puzzled at the roaring flame in the hearth.

“It is on. Can’t you see it?” Geralt frowns, confused.

Jaskier’s eyes focus on somewhere far away. The dazed expression lingers for way too long before his head turns to the fireplace. “Oh.”

The worry in Geralt’s stomach grows heavier. He feels for Jaskier’s forehead and lets out a curse when his palm meets burning skin.

“You are feverish.” Geralt continues to wipe away the sweat gathering at the bard’s hairline. “Damn it, Jaskier. Why didn’t you say something?”

The bard leans into Geralt’s cooler touch instinctively. “Well, if you learned one thing about bards, Geralt, you should know that we can’t predict the weather.”

“No.” Frustration seeps into Geralt’s voice. He lets out a scowl. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? You must have been feeling terrible for days if you have a fever like this. Jaskier…”

Geralt breathes out his name and finds anger rising, but not towards the bard. He’s angry with himself, for neglecting Jaskier’s comfort in favor of furthering his stupid plan, for not seeing what’s right in front of him. Jaskier staggering on his feet in the pouring rain stirred up some old fear in Geralt, the fear that hasn’t left him since the day he stepped into Oxenfurt in the spring.

“I guess it didn’t even cross my mind,” Jaskier explains, his voice small and unsure. “We just survived something unimaginable, my dear. I was so excited to go out again. It’s you and—”

Jaskier is rudely interrupted by a coughing fit. The violent wheezing wracks his lungs, causing him to fall forward in a struggle. Geralt catches his limp body in a frenzy and Jaskier ends up with his forehead on Geralt’s shoulder to ride it out, his too-warm breaths fanning over the skin of Geralt’s skin.

“It’s you and me against the world,” Jaskier finally croaks as Geralt helps him sit against the pillows. “All the adventures we missed, think about them. I was just…excited.”

Geralt finds himself kneeling on the bed and a hand’s breadth away from Jaskier’s face, his cheeks worryingly flushed. He looks down to adjust the blanket again to make sure the bard is completely bundled up.

“Excited? And you couldn’t even tell you were sick?”

At least the bard is looking contrite.

“I thought I was just out of shape, with all the pain in my joints and my back. Ugh.” Jaskier squirms in the sea of pillows, adjusting to find better support. “I suppose you don’t have anything for it? A whole bag of witcher potions and none for humans—”

“I—” Geralt splutters. “I’ll, um, get you some willow bark. And a sleeping draught.”

He gets off the bed in one swift motion and works under Jaskier’s curious gaze. The bard is entranced by Geralt’s movement as he boils the water and prepares the tea that he’s been carrying around and replenishing for years.

Blue eyes remain inscrutable as Geralt strains out the shredded bark and scoops a spoonful of honey in the steaming water. He brings the cup to Jaskier’s bed as well as a tincture of sleeping potion.

The bard lets go of the blanket in favor of the cup. He takes a sip and lets out a soft sigh. The honey should be soothing his throat, and it counters the bitterness of the willow bark as well. Geralt leaves him to finish the tea and goes to retrieve his cloak. The thick garment is now completely dry and toasty thanks to the fire, so he gathers it and puts it over Jaskier’s lap.

The bard hands Geralt the empty cup, uncorks the tincture, and downs the greenish liquid.

“ Urgh. Why do all sleeping draughts taste so dreadful?” He grimaces, sticking out his tongue. “Should’ve saved some of the honey.”

“You need more?”

Geralt is ready to fish out the jar again but a hand resting on his elbow stops him.

“Don’t waste it, Geralt. I know how much honey costs.”

“It’s not a waste,” Geralt insists.

Geralt sinks back down into the mattress and suddenly Jaskier’s palm on his arm is burning a hole into his bones, and it’s not because of the fever.

“Because you bought it for me?” Jaskier’s gaze grows intense, the question phrased like a statement, like the bard has never been more sure of anything else. “You keep a jar of honey in your pack and only put it in our water after I sing for a whole night. You carry fresh willow bark for my headache—gods know it’s too weak for your metabolism. You have sleeping potions for humans.”

All statements should feel accusatory, but something is brewing like a storm under Jaskier’s unwavering eyes.

Geralt’s ears heat up in the too-warm room. He wants to get as far away from Jaskier as possible to avoid feeling so exposed. It’s almost like Jaskier has stripped him bare and left his heart in the open.

“It’s nothing.”

And that’s the wrong thing to say.

“What? No.” Distress overtakes those blue eyes. “Geralt, you take care of me. You have been taking care of me for years. How can it be nothing? Even just in Vizima, you stayed for me and you were there for me—”

“I wouldn’t just leave you there, Jask.” Geralt says defensively. The bard truly is burning with a mad fever if he thinks Geralt could ever leave him.

A sad smile spreads across Jaskier’s face.

“I know. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he answers, half to himself, which makes Geralt all the more confused. He covers Jaskier’s hand resting on his arm and squeezes gently for the bard to continue.

“It’s been three years, Geralt. It’s been three years since that night. Do you still remember? It was the night before we had to part for the winter, and it was so cold. I couldn’t even get my teeth to stop chattering and you insulted my choice of wear, as you do.” The bard rolls his eyes. “I fell asleep in shivers and woke up warm with all my toes still intact. Miraculously.”

Jaskier slips his hand out of Geralt’s before threading their fingers together, his other hand running up and down the cloak on his lap. “You had given me your cloak during the night so I wouldn’t freeze. And when I turned around, you were just…there. Lying on your bedrolls,  cloakless, sleeping, and so far away.”

Geralt stares at Jaskier’s dazed expression and the melancholy at the corners of his mouth and senses his languid heartbeat pick up. He remembers that night, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Why Jaskier thinks it was anything of significance is baffling.

“That was the moment for me. That morning, right before we parted for a whole season, was when it hit me. I—Geralt, I wanted to tell you then, but I was too much of a coward, so I sent you away without knowing.”

Tell me what?

The question dies in Geralt’s throat. Instead, habit compels him to deflect. “But you were cold.”

Jaskier’s eyes are gleaming in the warm candlelight, wide and earnest.

“It’s what you do, Geralt. You save me from monsters and rude patrons. You tolerate my faults and you compel me to do better. You traveled across the continent to see me safe, and you stayed. You  stayed .” Jaskier is on the verge of tears, and Geralt wishes more than anything in the world to erase that dejected look on his face. “My white wolf. My protector. I—I had nothing to thank you for, except for my songs. So I wrote the song, thinking I could show you that way.”

The fire crackles and Geralt asks dumbly.

“What song?”

Jaskier holds his gaze and hums the too-familiar tune of Hug a Witcher, his voice breaking from time to time, growing hoarse by the end. Geralt is pinned to the spot, unable to form words.

“I got the whole continent to do it for me, didn’t I?” Jaskier chuckles tightly but his usual smugness is nowhere to be seen. “But, you see, the whole continent gets to hug you for a day. They’ll get to show you their appreciation. But not me. What a wonderful plan! I guess that’s the price for being selfish, for wanting an excuse to—just to…”

Jaskier trails off, his fingers limp in Geralt’s hand. The silence hangs too heavily as Geralt lets the thunderstruck realization sink in.

As if Geralt has ever cared about what everyone else thinks of him. As if he ever wanted everyone else’s arms around him. Jaskier can never be selfish when it comes to Geralt, never when it counts. He’s being such a fool for assuming and Geralt lets out a frustrated growl.

The bard flinches, and retreats, pulling his legs towards his chest to appear as small as possible. His curled-up form is so small that it looks wrong. Jaskier should take up all the space in the world.

“No,” Geralt corrects him desperately. “No. You are not selfish, Jaskier. You’ve done nothing wrong by me in this—”

“I’ve brought nothing but trouble to your side. The song, the plague…I’ve worried you, and now I’ve burdened you. I—” Jaskier’s gaze darts all over the place, heedless of Geralt’s protest. The delirium is muddling his mind. Geralt panics and wraps Jaskier’s chin in his palm, desperately trying to anchor his bard.

“Jaskier—”

“Will you leave?” There’s old fear in the question. “Am I going to be cold and alone again?”

It must be the fever. Added with the ordeal of the past year, it’s bringing back memories of childhood, of painful days confined to a bed and struggling for survival. He needs to reassure Jaskier, to erase the lost expression on Jaskier’s face.

In a frenzy, he ends up doing it by pressing his lips to Jaskier’s.

The kiss is a hot and urgent thing and it’s over in a second. The bitter taste of the sleeping potion lingers. Geralt breathes into the space between them, his palm still caressing Jaskier’s cheek. A tear rolls down and Geralt catches it with the pad of his thumb.

Blue eyes refocus, piercing Geralt’s soul.

“Geralt?” he breathes.

The name comes out so reverent that Geralt is sure that his heart will burst.  Gods, he loves Jaskier.

“I love you.”

A soft gasp escapes Jaskier’s lips.

“Can you hear me now?” Geralt’s thumb continues to trace small circles on Jaskier’s skin. “Can you hear when I say that, Jaskier, you are not a burden? You are not trouble that I have to deal with. You are not selfish for staying and you will never be alone again, not if I ever have a say in it.”

Jaskier’s limbs unfurl, his arms gradually stretching out from the tight hold over his knees.

"I never wanted to tell you like this. I shouldn’t. Not like this.” Geralt sinks into the presence of his bard and presses their foreheads together. Jaskier stays painstakingly silent and a pang of fear hits Geralt. “Shit, Jask. You don’t need to say anything. I shouldn’t have done it when you are still sick. You know what, forget about—”

“You love me?” Jaskier whispers, his voice so small that anyone but a witcher would have missed it.

“I love you.” Geralt pulls away to stare into the stormy blue of Jaskier’s eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for so long. For longer than I know, Jask. I made so many plans for this moment. I wanted it to be perfect for you. But now, I…I just need you to know.”

He just needs to make it better, make Jaskier better. All the plans are nothing but useless, his fear of rejection too. The sight of Jaskier in pain is enough to chuck every worry out the window. Even if his love is not returned, even if a witcher can never have it returned.

But with a heartbeat and the next, Jaskier has thrown himself into Geralt’s embrace, nearly knocking the breath out of him. And, as if in a fantasy, Jaskier’s lips are everywhere, peppering small, wet kisses all over his face.

“You  are  perfect for me, you oaf.” A smile finally blossoms on Jaskier’s face and their lips meet again.

The second time Geralt ever kisses Jaskier, it feels like coming home. It’s a drawn-out and lazy dance that lulls him into dreamland, only the dream has come true in the solid form of Jaskier’s supple lips against his and nimble fingers carding through his hair. The bard lets out a string of adorable giggles as he climbs onto Geralt’s bent knees and straddles him, the cloak and blanket shoved out of their way.

Geralt is falling.

And soaring.

“Hey, steady.” he keeps both hands on the small of Jaskier’s back to keep him in place.

The weight of Jaskier is heavenly, and the unlaced collar of Geralt’s shirt provides the best opening for him to slowly suck at the junction between Jaskier’s shoulder and neck. The bard ends up a whimpering, limp mess, draped all over Geralt’s shoulder with a shudder running down his spine.

“Do you even know how easy it is for you to ruin me?” Jaskier murmurs breathily in Geralt’s ear. All he can muster for response is another growl.

When Geralt gently lowers Jaskier down onto the pillows again, the bard looks a fine picture of debauchery, with a beet-red flush painted across his cheeks and patches of reddened skin at his neck that will surely bloom into dark bruises. His hair is sticking in all directions and the shirt slips down from one shoulder, his chest heaving from the exertion.

Tears well up in cornflower blue eyes again but this time it’s not from pain. All Geralt can smell is the heady pleasure that is equally affecting him.

“I’m afraid your sleeping potion has kicked in,” Jaskier yawns just in time. “It’s the good stuff, my dear. You spoil me.”

The bard blinks his eyes open stubbornly as Geralt fishes the blanket up from the floor and then the cloak.

“I’ll spoil you more when you get better.”

“Big witcher with bigger promises.” Jaskier is slurring his words but the smile on his face can match the bright afternoon sun.

Geralt curls around Jaskier’s body and drapes the blanket over both of them, the cloak tucked where chill might creep in during the night. When he pulls Jaskier closer, the bard tucks his head under Geralt’s chin and nuzzles ever so slightly.

The urge to kiss is overwhelming, and Geralt realizes that he can.

“Goodnight, Jask.”

His lips touch Jaskier’s eyelid and the bard is out in the next second. There’s still a faint smile on his lips.

* 

Geralt wakes up like this, with Jaskier sprawled on top of him and snoring softly. He brushes back the hair at the bard’s forehead and feels for his temperature. The fever is still running low but it will be gone in a day or so. Sighing with relief, Geralt revels in the sensation of the rhythmic thrumming of Jaskier’s heart against his ribcage.

His attention drifts to what woke him in the first place. A group of men seems to be yelling on the street right under their window. Geralt only catches a few words in the distinct conversation, but from the looks of it they are arguing about…building a stage somewhere.

And then, the word  Saovine stands out.

If they are already building the stage for the performance, and the tavern has been booked up by travelers… Geralt does the math in his head and almost feels giddy when it dawns on him—

It’s today.

It’s Hug a Witcher Day.

The thought doesn’t leave him with the agonizing emptiness that is Jaskier’s absence anymore. Instead, Geralt feels like he’s floating mid-air among the clouds and he may never come down again. He might as well not, since Jaskier won’t be going anywhere any time soon.

He hides a goofy grin in tousled brown hair.

One of the men hammers down on something and Jaskier stirs, inhaling deep and then groaning loud. He arches away from Geralt’s chest with a low growling whine—the fever must still be hurting his back and joints. Geralt untangles their limbs and rests his palm flush against the bard’s lower back where it seems to bother him. He kneads gently, massaging the soreness away. Jaskier lets out an exaggerated moan, his face buried in the pillow to muffle the sound.

“It wasn’t a dream.”

When Jaskier speaks, his voice vibrates deep and nasally from sleep, and it makes something warm gather in Geralt’s stomach. He pushes up the hem of the shirt on Jaskier and places a kiss on the side of his waist before lying down again, face to face with the bard.

“It wasn’t.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier mirrors one of Geralt’s many hums and looks up blearily through drooping lashes, his smile content and his blush healthier. The bard boops his nose. “What are you grinning at?”

“It’s my day.”

“What day?” The furrow between Jaskier’s brows is too adorable and Geralt is too smitten with it. Eventually, the bard catches on. “ Oh .”

He then scoots closer to tuck a strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear. Excitement sparks in his eyes.

“Can I?” Jaskier asks as if they didn’t just spend a whole night snuggled against each other, as if Geralt hasn’t been ready to say yes since three Hug a Witcher Days ago.

“Yes.”

With that permission, Geralt finds himself on his back with an armful of bard. Jaskier is hugging him so tightly that even a witcher can barely breathe.

“For luck, right?” the bard says into his neck and flings a leg over Geralt’s hip, putting his entire weight into the embrace. “Only the gods know I’ll be needing some for next year.”

“No more scaring me like this.�� Geralt mutters half to himself as he runs his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and pulls him even closer. It’s a near-impossible endeavor since he’s already crushed between the mattress and the too eager bard.

“No more,” Jaskier agrees and rubs his nose into the silver hair pooling on the pillow, humming with buzzing pleasure. “And who would have thought? Destiny can be cruel just as she is kind. It’s today, of all days...”

“Hmm. Who would have thought…”

Geralt inhales the scent of Jaskier, now the sour stench of misery only faint. In its place is the happiness that reminds him of the afternoon sun baked into fresh linens.

“And to think I forgot to tell you yesterday. The most renowned poet on this continent forgot to profess his love. How embarrassing!”

Geralt snorts, but in truth, he doesn’t even care anymore. Jaskier being here, in the safety of his arms and recovering from the ordeal of the past year is more than enough. He can live with the knowledge that Jaskier knows that he is loved. He is loved so deeply by someone who was told his whole life to be incapable of it. Now that Geralt is on the other side, the idea of ever not loving Jaskier becomes an unthinkable thing. It’s like not loving the sun or the earth or—

“You’re thinking sappy things.” The bard looks up and the mirth in his eyes disappears. “And probably bad things about yourself. After all these years, after so many songs and so many scrapes and bruises, you still doubt it. Oh, Geralt. Can’t you see? I wrote Hug a Witcher because I didn’t know how to tell you that I love you. To be fair, I wrote every song for the same reason, but this one…I needed you to feel loved, darling, even if it’s not by me.”

So he got the whole continent to do it for him and dragged every other witcher down with it. Geralt should be appalled by the length of theatrics the bard is willing to go if he doesn’t somehow find it the most endearing thing in the world.

“A love letter. Delivered by everyone but you,” Geralt adds.

“Is it to your satisfaction?” Jaskier purses his lips sheepishly. A sheepish Jaskier is such a rare occurrence that Geralt can’t look away. “My white wolf. My protector.”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s wrist and guides it to his chest, placing his palm right over the slow rhythm of his heart. “That’s one thing we have in common, isn’t it? You protect me too. You guard my heart and my name. You use your strength but not for violence but love. If destiny has ever given me one blessing, Jaskier, it would be you. And you are asking if I’m satisfied...”

Geralt puts the answer in the kiss he presses on Jaskier’s forehead with all the gentleness he can muster. It must be the one-millionth time he’s kissed Jaskier because he can no longer remember not being allowed to kiss Jaskier feels like.

“So, Hug a Witcher Day, eh?” Jaskier springs up with renewed vigor, so fast Geralt amazes that he isn’t getting dizzy. “How should we celebrate?”

Geralt looks at his bard, surrounded by his clothing and his love, basked in the shimmering morning light.

“I believe it’s in the name.” he challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, honey. You know I won’t let you go for the rest of the day, right?” the bard smirks with mischief. “But first, if I remember it correctly, didn’t you say that you had some…plans for your grand love confession?”

Geralt blinks. “Are you always this incorrigible?”

“Duh!” Jaskier shrugs, offended. “Oh, come on! I promise I won’t make fun of you! And I’m sure I can make at least one ballad out of your plotting, my darling witcher. With how much of a sap you are, a whole romance book if I put my mind to it!”

“I won’t give you the chance to make fun of me for the rest of time, bard.”

“But I’m sick.” Jaskier bats his lashes. “It will make me feel better. Won’t you indulge me?”

Geralt cannot believe the bard is already playing this card. What’s worse is that he knows his resolve will break very soon.

It’s Hug a Witcher Day after all, and Geralt finally, finally gets to have the one person he wants the most in his arms. If a little bit of embarrassment is the price for it, he can’t say that he minds that much.

---

Geralt gets lots of hugs. Jaskier gets to tease him endlessly. And I can start new wips!

I was torn between two different ways to end this story and finally settled on this more conventional one. I’ll be putting up the alternative ending soon ;)

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @birdsflyhome @dapandapod @artisanbaguette

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #cuddling #snuggling #hugs and kisses! #sick jaskier #jaskier gets sick but it's unrelated to the plague #jaskier whump #protective geralt #love confessions #first kiss #second kiss #geralt of rivia is a sap #this should be a tag #the other ending is very silly #so very silly

[amymel86]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @vivilove-jonsa !!! A little Vampire!Sansa and Vampire Hunter!Jon for you...

Day 1

Sansa hisses at the man who holds her captive. She cannot remember a time in which she has been so maddeningly angry.

His solemn face betrays nothing and the layers of spells cast in this little bedroom is making it hard to read the thoughts of his mind – not that Sansa ever had perfectly crystal clear clarity on that ability anyway. It was more like snatches of information, radio stations tuning in and out. Either way, what with how so vehemently enraged she is feeling right now, Sansa doubts she could read his driver’s license let alone his mind – all she sees is him... and all the ways she’s going to kill him.

Once she gets out from under these silver chains he has at her wrists.

“Let me go and I won’t hurt you,” she demands, trying not to move where she lays, arms bound above her head.

The man’s grey gaze flickers up to her bindings. “We both know that’s a lie.”

He doesn’t underestimate her then. And he knows far too much about what she is for Sansa to feel any semblance of comfort in his presence. She tugs her arms, wincing at the pain when the silver sears her skin.

“If you don’t move, it won’t hurt,” her captor offers. “That’s why I put the bandages on your wrists.” He nods his head to where she is bound.

“Oh, fuck off!” In her days as a human woman, Sansa never would have dreamt of using such profanity, but she’s heard enough modern girls using filthy language on her television box to know that it is not so frowned upon today. Besides, it felt right... for this situation at least.

Her captor raises his brow and somehow Sansa feels like this should make her blush – if she could blush.

“What do you want with me anyway?”

“I hunt your kind.”

This makes her scoff. Her left wrist moves causing the chain to come into more contact with her skin. She hisses and whimpers, trying to catch her breath. The man – the hunter – he steps into the room now, where he had been looming in the doorway. Reaching over her, he fixes the silver so that it rests securely on the bandages, saving her from further wounds. Her flesh begins to heal, to knit back together until there is barely a scar left behind to tell a story.

Her hunter is still leaning over her. She could try to surge up against her bindings, lunge at his throat. But it would hurt – it would hurt a lot. Besides, she’d still be bound to this bed.

Sansa can feel her fangs slowly protract against her better judgement.

“Vampyre hunters kill my kind.”

The man grunts and straightens. Staring at her a little while longer, his gaze begins to drop down her body before it snaps back up to her face. “How is it that you select the ones you feed on?” he asks, ignoring her statement. “And the ones you completely drain – the ones you kill – they’re all...”

He’s searching for the right label.

“Bad men,” Sansa offers, raising a brow of her own.

Her hunter snorts. “A vigilante vampire? That’s a new one on me.”

“Why don’t you let me go and I’ll show you how it works.”

His gaze is intense for a moment or two as he maps out her face before turning, leaving her with a quiet chuckle.

 Day 4

“I’m not feeding on that.”

Her captive looks down at the bag of blood he holds in his hand. “Do you want to starve?”

“Do you actually care if I starve?”

He huffs and leaves the room.

 Day 5

She is in a half state of dozing when he enters the room this time, roused by his agitated tone.

“Alright, look. Just drink the fucking blood, ok? If it’s the wrong blood group, I can get a different one, but can you just-”

“It doesn’t matter what group it is, idiot,” Sansa says, shifting on the bed, uncomfortable. “It’s of no use to me if there’s no life in it.”

“No life in it?”

She nods. “If it’s not coming from the source then I might as well be drinking red food colouring for all the good it’ll do. I need lifeblood to sustain me.” The hand holding the bag of blood slowly lowers as her captive’s jaw clenches in discomfort. “Don’t you know anything, oh mighty vampire hunter?”

“Our training centres around killing, not sustaining your kind,” he says, irritated, almost spitting those last two words.

“Then why haven’t you? Why am I still here? Why are you trying to feed me?”

“I-”

He shakes his head and leaves.

When he comes back, much later, he’s dressed in only his undergarments and his hair is wild and messy. He wears eyeglasses on his troubled face. If he was not her captor Sansa could quite easily imagine herself deciding the sight of him was quite becoming really.

But he is.

So she won’t.

“Alright, don’t try anything,” he warns, coming nearer. He looks at her, assessing. His chest is moving up and down with every breath. Reaching up behind his neck, he unclasps a silver chain that he wears, making sure she sees what he holds and the threat hanging in each link of that necklace. Wetting his lips, her hunter juts out his wrist so that it’s offered right in front of her face. “Feed,” he says, the other hand gripping the silver chain. “But don’t take too much.”

She wants to refuse but she hasn’t fed in over a month.

His skin smells like sweat and bourbon – a hint of a spicy cologne. Sansa licks at his wrist. She’s so, so hungry. Their eyes remain on each other and her captor’s lips part as she continues to lap at her chosen patch of skin.

She can smell his arousal. His undergarments are beginning to tent.

“I- what are-”

“Shhhh,” Sansa coos. “This will stop the bite from hurting and make it heal faster.” He looks mesmerised. “You know, the best way to do this is while making love. Humans say it’s euphoric. Wouldn’t it be so sweet to be completely wrapped up in one another, writhing in ecstasy? Why don’t you...” Sansa tugs slightly on the chains at her wrists, making the suggestion.

Her captor swallows and blinks. “Stop it,” he says, though his voice is quiet and hoarse. “I know how your kind like to tempt your victims so just stop it and feed.”

Sansa huffs from her nose. “Suit yourself,” she says, returning to licking at his wrist.

He hardly flinches when her fangs pierce his skin, but the moan he lets slip when she begins to suck sends tingles all over her body.

 Day 6

“Is it uncomfortable?” His eyes focus where her wrists rest above her head.

“What do you think?”

A nod of his head and he leaves. Sansa can hear his apartment door close, the lock clicking into place after him. There is no sunlight trying to streak through the blinds when he returns.

“Ok,” he says, standing beside the bed, though Sansa suspects he’s talking to himself in reality. He scratches at his head, turns to walk away only to return.

“Decided to kill me now?”

He actually does walk out of the room then, only to spin at the doorway to face her. “I should kill you. I should’ve fucking killed you a week ago. My superiors think that I have. It’s what I was ordered to do.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“I-” His hand raises to absentmindedly rub at the back of his neck. “I don’t fucking know. I just...” His mind seems to change track and he’s striding into the bedroom again. “Ok, I have this-“ he fishes an item out of his pocket and holds it out for her inspection. Sansa hisses instantly, the object making her feel queasy. He pockets it again.

“What is that?!” She’s never experience anything like it but she could barely stand to look at it.

“It’s a talisman, a seven-pointed-star with a bloodstone in the centre that’s been blessed numerous times by some holy-man in Asshai or some such shit, I don’t know. All I know is that it’s never left HQ since it arrived and it’s meant to ward off your kind.” He stands there, assessing her once more.

Fuck, her head hurt.

“Seems to me that it works,” he says. “Now, if I untie you, you shouldn’t be able to touch me so long as I have this talisman on my person, and if I hang it above a doorway, you shouldn’t be able to cross that either.”

“Just get on with it and get that fucking thing away from me!”

Her captor takes a deep breath before beginning to make quick work of her bindings. “Right, right, sorry.”

 Day 7

His stupid talisman hangs above her open prison cell doorway. Try as she may, she cannot go through.

At least she’s no longer tied to the bed.

“How long do you plan on keeping me here?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really plan it.”

Sansa scoffs. “That’s evident.”

Her captor scowls at her over his folding computer thing.

Pacing the little room back and forth, Sansa comes to a stop as close to the open doorway as she dares. “What is your name anyway?”

His mouth twitches before he answers. “Jon,” he tells her. “Jon Snow.... and you are Alayne Stone, though you changed your name to this after you were turned. Your human name was Sansa Stark.”

Her hands had been on her hips.

They fall now.

“How do you know that?” She hasn’t heard someone say her real name in over a century. She feels light headed.

Her captor – Jon – Jon Snow – shrugs a shoulder and taps on his computer thing. I was assigned to exterminate you. I have your files. The human name wasn’t in there but I did some digging, found out what I could which lead me to a bunch of stuff about Winterfell, and then when I came across this old family photograph from a Northern genealogy site, it was easy to put two and two together.” He swivels his screen around to show her.

Their faces.

A sob leaves her throat.

 Day 8

“You really can let me go now, Jon. I won’t hurt you.”

He looks pained. “I... I want to believe you but-“

“But?”

“But I know what you are.”

Sansa feels her lip curl. Maybe she would hurt him. A little.

“Besides, as far as my superiors know, you’re already exterminated. If they catch wind that I let you go –“

“How will they know? I’ll be out of the city before anyone knows it.”

“The Organisation is everywhere, Sansa. They’ll know.”

Huffing, Sansa shakes her head. “So you’ll get a tap on the wrists and-“

“Oh it’ll be more than that-“

As if the universe was trying to prove his point, an almighty crash made Jon spring up from his place on the couch. Somehow, he had a gun already in his hand. “Rast,” he says, his jaw clenching. “If you wanted to come hang out, this isn’t the polite way of going about it. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

The man who had broken down Jon’s door has an answering gun in clutched in his fist as he steps over the threshold. He grunts at Jon’s humour before laying eyes on Sansa in the doorway of his spare bedroom. A rancid grin stretches across his face. “I fucking knew it. I knew you were up to something. Old Mormont said you wouldn’t pull any tricks on us like that but I fucking knew! First I see you comin’ outta that blood bank lookin’ all shady, then the Shielding Star goes missing from HQ, then that fat piggy, Tarly says you’ve been interested in readin’ some of his old dusty books on fangers. I just knew you were up to no good and lookee here.” He flicks the barrel of his gun towards Sansa. At that, Jon starts to shift, moving to put himself between Sansa and his unwanted guest. Rast lets out a horrid chuckle. “Whatchu been doin? Fucking ‘em before you off ‘em?” Sansa hisses, her fangs jutting out sharply. Rast laughs. “Mind you, I wouldn’t mind a go on this one before you stake ‘er. She looks a feisty sort. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this myself.”

“Rast,” Jon warns.

“What’s the matter? Don’t like sharing?” he laughs darkly. “Aw, that’s too bad, Snow, it really is.”

BANG!

Jon’s body jolts back and a grunt leaves him before he falls to the ground.

“Jon!” Sansa cries.

“Looks like you won’t be having a say in it anyhow,” Rast says, grinning. He walks over and kicks Jon in the shoulder making him roll onto his back.

His shirt is rapidly getting soaked in a bloom of wet crimson. Rast puts his boot on Jon’s wrist, pinning the hand holding the gun to the floor. Jon looks over at her, wheezing and coughing up more lifeblood. She feels helpless. He’s going to die.

Turning his wrist as much as he can, Jon takes aim in her direction.

BANG!

Something shatters above the doorway to her little prison cell bedroom and as soon as Sansa can feel it – that sense of freedom - she knows he’s destroyed and dislodged that fucking talisman.

She feels alive.

Before Rast can even fucking blink she leaps onto his back and snaps his neck. His body falls like a sack of potatoes.

She’s in a state of triumph that crashes rather quickly when she hears Jon coughing and gurgling on the floor beside her. When she kneels down, she can see his life leaving, that light in his grey eyes starting to ebb away. He laughs a little though it seems to pain him. “You lot always were so fucking fast.” He struggles to swallow without spluttering. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

“No, no, no.”

He’s gone.

“No, no, no.”

She cradles him now, feeling grief for the first time in years and years. Looking around, panicked, Sansa’s not sure what she’s looking for.

She knows what she’s going to do – even though she swore to herself she would never.

Biting down hard on the fleshy pad of her palm, Sansa squeezes and squeezes until her own blood begins to drip and dribble from the wound. She reaches for his mouth, praying to Gods she does not believe in that this will work.

Fuck, what if this does work?

Five, ten minutes pass when a wounded sounding groan comes from Jon’s throat taking Sansa by surprise. A shocked sort of laugh escapes her and she opens her wound with another bite, squeezing harder over his mouth. “Come on, moron, drink,” she says, chuckling. He begins sucking sleepily like a babe.

Lifting his bloody shirt, Sansa can see the wound on his chest mending, his new body pushing out the bullet before it completely seals over anew.

That should be enough. His body is already changing. She should leave. He’ll need to sleep for a few hours before he can fully awaken in his new form and she should get herself miles and miles away from here. Besides, that’s what happened to her when she was turned – she woke up alone and very confused.

She should go.

She really should.

Sansa strokes Jon’s hair, the bitemark on her hand now fully healed as she pulls away from his mouth.

... so what’s making her stay?

#jonsa #jon x sansa #vampire sansa #vampire hunter jon #vivi's birthday! #tw blood #tw violence #tw rape threat #just to be safe

[ratingtheframe]

10 Films to watch this Valentine’s Day if you’re single as hell.

If anyone or anything is making you feel worthless on the Capitalist Holiday that is Valentine’s Day because you’re single AF, then don’t fret because it means one of two things;

You’re happy enough with yourself to not need anyone else.

You’re allergic to people.

Though mine is both the former and the latter, I can still get down to a good romance movie now and again. Now I’m not talking about those horrendous rom coms that Netflix seems to be churning out every damn minute, but those emotionally invested, earthy and well written dramas that has you ugly crying into your bathrobe for 17 minutes straight (me at the end of Her.). Here is a compiled list of some of the best romance films I’ve seen over the years and how each one doesn’t showcase an abundance of clichés and brands them as “acts of love”.

A Star is Born (2018 or 1953, take your pick)

I’ve found that both the 1953 version of A Star is Born with Judy Garland and the 2018 newer version to be a perfect and well rounded love story. What makes this love story so fierce is the vulnerabilities and downfall of its characters, which even though there are many sad moments, it perpetuates and strengthens the acts of love shown in the film. Both versions are similar in that they follow a woman who’s rise to fame as a performer becomes overshadowed by her jealous partner, who is also a notable celebrity. In the 2018 version starring Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper, Gaga’s character Ally is helped by a country singer, Jackson Maine to become a successful singer and icon amongst the music industry. As she rises, Jackson falls and the character dynamics and intensity between them is a fitting love story. I was thoroughly bawling at the end and I guarantee you will too as Lady Gaga’s rendition of Love Again was the true scene stealer of the film. 

Call me by your name (2017)

I have an incredible bias towards this film and it has nothing to do with the film’s context or characters or even Timothée Chalamet The reason why I feel so connected to this film and proclaim it as my favourite film of all time is because of when I watched the film. It’s almost like seeing a film about a political event right after it's happened; you have this rush and connection towards something that’s actually affected you in the real world. I had the same feeling with Call me by your name after going through a rough and confusing patch whilst trying to get over someone I thought I truly loved. Turns out I didn’t (thank god) and yet Call me your name was almost like a shoulder to cry on. It’s a film that’s taught me to love and love hard but most importantly, not beat yourself up or try to distinguish the pain felt by true love. If you haven’t been fortunate to catch this beauty of a film, it follows two men, Elio (Timothée Chalamet) and Oliver (Armie Hammer) and their brief relationship in the summer of 1983 in Northern Italy. 17 year old Elio lives with his parents and his father (Michael Stuhlbarg) is a scholar who invites students from outside the country for the summer in hope of passing on his wisdom to them. This is when Oliver arrives, a handsome twenty something American who becomes the infatuation of Elio. 

I’ll never forget the first time I heard the monologue that Elio’s father gave his son at the end, explaining to Elio why he shouldn’t feel embarrassed by the pain he felt after loving Oliver:

“We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster, that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to make yourself feel nothing so as not to feel anything - what a waste”

That, ladies and gentlemen and all in between, is what love is.

Her. (2013)

Once again, another film about love that had a profound effect on me because of when I watched it. Her. follows the story of Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) and his search for a story using an A.I to help him write. However, after getting to know this A.I named Samantha (Scarlett Johansson) and hearing the way she adapts and shows emotions, he soon falls in love with it. Some may deem this as rather sad (which it is) but I think it speaks to bigger constructs like internet dating and letting go of people you loved thus diminishing the fantasy and world you created for the two of you. This part of the film got to me a stark way as I felt the pain of letting go of not only a person, but a fantasy, just like Theodore had to do in letting his past partners go. Her. is truly beautiful, with some great production design, cinematography and acting.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)

The absolute queen of love stories would be Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire, a film about the romance between two women in the late 18th Century. Definitely not a narrative you see every day or one that’s been painted in such a way (pun intended). Marianne (Noémie Merlant) is commissioned to paint the beautiful and stubborn Héloïse (Adèle Haenel) and the portrait is to be gifted to a suitor of Héloïse’s from Milan. But instead of getting the painting done and sending it off, Marianne and Héloïse unexpectedly fall for one another at a subtle and well timed pace that had me gawping at the screen the entire way through. Slow, sensual and moving is Portrait of a Lady on Fire and I would definitely say is one of the best LGBTQ plus films ever made to date.

Broke Back Mountain (2005)

Ang Lee scooped up a BAFTA, Golden Globe and Oscar for his direction on his adapted screenplay of Brokeback Mountain. Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) form a romantic bond after shepherding alone together on the side of a mountain. Once their time herding sheep comes to a close and they return back to their respective lives, it's clear that their bond is stronger than they had anticipated. They live in constant fear of their relationship becoming apparent to those around them, which leaves one of them taking matters into their own hands. A controversial yet extremely successful film of its time, Brokeback Mountain does a fabulous job of showcasing the consequences and despair of love using two of Hollywood’s finest actors.

Carol (2013)

It’s difficult to fully appreciate LGBTQ plus films set in the past as they mostly focus on the persecution of homosexuals as opposed to the love they wish to express. However, this was pretty accurate of the time and it's only very recently that we have begun to accept one another’s sexualities and genders fully so much that we play these stories out on screen without the persecution part. Carol is a film directed by Todd Haynes and stars Rooney Mara and Cate Blanchett. I found them to be an extremely intense pairing whilst they unravelled as their characters on screen. Therese (Rooney Mara) works in the toy department of a department store when one day she lays eyes upon Carol Aird, a beautiful and elegant married woman who becomes the infatuation of Therese. Therese throws all caution to the wind in order to be closer to Carol and because of this and the 1950s society they live in, their relationship is doomed from the beginning. I was in complete awe of the way Carol had been shot and created into this sensual and rich drama set in the 1950s. From the costumes, to the lighting to the acting, everything about Carol held weight to it showcasing the devotion of a truly talented director.

Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind (2004)

Usually I’d pass on a Charlie Kaufman film, seeing as they make no sense, however I felt that it was time I delved into this cult classic starring Kate Winslet, Jim Carrey, Kirsten Dunst, Mark Ruffalo and Elijah Wood. It’s a really well made film with a clear and distinct message to it that’s represented in some phenomenal filmmaking techniques. The plot line of this film follows a man trying to erase a past lover and his memories of her get wiped away physically before your eyes on screen. It made me wish that I could do the same with people I’ve liked in the past, but the contradictory of this would be the trauma of eventually ending up with someone you had already met in another life. I haven’t experienced a break up nor felt the pain of one, though I could judge that this film tells that experience really well.

Moonlight (2016)

Moonlight is one of few films that I would genuinely worship if it were a religion. It's also one of the films that I outwardly shame people for not having seen, as it is truly a masterpiece and film lover’s film. Deep, emotionally connected, colourful, harsh, moving and eye opening, this film takes you on an emotional rollercoaster through the eyes of Chiron and the three stages of his life that have carved out his essence as a human being. Not only that, but he falls in love with another boy at his school, and when he does, he’s hurt rather badly. Literally. Moonlight is the definition of profundity and was awarded the top prize of Best Picture at the 2017 Academy Awards. 

Loving (2016)

When I think of a truthful and honest testament of love, the film Loving comes to mind which is a fitting title for such a delicate yet strong story. The film is based on a true story of an interracial couple, Richard and Mildred (Joel Edgerton and Ruth Negga) being banned from Virginia in the 1950s for choosing to be together. If that ain’t a true sacrifice of love, then I don’t know what is. Choosing someone you love over your own home is an unfathomable thing and certainly shows the strength that this couple had in facing the judgements of others whilst remaining emotionally truthful to themselves. 

The Shape of Water (2017)

The Shape of Water is a strange yet enlightening love story between Eliza, a deaf woman (Sally Hawkins) and a creature being tested on in a laboratory. Awards season went mental for this back in 2018, winning four of the THIRTEEN Oscars it was nominated for. I would categorize it as quite the niche film and wouldn’t usually think that such a film could be garnered with Oscar success. However everyone who worked on this film really pulled out the stops in creating an entire new world and perspective that has many layers to it, as well as an abundance of conflict and dynamics for audiences to lull over. The relationship between Eliza and the feared swamp monster that’s being cruelly tested in the laboratories where she works, is heartfelt and honest, which is strange seeing as Eliza’s virtually in love with a monster. The casting in this was outlandish yet it really worked as all actors in this melded well into the story as their prospective characters. It also has one of the most touching endings to a film I’ve ever seen.

And there you have it, ten Romance films for you to enjoy this Valentine’s Day. Watch them all at once, or maybe just watch one. Whether you watch it alone or with someone, it doesn’t really matter!

Lots of love

Ang x

#valentines #valentinesday #astarisborn #lady gaga #bradleycooper #call me by your name #her movie #joaquin phoenix #scarlett johansson #timothee chalamet #armie hammer #armie and timothée #portrait of a lady on fire #broke back mountain #jake gyllenhaal #heath ledger #carol #cate blanchett #rooney mara #eternal sunshine of the spotless mind #kate winslet #jim carrey #Moonlight #barry jenkins #loving 2015 #the shape of water #guillermo del toro #oscar #love #romantic films

[buck-buck-boose]

I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, pining

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: Thank you for all the patience and support! I love love love seeing replies and reblogs :,)

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Journey to Azzano

October 24, 1943

Yet another sleepless night. A night spent away from the nurse’s tent, handkerchief in hand, with eyes cast towards the heavens. The stars stared back, silent watchers from above; the petrified audience to a grotesque display of gore, violence, and inhumanity. Lottie knew that they were nothing but balls of gas, great masses of fire that drifted in that infinite chasm of space millions of lightyears away. Somehow, her heart still broke for them.

How painful it must be to be a star, she thought, To see the Earth, to see its people, to see the love and hope. To be forced to watch its destruction, its pain. Oh, how the stars must weep, gazing down at the broken bodies of men and boys, women and children, all victims of such a cruel war.

Still, the pain of a star could never come close to the pain of a nurse. The stars would never hold those bodies in their arms, they would never fumble for a tourniquet as blood spilled from a fresh wound, the stars would never have to slide a man’s eyelids shut, his skin cold to the touch.

Lottie was becoming quickly acclimated to the smell and feel of death. It never seemed to leave her skin, no matter how thoroughly she washed her hands. Though they were constantly rubbed raw, she could not rid them of death’s stench or its thick grime that seemed to coat every inch of her skin.

After they’d left Pantelleria, the SSR had scrambled to stay afloat, constantly caught in the crossfire of other Italian campaigns. The Germans had weaseled their way into northern and central Italy, with carnage in their wake, the nurses of the SSR were left to care for their victims. Lottie had come to know death as intimately as one knows the curves of their lover’s body, all the dimples, ridges, and edges.

“No number of bandages would’ve saved him, Lottie,” Gladys would whisper, “We’re nurses, not miracle-workers.”

“If I remember correctly, folks at the SSR sure love to rant about that ‘miraculous’ serum we developed.” “Betty, you know what I mean.”

Lottie wished she could be a miracle worker. The men that she managed to save definitely thought she was, but who wouldn’t think so highly of the woman who saved them from certain death? It would have been a comfort to visit them in the recovery ward, but the SSR would whisk them away, further north and closer to Hydra before she had the chance.

The SSR found themselves in Siano, a village an afternoon’s trek away from Salerno. At another time, it would be quite lovely. The quiet little community was nestled between small mountains, far too grand and looming to be called hills. The greenery was lush and the air was crisp, mingled with the saltiness from the nearby sea. A cool, sweet breeze kissed Lottie’s cheeks and became entangled in her curls that had finally been loosed from her strict bun. With every graze of the breeze against her cheeks and every rustle of the grasses beside her, it seemed that the very earth was breathing beneath her. Every movement was a great inhale or exhale that emanated around her; the only calming element to an otherwise restless night.

Their camp was just outside the town, stationed in an expansive field which was quite likely an abandoned pasture. Camp had been sloppily thrown together, after a horrifically bloody day in Salerno, morale was low and they knew their stay would be short-lived. Agent Carter had mentioned that they were urgently needed in Azzano; there was a POW situation up there that involved Hydra. Their stop in Siano, as Colonel Phillips had explained, was merely for recuperation. With a day of bloodshed behind them and several days’ worth of traveling ahead of them, rest was needed by all.

But she couldn’t really rest, could she? Lottie would always be on edge, on high alert, until she had her boys by her side once more. At every camp, in every campaign, she searched for the 107th. For any sign of a USO show. So far, she had come up with nothing. Nothing but disappointment.

All that she could do was gaze up at the stars and wonder if a pair of clear blue eyes were doing the same.

Somewhere in Azzano

Liquid fire in his veins. Muttered words in German. Leather straps that dug into his skin; they kept him from writhing in pain. Days bled together and he could barely find the willpower to stay conscious, blurring the lines between his dreams and reality.

Bucky didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what was going on, either. All he knew was agony, frustration, and a girl. His best girl, Little Lottie. The first time he’d seen her, he was sure that she was real. He had just undergone the first round of… whatever this was, and all of a sudden, she’d appeared before him, dressed just as she’d been when he last saw her— white uniform, thick stockings, and a heavy coat that seemed to swallow her whole.

He’d tried to yell at her, warn her about how dangerous this place was, but he could only muster a choked groan which had earned him a blow to the head. After that, she kept appearing— every time he was poked or prodded at, she stood in the corner of the room and watched over him with a smile on her lips. His head would loll to the side with exhaustion and their gazes would connect; it was the only glimmer of hope in the midst of his torture.

His Little Lottie would only speak to him in his dreams, but she wouldn’t speak, really. No, she’d do this thing he’d seen her do to Stevie hundreds of times when he was sick in bed. With gentle hands, she would smooth his hair away from his forehead, freeing the sweaty, bloodied strands that clung to his skin. She quieted his groans of pain with soft sounds and breathy hums of her favorite songs— mostly from the musicals they had gone to see in the thirties. Little Lottie was fondest of numbers by the Gershwin brothers, he’d noticed, as she was always humming one of their tunes in his dreams.

Any anger toward her was forgotten, but the fear remained. Fear for her safety devoured him from the inside out; if Hydra ever got their hands on her, there would be hell to pay.

Siano, the next day

“Y’know if you’re gonna make a habit of this, I might as well take your pillow for myself.”

Lottie blinked her eyes blearily, taking in the figure of Betty before her. Apparently, she’d fallen asleep outside. Again. The first time it had happened, they’d been camped out in Salerno and while her companions had gone to bed earlier, she’d attempted to calm her nerves with a midnight cigarette. Suffice to say, the cigarette had done its job, though she’d woken up with a terrible pain in her neck.

This time, the pain was located in Lottie’s lower back, probably due to the uneven ground she’d fallen asleep on.

“Believe me, Betty, I don’t intend to make this a habit,” Lottie gritted her teeth in pain as she attempted to maneuver herself off of the ground.

Betty sighed and grabbed her hands, heaving her up, “C’mon, we don’t have all day. Colonel Phillips wants the tents down as soon as possible.” She jerked her head in the direction of the other three nurses a few yards away, they were evidently having a difficult time with the canvas and poles of their tent.

The two of them rejoined their group and Gladys tossed a pack to her with a smile, “Your stuff’s all good to go. Figured you needed the extra sleep.” Lottie squeezed her shoulder in thanks and observed Nancy and Mary as they argued over the correct way to pack up their tent.

“First we need to disassemble the poles, then we wrap up the canvas and—”

“No, we need to take care of the canvas before we can—”

Agent Carter stalked toward them with a rather agitated look on her face; only she could look powerful crossing an uneven field in heels. Lottie bundled up some poles in her arms, trying to stow them away in a pack before they could be berated for being the last ones to finish.

“Ladies,” Agent Carter began, voice firm, “You did not go through a year of training just to be the last ones done packing up your tent. We need more speed from you five to reach the one hundred and seventh in time.”

Lottie nearly dropped the metal poles in her arms and choked out a gasp, “The one hundred and seventh?” That was the regiment with the POWs? The POWs that had fallen victim to Hydra? Her heart was suddenly beating a mile a minute, her stomach was all in knots.

Agent Carter furrowed her brow, likely confused by her reaction, “Yes, they were vastly overpowered in a recent battle. We’ve been summoned to provide medical care to the survivors as well as to assist in a reconnaissance mission for information regarding the whereabouts of the POWs.”

She was tempted to ask about Bucky, to see if she’d heard anything about their survivors, but she ultimately decided against it. It was unlikely that they already had extensive knowledge regarding those who had been saved or lost.

“We’ll be done in a jiffy, Agent Carter,” Nancy nodded, removing the poles from Lottie’s grasp.

After another minute or two, their tent was packed away, and each nurse was outfitted with a hefty pack that carried their belongings. Together, the nurses and the rest of the SSR agents began their trek through the Italian countryside, keeping close in their groupings. It would have been far easier to be transported by plane, but the agents had to take as much caution as possible with Hydra's threat level. If traveling by foot kept the lowest profile, then that was what needed to be done.

Lottie’s four companions broke out into quiet conversation to pass the time while fearful thoughts weaseled their way into her mind. What if Bucky really had been taken by Hydra? What would they do to him? Would they kill him? She’d heard of their horrors from Erskine, and she’d even seen their ruthlessness at his assassination. The dark thoughts that began to swim around in her head made her want to be sick. Lottie wanted to double over and retch, to alleviate the sick feeling that crept into her at the thought of Bucky in Hydra’s clutches.

“You alright there, Lottie? You’ve been awfully quiet,” Gladys sidled over to where she was walking, only a foot or two away from the rest.

“I don’t think so,” Lottie began, her voice strained, “I mean, with the one hundred and seventh and everything, I just, I don’t know how to—”

Gladys nodded, a sad look on her face, “I know, it’s a dreadful situation, isn’t it? I can’t imagine how those survivors must feel. Having your comrades stolen away from you in a bloody battle.”

“It’s not just that, it’s also—”

“Oh yes, definitely more than that. Not only the mental anguish but the physical, too. I mean, we’re here for a reason, we’ve got to be prepared for the worst when we get there. I’ve heard they’re in absolute shambles.”

Lottie fisted her hands in frustration, “Gladys. Bucky’s a member of the one hundred and seventh. That’s his damn regiment. And I haven’t a clue of whether he’s dead, alive, or barely holding on in some dingy cell, so I would really appreciate it if you would spare me the monologue about how terrible their situation is.”

Gladys stared at her, a look of shock painted on her face, “Lottie, I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I— gosh, I feel absolutely awful now, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Lottie grabbed Gladys’ hand to squeeze it, their arms knocked together as they walked side by side, “I just need to think optimistically right now. If I start thinking about all the atrocities, I might go crazy.”

Gladys squeezed back, a faint smile growing on her lips, “You’re right. Think optimistically. I bet he got out of it just fine, with a few scratches though. But he’ll be waiting for us real patiently, waiting for the fine nurses of the SSR to patch him right up.”

She found comfort in Gladys’ words. It was much nicer to picture him that way, sitting in a medic tent cot, wounds scabbed over in blood, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Maybe he'd be cracking jokes with the other poor souls stuck in that tent, his eyes alight with humor and that lopsided grin threatening to send that cigarette straight to the ground. He would be a bit battered and bruised, but he’d be there waiting. Waiting for her.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky x ofc #bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #1940s bucky #40s!bucky x ofc #40s!bucky x reader #40s!bucky #40s!bucky x original female character #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes ff #bucky fluff #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #bucky x you

[catflorist]

Stars (ao3/ffn) catflorist warning: major character death

Sasuke joined the Akatsuki for simple reasons. He heard they had a plan to destroy the shinobi world, and he wanted a part of it. 

As a blizzard raged in the cold northern air, he followed a dark-robed figure into a passageway carved into the cliffside of a snow-capped mountain. The tunnel twisted and turned, snaking past cavernous rooms and rocky chambers. Akatsuki forces milled about everywhere, red clouds hovering on dark cloaks everywhere he looked. His guide, Konan, led him past without stopping.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To our leader,” Konan said, leading him deeper. “She says she knows you.”

He was sure they were halfway through the mountain before she stopped by a metal door. 

“Wait here.” 

She knocked and the door opened a crack. Whispered words were exchanged, too low for Sasuke to overhear.

“You’ll have to wait,” Konan said. “She's still bathing.”

Sasuke was annoyed. Why was Karin going through these theatrics? He hadn’t seen her for months, not since disbanded the team and left to face Itachi alone. How she’d ended up in the Akatsuki he couldn't guess. Not only that, she somehow had all of them tiptoeing around her. 

“Tell Karin I don't have time to wait,” he snapped.

Konan gave him a curious look, but stayed silent.

“What?”

“Enter,” a voice called from inside. The way it echoed off the rock, it didn't sound like Karin’s voice at all.

He stormed in. Torches lit the dark room in a flickering glow, and the air felt warm. A shadowed figure rose from a steaming pool of water. An attendant held out a billowing Akatsuki robe, helping guide arms through sleeves. 

When the light caught her face, shock ripped through him. Because it wasn’t Karin.

Her pink hair was dripping wet, her cheeks hollowed. She pulled on glasses over red-rimmed eyes pinched with pain, the green irises huge beneath the thick lenses. The dark robe slipped off bare, bony shoulders—was that all she was wearing? He averted his eyes, stared at the steam curled in the air. His guard down, his chakra stretched out to meet hers of its own accord. But there was nothing. 

He recoiled. How was that possible? She should be dead.

A diamond mark on her forehead pulsed like the core of a star, the only part of her with any vitality, energy. That and her eyes—they were still bright and sharp. The rest was fading.

“It's good to see you,” Sakura said.

.

.

It didn’t take long for Sasuke to understand. The chakra stored in Sakura’s seal was all that kept her alive, and one day it would run out. 

At the same time, it all depended on her, it seemed, the meticulously planned attack on the shinobi world. She was its life force. Every ounce of her remaining chakra was rationed and monitored, planned in advance for that day. It was all anyone talked about, the reason why heads lowered in respect when speaking Sakura’s name.

To fill his time Sasuke accepted mission after mission. He brought back intel, took out troublesome political figures, and weakened supply chains, doing anything they asked of him to prepare for the attack on Konoha, three months away.

He avoided Sakura.

One night Konan pushed aside the curtain hanging in the door of his small chamber, an alcove in the stone set apart from the other Akatsuki members. “You’re back. What was it this time?”

“We intercepted a shipment of weapons,” he said. “They’re waiting in the meeting room.”

“When do you set out again?”

“I don’t know yet. What do you want?”

Konan met his eyes. “She wants to see you.”

He crossed his arms. “Tell her I'm busy.”

“You think you’re so important,” she said in that calm, mild way of hers. “You wouldn’t act this way, if you truly understood the magnitude of what she’s doing for us. For the world.”

Overcome with sudden anger, Sasuke forgot he came to the Akatsuki willingly, that each day he helped advance its mission. That he too hated what their world had done to his family. 

“It's all for nothing!” he spat. “You’re throwing her away. For nothing.”

“You’re selfish. It’s no wonder you don’t understand sacrifice.”

He grit his teeth. “Find another way.”

“She’s dying already,” she said. “She’s just making something from the time she has left. What have you done with your life?”

Sakura was frozen. Dying. Sasuke pictured her in a land of ice, the snowy expanse that surrounded the mountain lit by a weak and wintery sun. Perhaps she could stretch her life a few years, each day lighting her chakra no brighter than a candle’s fire, barely warming her hands in the cold. 

Instead she would burn up all at once, quick and hot and bright, like an exploding star, and maybe something would grow after the flames cooled. Fire always led to life in some way after all. She would not wait to freeze to death. 

“Go away,” Sasuke snarled. The curtain was already flapping in the doorway.

.

.

Sasuke stormed through the hideout after a botched assignment. What should have been a simple scouting mission had turned into a bloodbath after a surprise ambush. The hidden villages were growing more hostile and clever as the day of the attack drew nearer. 

He didn’t pay attention to his loud footsteps, the eyes following him in fear, until a figure darted into his path. One of Sakura’s attendants, blocking his way with an outstretched arm, a finger held to her lips. 

“What?”

“She's asleep.” Her voice was hushed, like discussing a sleeping god. Not his old, annoying pink-haired teammate. 

Sasuke stepped back. “So?”

“It's the first time in three days.”

Sasuke realized the hideout was utterly quiet except for their conversation. If he listened hard enough he might hear snow falling outside. 

An old memory flashed through him. When they were genin, taking missions as a team, how much Sakura hated waking up in the morning. She’d groan and clutch her pillow, though she’d always get up and help him with their breakfast anyway. That Sakura would never struggle to fall asleep for three days. How things had changed.

Sasuke knew when she woke up, because the deathly silence in the compound lifted. Foot traffic picked up again, the scent of cooking food from the mess hall drifted through the halls.

He walked down the twisted passageway to the metal door, following the route he’d memorized, though he hadn’t ventured this way since Konan led him the first time. He pushed open the doors without knocking.

A wide futon was spread on the ground, where Sakura lay against soft pillows. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell from the stiffness of her shoulders that she was awake.

“Sakura,” he said.

Her head turned, set deep in the pillows like it held a heavy weight. She did not look surprised to see him, did not ask why he’d avoided her for weeks. “Sit down.”

With some reluctance, he lowered himself on the edge of the futon. Steam curled in the air, and water gurgled somewhere hidden, feeding the spring. Beneath the blanket, Sakura’s legs shifted gingerly.

“What happened to you?” he said.

“It’s this world,” she said. “Person after person, sent out to get killed. To protect someone else’s money, or goods, or to fight in pointless wars. And the survivors, they sent them all to me. It never ended.”

She closed her eyes again. “I healed, and healed, until something inside me broke. I couldn’t make chakra anymore. Without my seal I would have died then and there.”

Without meaning to, Sasuke’s hand stretched out, brushing her forehead, where the mark lay. Her brow was feverishly hot. 

“That’s nice,” she whispered. He was about to pull away, but his fingers changed course, trailing into her hair, drawing a sigh. He didn’t know what to do. It was a long time since he’d tried to be gentle. He tried to think of what he liked as a child, the comforting touches he received from his mother, or Itachi, a lifetime ago.

When he finally lifted his hand, the cords of her neck seemed less tense, her head less heavy on the pillow.

She exhaled. “I was dying. I’d given everything away, but still they wanted more. That’s why I’m here. The way this world is, it can’t go on. Everything I have left is going into changing it.”

“This world won’t change,” he muttered.

A thin arm emerged from the blankets, fumbling at her bedside for her glasses. She slipped the frames on, appraising him with large eyes. “Then why are you here?”

.

.

This new Sakura was a stranger in many ways. She carried herself with a quiet calmness, a stillness, like she’d lived longer than her years. When she walked down the corridors of the hideout, heads bowed. At gatherings, she barely needed to speak louder than a whisper, because everyone listening hung onto her every word. 

Knowing she favored him, the members of the Akatsuki looked differently at Sasuke, too. They brought him into their meeting rooms, seeking his advice and ideas. He learned why each of them wanted to destroy the shinobi system. Its claws had harmed others beyond himself. He started to believe they could truly build something new. Something better, that would never force older brothers into cruel and heartless choices.

When Sasuke returned from a mission he found Sakura sitting on a ledge under the stars, snow gently falling around her. They were high up on the mountain, but the sky was white and hazy in all directions, so he could barely tell where they were or what lay in the distance beyond the haze.

“What are you doing out here? It’s cold.”

“I like the fresh air.”

He sat next to her, knowing it was useless to argue. Everyone knew Sakura did as she wanted. 

“My father used to use his katon on days like this. His fireball was strong enough to span the whole length of the lake. But when it was cold, he used it to warm his breath.”

“Show me,” she said.

His hands shaped the quick signs. When he exhaled, a soft puff of fire curled out, a flash of red and orange warming their icy surroundings. “Like this.”

Sakura watched him with furrowed brows. “Can you teach me?”

“Yes, but…” He stopped, tried again. “You can’t...”

“I can’t use my chakra,” she said. “But I can still learn.”

He took her hands. “Serpent, ram, monkey, boar, horse, tiger.” He didn’t need to, but he shaped her fingers through the signs. “Pull the chakra into your throat. Let it churn. Exhale.”

Sakura mimed the signs, paused in concentration so the chakra could build. Of course, it was only pretend. She exhaled. Her cold breath hung in the air, the furthest thing from fire.

“Thank you. I understand now. Your katon always fascinated me.” She opened her eyes. “Once, I saw you practicing in the distance. I secretly hoped, one day, you would teach me yourself.”

Bitterness filled him. “Not like this.”

“This is enough,” she said, her voice kind.

He thought about young Sakura—energetic and talkative, irritating, nervous around him. He pictured her, watching as he exhaled fire, wishing. The way her voice sounded as she spoke to his back, because he didn’t have the strength to turn and look at her, begging him to stay, or to take her with him. 

“Did you mean what you said? The night I left?”

For once she didn’t meet his eyes. “That I loved you? Yes, I meant it.” Then her calm returned. “I’m glad you’ve thought about it since then.”

He felt the urge to throw her off guard, to catch a glimpse of the girl from his memories.

“You still love me,” he accused.

Her eyes seemed to sadden. She touched his face, her hand growing warm. He wrenched away, but it was too late. A cut on his cheek was healed. 

He held his cheek like she had burned him. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m in control. I know how much I have left. Shouldn’t I be able to do what I want with it?”

Her hand remained outstretched. He gripped her wrist tightly, so tight it must hurt, and threw it away from himself.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

.

.

“Why are you always bathing?” Sasuke asked her once.

Shameless, she stood up in the bath, reaching for her robe. He tried very hard to ignore her body, only glancing up when he was sure the robe was around her. The front hung loose, only her hand clasping it together.

“It hurts less in the water.”

Her eyes always gave everything away. Even when they were kids. They said everything she was thinking. When he met her eyes now, he was dazed to find unguarded curiosity, desire. The difference now was she put it bluntly to words.

“Haven't you wondered?” she said.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t. He was wondering now, painfully aware of how his body was reacting to her there, so close, so easy to touch. 

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “You’re—you’re sick.” Dying. But he couldn't say that. “I could hurt you.”

“I've never been as fragile as you thought I was.”

She let the cloak slip. It draped down low, revealing the narrow expanse from the hollow of her throat to the space between her breasts. Sasuke heard a small noise escape his throat, a strangled cry. And he was crossing the room, because he couldn't refuse her, not when it was something he also wanted so badly. Each footfall shed away the time and distance built up between them, laying in his wake like shed layers, so by the time he got to her he already felt naked. 

He walked straight into her touch, her palm pressing against his heart, the other curling around his nape. He slipped her glasses off, let them fall, secretly hoping they’d break on the stone ground. He hated them.

In the dark, as he leaned in to kiss her, he could almost imagine they were somewhere else. In a soft bedroom, in a life they lived together, elsewhere. But he could not ignore the echoes sounding off the rock walls, the feeling of emptiness handing over their heads, the cold pressing in.

.

.

Sasuke stared up at the sky, his back to the dirt.

Around him, battle was waging. The day they’d all been waiting for, fueled with Sakura’s remaining chakra, was almost over. He didn’t know which way the tide was pulling now. He could only feel the hole in his side and know for him it was over.

When he next opened his eyes, everything was green, like he was lying on the forest floor. It wasn’t what he expected death to be like. But Sakura was there, leaning over him. He smiled, washed with relief. At least, even in this place, they had found each other. It was such a comfort, it didn’t matter to him what happened next.

He tried to sit up, and pain tore through him, though it was fading quickly. His eyelids drooped. Sakura’s hands shifted across his body, so warm.

“Can I go back to sleep?” he mumbled.

She cupped his cheek. “Yes, my love.”

He almost listened to her, but strange sounds reached his ears. Metal clashing, screaming. He cracked open his heavy eyes. A body lay close by, red staining the ground beneath. Above him, Sakura’s face was streaked with dirt and tears.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“My part is over,” she said, hands rooted to his chest like an ancient tree to the earth, unwavering and sure. “I have some left. Just enough.”

His body rippled with an electric shock. “Don’t, Sakura!” 

He struggled to move, but she held him down with an iron grip.

“Just take it!” she cried. “What else would I do with it?”

It was always coming to this, he knew. But he wasn’t ready. He needed her to stay just a little longer. There was so much he still needed to tell her. 

“One more day,” he begged. “You could stay just one more day.” 

Her green eyes were like a storm, and as she steamed the last of her chakra into him, she didn’t look like she was dying. She looked as strong as he remembered. “If I stop now you’ll die.”

That night, when he left the village, he should have taken her with him. Taken her far, far, away. Why had he left her there? What use were his prized eyes and Uchiha blood if he couldn’t see the right choice to make? 

“Don't leave,” he gasped. It was hard to see her, tears blurring his vision. “Please don't leave.”

Her hands softly slipped from his chest. “It’s okay, Sasuke-kun.” Her voice came from far away. “Just go back to sleep.”

The mark faded from her forehead like a star at dawn.

.

.

Konoha fell. The world was raw and overturned. Burning, and growing, and burning, and growing. One day, Sasuke would want to see it. For now he returned to the mountain, to Sakura’s pool.

He floated in the water, weightless, aching with the life she’d given him.

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notes: a longer multi chapter is coming soon, but for now take this, and sorry

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ss fic #ss #my fic #stars

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Dog Days, Chapter 01

Pairing: Moreid (side pairings: temporary Morgan/Savannah

Summary: An Unrequited!Love/Dog-Sitting fic disguised as a Holiday fic. Everyone knows that the myth of ‘The Reid Effect’ has been debunked when it comes to babies and children, but interactions with dogs still leaves much to be desired. That is, until Reid finally happens to meet Morgan’s dog – Clooney. Turns out, most dogs might dislike the young doctor, but Clooney is absolutely enamored with him. Will not leave his side, begging for attention, and Morgan can’t help but see the opportunity for what it is: a chance to help Reid past his fear of dogs (because his dog is the best and what’s not to love?), while he gets a prospectfully new dog sitter as he travels to Chicago to visit family for the holidays. And Spencer is terrified of this dog, but still says yes in the face of Morgan’s earnest request. Because Dr. Spencer Reid has been silently in love with his best friend for many years, and despite his every attempt to move past it – how could he ever deny him anything? Even looking after his giant, wolf-like dog. 

Rating: Mature

Chapter CW/notes: Fear of dogs, lots of pining and unrequited heart pains. Savannah/Morgan in his chapter. But only a little bit. Very tame, tone setting chapter. Takes place roughly towards the beginning of season 10.

Word Count: 5,001

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

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Chapter 01

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Dog Days, noun; idiom; literary

The hottest part of the year, occurring in July and August in the northern hemisphere. (reckoned in antiquity from the heliacal rising of Sirius, the Dog Star)

Representative to the end of the period in which something exists, where it no longer holds the importance it once did. Such as an era, a government, an event or business, or a season in someone's life. 

 .

—

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-21 Days Remaining-

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For as long as he could remember, an infinitely better track record than most average adults, dogs have never liked Spencer. 

The entirety of the Canis Lupus Familiaris species has always had an adverse reaction to him in nearly every capacity — no matter what he does or does not do. Walking by one leashed on the street, or loose in their backyards with only a fence between them, or the dreaded face to face interaction in someone's home. In their territory, where Spencer's presence is most unwanted and drastic action is taken to get him to vacate the vicinity quickly. From the largest guard dog to the smallest toy-like pet that can fit in one's purse, every canine he's ever met has found him extremely off-putting to the point of visceral action. 

When he'd first joined his team at the BAU, and was finally allowed out into the field for case-work and interviews, it was something that became noticeable to more than just the victim's families and local law enforcement organizations. His mentor at the time, famed Jason Gideon, had called it 'The Reid Effect' — like it was some kind of obscure natural phenomenon that needed to bear his last name lest anyone forget who it pertains to — because it also happened with small children and babies. He'd always secretly detested that phrase, though born from comradery and Spencer supposes he should be grateful for that facet. It was nearly as grating as having to explain over and over that yes he does go by Dr. Reid, no not that kind of doctor — they are multiple doctorates, yes he's a genius but only in the sense that most people don't consider what qualifies someone to 'be' a genius. However, the long-winded explanation finally died a quiet death because… in all honesty most didn't want to hear his lectures at that length. 

Learning to curb his intentions and habits was something that took many years, and a gentle touch from his friends, but ultimately it helped abolish many items of irritation. Like 'The Reid Effect'. With age and field experience and the help of this team that really has become a tight-knit family to Spencer and to each other; he's learned that he doesn't have to shut out the things that make him different, or odd, and that the pieces of himself that don't always fit into the world don't need to fit to be accepted — because there are people who still care for him just the way he is. Less like a filter, and more like a sharpening of a skillset. He learned how to strategically spout facts instead of lectures, honed his abilities to be an asset in the field, how to appear professional and still be familiar with his friends, and how to interact with the different facets of humanity around him to a degree that was more befitting to his audience.

Now, Spencer loves kids, and they are quite fond of him as well. The LEOs gape at his near magical ability to pull any information they need from thin air and connect once scattered pieces of the case together. He's more collected, unafraid to be himself and to enjoy the things that he himself enjoys despite what others may (incorrectly) think, now keeps the parts of himself he wants secret as quiet as possible and the ones he wants to share vibrant and enthusiastic. Life is a different experience for him, now, than it had been when he'd joined the BAU all those years ago; not knowing anything beyond an academic field and unaware of what he really wants more than… anything in the world. 

And more than aware of what he wants he can't always have. No matter how much he adjusts and looks for that bright metallic silver lining all the modern novelists talk about in abundance.

But, at 33 years of age, despite all of this — his one great adversary is still man's best friend.

And that is where our story truly begins.

.

—

 .

It's warm for early December in D.C., the sky a striking bright blue and fluffy white clouds replacing what should have been a winter wonderland on the dry cold landscape below it. The first Saturday of every month has become the traditional team morality day, something that everyone is still surprised that JJ was able to pull off years ago for Hotch's first triathlon run — and somehow sustained even through their revolving door of section chiefs and budget cuts. Not only allowing them a guaranteed weekend not on call for a case, but even able to swing a small budget for food and travel expenses. This particular month, with the holidays looming and dozens of events around the nation's capital popping up like mushrooms or Christmas radio channels, it was easy enough to pick one to enjoy without spending a dime of the bureau's money. Strauss would have been thrilled with them. 

At a more famous park than any of the team usually frequents, the early darkening evening hours will be hosting a Christmas Lights event. Extravagant masterpieces of tiny light bulbs and expert craftsmanship among the trees. This isn't the first year Dr. Spencer Reid has walked the two mile loop, but it's the first year that anyone has said they would go with him. He hadn't expected nearly the whole team to be on board, but certainly isn't complaining as he is the first to arrive at their designated meeting spot. Coffee in hand, bundled up like it's much cooler than the late autumn weather, soaking up the remaining atmosphere before his dreaded winter takes over. Even though he has a penchant for Halloween in particular, autumn truly is his favorite time of year. He never got weather like this in Las Vegas or Pasadena. It was only after he started at MIT in Cambridge that Spencer saw a true autumn, with trees the color of sunsets and leaves that crunch beneath your shoes ever in the most satisfying way. The Dog Days of autumn would always be a much more bittersweet time to him than any summer season could ever hope to be; but it wouldn't be the first thing the Ancient Romans had been incorrect about. In his opinion. 

It's a beautiful autumn evening, now that the light is starting to bruise across the sky and the street lights dimming in preparation for the event at the park. The chill creeps in under the cuffs of his coat sleeves and the hems of his pants, by the time he sees the first person to arrive for their meet. She calls him by his first name, waving and dressed in a long winter coat that cinches at the waist and is lined in faux fur, striking and beautiful as she ever is.

And Spencer smiles back, although it feels vaguely pained. Then, he is vehemently reminded how much he wishes he could dislike Savannah Hayes. But it's so hard when she's all warm smiles and looks so directly at him with all her attention, not wanting to shy away from her boyfriend's best friend — and sometimes Spencer believes that she might actually enjoy his company, too. 

"Brr, it's so cold!" She exclaims, huddling close but not so much that it crowds him. Because she knows how he is about personal space and touching, especially hugs, ever considerate and kind and making it feel so easy to accommodate him. There's days even JJ can't manage that. So he offers her a smile that's easier to hold this time, baring his teeth to the bitter pre-winter air.

"It'll be worth it, I promise," he tells her, then digs through his messenger bag for one of the few thermos canisters he'd prepared (and maybe went out to buy extra so no one would be left out). "Here, this will warm you up."

"Oh my God, is that coffee? You are an angel, Spencer," she gushes, just as more of their group arrives. Penelope Garcia swoops in as if appearing from thin air, and whisks away one that has her name on it with piping hot tea inside, giving him their traditional la bise air kisses in thanks because he always takes care of the ones he cares the most about. 

The fact Savannah now falls in that category was a concept that should not have taken him so long to decide on.

"Where's Morgan?" he finally asks her, when he feels the appropriate amount of time has passed that it doesn't sound so earnest or impatient. 

"He'll be here soon, he had to stop by our apartment complex and let the dog out," Savannah explains, sticking close to Spencer's side as more and more people gather along the wide walkways of the park. "But don't worry, he'll be here. He hasn't been able to stop talking about tonight the past week."

Spencer feels a genuine, pleased yet shocked expression cross his features. "Really? He has?" He'd been asking the group — and Morgan, specifically — for years to come to the Christmas Lights event at Nationals Park with him, and everyone always had some excuse not to go or turned him down gently.  Savannah gives him a pleased, sparkling smile all her own behind her coffee thermos as she drinks deeply to warm her chilled bones. 

"After you talked us into that cool old French light show on Halloween—"

"The Phantasmagoria," he supplies, and Savannah nods with a laugh that doesn't even break her stride.

"— he's learned that if we want to know where the cool things are in D.C., we just need to consult with the real expert around here." 

He barely knows how to feel about that, and quietly sips his coffee as the rest of the team finally arrives. JJ and Will had to decline the outing, with it being so late in the evening and them living on the very far side of town, which Spencer swallowed back his disappointment about. He knew Henry and would have loved the creative displays of lights, and he wouldn't have minded the company of someone always so excited to see him. But Hotch had invited Jessica and brought Jack, their newest team member Kate had her husband and niece by her side, Garcia was there — ever the shining star of a social gathering, and even Rossi had given up a quiet night in to see what all the fuss was about. All that was missing was their final team member, and Spencer did his very best not to use his height advantage to crane over the crowd in search of him.

"There he is!" Garcia spots him first, waving her purple gloved hand high over her head to catch the man in question's attention. Followed by a gasp and squeal that immediately has Spencer spinning in place towards where she is looking, because there are very few things that make the tech analyst that excited.

Somehow, he feels like he should have known. Most of those things are covered in fur and decorate calendars and mugs and T-shirts as liberally as they appear on her computer screens. 

Morgan finds them, sporting only that black leather jacket he used to wear when he had a motorcycle, his Midwestern blood leaving him fairing better against the cold than most of the others. Especially Spencer, who hails from the barren deserts of Nevada. But Morgan doesn't look bothered at all as he weaves his way through the crowd with little effort, as it appears people seem to part before him — because he is not alone.

On a leash, huffing puffs of pale heated breath into the cold evening, is a giant dog that no one on the team has seen since he was a small puppy. And every single person lets out an excited grin that matches Garcia's next exclamation. All except for Spencer.

"Oh my God, you brought Clooney!" 

 .

—

 .

It is the largest dog that Spencer has ever seen. 

Standing so it's head hovers around Morgan's hip, the breed is a mixture of a whole plethora of snow and sledding dogs — from the looks of it — with a thick, pure white coat of fur to match it's ancestry. Large brown eyes and a squared skull with a barrel shaped snout, and a lulling tongue showing it's pleasure at being out and about and surrounded by people. As well as rows of perfectly sharpened teeth honed through thousands of years or evolution of predatory hunting, that look very well taken care of. It's resemblance is more like a bear or a lion in comparison to what Spencer usually encounters in the park, and he feels like his heart is in his throat at being in such close proximity to such a gigantic beast. One that apparently hasn't noticed his presence yet, and Spencer has a very hind-brain fear of what will occur once he does.

"You own a wolf?!" he gasps out to Morgan, aghast, eyes wide and stepping back an extra step that he's not super proud of. It puts Savannah in between himself and the enormous canine, but she doesn't seem to mind as she laughs at his declaration.

"He's not a wolf," she chides. "It's just Clooney." And with that she rushes up to meet the two coming towards them. "There's my handsome boy," Savannah gushes, kneeling down to kiss Clooney on his giant snout, on the very tip of a large wet nose as big as a half dollar. 

"Hey!" Morgan scoffs, arms out in affronted offense. "And what about your handsome man?"

"Wait your turn."

The man balks at her, mutters something about 'show you who's turn it is' and scoops her up into his arms, leaving Clooney's attention divided between the group. All of which who are not afraid to pet him and scratch him behind the ears. Hotch in particular seems really fond of the huge mutt and gives him deep rufflings that threads his thick fur between his fingers, much to Clooney's satisfaction by the open-mouthed panting and wagging tail. 

Spencer isn't quite sure where to look now, because if he focuses on the dog he's going to send his heart rate skittering up to dangerous levels, but if he looks to Morgan it's going to do a very similar tempo but with a lot more ache behind it. That age old desire to just bolt until he has a moment to get his mind to settle into rational decisions sounds so enticing in that moment. 

"Hey, pretty boy," Morgan calls to him, and despite every instinct reminding him what a bad idea it is, Spencer turns to where he's beckoned. Unable to hide his discomfort, but manages to mask the pained and panicked aspects of it. "Why the long face? This is your big night to prove how we've missed freezing our butts off for some Christmas lights each year."

"He's probably assessing which tree would be easiest to climb," Rossi says with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his expensive black wool coat, imported and probably sporting a designer tag. He still gave the white-furred Clooney some good ear scratches, though, ever a sucker for a big sweet-hearted dog. But he nods towards the large mutt in indication to Morgan, and is wise enough not to mention the coined term by his former partner. 

"What, Clooney? He's the biggest softie there is. He won't bother you, Reid," Morgan insists. Savannah and Kate's family are the only ones that look confused by this exchange. "Reid isn't… the greatest with dogs. They kind of get weird and stand-offish about him." 

Kate blanches at him, her mom-mode face coming into play about to tell Morgan off about even bringing the dog to the park and it looks like Savannah is about two seconds behind her. 

"But Clooney really won't be a problem!" he insists once more. "He's so excited to be out of that apartment and around other people he hasn't even noticed him yet! Look!" 

And indeed, Clooney is sniffing at every person that passes them by, doubly so at the children who giggle and wave shyly at the fluffy dog as if he could somehow wave back. Still not having noticed anyone outside the ten foot circle his leash will allow him to reach. He doesn't even bark, which is odd for such a large breed; but it doesn't stop Spencer from keeping every single member of the team between himself and Morgan's dog. 

In fact, Spencer is so distracted by not letting the dog see him or have the chance to bear those long canines at him that he doesn't even notice when the old church across the park chimes seven o'clock in the evening. Loud and sounding in resonating waves over the crowd of voices and people gathered, announcing the turning of the hour and the shutting off of the lights. Every street light within a five block radius goes dark before the echoes of the church bells even cease to ring through the air.

Then, a moment later, the lights come back on. 

But not the same ones.

Millions of small LED lights transform the park into something out of storybooks and fairy tales. They wrap around trees in tight knit lines, lighting up every single branch overlapping beautifully. They drape between the overhanging branches and trunks, and across the walkways, scattered strings of light like small trails and constellations of far away places. The mere feat of having set up the extravagant display is beyond measure, not to mention the sculpture-like creations in the patches of grass along the walking path. A tour of ingenuity and imagination and what really feels like pure magic. Spencer knows the science behind it, from the physics of light and electricity, down to the engineering of every tiny Light-Emitting Diode; but that doesn't keep it from being any less breath-taking. 

The trees glow the softest yellow, near where they stand, bright blue and rainbow colors further along the path, and everything is just as beautiful as every year before it. Spencer looks over the expanse, and remembers now what he thought the first time he'd experienced this event all alone years and years ago. New to the city, desperate to be out of his apartment, to connect to something outside of himself and his job. 

He had thought he would love to see the looks on his team member's faces if they could see it, too.

Their job is such a hard one. The roughest he could ever imagine, with all they have to face and analyze and the way they have to dig into the heads of monsters who didn't deserve such introspection. It was his team that deserved something meaningful, intricate, delicate, and everything the exact opposite of what they deal with every day. 

The array of emotions on everyone's expressions is worth the years of waiting. 

But his gaze catches and snags on the one person he always thought deserved a moment of bright, blissful peace the most… just one. If only for a moment. And Morgan's cleared, awestruck expression does not disappoint, nor does the million-watt smile that rivals the lights surrounding them that he dons when he catches himself gaping at the scenery. Unable to take his eyes off them for more than a blink of an eye, like everyone else, save for the split-second where he looks to Spencer with an impressed crease to his grin. One Spencer doesn't always get to see very often, but even more rarely sees it pointed at anyone but himself. 

A smile just for him.

It steals his breath from his already constricted lungs, as he realizes that everyone is taking in the array of lights surrounding them, and here he is… looking at Derek Morgan instead.

 .

With more effort than he thought it would take, Spencer glances away from where Morgan has tugged his arm closer around Savannah and begins to shift the group closer together. The crowd around them has started to move along the now illuminated walkways, and they would soon be following. 

"Okay, credit given where it's due," Morgan teases jovially, flashing that same smile that makes Spencer's heart ache in his chest in all the best and most terrible ways. "This is actually amazing."

"It's beautiful," Savannah adds, and Spencer doesn't quite know why — but he flushes in embarrassment a little at the way she smiles softly. Because no one needs to mention that the locale and event can be quite a romantic evening, with the quiet cold and brilliant lights hitting everyone at all angles. Making them look the best versions of themselves, alluring under the soft glow that catches every angle and curve miraculously. 

"I've been missing out," Morgan laughs again, and Spencer feels that in his chest as well. "The number of dates I could have brought to this—" Savannah pinches him, scowling and they tease and banter and Spencer can't really hear them anymore. He's drifted back a bit, Hotch blessedly getting the group moving through the park and Spencer takes a moment to re-center himself as the very equilibrium of his soul threatened to fall off balance. He pretends to be admiring the lights, holds his coffee cup up and doesn't drink it. Lost in his melancholy, one could say if one were being kind about it. Barely able to notice his surroundings at all until there's a warmth by his leg and a soft, strong thumping behind the heels of his shoes. 

To say Spencer froze solid would be an understatement. It had hurt to breathe just a moment ago, now he doesn't even dare to draw breath as he looks down to find the giant white wolf of a dog looking up at him, practically sitting on his feet as he leans into him.

"M-Morgan," he calls, high and quiet, scared to break the spell. Clooney isn't doing anything but leaning against him and giving him a solid bit of support, but it feels more like staking claim on a kill than a shoulder to lean on. "Morgan!" 

It gathers more attention than he'd hoped, but Morgan laughs at the sight of his dog sitting there begging Spencer to pet him, and Savannah all put coos beside him. "Aww, he likes you Spencer. He just wants you to scratch his head a little bit."

"I'm not petting him," Spencer states, no space for argument. 

"Clooney, man, leave him be," Morgan demands, but the dog merely looks to his owner and then back to Spencer and lets his tongue lull out as he pants happily beside him. "C'mon, Clooney!" A tugging on the leash gets him to finally move, but he looks mortally wounded that his attempt to comfort the obviously distressed doctor was rejected. 

So he tries again about ten minutes later, and another five minutes after that. Whining high and more vocal than normal when the tall man manages to leave the sphere of his reach. 

 .

It's as the night is drawing to a close that he finally gets close to Reid once more, and Derek in an exacerbated sigh allows him — since Reid is also giving into the inevitable, and lets the dog sit by him and lean his giant head against his hip. But he still doesn't pet him, no matter how much Derek's pup bats those big brown eyes at him. It only seems fair, really, that someone with the same ability to be immune to such charms. 

However, if Derek didn't know any better, he thinks he can see Reid fighting a fond — but terrified — smile on his face, and when no one is looking… reaches a shaking hand down and gives Clooney a gentle scratch on top of his head. Not for the first time, Derek feels like Reid just looks so forlorn and alone, sad in his own quiet, elegant way. Clooney must have picked up on it, too. Derek had always wanted to train him to be a service dog to visit people in hospitals and in-patient care. He never failed to make people smile anywhere he brought him, and it appeared — even their good Dr. Reid wasn't immune to his charms. The smile is there, half hidden by the backlight of sparking Christmas lights in the trees, and Derek watches him as an idea begins to form in his mind. 

An idea that, at its core, is a little selfish.

But maybe — just maybe — it will help out his best friend as well.

 .

—

 .

"Reid, hold up a sec," Morgan calls to him. Savannah has been whisked away by Kate and Garcia, the three women arm in arm and talking amongst themselves a few yards ahead of them. Rossi and Hotch are shoulder to shoulder, doing much the same, so it really only feels logical for Morgan to match him step for step and pull him into a one-armed embrace that he's done for years now. 

It still sends a flush of warmth through Spencer that crackles and sparks. It always has, if he's being honest with himself.

"Are you still staying here for the holidays?" Morgan asks him, in opening to what obviously feels like a request — it holds the same tone as when he's about to pawn off some paperwork to him so he can leave a little earlier. Spencer nods, suspicious, and changes a glance at Morgan beside him, looking out from beneath wilder curls that are starting to get long again. 

"Yeah — mom is doing better, she's going on an outpatient trip, won't be back until after New Years," he explains, unsure if Morgan wants to hear this part or if he wants to get to the part where he asks his favor. It's always so hard to tell, but Spencer has learned to just trust in his friend and continues without getting too far into the particulars of how his mother's treatment is going lately. "Hotch said I could take a week in January to go visit her. We'll do belated celebrations."

"That's great," Morgan tells him, earnestly and with that little smile only meant for him. Spencer ducks his head down and hides the flush on his face once more, he can blame the cold if anyone draws attention to it. "Really great, I'm happy for you and your mom."

The pause hangs between them, and Spencer can't help how he smiles that little half smile that always makes Morgan grin back.

"But—" Spencer prompts, and Morgan outright laughs. He still hasn't removed his arm, keeping them more than shoulder to shoulder. Pressed close enough to make Spencer's heart burst.

"As you know, I always go home to Chicago to see my mom and sisters, and this year… this year I want to take Savannah with me," Morgan confides in him, and the smile on his face drops nearly too fast to play off. A vehement reminder of his current reality. "Usually when I go home, I always asked Savannah to look after Clooney because he hates being kenneled. She was next door, parents are in town, it always worked out. But if she comes with me, I'm down a dog-sitter."

Spencer's heart plummets, past his stomach all the way to his shoes. 

Because Clooney is still trotting on his other side, happy as can be to now be included in the young doctor's orbit, and… walking in the park with Morgan and Hotch and Kate was one thing, because Spencer bet Kate could kick anyone or anything's ass when prompted. But being alone with a dog that quite literally weighs as much as he does? With twice the muscle mass? 

His lips part around an objection, chokes on the words that sound way too accusational about Morgan's sheer audacity to even ask. He knows how Spencer is with dogs, how he feels about dogs, and yet he wants Spencer to look after Clooney for a whole week? 

But the moment he looks to Morgan, to tell him he can't, he absolutely can't. In what universe could he ever? The moment he locks eyes with his closest friend, at just as close a proximity, he witnesses the kaleidoscope of sentiment hidden there — all directed at him, and only at him. Like he's always wanted.

He feels his knees go weak, and his resolve crumbles, and the hesitation is all Morgan needs to know that he has an in with his best friend. It's how he got Spencer to play baseball. It's how he got him to join movie nights with Garcia. It's how he always talks Spencer into joint dinners and time spent with him and his girlfriend despite how much it shreds Spencer's heart to pieces. The last part isn't his fault; Morgan doesn't understand what it does to Spencer to be there and witness how happy Savannah makes him. How good she is for him.

He'll cave, in the end. They both know it now.

Spencer can't help how the layers of hopelessness stains his soul; because every single time he thinks he's past this, it creeps back up and warps a vice grip around his heart. He can't deny Morgan anything, even when it involves one of his most inbred fears.

Because Spencer has been in love with Derek Morgan for years. For so long now, he knows no other way of existence. Leaving him here, speechless in the face of the one who holds his heart and the one thing he fears above all others. 

What else is there to say?

—

.

—

tbc…

—

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#we're going to pretend I didn't just finish writing part of this tonight #I'm more nervous about this fic than I've been about anything in a long time #but I really hope y'all enjoy it #I will be writing this as I post (the last time I do so. I promise.) #Which I know is a dangerous game - but I am determined to get it ALL up this month with the final chapter falling on January 2nd #so we will see how I do #updates on Wednesday AND Sunday evenings #here we go again folks #Dog Days #Moreid #Katyswriting #angst #pining #unrequited love