#I think that more ghosts deserve glowing freckles

[imekitty]

Star Error XII

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Star investigates Danny’s glowing freckles.

-----

A back door near the dumpster opened. Star jumped but relaxed when she saw Valerie walking out wearing a Nasty Burger shirt and hat and carrying a black trash bag.

"Valerie!" Star held her hands behind her back sheepishly. "I was just—I mean, I forgot you work here."

"Every Thursday after school," said Valerie dully.

"Ah." Star nodded. "So, taking out the trash, huh?"

"Well, yes." Valerie lifted the dumpster lid with one hand and swung the trash bag in with the other. "But it was really just an excuse to come out here and talk to you."

"About what?"

"I think you know about what. I saw you come out here with Danny."

Valerie put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. Star tried to look innocent as she waited for Valerie to elaborate.

"Star, we don't really talk as much anymore," said Valerie with a sigh. "But you and I are still friends."

"Of course we are," said Star. "You've just been busy with all your part-time jobs."

"Seems you've been busy, too," said Valerie. "Spreading nasty rumors about Danny."

Star rolled her eyes. "It was one rumor. Singular."

"Doesn't make it less nasty," retorted Valerie. "And Danny doesn't deserve that. Danny's my friend too, and I know how vicious you can get. That rumor you made up wasn't even half as bad as you could've made it."

"True." Star shrugged. "I'm saving some tricks up my sleeve."

"Tricks for what?" Valerie glared at her. "Star, what exactly is your beef with Danny? First I hear you two are dating, then I hear you haven't kissed him yet because you're waiting for him to get more practice, and then he breaks up with you publicly in a video everyone in school has seen by now?"

"I—" Star twirled a lock of her hair. "It's kind of hard to explain, but—well, I'm trying to prove something about him because Paulina, Dash, and Kwan all think I'm crazy."

"What are you trying to prove?"

"Uh—well—" Star paused. "Wait, you dated him for a little while, didn't you?"

Valerie tensed. "Yeah, for like a little little while. But I had to break it off because I was too busy with—er—work."

"But you got to know him pretty well, didn't you?" asked Star. "You must've seen his freckles glow, right?"

Valerie raised a brow. "I must've seen what?"

"His freckles. You've seen them glow, haven't you?"

"Uh…" Valerie glanced up at the sky before shaking her head and looking at Star again. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"No!" insisted Star. "Look, when I was tutoring him in math earlier this week, the questions were all space related and he started talking about stars and galaxies and light-years and he got all excited and his freckles just lit up."

Valerie laughed. "Yeah, he does get pretty excited when he's talking about space stuff."

"Right?" Star held a hand out to her. "So you do know what I'm talking about! You've seen his freckles glow, right?"

"Uh—well, no." Valerie pouted in thought. "I remember talking about it over text, not in person."

Star groaned. "Come on, you've gotta know what I'm talking about. It's like tiny stars on his face."

"Star, that really does sound kind of crazy," said Valerie. "I don't blame the rest of the A-List for not believing you."

"But it's true!" insisted Star. "I saw it with my own eyes! I'm not making it up. Come on, Val, you really never noticed anything weird about him when you two were together?"

Valerie pursed her lips and folded her arms, looking off to the side. "I didn't say that."

"You mean you have noticed something weird about him?" asked Star eagerly.

"Nothing like his freckles glowing, but uh—well, you know that I've been dabbling a little in ghost hunting ever since that Phantom dick lost my dad his job."

"Yeah," said Star. "I mean, I've seen some ghost-hunting gadgets in your room. Are you still doing that? Going after Danny Phantom for revenge, I mean?"

"Never mind that," said Valerie, waving her hand to dismiss the question. "But there were a couple of times when my ghost detectors went off around Danny. At first I thought it was just a coincidence, that there just happened to be another ghost somewhere nearby, but it's happened so many times around just him and no one else. So it must be something about him that sets off my detectors."

"What about him?" asked Star. "I mean, do you have a guess?"

"My only guess is that it has something to do with his parents' research," said Valerie. "Like he just carries some spectral residue from home sometimes. Or else he's just been exposed to some kind of spectral radiation that he's been breathing in or soaking up in his skin."

"Have you ever used the detectors around his parents? His sister? She goes to our school," said Star. "Or what about his friends, Manson and Foley? They go to his house all the time, I think."

"Hmm." Valerie thought for a moment. "No, they've only ever gone off around Danny. Never his sister or his friends or even his parents."

"But what does that mean?" asked Star.

Valerie shrugged, running her shoe over some loose gravel on the ground. "It means there's definitely something weird about him. Maybe weird enough to make his freckles glow."

"So you believe me when I say his freckles glow?" asked Star, glad to get even just one person to believe she wasn't crazy right now.

"It wouldn't be the weirdest thing I've seen," said Valerie. "I've seen a lot of weird things, Star. Ever since ghosts started appearing in Amity Park, literally anything seems possible to me. I mean, I never thought ghosts were real before."

Star looked up at the sky, searching for signs of any ghosts that might be flying above them. "Neither did I," she murmured.

Valerie checked the time on her watch. "I have to get back to work." She pointed a finger at Star. "But promise me you'll leave Danny alone, all right? Or you're gonna have to answer to me, friend or not."

Star cocked her head. "Do you still like him? I mean, like, like him like him?"

Valerie smiled fondly. "What's not to like? He's sweet, he's funny. Pretty cute, too."

The memory of Fenton's smile flashed in Star's head, causing her to blush and attempt to shake it out.

"But he and I aren't ever happening," said Valerie, smoothing out her work shirt and adjusting her hat. "But I'll tell you what, whoever does finally land that boy is gonna be one lucky girl."

Star could feel even more warmth creeping into her face but tried to play it off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "As if. That geek isn't any kind of prize."

Valerie shrugged. "Agree to disagree, I guess."

Valerie opened the back door and reentered the Nasty Burger. Star made a face and started on her way back home, trying to come up with the best yes-or-no question to ask Fenton, one that would somehow reveal whatever his big secret was.

Part 13

#danny phantom #star error #imekitty writes #star rainsdon #danny fenton #danny/star #valerie gray

[floq]

remember her name!!

#I think that more ghosts deserve glowing freckles #dp #danny phantom #ember mclain #my art #smoking

[cryptiql]

— HOW THEY CRY (ft. INSECURITIES) !

featuring: izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugou, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, shoto todoroki

word count: 1.3k

warnings: cursing, mentions of blood and vomiting (but it doesn't actually happen)

like no one is watching. as one for all's successor and all might's apprentice, the spotlight clings to him like a bad omen, heralding the desecration of his pedestal if he so much as lingers on the doubts that cloud his mind. izuku's tear ducts are built like niagara falls, so in spite of his attempts to stand firm, they always push fat, syrupy tears from his eyes to dampen the deep green hues retreating behind their tightly clenched lids. such a maudlin boy can't help but cry when the whole world seems to cave under his feet, especially when he's supposed to be the one carrying it on his shoulders, and that's why it hurts. izuku is exhausted—mind, body and soul aching for some well needed rest—and society still expects him to smile despite everything. wave after wave of bitter tears dapple the clusters of freckles on his cheeks, catching under the moon's pale glow, but their beauty does not make it any less painful.

why can't you be stronger? he can almost hear the voices of the previous holders, cold and callous, ringing in his ears. through blurred vision, izuku sees toshinori standing before him, an illusion weaved from the threads of lies, the traces of bitter sentimentality swirling in his gaze.

"you'll never be me."

katsuki's tears are hot and shameful pouring down his cheeks, leaving blotchy red trails in their wake. he's angry, and like the gods above—whose ruthless fury paints the sky red, and sends hurricanes to raise the sea, not yet high enough to drown his grief—he'll let everyone know it. the bloodied stubs of his fingernails card through his hair before seizing it in handfuls, threatening to leave his scalp gnarled and irritated, and fuck it hurts, but he deserves it. for everyone he's trampled on, thinking he was above them when he couldn't be lower; practically buried in the grave that keeps digging itself whenever he bargains others' worth. for every life lost on a mission—the number growing too high for his ego to bear, and painted across his chest in red. all he sees is red, these days. it all comes down to this; the dents in the wall left by furious punches, his knuckles smarting purplish bruises; the music blaring from his speakers, violent and pulsating, because he won't settle for anything that can't silence his equally as loud thoughts. you can't keep acting this way, a voice snarls. it isn't his own, and it isn't anyone he knows, so that makes it a threat.

you can't keep hurting people and expecting them to fight back. they won't. they'll leave you. his nose wrinkles as more tears resurface, unbidden and pushed back with the sleeve of his sweater. maybe if he wasn't drained of the strength to object, he would stop crying—perhaps grab his frailty by the neck and throttle it into submission. but he's already used all of his energy to scream his throat raw, and it doesn't matter if anyone can hear him above the song playing. he doesn't care.

am i really that weak, lying to myself? i care. . .i care a fucking lot.

with the lights off and curtains drawn shut, so that neither sun or moon may act as witness to his tragedy. not that it matters, he thinks, bearing his back to the ghost of his former self, seams torn down the middle and skin flowering for everything; his heart, his stomach and whatever blackened fragments that still remain; spilling out onto the floor. no one noticed me then, so why would they now? eijiro weeps modest tears; like shooting stars with seldom any wishes to grant; which fall to the floor just as he does, curling inward on himself—as if it would do him any good. there's a nagging sensation at his very core, tempting him to cup his hands over his ears as the anticipation eats away at him little by little. it's a fruitless attempt, even at best, when the dread sets like concrete in his stomach, and a smothered cry of defeat rumbles throughout the room like thunder, rolling through clouds of smoky gray. it's been a while, he thinks, pondering the date. he was doing so well, abandoning his insecurities in the dark to fester, when he should have snuffed them out for good. that was his first mistake of many, and eijiro cowers from the truth: that it won't be the last time he stumbles and forgets his way.

hell, he can't remember finding it in the first place, and all he wants is someone to guide him with their hand in his—the light in their eyes acting as a promise to not let go—but the world won't even give him that. eijiro hiccups pathetically when he cries—a plea for help lodged in his throat that never receives an answer—and he wonders briefly if this is how everyone else feels. unsatisfied, unworthy, insignificant.

how can i save others if i can't even save myself?

oh, how the world turns for pretty boys who cry, their eyes kissed by the rain and choked by its ferocity, spilling over rose tinted brims by the gallon. denki awaits the very first tears with bated breath, the sporadic pleas of no, no, no falling from his lips, trembling as they catch between his teeth, gnawing until the sharp bite of copper dances upon his tongue. he suppresses every snivel, sob and whine with his hands, forced against his mouth like a muzzle, because god forbid he be a nuisance to anyone else. god fucking forbid he further drag the label of "loud, annoying blond" through the mud on the way to his room, feeling as though he's hauling himself as well as the weight of his classmates' words, digging into the most vulnerable parts of him like rusted shackles. he waits for the ruckus; from his neighbors or the weather, it doesn't matter; because he feels naked this way, inaudibly sobbing into his palms as he struggles for breath, and it's such a sacred thing, letting one you trust see the bare skin where wounds were afflicted.

he wishes there was someone to hold him, but there's not, so a pillow will suffice. he'd rather that than bawl into someone's chest, awaiting soft coos of assurance and their fingers tracing patterns on his back—that's what he tells himself. he needs to believe it, so that he doesn't waste his time revealing the rotting, unpleasant parts of him, only for them to cringe in disgust. i'm not much better on the outside, he heaves into the pillow, skin turning ashen from the tenacity of his grip.

i'd be stupid to think anyone wants me.

like many young boys, bleeding through the crevices their parents carved, shoto cries like it's the very first time. he is abashed, as if the lamp light burns just as harshly as his father's unyielding glare, and the sheets—more securing than his mother's embrace, then turned acrid like the taste of bile in his mouth—are clawed hands, raking across his skin as the soft whimpers turn into rasping wails. each sob is strangled from his throat; aching and raw; and every sound afterword causes his heart to stutter, a dread instilled by the memory of endeavor's fist closed around his forearm. it's sickening, and it makes him want to spit up whatever he ate for lunch, but he can't even bring himself to move from the bed. he feels like a like a little kid again, but there's a strange sense of weightlessness, as if he's watching himself from outside his own body. somehow, that only makes matters worse, because the longer time stretches on, the more inclined he is to cry harder. no one's there to see, so it should be fine, but an underlying prayer still echoes in the recess of his mind.

this isn't fair. shoto pulls the sheets over his head, naïve as to think that it will save him from whatever lurks on the outside, threatening to further shape him open, his insides for the taking. i'm everything he wanted, but at what cost? he already knows the answer, but the hollow concave in his heart yearns to forget.

his family was torn apart waiting for him.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #bnha imagine #mha imagine #izuku midoriya headcanons #bakugou katsuki headcanons #shouto todoroki headcanons #denki kaminari headcanons #eijiro kirishima headcanons #angst #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #shoto todoroki #izuku midoriya #denki kaminari #angst headcanon #bnha angst #bnha preferences #mha preferences

[achliegh]

Golden

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 3:

Swim

What Hurts The Most

I Want Crazy

A month passed, Logan was alone. Finn hasn’t spoken to him since they left New Orleans, He texted an apology to Leo but it says it wasn’t even read, he has been avoiding certain people on the team because he knows they would interrogate him. The only thing that gave him any sort of relief from this crippling loneliness, he would watch the videos from the bonfire of Leo and Finn over and over and OVER! It had gotten to the point where that was the only way he could sleep.

He could only fall asleep to Finn’s laugh and Leo’s terrible yet sweet singing.

Adele had been paying attention to Logan, at first she would get annoyed and tell Logan to put on headphones or ask him to go to his room to watch them because he was falling asleep on the couch with his phone loudly playing the same.. Tiktok maybe? Adele didn’t know but she did get annoyed.

She stopped being annoyed when she found out what the videos actually were. One night she was downstairs watching her own show on the kids tv because her parents were catching up on the news upstairs. She didn’t want to turn the tv up too loud because the rest of the kids were asleep and she didn’t want to wake them. She could hear the music coming from Logan's room and she was not in the mood to listen to the same thing over and over again.

She walks over to his door and goes to knock but the door was open, she didn’t want to intrude but she was curious, so she poked her head in. She smiles a little, Logan is curled up on top of his covers, in sweats and a really big Saints t-shirt that she has never seen before. He was lying on his side, looking like he fell asleep while watching those videos again.

She walks over as quietly as she can to click the phone off and she sees the video. It’s one where Logan is being spun around while being held by a tall blonde guy. Logan was glowing. He was so happy. Adele continued to watch, Logan was set down by the man and he wrapped his arms around Logan's neck and bounced to the beat. It was really cute… but there was another video that she heard more often, now that she was here she might as well snoop. She swiped to the left and the familiar sound of that man's sloppy singing punctured her ears. There was someone else in this video… Finn.

Adele always noticed the tension around Logan and Finn, pretty much everyone did, but this just confirmed in her mind that they were, something together. Finn was sitting on the tailgate of a truck and the man from earlier was singing a song about loving country boys. Which made her cringe. But Finn hugged the man's face to his own and they were cheek to cheek as they looked at the camera and the man sang to it. Finn also looks happier than she has ever seen.

Adele Leaves the room with the videos playing, obviously Logan needs them. She went to bed that night putting the pieces of the puzzle together. Logan was known for pushing people away, would he do that to her if she asks about the man?

The next morning Logan came upstairs for breakfast in a different shirt but the same pants, she took mental note of that. Logan was always the last one at the kitchen table in the morning because he's a slow eater, so she waited until everyone else was gone to ask.

“What are those videos you always watch?” She starts innocent, watching all those crime shows has trained her for this. Logan froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. The milk drips back into the bowl. She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow, snapping Logan out of his mini panic.

“They are just… friends.” Logan looks like he doesn't even believe himself and Adele stays quiet as if waiting for him to continue. “Just people I miss.”

“Why don’t you talk to them?” Logan sets the spoon in the bowl and signs running his hands through his sleep hair. He looks to make sure Celeste and Dumo don’t see him resting his elbows on the table, resting his face in his hands.

“It’s not that simple Adele. I messed up.”

“Did you say sorry?”

“To one, but they didn’t even read it…”

“The other?” Silence fell between them, she sipped her fruit juice as she waited for Logan to answer.

“They are avoiding me… I see them everyday but it feels like I’m a ghost.” He looks up to an unimpressed preteen and sighs, he shouldn’t be venting to her. It does give him the motivation to want to talk to Finn though. They sit in silence for a few moments longer, a small thanks and Adele going to wash their dishes as Logan goes to shower.

Finn wasn’t expecting a knock on the door, he was just cleaning the apartment with music out of the Bluetooth speaker. Luckily, the knock came when he had paused the music to change the song. Before starting the music again he opens the door, a fluttery feeling in his stomach makes him have a sour taste in his mouth.

Logan.

Logan just being beautiful, his eyes were that sweet pea green that melts Finn's heart, his hair was damp but soft from a shower. He looks up at him and he looks scared, and small. Not something Finn is used to. Instead of letting Logan in right away like he normally would, Finn leans against the door frame, arms crossing over his bare chest. Not saying anything.

Logan about lost his nerve to be here, Finn had that stupid black headband on keeping his hair out of his face. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, his creamy skin scattered in freckles at Logan itched to touch. His shorts hung low on his hips and he tried not to stare. Keeping his eyes glued to the copper ones staring him down. He swallows his nerves.

“Can we talk?” His voice was small, slightly shaky, Finn knew he couldn’t resist. Moving to gesture into the apartment. Logan walks in, taking his shoes off and leaving them by the door. He stands around awkwardly while Finn sits on the couch. “Finn, I'm sorry! I-I don’t know why I said those things to-... to him.”

“You can’t even say his name Logan.” Finn spoke calmly but it wasn’t because he felt that way, it was because he was tired of this. Tired of fighting. “I would believe you if you could say his name and not have his look of guilt in your eyes that you couldn’t give him! Leo didn’t deserve that! Even if you didn’t want to be with him, you ruined it for BOTH of us! I would have liked to stay with him, I would have liked to have a relationship with him but I’m- I’m so stuck on you! I’m stuck on you so I can’t go against you, I can’t leave you behind because it will kill me!” He lost his calm and stood up walking into the kitchen to his phone. “I don’t even want to have this conversation because I know you don’t feel how I feel… and I don't blame you for not feeling what I do but can’t you let me go.” Logan followed him into the kitchen and stands there shocked at what Finn had said.

“Stuck on me… You don’t think I'm stuck on you? Finn! I am just as stuck on you! Why do you think I always come back to YOU!” ( Swim) Finn rolls his eyes and picks a song before walking off back towards the living room. Logan grabs him and traps him against the wall, a hand on either side of his torso, his forehead to his bare chest.

Cool hair against warm skin.

“Please just listen to me!” Logan looks Finn in the eyes as the green becomes clouded with tears that he refused to let fall, angry with himself he finally lets everything out. “I feel terrible, I texted Leo and got no reply. I've been giving you space, even when I wanted you, when I wanted to touch you, when I wanted you to hold me. I wanted… Leo too. I’ve been watching the videos from the bonfire to sleep, I’ve been sleeping in the shirt from Leo that I found in my bag… it smells like him. God I fucking miss you so much. You’re right in front of me but… Something keeps stopping me. It's like a barrier that I can't break through unless I’m with you. Why do you let me come back to you…”

Finn feels himself being pulled into Logan's gravity, cupping his cheek he feels Logan’s hands move to his waist and grip like if he lets go Finn will disappear.

“I love you! That's why…” Right before their lips touch a smile forms on the other.

“I love you too.” Their lips crash together, Logan pulls Finn’s body so close to his own that there is no space for Jesus. The kisses are passionate, Finn’s hands wind into Logan’s hairs gripping tightly not letting him pull away until they can’t breath. Finn bites Logan’s bottom lip, suddenly Finn’s anger comes flooding back, everything shitty Logan had ever said to him, and what he said to Leo repeated in his mind. Grabbing Logan's wrists he flips them on the wall, pinning Logan's hands beside his head, and shoving his thigh between Logan's and pressing into him, drawing a surprised whine from the shorter man who is flexing his hands.

Aggressively kissing, nipping and sucking on Logan's lips and neck made him an absolute mess, eventually Finn pulls away and shoves Logan toward his bedroom. Logan walks backwards still facing Finn as he takes off his shirt and drops his gym shorts. His legs hit the bed and he falls backwards onto the soft duvet. Finn reaches him for him and tugs his underwear off of Logan, reaching for the lube on the bedside table. He leans down and nips at Logan’s jaw.

“Hands and knees.” Logan moves quickly after Finn moves away to take his own shorts off but forgetting about his headband, putting some lube on his fingers Finn moves behind Logan and reaches down to begin to prep him, but feels him already stretched. Finn gives Logan a confused look for a second when he catches Logan looking back. A shy smirk forms on his face.

“Shower, I was hopeful.” Finn lets out a breath and uses the lube on his hand to slick himself up and slide into Logan in one solid thrust. Pushing Logan’s back so his chest was to the bed, moving his hand to his wildly curling hair and pushing Logan’s face into the bed as he starts thrusting into Logan, hard but shallow just barely grazing Logan’s sweet spot.

Logan was always quiet loud when they fucked but he got much louder when he was being manhandled and praised. Finn was whispering sweet praises that contradicted his aggressive thrusts.

Lo felt like he was going insane, he felt his insides start to coil as he was getting pounded into the mattress. Gripping the sheets he feels Finn shift and start drilling into his sweet spot and Logan can’t help but scream in pleasure, tears pricking his eyes, the hand gripping his hair tightens and pushes his face further into the mattress. Minutes later Logan breaks harder than he has for a long time, Finn following not long after.

Finn holds Logan close as he pulls out, laying on their sides he feels Logan squirming, pushing his ass back into Finn. He smiles and kisses the top of his head, running a soothing hand up and down his side as his other hand is on Logan’s pounding heart. Logan’s hands gripping his.

“Closer.” His voice is raspy and small but Finn doesn’t hesitate to completely wrap his arms around Logan and hold him tightly, helping his brain come back online. They Lay like that for a while, Finn was busy thinking about getting them cleaned up and maybe even asking a very important question. He barely caught Logan’s soft tired voice.

“I love you” Logan wiggles in Finn’s arms to face him and kisses his nose. Logan looked sweet with the red side of his face on full display and the dried tear streaks and puffy lips just made Finn’s heart skip a beat. Logan's smile suddenly fades away and he cups Finn’s neck. “Can we… be together like a couple?”

“I was going to ask you.” The smile that grows on his face makes his cheeks hurt. He starts peppering his BOYFRIENDS face in kisses and revealing in his sleepy laugh that is rarely heard.

He was on top of the world.

Leo’s back was resting against the large Weeping Willow that provides shade over the pond behind the barn. He’s been spending a lot of time here. It is one of the only places Leo can talk to his dad, because the tree is him. He always got this feeling that on the other side of the trunk sat Wyatt, listening to Leo’s problems and giving advice. Really it was just Leo but… he can hope right. Ever since the boys left he has come to sit out here and think about everything he did wrong to cause them to leave like that.

He rested his head back on the trunk as the music from his headphones made him feel worse, What Hurts The Most by Rascal Flatts was just not the happiest. It really hit too close to home, but that's how his life seems to be going right now. Clayton and Ashley had broken up after she got him arrested when SHE threw a lamp at his head. Clay now sports a scar from the center of his forehead across his left eye to the top of his cheek.

Speaking of the idiot, Clay sits down next to him and rests his head on Leo’s shoulder.

“How's the face? Still ugly?” Leo smiles a little when Clay smacks his stomach.

“Itchy, the stitches being taken out are nice but now I look like a pirate.” He sits up. “Have you found your phone yet?” Clay knows Leo’s phone is still on the floor of his truck but Leo claims he can’t find it because he doesn’t want to be reminded of the boys. Clayton was actually stealing Finn’s number from the phone so that he can give him a call and give him a piece of his mind.

“Nope! And I refuse to look for it… Why do I miss them so much? I knew them for a week and it's been months since they left! I feel pathetic.” Leo sighs annoyed and unplugged his earphones from his iPod and shoves them in his pocket. “I feel stupid, they are in my head all the time and I don’t even know their middle names, or favorite colors, or favorite foods. I know nothing about them but I want to…” he pulls some grass out of the ground and is glaring down at his lap.

“Do you want to see them again? Like go to a game?” Clay has mentioned this a couple of times and Leo never gives a solid answer, but this time he did.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

A few weeks later they were stepping off the plane in Gryffindor, they had a couple of hours before the game and decided to take their bags to the air bnb. They only had back packs because they were staying for two days before going back home. Might as well make a whole trip out of this.

When they got there, there were a couple of boxes on the table as requested, anything can be done with money. Clayton got to opening the boxes, pulling out two jerseys, two pairs of sweatpants, two hats, two pairs of socks and two pairs of bright white new Adidas shoes. Leo’s clothes were bigger than Clays so it was easy to separate them. They brought their own plain sweatshirts, Leo’s is Black and Claytons is white.

They googled what people wear to hockey games and that's what they got.

Leo was getting nervous, he brushed his teeth twice after a shot of vodka, he started pacing until Clay made him stop and take a nap before they left. Once they were in the arena and found their spots behind the Lions goalie a couple rows up. Leo had his hat on forwards worried that someone would recognize him he had his glasses on as well. They were thin wired and square but he hoped it was enough.

He felt like superman.

The team came out for warm up and Leo couldn’t take his eyes off Logan, skating with a brutal beauty that took his breath away, practicing hitting the puck around. Leo knows no hockey terms so this will be interesting. Suddenly a blur skated next to Logan and skated around him as they talked. Finn, lean and gorgeous.

Leo was fucked.

“I need a drink.”

“Nope! No alcohol you have to process these feelings you dumbass.” Clayton was watching someone skate around with a look that Leo knows. He wanted someone.

“Who is it?” Looking down to the rink Leo tries to follow Claytons eyes and find out who he wants. “43?! You mean the jersey you got!” Leo can’t help but crack up at Clay's red cheeks, already feeling more relaxed now that he wasn’t the only one with his eyes on someone.

The game started and they were… lost. They couldn’t keep up with the puck and they didn’t understand the shift changes. The goalie was on FIRE though! He was so good, and Finn was so fucking fast. Logan scored two goals in the first half and Leo couldn’t help but stand with the crowd and cheer.

“You know, you could probably put a dildo on the ice and it would move the same as the disc, wait it's called a puck! The puck.” Leo smiles as Clay and a couple people around them laughed. A few other jokes were cracked before something stops the game.

A fight? They are allowed to fight!? Maybe Leo should watch hockey.

It was Logan in a fight, Leo watched completely entranced. Logan was pure anger and passion, he threw his gloves off and punched a man with long almost white hair. Leo took a drink of water to get the cotton out of his mouth. Logan gets punched back right in the face, but he jumps on the man and hits him again before Finn and number 12 pull him off. Logan's eyes were bright with adrenaline, but Leo only knew that… because Logan spotted him, when Logan blinked Leo sat back down hoping the crowd standing would hide him. His face was bright red and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

43 was on the ice so Clayton wasn’t paying attention to him, Leo didn’t know if he could handle getting made fun of right now. His heart was beating out of his chest.

He had to talk to them.

After the game, they won by the way, Clayton and Leo were walking out of the rink to the hall when someone grabbed their arms. Looking at the hands on their arms they looked at who they were attached to.

James Potter.

“Nope, this way.” He drags them towards the locker room doors. “Wait here.” He spoke in that way dads do that just to make you listen so Clay and Leo stayed there. The team that lost started walking by and someone grabbed Leo’s ass and spit a racist word at Clayton, confusing the hell out of both of them. Leo noticed the hair and the bandage on his nose and knew that was the guy Logan beat up. He was gone before they could retaliate.

“Okay, I get that you have a temper but if getting into a fight every game necessary! The bruise on your cheek just healed Logan!” Finn was complaining as he examined Logan's face by cupping his chin and moving his head around. The entire team felt the shift when Finn and Logan officially became an item but something was still missing. Especially when country music came on, they would pine and gush about Leo and it drove everyone crazy. Logan was just letting Finn look at him while his own face had the sappiest look on it.

James came back in the room and ushered everyone into the showers because he had a victory surprise. They hoped it wasn’t clowns this time after Kuny almost punched one. Everyone did as they were told and went to shower.

Once they got the signal, Clayton and Leo came into the locker room. Leo was forcefully sat down in a stall with the number 10 on it and Clayton was left to watch by the door. He was getting nervous.

Finn and Logan were hand in hand when they turned the corner twenty minutes later. Finn stopped in his tracks when he saw Leo, in a jersey with a black hoodie on under it, black sweats, red socks, black backwards hat, and not cowboy boots. Logan runs into his back and sighs, looking around Finn to see what stopped him. He drops Finn’s hand and starts walking towards Leo.

“Leo?!” The blonde stands and Logan launches himself into his arms and Leo catches him with no problem. He pulls away a little and cups his face. “Is this real? Are you real?” He pats Leo’s face a bunch and makes Leo laugh.

“Yes, I’m real.” He smiles and sets Logan down, turning towards Finn who still hasn’t moved. He nervously opens his arms to Finn and that gets him to move. Finn walks forward into Leo’s arms and wraps his arms around his waist tightly. Leo hugs him just as tight, pulling away a little and catching Finn’s lips with his own. It was sweet and relaxed.

Once they pull away Logan grabs his face and gives him a kiss as well that was fiery and needy, very Logan. They pull away and smile sickly sweet at each other, hearing a cheer around the locker room they notice everyone else has entered and is whooping for them.

“Nice jersey” Sirius pats Leo on the back and laughs.

That's when Finn and Logan realize Leo is wearing Sirius’ jersey.

“LEO! What the hell!”

“You expect me to choose! This one was the most popular so I got it.” He crosses his arms like a stubborn child and looks around for Clayton to see him trying to flirt with 43 but he's so oblivious that he doesn’t notice. He smiles and looks back at h-the boys. The boys, yeah. “Clay and I are going to wait outside for y’all. Okay?” He gives them each a short hot kiss and starts to walk away from Clay to the door.

Finn and Logan are still standing there in a daze after he leaves, then the fact that they can take him to Finn’s and do as they please! They share a look and then rush to get dressed as a few of the guys laugh at them.

“Huh, he doesn’t look as hick as I thought he would.” Dumo casually spoke as he pulled his sweats on.

“That was your Leo! No wonder you guys have been stuck on him! Fucking makes me question my own sexuality!” Kasey butted in.

Talker was suspiciously quiet.

They were suddenly at a bar. Clayton was chatting with a couple of girls and their boyfriends just being friendly, every once in a while he would send an annoyed glance to Logan. Who had glued himself to Leo, Finn wasn’t any better. Leo was in the middle of ordering a drink when the Bartender slipped her number under his drink and winked before tossing her hair and walking away.

“Are we not obvious enough?” Finn looks at Logan as Leo laughs while taking a drink. “Maybe we should make it reeeaaallly obvious that you’re taken. Hmm?” Finn slips his hand under Leo’s sweatshirt on his back and feels Logan’s hand there too. Glad they were on the same page.

Leo said goodbye to Clayton, promising that if anything went wrong that he would call. Clay made him promise to carry his phone around during this trip. Clayton gave one last dirty look to Logan and nodded Leo off. Leo skipped back over smiling wide. They get a taxi to Finn's. Leo is in the taxi first sitting normal, smiling at the taxi driver. Finn and Logan topple in, Finn’s head lands in Leo’s lap and Logan is on top of him and leans back to slam the door closed. Laughing a little Logan feels his stomach do a hot twist as he sees the other two making out, he bites his lip after telling the taxi driver the address.

He scoots up Finn’s body and leans to suck a bruise onto Leo’s neck, pulling a groan from the blonde, causing the other two to smirk. Leo pulls away from Finn, Logan swoops in and kisses Finn while Leo catches his breath. They pull up to the apartment and stumble into the elevator. Leo presses Logan into the wall and kisses him, shoving his tongue in his mouth. Logan grips his sweatshirt, feeling Finn press against Leo’s back sandwiching him between them. Finn starts to add a couple of love bites of his own to Leo.

The elevator opens and there is a woman in the door, Leo pulls away and laughs at the face she makes, the other two laugh as well, dragging Leo out towards the apartment door. Once inside they take a moment to arrange the furniture into how Leo wants. Aka turning the living room into a bed.

“Okay what's the plan for tonight!” Logan is sitting on the sofa, Finn and Leo are on the ground facing him. All butt-ass naked.

“I have an idea!” Leo smiles and gets on his knees between Logan's legs. “How about I suck you off and Finn fucks me?” The innocent smile that Leo flashes Logan should be illegal.

“As if I’m gonna say no to that.” Logan looks back at Finn over Leo and sees him mapping out all of Leo’s ink. Finn’s got a thing for ink. “Finn definitely won’t either.”

Finn preps Leo as he rests his head on Logan's thigh, until he's ready.

“Logan, Finn, there is kinda something I really really want you to do… Finn,” He turns around to look at him. “I want you to causally scratch me, bruise my hips with how hard you hold me… you know, be rough.” Turning back to Logan and wrapping his arms under his thighs, placing them over his shoulders, and gripping his hips. “I want you to push my head down, and don’t be afraid to pull my hair.” he winks at Lo and doesn’t even pause to take him fully down his throat.

“Fuck!” Logan grips his hair tightly and arches his back, toes curling as Leo begins to suck. Finn swallows and grips Leo’s hips as he slides in nice and easy. Logan see’s Leo’s eyebrows furrow and loosens his grip on his hair. Leo grabs his hand and puts it on the back of his head, adding pressure. Logan gets the idea and pushes him down, Leo’s moans around Logan as Finn starts to move at a steady pace. Leo keeps pleasuring Logan and moves one of his hands to grab Finn’s hip to pull him in harder.

Finn grips his hips harder and starts to go to town, pounding into Leo hard and deep, Logan was getting close to finishing and Finn could tell just by looking at him. His eyes were glassy, the grip on Leo’s hair was unforgiving, his face and chest were flushed red, every once in a while his eyes would roll back in his head and lose his voice. Moaning loud enough they will probably Finn will probably get another noise complaint from his neighbor who hates him.

Leo was feeling great, the pain was sending shocks of pleasure down his spine, the fact that Logan gets so close and then he stops sucking to bring him back from the edge. Finn has fingerprinted himself to Leo’s waist and Leo is so so close.

Suddenly Logan breaks, Leo smiles and swallows, having Logan ride out his orgasm. Leo keeps going. Finn hits Leo’s prostate dead on and both their orgasms take them by surprise. Finn pulls out and Leo pulls away wiping his mouth on his arm. After a clean up and a new blanket. They all lay together with stupid smiles on their face. Leo fell asleep being pressed between… the boys. Logan in front of him. Finn behind him. Absolutely covered in hickey's, so everyone knew Leo was taken.

The next morning was bright. Logan woke first, which was weird because Leo is almost always up before them. He’s not complaining. The sun is shining just perfectly from the large windows in the living room. The light was hitting Leo’s back making him glow. A large tattoo on his back caught Logan's attention. Logan climbed on Leo and sat on his back straddling him. He started tracing the lines. It was large, the only large one Logan could see right now. In the center of his back was a small shield with wings coming out of it, Logan had never seen that before, it was surrounded by flowers. Some he recognized, the marigolds he knew because his Maman told him they were spirit guides, he also recognized the honey suckle from when Leo took them out to the lake.

Leo was covered in tattoos like a sketchbook. Lots of weird quotes and little animals. There was a sloth in a teacup above his elbow. A couple of frogs with mushrooms around them on his biceps. The words “Cowgirls don’t cry” on his forearm. Logan climbed off Leo and glancing down at his body he noticed some interesting ones.

On his left upper booty cheek there was a micro tattoo of a croc… like the shoe, on his right upper booty cheek there was another croc… but the animal. Blinking a couple times he looks a little lower and notices a skeleton hand that looks like it five-starred Leo's ass and he can’t help but burst out laughing. Waking the other two up he was still laughing.

“What?” Leo blinks sleepily at him and drags him over by his waist to snuggle him. Finn yawns and stretches, sniffling sitting up.

“Why are we laughing? Is Leo funny or something?” Finn drapes himself over Leo’s side and smiles at Logan.

“He has the best tattoos. The skeleton hand is what got me.” Logan smiles and kisses Leo's forehead and then Finn’s. “What is the one on your back?” Leo hums in acknowledgement.

“It’s the airforce pilot wings for my dad and then a bunch of my mom's favorite flowers. Marigolds, which is the nickname she calls me, honeysuckle, bluebells, golden trumpet flowers and daffodils. It’s her favorite tattoo of mine besides my bologna one.” He smiles at them, and his stomach makes sure they know it exists by grumbling. “Alright, let's make some breakfast!” He stands up and grabs his sweatpants tugging them on and makes his way to the kitchen. “Wow, either you really like to clean or you don’t cook.”

“I don’t cook, I have no idea how too.” Finn and Logan follow him into the kitchen in their boxers.

“If you don’t cook then who buys all the ingredients?”

“My mom made me.” Leo narrows his eyes at the bag of flour before he realizes he doesn't have his glasses on. Annoyed, he goes and grabs them from the coffee table and begins making pancakes. He asks Finn to turn on some music and I Want Crazy by Hunter Hayes comes on. It’s a cringey song but fits them perfectly.

“Will you cook some bacon?” Logan is rummaging around in the fridge and just happens to find some turkey bacon, checking the date he sees it's still good.

“Nope!” Leo flips a pancake while humming and looks at the other two.

“Why not?” Finn pouts a little.

“Because I’m vegetarian and I don’t want to.”

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

[the-great-bbe]

The children shriek with laughter as the waves roll against their legs. The sweet sound melds with the crashing of the sea, of Mellario and Ellaria gossiping about their beloveds, of Rhaella sighing and relaxing for once. All is bright and golden and warm, save for their ice-cold goblets of sangria. Elia tilts her head back against her chair and smiles. Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.

Or, the sangria beach party that Elia and her loved ones deserved. A short fic to start off Summer is for Dorne!

Among his many talents, Elia’s little brother is a master of mixing drinks.

He is a viper after all, and vipers know their poisons and how to mix them. Tequila from the agave blooming across the hillsides pairs perfectly with lime juice and distilled orange blossom nectar to make a margarita. Horchata foamy and fragrant with Summer Islander cinnamon can be elevated with sugarcane rum. And there’s nothing better on the gods’ green earth than red wine—proper Dornish sweetwine, not that diabetic piss from the Arbor—left to idle in icy splendor with strong brandy and fruit. Blood oranges, black strawberries, white nectarines, even a tart green apple or two. Their cousin Manfrey picked them all fresh from his private orchards near the Water Gardens just the day before. The bounty of Dorne for Dorne and Dornishmen alone.

A pitcher of his perfect sangria rests in a bucket full of ice slurry. Already her goblet is half empty, despite her efforts to sip and savor. It tastes so rich on her tongue much abused by dull Riverlands ale and Reacher wines. There are few blood oranges to be found north of the Boneway, even for a Princess of Dorne, and Elia feels the urge to inhale her drink. She sighs and rolls her shoulders. Just another sip for now. Summer explodes on her tongue, ripe and rich and such a dear welcome home.

Elia doesn’t remember the last time she was this happy. On Dragonstone it was a constant haze of sulfur and marine fog, and Kings Landing reeks from miles away. But here, on a long stretch of beach near Saltshore, the sun burns bright and delicious above the palm trees. Not a single cloud in the sapphire sky, nor any fog to mar the turquoise seas. Elia rolls her head back against her wicker chair. Perhaps later she’ll relocate to the hammock strung between two date palms and let the balmy sea breeze lull her and her children to sleep. But for now her precious Rhaenys plays in the surf with her cousins and Viserys, and dear Aegon builds a sandcastle with Oberyn’s help.

Instead of cowering from the Mad King’s rages and simmering with hatred towards her once husband, Elia lounges in the shade. Zinc paste is cloudy white on her shoulders, nose and ears to protect her from the strongest of the sun, just like the children. But the rest of her body is resplendent with shea butter and avocado oil. Thick aloe leaves already sticky with cooling sap wait in a basket by her feet in case she must ward away a sun burn, but her skin soaks up the midmorning sun like a child returning to her mother’s embrace. Gods, but the sun! She stretches her arms above her head and nearly knocks her wide brimmed hat aside. She swears she can feel the sunlight itself like warm silk through her fingers, like a waterfall down her chest to pool in her stomach and ignite joy in her veins.

She lets her gaze fall back towards the sea. When was the last time Rhaenys laughed this loudly? When was the last time Viserys laughed at all? Poor boy, but he, his mother and his baby sister are well in hand now. Targaryens by birth they may be, but the blood of Myriah Martell and Dyanna Dayne run sevenfold in their veins. Dorne shall never turn its back on any child no matter the color of their skin, and even from her shaded refuge Elia sees the freckles blooming across Viserys’s shoulders. Good; the more sun the better. Uncle Lewyn’s eldest daughter Obara throws him headlong into the waves and he shrieks with joy, while her little sister Nym and Doran’s Arianne demand their own toss into the surf. Rhaenys and Manfrey’s daughter Sarella help Lewyn’s Tyene search for shells and crabs, giggling and kicking seaweed at each other. When they find a proper shell, they bring it to Aegon and Oberyn who add it to their castle. Aegon blows a messy kiss onto Rhaenys’s cheek and Elia’s heart runs over with sweet warmth. Her babies, alive and well and happy.

It was a terribly close thing by the end of Robert’s Rebellion. Elia’s correspondence was cut off by Aerys in his paranoia, but she was able to smuggle out a letter to Oberyn when Rhaella left for Dragonstone. He returned with his sellswords to rescue them from their imprisonment, and not a moment sooner—Elia remembers how Kings Landing burned from her view on the ship home to Dorne. To think of what would’ve happened had they stayed…they say that Aerys was cut down by his own Kingsguard, and that the royal nursery was torn to shreds by the Mountain That Rides in search of children to kill.

Elia shudders. Perish the thought, banish it to the seven hells. Rhaegar is dead, and her children are Martells now. Even Rhaella forsook the Targaryen name when they alighted in Sunspear and she was hurried into proper birthing chambers. Daenerys came to the world not as a Targaryen princess but as a Lady Martell of Dorne, with Rhaella Martell the new Lady of Planky Town. Viserys and Aegon shall not give their lives to the Wall and Rhaenys shall not be chained to a Baratheon prince. Not if Westeros intends for Dorne to remain in the Seven Kingdoms, and truth be told Elia wonders if Doran intends to leave anyway. They entered into a kingdom with a union, and perhaps they shall leave with the sundering of one…

But that’s not what matters today. What matters is refilling her goblet. Elia raises it high, and Doran shuffles over with the pitcher. Her dear older brother is shirtless, stained with sand and salt, and there is a sweet flush to his cheeks. Even his bad leg seems fine with the therapy of burning sunlight illuminating their bones from the inside out. Mellario must certainly appreciate that! Her good sister lies on a spread linen sheet on the sands with Ellaria, Oberyn’s paramour. Both of them are bronze in the sun, a silk turban around Mellario’s head and Ellaria’s curls formed into twists down her back. And its’ said that Cersei Lannister is the most beautiful in Westeros, obviously people are blind. They look up at them with mischievous grins, before bumping their heads together and giggling. Elia smirks at Doran. “Careful now, habibi. I believe you’ll be ambushed later in the night and whisked away by a mystery woman.”

He laughs and his eyes crinkle at the edges. “I’ll be sure to not fight back too much.” He plops down next to her and sips at his lemon water. The maesters forbid him from alcohol and sugar until his gout is under control, a true tragedy in Elia’s eyes as the sangria is excellent. But even more excellent is seeing how happy her brother is. Gods, to imagine him mourning her and her babies as they did for uncle Lewyn, it’s a fate she would not wish on her loved ones. She intends to live to a hundred and twenty, just to ensure he’ll always smile at her with crinkled eyes.

Elia leans against his shoulder and peers out towards the cabana higher up towards the oasis grove. “Has Rhaella returned from Saltshore yet? Dany was giving the wet nurse a bit of a hard time.”

“Missed me, have you?” Rhaella, emerged from their cabana and the platters of fruit kept safe from the sea salt there, calls down to them. It’s been only a few months, and Rhaella is unrecognizable. Elia is glad to see the plump roundness of her stomach and thighs where before she was only skin and bone. And her skin, once as pale as parchment and twice as translucent, is as dark as her great-grandmother Dyanna. It glows against her silver-gold hair and lavender eyes, and there is happiness in her face where before there was only stifled fear.

Elia waves Rhaella over to the empty wicker chair by her side. Perhaps later, when the children sleep off their lunch and the adults are properly sauced from sangrias and margaritas, they’ll return to the cabana and lounge on the day beds. Maybe even one of the cabana boys—cabana men in truth, with their strong arms and backs—can give them all shoulder massages. Rhaella has a little favorite who is always eager to help his new lady relax. Elia raises her eyebrows at her good mother and she takes a long sip of her margarita. Elia is far from judging, as Rhaella deserves whatever happiness she can grasp.

They all do. How long have they all suffered these last years? Suffering Aerys, suffering Rhaegar, suffering the war that they wrought upon Westeros. Elia still remembers the screams from Rhaella’s chambers during their terrible stays in Kings Landing, she remembers the cold silences before Harrenhal and the even colder absences after. And now those men are dead and thousands with them. All over some Northern girl, and a prophecy that probably foretold the coming of the seasons than any promised prince!

Well, fuck them. Westeros has a new king now, in that stinking castle filled with blood and shit and ghosts, and the Baratheons and Lannisters can figure it out now. Let them have the starving smallfolk ready to rebel after a harsh winter. Let them have the honor of bartering away pieces of their souls until all that remains is bleeding pride. Let them have it all. All that matters to Dorne is the rice crop, and managing citrus exports, and the wellbeing of its people. Elia plans to build a new school for smallfolk children and petty gentry in Sunspear, as she is now Princess of Sunspear. More Martell branches for a blood orange tree to bear wondrous fruit. All beneath the sun, so bright in that perfect sky…

Elia sips her sangria. Oberyn and Aegon are finished with their sandcastle, and now he’s pulled out a guitar from somewhere and tries to teach his nephew how to play. Rhaenys perches on Obara’s shoulders and pretends to joust with Arianne who is on Viserys’s. Manfrey and his Summer Islander wife Bellegara Otherys finally finish up their romantic walk up and down the shore, with Bellegara joining Mellario and Ellaria’s whisper pile and Manfrey pulling Doran away to talk drunken business. Something about making a fleet of ships to rival Nymeria’s, and selling sweetwine to Sothoryos in exchange for coconut and date liquor. Elia giggles and can’t stop. Not with the sun so warm on her skin, not with Rhaella raising her goblet and toasting the coming summer.

It’s still winter north of the Red Mountains, but not here. No, summer is here for Dorne, and it is here to stay.

The children shriek with laughter as the waves roll against their legs. The sweet sound melds with the crashing of the sea, of Mellario and Ellaria gossiping about their beloveds, of Rhaella sighing and relaxing for once. All is bright and golden and warm, save for their ice-cold goblets of sangria. Elia tilts her head back against her chair and smiles.

Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.

#summer is for dorne #sifd #hot dorne summer #sangria beach party #southern renaissance approved

[starlightsaeran]

Wildflower

Author’s note: Hello hello! I’m even more exicted to post the second of two pieces created for the @mysme-rbb, alongside the wonderfully talented @pili-art !!! It has been beyond an honour to get to work on both of these pieces, and I’ve had more fun than I can even put into words <3

Summary:  Saeran spends his sweet summer days in the only way he knows how; surrounded by all the things that love him as much as he loves them.

Read on AO3: here!

Make sure to check out the beautiful artwork this was inspired by: here! 🌸🌸🌸

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

Seconds ago, Saeran had been running through his garden, with bubbles and butterflies and the feeling of bliss chasing after him as he chased down MC and Saeyoung. The bugs that landed on him left little kisses on his glowing skin, and the sun’s rays hugged him close in the warmth of their embrace. The day prior, MC had told him that freckles had begun dotting his skin, and he found it impossible not to continuously recall the ghost of her lips as they had traced the path across his nose and cheeks that the tiny sun stars had created. This was summer. This was what it was to not just exist, but to really live beneath the sun. It had been almost a year since his reunion with his brother, and yet he still found it hard to believe that he was living his own life. It was hard not to feel like an imposter. Yet there he had been moments ago, running around like a kid as he tried to tag his brother, both of their laughs twinkling in the balmy air. 

Now, however, he lay on his back in the bright green grass. He blames the heat for his exhaustion, after all, it’s not like he hasn’t built up an above average level of stamina! He just isn’t quite used to being subjected to such high levels of vitamin D, that’s all. The sun relentlessly beats down on his face, as though it's playfully mocking him for giving up so easily. Saeran just smiles back. He knows it won’t be long until MC and Saeyoung realise he has admitted defeat, and he knows that instead of mocking him, they will forget the game altogether and join him in the bed of grass he is resting upon. He knows because they did the same yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that; most of their summer days play out the same way, and though to some it may seem repetitive, he wouldn’t want it any other way. The three of them would never grow tired of a life like this. After all, they had more than earned it.

For now, he admires this time alone, as brief as it will be. It’s not that he likes to be alone, he had spent far too much of his time that way, but he had to admit that this new life could be a little overwhelming at times. He knew without a doubt of course that if he mentioned this to his brother and MC, they would respect his every boundary with no questions asked and would allow him all the time he needed. They had done so the few times he had asked before, and they would always continue to do so. He just supposed he felt somewhat...silly, for asking. He’d spent so many years secretly wishing to be part of a family, and now that he was, he wanted time alone again? He couldn’t make sense of it. 

There were a lot of things he couldn’t make sense of.

Like the fact he was living in the house he had always visited in his dreams, both during the day and on the nights he managed to sleep peacefully. Surely dreams as big as these were supposed to stay as dreams? And the fact he was reunited with his brother, whom he had spent so long hating under the influence of manipulation. He hated that he had ever felt like that, but those feelings had indeed once been a part of him, and he couldn’t just forget that. Now, together, they were living the life his brother had always promised him. He hated that he had doubted Saeyoung, but he had. But maybe that didn’t matter anymore...not now that this is reality. 

And MC… He can hear her voice now, just a little way away, never too far from him. Her laugh is a song on the breeze as she giggles at whatever dumb thing his brother is no doubt doing. Saeran had been such a dark person, and now he was surrounded by a constant light that would never again allow him to forget who he really is. 

A cloud floats over the sun at that exact moment, as though it knows what he’s thinking and is playing a game with him. He takes advantage of this sudden shade and a moment of respite from the relentless rays, and opens his eyes just in time to see a bumble bee buzz right past his face. He wonders where it’s headed; is it off to find the perfect flower to drink sweet nectar from? Or has it already succeeded in its task, and is now on its way home to its queen to whom it happily devotes its entire life to? Was it happy? Did it feel a sense of completion if it lived this way, never thinking for itself, only living to serve? Or was the bee like him? A traitor. Who spends its days longing to pick its own flower, to drink the nectar for himself, and to detach itself from the hive which was much too crowded.

He tries not to linger, and by using the method he had gratefully learned from his therapist, he lets the thoughts pass him by like the bee had done. He instead brings his attention to the way the grass tickles the bare expanse of his arms, and he lets his fingers run through the tall blades. The cloud that had been blocking the sun passes by too as it carries on its way, and forces Saeran to involuntarily bring one arm up to shield his eyes. He can’t see it through the rolled up sleeve of his shirt, but he knows his tattoo is there, like a raincloud against a clear sky.  Perhaps the majority of people who would see it wouldn’t give it a second glance. Just another piece of swirling ink, that’s all it would be to them. They wouldn’t know what it stood for, or what it said he was. What it meant he had been. No, the majority of people wouldn’t know. But his family would. He can’t help but to wonder what they must think of it. He’d caught Saeyoung glancing at it a lot when he thought he wasn’t looking during those first few rocky weeks. Saeran knows deep down he was probably just bewildered by the concept of his brother with a tattoo at all, regardless of its origin. He knows Saeyoung would never link who Saeran is now to the place the tattoo symbolised...but the fear still lingered. He hated feeling like a monster.

MC made sure to kiss his tattoo whenever she saw it, and in the golden hours when all the world was silent as she laid in the same galaxy as he did, she would trace its curves and thorns with a tenderness he wasn’t sure he was worthy of. He knows she had never shied away from it, it didn’t scare her or torment her or serve as a constant reminder of the person he had once been to her, and the way he had treated her. As far away as that lifetime had been, it could never be forgotten. The tattoo made sure of that. But MC had once told him that although it was a reminder of his past, that wasn’t a bad thing. She had said that it was proof that he had grown, just like the flowers. To her, he was a flower. 

To him, she was a field of them. 

His thoughts wander to the flowers he loves so much now. He considers their roots, the way they battle and fight through the endless darkness and the dirt, the way they look so fragile, but to the flower, they are unbelievably strong. It must be so hard for them to grow, but eventually, all their hard work pays off. And that first glimmer of sunlight the sprout gets to see must feel incredible. That hope. That knowledge that they had done well. The roots remain below in the soil, but now they can breathe. Perhaps Saeran was like that. Perhaps his tattoo was similar to those flower roots. And perhaps roots could be pretty, too. The way they tangle and intertwine, that could be art too. 

“There you are, buttercup.”

Just like that, MC is all he can see as she stands above him, leaning over slightly so her head lines up perfectly with his. He can't stop himself from giggling a little at the pet name she had called him, and that drop of laughter alone was enough to carry away all his previous thoughts. She shines as brightly as the sun, and he sees all the things he loves reflected within her tender eyes. All he knows is this; her, this garden in which he lays surrounded by all the things which he knows returns his love, and his brother, who has also made his way over and is now leaning over him alongside MC. 

"Oh, so Saeran falls over and he gets called pretty names, but when I fall over, all you do is laugh?" 

"Saeran's just taking a well deserved break, YOU tripped over the bubble machine I warned you at least 10 times about, you deserved it."

Saeran watches in adoration as Saeyoung dramatically throws his hand over his chest to clutch at his heart, and MC nonchalantly sticks out her tongue in return, and he finds himself making a promise. A promise to himself, to always remain grateful for those tangled roots that remain tucked away in the dark soil, for making him the beautiful wildflower he is today.

#mysmerbb #mystic messenger #saeran choi #saeyoung choi

[lilravenswritings]

Waves of my Heart

A commission I did for the wonderful @witchesconstellation <3

Thank you so much for letting me work with your ocs and give them the honeymoon they deserve!

Oc: Keira Shepard (Merit), Jules Merit

A day at the beach

2k Words

********

Beautiful scarlet strands floated in the air behind the pale woman running along the sand, her laughter a melody of music Jules never wanted to live without again. The sound of the crashing waves beside them deafening, splashing tiny droplets of water onto their feet.

Jules ran after his wife, his joy palpable, overwhelming. To be with her at this moment, knowing they had each other for the rest of their lives, everything felt right in the world.

The sun had just begun it’s descent towards the horizon, bringing with it a light breeze. Keira’s black cover up danced with the wind.

Catching up to her easily, he lifted her, spinning around dramatically. Keira squealed, clutching tight to his shoulders. Feet safely planted back on the ground, she pressed her lips against his gently.

This kiss was no different from the others before it, a fire melting ice, an earthquake cracking a foundation, a firework lighting the night sky. Jules could feel how much his wife loved him whenever they joined like this; she put her whole weight behind it, cupping the back of his neck like she never wanted to be apart.

“You were right,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. A questioning hum vibrated through her, eyes shut. “The beach is definitely the best place to spend our honeymoon.”

Her cheeky grin could have lit up a thousand night skies. “I told you so.” They pulled apart, her melted chocolate eyes searching him, amused.

I don’t deserve her. The knowledge crashed through him every time they shared a tender moment. He watched as her love twisted to sorrow.

“Don’t do that,” she chastised. Her hand cupped his cheek, and he nuzzled into it. “Jules, there is nobody in the world I would rather be with. You are everything to me, don’t let your doubt get in the way of that.”

It wasn’t the first time they’d had that conversation; she’d always find a way to let him know. Still, the little voice in his head never stopped trying to bring him down. “I know.”

Another chaste kiss, a tug of his hand, and Keira was able to, mostly, dispel the thoughts. She chatted animatedly about the wedding, all the cards they had gotten, and how sweet they all were. How it was so very lovely to see their families together at the reception.

She described how it felt to walk down the aisle and see him standing there, handsome in his suit and tie. How emotional it made her to know they were seconds away from belonging to each other. How their first dance made her feel, and how the song they danced to would always be her favorite for the rest of eternity.

A deep flush colored her cheeks, making her light freckles stand out. Their hands stayed connected throughout the walk back to their belongings; Jules kissed the top of hers every so often. She couldn’t hide her shy smile whenever he did, biting her lip and looking at the sand at their feet.

“I love you, Jules.” He startled at the words, having been deep in thought. She didn’t look at him to know he had heard her. It was just something she knew he knew, never even questioning whether it was obvious or not.

Keira loved him, and she was his Mrs. Merit. He beamed, pulling her close to wrap and arm around her shoulder. “I love you, my wife.”

She kissed his chest, warmth spreading through him at the action. “Let’s go swimming?” She suggested, turning them towards the water before the question had even been fully revealed. He followed obediently; why would he ever say no?

Water splashed everywhere as she lunged in, instantly diving beneath the water. Juled meandered in after her, moving much, much slower to adjust to the cooler temperature. Keira scoffed, throwing water at him playfully. His eyes went wide, he stumbled backwards. “Hey-!”

“Don’t be dramatic, it’s not that bad! Get in here,” she laughed, hitting the water at him again.

A sound of disbelief flowed off of him. Oh, you’re in for it now.” Keira squealed as he dove into her, tackling her under the water. She sputtered when they came back up, Jules’ arms wrapped around hers. Water dripped from their hair into their lashes.

They both cackled, peppered kisses shared between them before Keira puledl him back into the water. Using her feet to kick off of him, she had hoped for a quick getaway.

He caught hold of her foot last minute, tugging her back. He lifted her into the air, goosebumps rising along their skin as the air hit them. She giggled, struggling to loose his grip. “Jules, I’m cold. Come on, let me go!”

“Oh, you’re cold? Here, let me help you with that.”

Understanding immediately, Keira squirmed roughly. “No, no don’t you-” He let her go, tossing her into the water kicking and screaming. A loud gasp echoed around them as she emerged, amusement tickling her voice when she shouted: “Jules!”

“What?” He mocked with a grin. “You said you were cold.” She kicked water at him again.

Later, as Keira laid with her back pressed against Jules on their beach chair, they watched as the sky bled from blue to yellow, to orange, to purple, eventually turning into the black of night; stars shone bright without the lights of the city to dull their glow.

“Look!” Keira shouted, pointing up. “A shooting star! Quick, make a wish.”

Jules placed a kiss on her temple. “Everything I could ever want and more is right here beside me.”

He could just imagine the blush spreading across her cheeks as she swatted him. “That was so cheesy.” He chuckled, brushing his lips over her freckled shoulder. “I wish to always be this happy with you.”

A satisfied sigh of agreement grazed over her. “You’re right, I wish for that too.” His voice turned soft, quiet, like he didn’t want to disturb the moment. “And that was way cheesier than mine.”

“Not even close!” She scoffed. Then, turning so she could get a good look at him, she asked: “Do you want kids?”

Chewing his lip in thought, he pondered this. Did he want kids? He could picture them, sure. A little girl with Keira’s bright red hair and freckles swinging back and forth on a little playset in their backyard, eyes as blue as his pinched in joy. A brown headed little boy teetering down the stairs to run into Jules’ arms. A ghost of a smile danced over his lips. “With you? Yeah, I’d have them all.”

Her answering grin turned his limbs to mush. “I think we should get a dog too. Maybe a beagle? Although a fish might be the best thing for the kids for the first couple of years.”

“Woah, woah. Slow down there, we just got married. Let’s finish our honeymoon first, yeah?”

Her laugh was girlish and teasing all at the same time. “I know, I was just messing with you.” She paused, eyes drifting over his shoulder in thought. “Although, I would like to know where you see us living in a few years.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, eyes catching on her full lips. “I think a nice ranch style home, with a big fenced in yard for the kids to run around in. A big enough porch for us to sit on one of those swings and watch them, maybe even go out at night to look at the stars. A flower bed on both sides of the steps. No rose bushes, though. I don’t want the kids to get pricked. Maybe some trees in the yard, and a hammock.”

She pushed at his shoulder playfully. “Hey, slow down. We just got married.” Her brown eyes glinted, mischievous but oh so soft at the thought of their future together. His arms tightened around her. He snuggled into her neck, breathing in the soothing scent of coconut mixed with salt from the ocean.

“You’re right, but I can’t help it. I look at you and imagine it all. Imagine our house, our yard, our kids. I think about the adventures we’re going to have, all the places I want to see with you by my side. I think about the mundane things, like cooking you breakfast on Mother’s Day, dancing with you in the kitchen after we’ve put the kids to bed, helping you do laundry even though you know I like my pants folded a certain way.”

She cleared her throat; Jules knew she was holding back tears. “And yet a pet is too much to handle?”

He snorted. “I’m thinking about our kids! Who knows if they’re going to be allergic, or if they’re even going to like the fish. And a beagle? Kind of small, don’t you think? How about something bigger, like a german shepherd-”

“Oh, nice-”

“-or even a husky? A dog to protect the home if I’m away,” he continued, speaking over her remark.

Keira pursed her lips in thought. “I guess we could get a german shepherd and name him Shepard, like my last name.”

“You’re old name,” Jules corrected.

A rush of air came out her nose; laughter. “My old name,” she conceded. She kissed his nose, nuzzled it with hers. “Let’s go down to the water and try to build sandcastles.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “Right now? It’s nearly two in the morning.”

“Exactly! How many people can say that they’ve built sandcastles on the beach at night?” Before Jules could even think to respond, she remarked: “Not a whole lot of people, that’s who.” Her head bobbed in triumph, confident in her decision. How could he ever tell her no?

They walked across the sand, so much cooler now that the sun had been down for hours. The wind held a little more bite. A shiver ran down Jules’ spine.

“That one should go here,” Keira ordered after they had settled in their spot, plopping down a lump of wet sand on the spot she had picked out. “That will be the guard tower. And here, this will be the barracks. Oh, and we can’t forget the moat, who’d have a castle without a moat? That’s just idiotic.”

He’d never get used to the way his heart would swell over these simple moments. How, during even the most mundane of tasks, just being near her, hearing her talk, he’d instantly think I love you, I will never stop loving you, you have my heart.

“Okay! I think we’re ready for the flag now, don’t you my love?”

Swallowing, he put the fabric into her open palm. “Absolutely.” His voice sounded hoarse. She proudly placed it on top, standing to see the finished product. The castle looked… Horrible, if Jules had to be honest. Multiple places were already falling in on itself, the water from the moat overflowing and collapsing it from the bottom.

He’d never tell her though, especially as she pouted and looked to him for comfort. He pulled her into his embrace, instead looking over the beautiful ocean view.

“Look love, you can see the moonlight reflected on the water like it’s right here for us to touch.” He let his fingers drag across the skin along her spine. “I never thought about the fact that you’d be able to see the stars in the water as well.”

“Huh, I don’t think I ever have either.” She hummed, impressed by the revelation. It was one of the many things he loved about her, the way she was always eager and willing to learn anything she possibly could. She drank in information faster than a dehydrated animal, and it was never enough.

Clouds were slowly starting to form in the sky, crossing over the moon to leave them in total darkness for longer than a few seconds. “I think… We should probably get back to the hotel,” he offered, head tilting.

His wife sighed, “I guess we should.” His attention turned to her, inquisitive. She rushed on. “I’m not ready to go home yet. I want to stay on this vacation for the rest of our lives.”

“I want that too,” he whispered. “But we are needed back home. Besides, if we stay here, who will take care of our children? We can’t just leave them with the dog every day.”

She laughed hard, lightly bumping his shoulder with her head. Oh, shut it.”

His grin was infectious. “Never. You’re stuck with me, Keira Merit.”

#my writings #commissions #commissions open #asks open #others ocs #fluff without plot #fiction #oc: keira shepard #oc: jules merit #writing commissions #thank you so much for letting me write with them again! #I hope you enjoy it <3

[the-melting-world]

The Empress | Side B: “I Will Be Blessed”

I want to give a special dedication to my amazing friend and partner in crime Ligia Nunes @ligiawrites​ ​. This installment of The Empress is a major turning point in Kip’s journey. The opening scene was strongly inspired by the Strength throne art created by Ligia a while back (located at the end of the fic). I don’t think this moment would have ever existed if had it not been for that throne. So thank you, Ligia for continuing to inspire so much of my storytelling.

***

~ In which a humble gardener stops resisting…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel 

Track Origins: “I Will Be Blessed” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: none

~ 2.2k words

 Kipling opens a Door that takes her and Asra to Strength’s Gate.

Kipling and Asra crowded around a golden throne in the middle of a flowering vale. The magicians’ fingers were already grazing the surface of the elaborate throne, trying to capture the shape of every groove, the curl of each engraved leaf glinting under the midday sun. 

“Was this here the last time you came through this realm?” Asra asked as he crouched down in order to study the finer stalks of wheat fanning out from the base. 

“No,” Kip replied airily, her focus still mostly absorbed by the face of a lion staring out at her from the backrest. Its features were half concealed by depictions of broad leaves and delicate flora.

If it hadn’t been for the boisterous game of catch and chase between the three familiars in the background, Kipling and Asra might have never been able to snap out of whatever spell the throne had over them.

Taro, Faust and Abaco kicked up an assortment of purple and orange wildflowers during their romp. The ring of flowers remained suspended in the air for much longer than normal before they languidly drifted back down to the earth.

Kipling wondered how much longer she and Asra would have to wait for Khleo or Strength to arrive. Only thing was certain – she didn’t want to walk away from this throne. And, she noticed, neither did Asra.

“There is a body that belongs in that seat, but it is not my own.”

Kipling and Asra straightened up and spun abruptly to come face to face with the guardian of the realm. The Major Arcana was just as beautiful and terrifying as Kipling remembered. This time Strength had settled on her sphinx form, her face an impossible fusion of female and feline.

The Arcana was well past the seven foot mark, glowing, and draped in fabrics whose color constantly shifted between red wine and raw berries. Whatever words Kip had for the celestial being died on her lips. Asra, who had more experience conversing with the Arcana, took Kipling’s hand and addressed Strength directly.

“Thank you for permitting us into your realm. I’m Asra Alnazar and this is my partner, Kipling Bronne.”

Without moving her mouth, Strength said, “I know who you are, Small Magician. And I know why both of you are here.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Kipling found her voice and asked, “What did you mean earlier when you mentioned the throne?”

Strength fixed the gardener with her predatory gaze. “I meant what I said, Small Empress. It does not belong to me.”

Kipling’s heart began to race. She squeezed Asra’s hand. “Then who does it belong to?”

“Who else?” Strength cocked her head to the side. “The cub you call Khleo.”

Kip stepped forward. “Tell me where she is.”

“Kipling.” 

Asra’s hand came down on her shoulder.

“She’s not here,” Strength said flatly. Then she walked past both of them and made herself comfortable on the throne. “I’m keeping this seat warm for her in the meantime. You must understand, Small Empress. I can only protect my cubs from the nest. When they leave, things are out of my control.”

“Is Khleo in danger?” Kip asked, wishing she didn’t sound so desperate.

Strength did not mock her for it. In fact, her expression appeared sympathetic. As sympathetic as a werelion could hope to look.

“Danger is a strong word.” Strength gave a wistful sigh. “The cub is being kept in a cage. Perhaps not one with metal bars and padded locks, but a cage all the same. Under such circumstances, she is more of a danger to herself than anything else.”

Kipling closed her eyes and took back her hand from Asra. He watched in concern as she hugged herself and swayed on her feet.

Not Khleo. Not her Khleo. 

“It’s my fault,” Kipling croaked. “I always tried to blame it on Ozy, but that’s because it was easier. That way I didn’t need to face what I had done.”

Asra reached for her again. “No, you can’t do this to yourself, Kip.”

“But she is correct, Small Magician.” Strength interjected. “The Small Empress helped put my lion cub where they currently are.”

Kipling’s knees gave out as she choked on a sob. Asra caught her before she could completely stumble.

“Stop it!” 

He hadn’t meant to shout at a Major Arcana, but he couldn’t keep watching Kip beat herself up.

“Strength,” Kipling made eye contact with the Major Arcana as she leaned on Asra for support, “tell me how I can help Khleo. What can I do to set her free?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions.” Some manner of a grin stretched across the werelion’s maw. “Ultimately it is up to Khleo to set herself free, but these things, as you know, cannot be done alone.”

She stood up, her face sobering right before she rested her paws on Kip’s shoulders.

“The beast in Khleo has fought. She has done nothing but fight since she walked through that Door that you opened all those years ago.”

Kip couldn’t stop the tears from snaking down her face. But she wouldn’t dare look away from Strength now.

“Khleo has fought and fought and fought. As exhausted as she is, she doesn’t know how to stop. And she will go on fighting until she can’t anymore. The body I gave her is both a blessing and a curse.” Strength sighed and let her paws drop from Kip’s shoulders. “I’ve done all I can, but the cub is stubborn and will not hear me.”

She drifted away from Asra and Kipling. The wildflowers in her path bowed to her and blazed gold.

“Something tells me that Khleo will listen to you. I took away their magic so that they may live, but that does not mean they have lost their command over the Doors. It may not look the same for them as it does for you, but…. They just need someone to show them the way.”

By this time, Taro and Abaco were back on Kipling’s shoulders and Faust had reunited with Asra. 

“Finish your training, Small Empress. Then seek out your Patron.”

Strength waved her arm. A Door appeared.

“Now go.”

Kipling and Asra walked away from the throne towards the portal. On the way, Kip stopped and rested the tips of her fingers on Strength’s wrist. The Arcana looked down on the gardener. Kipling didn’t say anything. She just stroked the light coating of fur and gazed up into the eyes of the sphinx.

Strength let go of another heavy breath, lacing it with a purr.

“Your friend. All she wants is to be free. To rest.”

Kip wished she was tall enough to catch the sun-lit tears before they streaked down Strength’s whiskers. 

“She deserves it.”

***

Back at the Palace, Kipling found Ozy meditating in the gardens. She had come alone this time. The familiars had gone inside with Asra when they returned from Strength’s realm.

Instead of disturbing Ozy, Kipling walked over, sat down and joined him. She fell into the trance quicker than usual. As if Ozy’s disciplined presence had served as a catalyst.

Kipling wasn’t sure how long she and Ozy sat there under the weeping willows with their legs crossed, their palms face up, relaxed and resting on the peaks of their knees. Their breaths were independent of each other. Each one entered deep and left with ease. Each thought floated in uninvited and drifted off unnoticed. 

Despite the coverage of the silky willows, Kipling felt the sun on her, giving the shapes that danced behind her eyelids a peculiar glow.

By the time Ozy’s voice called Kipling back, there were more warm tears hugging her freckled cheeks.

“You went to go see Khleo on your own. Without me.”

Ozy didn’t sound angry, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t.

“I had to,” Kip said, her voice surprisingly steady despite the emotions that the trip had brought to the surface. The more the trance of the meditation wore off, the harder she cried. She wished she could take a breath in order to tell Ozy that they were tears of relief rather than pain. She would see Khleo again. She was meant to help them. Strength herself said she needed Kipling’s help. 

Kipling felt like a weight had been lifted from her heart. When she dried what she could of her tears and looked up at Ozy, she found that she could focus on him completely. Her heart was still being pulled in other directions, but not as strongly as before.

Kipling allowed Ozy to help her onto her feet. 

“What did Strength say?” Ozy asked, his tone implying that he knew Khleo wasn’t there. His words briefly brought back images of daisies materializing spontaneously in the shape of a Door.

“She saved Khleo’s life by taking away their magic.”

Ozy confirmed with a gentle nod. “Right. She blessed Khleo’s body with accelerated healing and more strength than the average human, but they won’t ever be able to open another Door. What else did the Arcana say?”

“She said that Khleo needs to rest.”

Ozy made a thoughtful sound, his hazel eyes turning to the sky. “That’s what she told me too.”

Kipling reached up and lightly pulled on his ghost lock. “I’m ready to talk, Ozy,” she said it with a smile. “About everything.”

Ozy brought his attention back to Kipling. She was surprised to see that same hesitation on his face that he wore when he first arrived. As if he was expecting a rejection. 

Kip felt her confidence slip as she wrung her hands and fought to maintain eye contact.

“Before we help Khleo, there’s a lot we still have to do first. For one, I need to apologize to you.” She closed her eyes and inhaled a meditative breath before going on. “Ozy, I didn’t want to leave you on the island that day, but I was so disgusted with myself. I had felt like that all year. No matter how much I wanted to, I just couldn’t own up to what I did… to your face.” Her eyes burned, but she opened them anyway and forced herself to look at Ozy and the telling scar over the bridge of his nose. 

“Every time I looked at you, I told myself that everything was my fault. I was the reason Khleo was gone.”

Ozy shook his head and set his jaw. Before Kip could blink, she was holding onto him and he to her. It came somewhat as a shock, this being the most affection they had allowed themselves to show each other since before Khleo’s accident.

“Everything happened like it was supposed to, coz,” Ozy reassured her. But his voice was shaking, his hand trembled as he massaged his fingers into her curls and coils. He was remembering the pain, Kip could tell. And it made her remember too. How much she had pushed Ozy away in the beginning. How she punished him for something that was her fault too. She remembered the year between the accident and leaving for Vesuvia when she refused to let him back in. No matter how much Ozy begged and begged.

Everything happened like it was supposed to.

“No one’s supposed to be alone for ten years!” Kipling sobbed. “But I didn’t know, Ozy. I swear I didn’t know.”

Ozy’s voice regained some of its usual lightness. “Oh no, don’t you dare try to take the blame for that. I knew what I was signing up for. Remember that, Kipling. I put myself down there. Not you.”

Kip hugged him harder. “But I was the one who hurt you. I forced you to make that choice. Family isn’t supposed to do that to each other!”

Ozy pulled back just enough to lift Kip’s chin. “You’re right. Family shouldn’t do that. But you know what else?” He smiled softly. “Family forgives.” He reigned her in against his chest, this time bringing his face to the crown of her head. He breathed in those nostalgic notes of shea butter, coconut oil, and sea salt. Ozy closed his eyes and imagined he was kissing the sugar white shores of his youth. He imagined himself kissing every painful unsavory memory goodbye.

“Now can we be a family again?” He asked, his face still buried in Kip’s hair. “Please? I need to put everything behind me... but I cannot until you let go of all this guilt. Trust me, you don’t need it anymore, Kip. You can let it go.”

And then Kipling… she broke. Water and thunderous sobs poured out of her like she was the sky. Ozy didn’t walk away from the downpour. If anything he held Kipling closer. She had so much water in her, it seemed. As if that sea where they were all were born had been with her this whole time. Kipling had brought it with her to Vesuvia, but pushed it deep, deep down and locked it away.

Ozy let himself be the stone well to catch all of Kipling’s rain. Though he had spent all that time surrounded by water and knowledge, in many ways, it had left him feeling very empty. Oz’mandias knew that as long as he had Kipling, he would never need to know that emptiness again.

#there is a lot of crying in this one #just a heads up #arcana albums: the empress #arcana albums #kipling the apprentice #ozy the grey mage #the arcana #asra #asra alnazar #my writing #the arcana fanfic #the arcana fic #asra the arcana #kipling bronne #oz'mandias

[anonniemousefics]

WIP Wednesday

I’m not going to be sharing my fanfic WIPs at the moment, for fear of scaring off my newfound and terribly skittish motivation. But if you’d like a totally out of context bit of my original WIP featuring two of my favorite little brain babies, enjoy :)

Sneak peak at the prologue

Get to know my brain children: OC moodboards

Dominic

Why hadn’t I eaten anything first?

The ground beneath my shoes bent and warped as I caught myself against the bar again, desperate to wave down what’s-his-name before Rayna Greenbarrow had a stroke. This evening was only supposed to end in some light rebuking and maybe a scandalous rumor for the newspapers, not with a dead Saint’s daughter and actual jail time. A cold sweat started to break out across my forehead. 

“Alan,” I heard a man’s voice say next to me, where Rayna stood. 

But when I looked back, there was no man. Only Rayna, standing from her seat, straight as an arrow, her little gloved hands on the bar. The sea spray had tousled her red hair out of its bindings, so that thick, soft locks of it trailed down the back of slender neck. Wisps framed her freckled cheeks, which had been blushed and rosy all evening but now looked pale and drained.

And her enormous eyes, bright and fiery just moments before, were now completely milk white.

“Alan,” her lips moved, but it wasn’t her voice at all. 

What had been in my drink?!

My knees were buckling, my feet stumbling, my hands grasping at air as I tripped backwards, the world completely on end now. The bar stools toppled to the floor with a crash around me, but even in the chaos, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Rayna. 

What I was seeing made absolutely no sense. 

At the sound of the crash, Alan came running from the opposite end of the bar, and, when he locked eyes with Rayna’s dead-eyed stare, he looked startled, though nowhere near as horrified and mystified as I felt, cowering from the floor. They stared at each other a moment, Alan cocking his head, beneath the flickering glow of the lamps, twinkling against the rows of liquor bottles shelved across the back wall.

“Pop, is that you?” he asked, leaning out across the bar as he took in Rayna’s milky gaze. His dark eyes were gleaming.

A sweet smile spread across Rayna’s lips, full of an unexpected tenderness, and she reached up across the bar with one of her gloved hands to gently cup Alan’s rough, bearded face. 

“My boy,” said the gruff voice that moved her mouth. 

At the sound of the voice, Alan’s expression seemed to melt, his eyes closing while old memories washed over him.

“I knew you were hanging around,” he sighed. “You never let me change anything around here.” 

“No, son,” said the voice behind Rayna’s tender smile, “you’re just afraid to change anything. I’m proud of what you’ve built. You should never let my memory hold you back.” 

“We just miss you—” Alan could barely whisper.

“We will all be together again in the end,” the voice assured him. “I am going now. I love you, then and always.” 

Rayna’s hands moved back to the bar as her head tipped down, her eyes closing shut. For a brief moment, there was an icy cold rush of air that rippled around her, catching the lace of her gown and ruffling the tousled, loose waves of red hair around her soft cheeks. I felt a shiver of gooseflesh break out across my arms, like every hair was standing on end.

When she opened her eyes again, they were normal and soft brown, her eyelashes fluttering as she raised her gaze with a gasp. 

“Thank you,” Alan murmured to her, his eyes still glassy. “I didn’t know you were a vessel. Now I’m certain you deserve a more decent man.” 

If I was supposed to take offense to that, it wasn’t registering. I could feel my hands starting to shake against wood floor, a tremble that reverberated up through my elbows, and my stomach pitched while my mouth went dry. 

Too much to drink too fast. Not enough food. Here it comes.

I scrambled to my feet, pushing my way through the pressed in crowd as I lurched for the door. 

“Dominic, wait!” I heard Rayna cry after me, but the air of the room pressed in around my head and my ears and I could think of nothing else but getting outside before all of my insides exploded out of me.

I rode a fierce wave of nausea right out the door into the cool night air in the alleyway, but as soon as the fresh air hit my lungs, it began to subside. I couldn’t seem to get air in fast enough; my head was spinning as I tried to gulp in quick gasps. I hadn’t been too drunk after all, but I was in a complete panic.

“Dominic—” I heard her voice behind me as the silver bell jingled over the door. 

“Broken glass!” I reminded her, and when I turned back from the brick wall opposite the green door, she hadn’t budged from The Black Rose’s threshold. That was good. We needed some distance between us for the moment.

I began pacing back and forth in the alley while Rayna wrapped her arms around the bodice of her lacy gown, her exposed shoulders shivering even though the summer night air was comfortable. 

Goddamn that gown of hers. If it wasn’t for that gown, she would probably still be at Westlea and my world wouldn’t have been fracturing.

“Say something,” she pleaded. I glanced at her face, and she looked as terrified as I was. 

“What the hell was that?” I shouted, pointing at the tavern door. 

“I don’t know,” she shouted back. “I’ve never done that before.” 

“That was — that was — ” I had to stop pacing, doubling over as I sucked in air. Stars were exploding in my vision. “I can’t breathe.” 

“Let’s just take a moment,” said Rayna. 

Running my hands through my hair, I stalked across the alleyway and turned to lean against the brick wall. Each breath felt like my chest was being crushed. I leaned my head back against the ridged bricks behind me and focused on the stars above us, breathing through my nose while my mind played the images in a loop. The milky eyes. The man’s voice. The cold rush of icy wind. The weight of memory.

The magic.

“You think I’m evil.” I heard Rayna’s voice, small and frightened, across the expanse of cobblestones between us. I looked down at her, and her quivering face looked crushed while she held herself, trembling on the doorstep in her stocking feet. It pulled at something in me, and I felt the panic begin to unwind itself.

“No.” I shook my head, still breathing heavily. 

“Yes, you do,” Rayna insisted, looking miserable. She was shaking so hard that her hair trembled against her skin. “You’re thinking you should report this.” 

I sighed, still shaking my head, and looked at my black shoes against the cobblestones until I could get a handle on breathing properly. When I’d gathered myself, I took a tentative, gentle step toward her.

“I have very little conviction on much of anything,” I told her, and then the alcohol finally pulled the lever on the dam that held back all the words that had been building since the entire experience at the bar. “In fact, I can think of really only two convictions that I’ve held onto in my life, both from my father. He would always say that a man is only as good as his word, and while I may be a disappointment to his memory in every other possible way, that much stuck with me, and I swear to you, I will not lie to you — at least, not well. I do not think you’re evil or cursed, and I would never discourage or report anyone for doing what you just did for that man. That was—”

And then the words failed, and I could do nothing else but clutch at my chest, somewhere over the gaping unseen hole I would always carry. To be given the chance to hear my mother’s voice, one last time. To finally say the good-bye I never got to say to my father. Who could put that feeling into words? 

“Then why are you panicking?” Rayna interrupted, still shivering.

“Because this was all supposed to be bullshit!” I exclaimed, and I started to laugh in spite of myself. What was happening? What world was I in? “The Blessed Mission, the dinishee who brought the old magic from the fey realm, the nine fires of hell — these are fairy stories. But you — this shatters the only other conviction in my life! What am I supposed to do with you? And that?” I pointed to the green door behind her. “That was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen. What was it like? What happened?” 

“Can we go back inside and sit?” Rayna asked, swaying a little. “I don’t feel well.” 

“Of course.” I crossed the distance between us in two quick steps, grabbing the door for her as the silver bell jingled. We slipped back into the warm, raucous room, where no one seemed to have noticed or cared for the magical events that had transpired just steps away from their revelry. Like it had been happening all around them always, and I’d never been the wiser.

This changed everything. 

But first, I would usher Rayna back through the crowd, back to the bar and into the corner where she could sit on a stool and lean her head against the wall. I ordered us both coffees, since we both had gotten a little carried away. I let my mug sit on the bar while I leaned against an elbow facing Rayna, who nursed her coffee up in her black gloved hands. Her eyes were like slits as she rested her head back against the wall, the tousled wisps of her hair brushing against her neck and shoulders. I’d force myself to focus on her eyes and not the curve of her chest that swelled when she sighed. 

Fine, just the quickest of glances. I’m no Saint. 

“What happened was there was a ghost in this corner when we first got here—” she began as she exhaled.

“I’m sorry, what?” I interrupted, waving a hand at her. “Is this a normal occurrence for you?” 

She just nodded her head once, as if it was too heavy.

“You see ghosts,” I clarified.

“All the time,” she replied, looking weary. “Every day.” 

I couldn’t believe I had no choice but to believe her. That’s the kind of day this had turned into.

“So, there was a ghost here,” I said, slowly. 

“There was a ghost right here.” Rayna pointed at her lap, indicating her seat. “And he was being a little mouthy.” 

“Mouthy,” I echoed.

“He had opinions,” said Rayna. “He recognized you. Didn’t seem to like you very much. Can’t say that I blame him.” 

“You’re kind of a mean drunk,” I commented, frowning.

“So, anyway,” Rayna rolled her head back, ignoring my remark, “then I get all shouty and he noticed that I’m Blessed and he says — you don’t know what you can do, let me show you a thing.” 

“This ghost sounds like a dirty old man,” I pointed out. 

“I swear on all of the Saints this is what happened,” said Rayna, bringing her head up, eyes wide. “And then he did the thing.” 

“The thing.” I was on the edge of my seat, pushing for more. 

“The thing, the thing, the hedgewitchy thing.” Rayna leaned her head back again, closing her eyes.

“Drink some coffee,” I urged. 

“You drink some coffee,” she frowned at me, stubbornly. 

“But you’re not even a hedgewitch.” I was actually saying these words seriously. “How are you doing vessel magic?” 

“You all keep using that word.” Rayna squinted at me. “Vessel this, vessel that. I don’t even know what that is.” 

“It’s what you did, I’m assuming,” I said, “which you would know if the Blessed let anybody talk about the old traditions. Vessel magic was said to be how hedgewitches communicated for and with the spirits of the dead. I thought it was bullshit—”

“I know; you said that already,” Rayna interrupted, irritated. “Very loudly.” 

“Sorry about that,” I nodded. She’d reached at the stage of drunk where it was in everyone’s best interest to keep humoring her. “You’re killing me here, Rayna. What was it like?” 

“You’ve had more to drink than me,” Rayna pointed, wobbling. “Why are you so upright?” 

“Practice,” I told her. “Vessel magic, Rayna —”

“It’s like riding in a carriage,” said Rayna, as she straightened her spine against the wall, looking me dead in the eye. “It’s like one minute you’re driving the carriage and in control, and then someone else takes the reins, so you ride in it for awhile. You can see out the windows, and you know where you are and that you’re safe, but someone else is doing the work. And then when they’re done, it’s just—” She raised her fingers and tried to snap, but it made no sound against her gloves. She looked down at her fingers, confused and disappointed. “It doesn’t work with gloves on,” she slurred. “That really ruined the effect.” 

“It didn’t; I’m enraptured,” I insisted, but she’d set down her coffee cup and was wiggling off the glove. 

“I just— I just—” she was saying, and then when it was off, she looked back up at me, raising her hand victoriously. “And then when they’re done, it’s just—” She snapped her fingers, soundly. “And then you’re back at the reins.” 

“Brilliant,” I applauded. She grinned, visibly proud of herself. 

#wip wednesday #oc wip #wip #original writing #my writing #original characters #my brain children #writers of tumblr #writing #keeping myself motivated #ask box is open

[unholyplumpprincess]

Extra Prizes

For @fyeahnix who wanted the goirls being competitive little shits and also absolutely wanting to bone each other. Tysm for supporting me!!!!!

Summary: Wraith and Anita have always been competitive- even before their romantic relationship. It just leads to fun new bets in the arena, and firing each other up until they’re desperate to get off the dropship and get on top of each other instead.

Reblogs > Likes. Have your age (18+) in your bio before interacting or you will be blocked.

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bangalore/Wraith

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Wraith has mentions of body mods, the girls are fiiiiighttiiing (but in a loving way), Wraith has a large/fat clit bc hallelujah, they’re snarky at each other, Bangalore’s various pet names for Wraith, strap ons + penetration, Wraith’s infamous werewolf dick makes a comeback except Anita wears it and knots her bby.

Words: 3.5k

__________

There were just some things that never changed.

Such as, the bickering and the teasing between Anita and Wraith even before they had begun a relationship. Namely, this time, because Anita had started it- if you asked Wraith who was currently eyeballing her partner up from behind as the trekked through the arena.

They were in World’s Edge this time around in a duo, the piercing cold air racing across their bodies as they worked through Epicenter. They were about halfway through the match, Wraith with five kills under her belt, Anita with four, and the tensions were just as high as when they had landed.

Even before they were in a relationship, the competition between each other never shifted. That same playful energy of ‘Anything you can do, I can do better’. Except instead of blatantly flirting with each other and hoping the other would pick up on it like they had for a few seasons; They found it in their current relationship that it was more fun to poke at familiar topics, topics that they knew would poke the others’ buttons just right.

Even on the dropship Anita had gently nudged her, a crooked grin over her handsome features and speaking quietly just for them to hear, “Ey, betcha’ I can wrack up more kills than you, ghostie. Loser takes winner out for lunch tomorrow.”

The fond nickname made Wraith’s heart flutter softly, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. It was the start to their playful competition this round. Kills? Easy, Wraith could do that. And Wraith did oh so like being taken out to lunch. Especially if it meant seeing Anita dressed up and trying to convince Wraith that it was okay to order something different other than chicken strips off the menu for once.

“You’re on, Sergeant. Try not to slow me down.”

That had been the start of it. Then they’d gotten into their first fight with Wraith knocked back and Anita eliminating the entire duo. She’d cockily walked up to her, a swagger in her step and a sway of her hip with her flatline slung over her shoulder. She’d offered her hand, yanking Wraith back to her feet and smirking when Wraith had grumbled a ‘thanks’ and dusted the snow from her body. “Don’t mention it. Looks like I already have two ahead of you, huh? Don’t get slow on me now.”

~Rest under the cut~

A smile played on Wraith’s lips as the spark of a flame of competitiveness arose in her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Which is how they ended up here. With Wraith just the smallest bit ahead of her only because she managed to catch a solo newbie by surprise. Her eyes fall back towards Anita who is guiding them through Epicenter, heading for the big center tower and starting to make a left to go around the-

Someone’s aiming at you.

It’s with practiced ease that she grabs Anita’s hand, yanking her backwards into the building just in time for the crack of a Kraber to be heard. The bullet bounces off the building, sounding about near where Anita had been standing. Wraith doesn’t even realize their position, too busy focused on trying not to get them eliminated, not until she hears Anita’s breath hitch.

A blink of her pure white, glowing eyes and Wraith finds them with one hand next to Anita’s body, their bodies pressed together with Anita’s back flat to the wall so they couldn’t be seen. They’re chest to- well, lower rib cage area due to their height difference, Wraith pressing up against her, her thigh between Anita’s in what must have been reflex. It doesn’t help that Anita’s warm body is tempting her, that familiar feeling of wanting to press closer and get even more heated.

Or maybe make her jump and squeak with her cold fingers running up her back.

“Try not to get yourself killed before we even make it to top five.” Wraith murmurs quietly, moving her hand off the wall and subtly tracing down the curve of Anita’s side and hip. There‘s that small tension before she’s pulling away to portal them out of there. There wasn’t a need for any unnecessary battle, especially because they didn’t have the shields for it if they already had a Kraber.

However, Wraith does get the pleasure of seeing Anita’s face before she leaves. The way her cheeks are ever so slightly warmed in that dark room before her eyes sparkle red hot with the reminder of competition.

That sparks it worse throughout the game. To the point that flirting starts to get heavier in the snarky remarks to each other. Until it comes to a point where Wraith has seven kills, Anita matching her. She’s casually walking by Wraith who is looting a death box, ensuring no drones were flying by to notice before she grabs Wraith’s ass cheekily whilst strolling by with a, “Lookin’ damn good out there, ghostie.”

Wraith’s face had flushed, standing upright just as quick and shooting her a look that was only met with a two-finger salute from over Anita’s shoulder.

Brat.

To a similar moment minutes later where Wraith has to yank Anita into cover again when gunshots are heard close by, rolling them under a building in Harvester and just out of the ring’s edge as it closes. Chest to chest with Wraith’s head tucked against her neck and a hand under Anita’s head to protect from any rocks or hard ground.

You truly can’t blame her for pressing a kiss just under Anita’s ear, far too tempting with her flesh right there. But maybe murmuring a mock back, ”Looking good down there, sarge.” wasn’t the best idea when they were both already so fired up.

Especially when Anita chuckles low in her chest at the mock, like she knew she deserved that. That flustered little sound as her head tilts ever so slightly for another kiss- or even a bite- that she doesn’t get. It’s worth it just to hear her huff low in her throat in a whine as Wraith moves, her gloved hands lingering on Wraith’s hips as if she might pull her back down. But, Wraith slides off her with a coy expression and nudges her head towards the sound of gunshots and where drones fly overhead, reminding them both of their position in the arena.

In the end, they score the championship title and are finally able to tally for their own bet.

Wraith: Eight kills.

Anita: Eight kills.

“I have more damage than you,” Wraith points out with a flicker of her lips as she gestures to the holographic scoreboard in front of them, leaning her shoulder into Anita as she does so. Her tone is playful, daring Anita to challenge her.

Anita leans in with her to look at the scoreboard, eyes narrowed at the board and the light reflecting off her face beautifully in a way that Wraith can’t help but stare at.

She’s got a bit of blood on the corner of her mouth, dirt smudged across her freckled cheek and her curls just a bit fluffier from the humidity. The bloody corner of her mouth is pulled up into a crooked smirk, her eyes sliding to look at Wraith with such a heated expression at the challenge in her deep pools of brown. Her eyes flicker down to Wraith’s lips, her eyes falling half lidded and starving.

Wraith’s heart jumps in her chest.

She wants to kiss you.

She wants to fuck you.

She looks hungry-

Are you going to let her just sit there?

“Tell ya what. You can have just this one win, pumpkin. But, I get a lil kiss for bein’ so nice to you, sound like a deal?” Anita’s voice is a tease, her hand reaching and gently grasping Wraith’s chin, smoothing her gloved thumb over her bottom lip temptingly. Wraith can feel the tension between them, that band just waiting to snap as they look at each other. They’re still on the dropship, headed back to the compound where paparazzi would try to get them to wait so they could question and poke them.

You can’t really blame Wraith for climbing into Anita’s lap then, straddling her waist and fisting her curls to pull her hair back as her girlfriend hisses with pleasure. Their lips just ghosting from each other’s, breath mingling and Anita’s breath quickening. Wraith lets her lips flicker up into a smirk, “Deal.” Before finally pressing forward to kiss her like they’ve been dying to all match.

–

The race to Wraith’s compound room after their showers is so quiet you would have expected that neither were up to anything. Of course, Elliott had caught them off the dropship, but when they had both declined his offer of an afterparty in the compound and Wraith explaining that they were just going to hang out for a Champion’s dinner. He’d hummed to himself, pondering out loud with, “Ya know! I’m glad you two have been getting closer recently. I thought you two hated each other- don’t go stealing my best friend, Anita! She’s my only source of human contact- besides the robot- does he classify as human contact?”

But before he could think too hard about it and connect two and two like Wraith knew he would if he just put his brilliant mind to it, sans the slowness of the cogs turning. Pathfinder is scooping him up, saying something about how excited he was to learn Elliott’s home recipes to make for him.

How sweet.

But Wraith’s mind isn’t on them now. Not when she’s pushing Anita down to her bed and hearing her breathlessly laugh at the force, her throat covered in bruises from where Wraith had quickly latched on.

Wraith’s mouth finds hers in an instant, climbing on top of her to straddle her waist and have Anita’s calloused fingers tuck into her sweatpants and panties to grab at her bare ass and pulling her close. Wraith can’t help the moan falling from her own lips, biting Anita’s bottom lip and giving a playful tug.

The kiss is broken so Wraith can pull off Anita’s tanktop, throwing it elsewhere and letting Anita sit up to tug off her sports bra. Her torso left bare, save for her dog tags hanging temptingly between her perky breasts. Wraith can’t help but sigh out, “You look beautiful, sweetheart, always so perfect.” while her fingers run across Anita’s fit torso, over her tight abs and up to her breasts where she cups, thumbing her nipples to make her squirm.

Anita’s freckled face flushes red, her head turning to the side and a soft whine in her throat in embarrassment. But, Wraith doesn’t get to have her fun for very long, leaving an opening that allows Anita to flip them. “I think you were the winner, baby. Don’t you wanna claim some extra prizes other than a free lunch?” Her voice is a tease as her warm fingers slide up under Wraith’s hoodie, mindful not to pull it off and just tucking it above her chest to reveal her own breasts. The silver barbells revealed through her nipples and quickly abused by Anita gently pinching them.

“Extra prizes?” Wraith breathlessly gets out, her hips lifting and thanking that Anita gets the hint by pressing their hips together, giving her enough pressure on her clit through her pants to make her whimper. But she can only huff in pleasure when Anita dips down to her chest, her mouth sealing over a sensitive nipple and her hands sliding down Wraith’s curves down to her hips. Yanking her hips up to hold her just right as Anita grinds against her body, small, fluid humps of her own hips against Wraith’s.

Wraith swears under her breath immediately, her hands finding Anita’s hair to grip at her curls with an arch to her back. She knows Anita probably didn’t feel pleasure the way she did when they ground their bodies together like this. Wraith’s clit was larger than normal, big enough to be able to penetrate her girlfriend in a small amount if she so pleased. Always peeking from her lower lips heavily and she knows it’s engorged by now with how sensitive she is to just grinding.

“There you go, sweetheart. You always sound so damn good.” Anita praises, parting from her breast to press kisses down Wraith’s torso. Each one feeling like a searing, hot press all the way down to Wraith’s sweatpants. Where Anita gently tugs with a rare soft expression, quietly asking for permission that Wraith grants by lifting her hips and letting Anita take her panties with them. Left in just her hoodie and socks.

Wraith’s cunt always looked good, if you asked Anita. Dark soft hair that fell straight rather than curly, her large clit resting against her lower lips and glistening with her own slickness and allowing Anita to see the way she contracts when she blows soft, cold air over her slick flesh. Running her warm hands over Wraith’s legs, over the dark hair resting over them all the way to her thighs so she can shift onto her abdomen.

When Anita’s tongue runs from her hole to her clit, Wraith’s hips instantly tilt upwards against her with a soft grunt. Feeling Anita’s lips press open mouthed, sloppy kisses over her clit, moaning at her taste and making Wraith tremble with each touch. It only amplifies when Anita decides to stop teasing and just licking her, sealing her lips around her clit and curling two fingers up into her.

Anita eats her like a starving woman, her tongue always so talented and a blessing to watch when Wraith can finally get her eyes to open to look down and watch her. Her own hand fisted into her curls, able to see Anita’s other hand not pressing her thigh open disappear below herself. Hearing the faint wet sounds of her touching herself in sync with how she fucks Wraith with her fingers. There’s no need for words, not when Wraith is already almost there, panting and pressing on the back of Anita’s head with small, desperate, short humps of her hips.

Wraith’s head tosses back, arching her back when she feels the waves start. Always so quiet, but small moans spill from her lips freely when Anita stays right where Wraith holds her. Suckling on her clit and flicking her tongue just underneath to make Wraith’s body jerk. It’s only when Wraith eases on her hair does Anita come up, looking at her and groaning at the sight of her.  

Wraith’s hair is spilled back on the pillows, her hoodie still pulled up above her chest, her legs still falling open to show how her clit twitches heavily in her small contractions. Her eyes are unfocused, looking up at Anita just in time to capture her lips at the same time, moaning into her mouth and trying to hook her legs around her. But Anita’s a tease, parting the kiss with a kiss to Wraith’s nose. “I’m not through with you, ghostie. Sit tight, we’ve got all night.”

“You plan to fuck me for hours when you’re the one who falls asleep at nine sharp?” Wraith breathlessly laughs out with a roll of her eyes, flopping herself back onto the bed with a hand running through the front of her hair.

Although, she does get the pleasure of watching Anita remove the rest of her clothing, getting to see her muscular ass flex as she digs through Wraith’s upper drawer. Wraith can only see barely what she’s grabbing. A bullet vibrator which she presses to herself before she’s wiggling on the briefs harness which nearly doesn’t go over Anita’s firm ass. The sight makes Wraith’s lips quirk up in a smirk.

The cock she picks is one Wraith likes to use on her. A nice sized red cock with a big enough knot to strain, but not big enough to have to stretch her to take. The whole thing was maybe seven inches total in length and a good girth, not too bad to take. Anita takes care in lubing it up, her own breath hitched when she turns the dial on her thigh to start up the bullet vibrator.

Wraith watches her from the bed with half lidded eyes, biding her time as Anita climbs onto the bed. She sits between Wraith’s spread legs, smiling in this cocky little way when Wraith winds them around her waist. “Yeah, there ya go, baby. You’re playin’ so nice tod—HEY-”

The look on Anita’s face when Wraith tugs her close with her legs and flips them over is so worth it. Getting the upper hand once Anita had leaned in to murmur in her ear, rolling them and slamming Anita onto her back. Wraith can’t help the similar cocky smirk gracing her lips, her fingers wrapped around Anita’s throat, but no pressure, just holding her. “Weren’t you the one saying that I got extra prizes, sweetheart?”

“Baby, this isn’t fair-”

“I don’t think either of us have ever claimed to be ‘fair’.” Wraith croons back to Anita’s whining, reaching down with her free hand to line up her cock. Slipping down onto it with a soft breath and rolling her head back with pleasure. Soon, she feels warm, calloused hands grab at the swell of her hips, already trembling when Wraith goes all the way down to the knot without taking it inside yet. Giving Anita pressure over where the dildo rested and must be pressing that bullet vibrator harder against her clit because she suddenly lets out this shaky, soft whimper.

“Besides,” Wraith breathes out, rolling her hips as her hand leaves Anita’s throat. Sliding down to her chest to roll her nipple between two fingers just to make Anita’s head fall back in a moan. “I think I like taking my ‘extra prize’ better like this. Don’t you?”

Anita can only groan back in return, her plump lips parting when Wraith sinks all the way down to the knot. Pressing their hips more firmly together as a soft sigh leaves her nose, able to grind until Anita’s short nails are pressing at her hips and she’s murmuring, “Fuck, baby-” under her breath like she can’t get enough. Her eyes peer open, half lidded, looking up at Wraith with that look she always got that makes Wraith’s breath hitch.

She loves you.

She loves us.

She wants you.

All of you.

Loves you, loves you, loves you…

Wraith can’t help but cup Anita’s cheek, her thumb tracing her lower lip and her heart skipping a beat when Anita presses a kiss to her fingertip. Always such a strong competitor, hiding her own trauma between years and year of training. Anita grew hard, finding it easier to snarl at others and hide her heart. And now? Now she could be soft, that gentle heart she always had that Wraith brought out in her. No matter how competitive they got to each other.

“Good girl,” Wraith strains out, her hips bouncing in time with Anita’s that hump up into her. Her breath catches sharp in her throat when one of Anita’s hands fall from her hip to cup her mound, her thumb flicking over her engorged clit, working it in circles. Wraith can’t help the swear falling from her lips, leaning back to grip Anita’s thighs to expose her body. Allowing Anita to look up at her with that same adoring expression, her hand resting on Wraith’s hip gently squeezing with her eyes saying everything she needed to.

It’s when they both start to get close does Anita sit up and Wraith allows it. Anita’s hands eagerly grabbing her ass to pull her closer and Wraith’s arms falling around her neck. Wraith is the one who leans forward, capturing her soft lips in her own and moaning into her mouth when Anita starts to guide her hips. Helping her bounce as Wraith’s nails dig into her back with each movement.

It’s Anita who parts from the kiss, pressing her cheek to Wraith’s and panting out, ”I’m gonna cum, baby, p-please let me-” And Wraith is nodding frantically, pleading for her to cum under her breath near her ear. Urging her to as they reach their peak together. Anita’s always louder, grunting and moaning in Wraith’s ear, forcing her hips to keep moving so Anita can pound up into her to keep the pressure on her clit through the orgasm. Wraith can only hold on through her second orgasm, overstimulated and raking her nails down Anita’s back with a rare cry out from her own lips.

Yet, Anita’s hips still twitch, rolling up against Wraith and her hands sliding down Wraith’s curves, over her hips, trying to reach down to stop the vibrator. Wraith can’t help the smile that falls over her lips, still breathless from her orgasm, but she locks her arms tighter around Anita. Her voice low, almost a growl as she murmurs,  

“Not done with my prize yet, sweetheart. Just sit tight, we have all night.”

Ever the competition between these two.

#Bangawraith #Voidstrike #Apex lemons #Apex legends #Bangalore #Wraith #Nsft #lemon #commissions #princess writing

[sebbytrash]

Through His Eyes - Part Fourteen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings - Not much, a little angst, a little implied sexual content 

A/N -  OK here it is, finally managing to squeeze a little writing in whilst the baby is sleeping! I hope this is still something you guys enjoy, love you all so much for sticking with this one for the last (2) years!! 

Through His Eyes Masterlist

You wake--not suddenly, but softly--wake to the morning glow glancing across the room in that gentle, pleasing way it does when you are actually rested. It takes only a few blinks for you to remember where you are, and a few seconds more to realise the implications. To realise that you are still in Bucky’s room, still tucked up beside him in his bed, his feet tangled with yours under those shared covers. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek where he is turned towards you and you close your eyes again. With a sigh, you take a few small moments where nothing but this exists between you, the heat of his fingertips pressing gently against your ribs. 

You breathe him in, long and deep like it's for the last time, and peel your eyes open again. He’s exactly where you left him, sleeping soundly in a way you are convinced he hasn’t in a while, the lines around his eyes the softest you’ve ever seen them. It takes all of your willpower not to smooth your fingers against them just to see what it might feel like to have the freedom for that touch. It aches. 

You untangle yourself from him, using every bit of gentleness you possess not to wake him, and begin the process of locating your clothes and dressing. It’s then that the very real consequences of last night begin to seep into your mind, a virulent fog. How do you come back from this? Is it even possible? Do you even want to? You squash that before it takes root. A sudden, more terrifying thought takes root in its place: Did Bucky even want what happened, to happen? Was it just some messed up guilt-driven way to make up for his past? The contents of your stomach give a lurch and threaten to break free. You leave without waking him, but when you give one last glance before you walk out the door, you see the way his sleeping form has turned stiff and the crinkles in his eyes are a little tighter. He’s awake, and he's letting you leave like the coward you are. 

You ache all over. 

Belatedly, you realise that you're feeling more refreshed and rested than you have in a very long time. Somehow, he is the remedy and also the cause. 

Back in your room, you spend more time under the hot spray of the shower than usual, catch yourself smiling at the pleasant ache over your body and give your brain a little shake. It’s startling how easy it is to get caught up in your thoughts of last night, of him, of how many times you wash your hair before your fingers start to twinge. As you leave the bathroom, you catch your reflection in the mirror, the shine in your eyes evident as though they absorbed it from the room directly. The whites never looked so white. You hate those eyes more than the usual dull, empty ones. At least they were familiar, deserved. 

The cup feels off-balance, like it pulls on your thumb the wrong way or has a crack you haven't noticed, and the coffee inside tastes like liquid guilt. Funny how comfortable you’d gotten sharing your mornings with Bucky, how out of sync you feel with yourself, now. Sitting here alone, your shoulders hunched and protective, guarding the secrets your eyes want to spill. You feel like a painting of yourself, like someone put you down on canvas but didn’t quite capture the essence, or that your edges were blurry and they drew them in with a sharpie. 

“You good?” Sam asks when he appears in the kitchen a little later, flopping down beside you, too much shoulder to be graceful. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yep. I’m right as rain.” You hope you don’t sound the way you feel. Caught between the real and the familiar. 

“You sure? You’re usually already knee-deep in a book with your long-haired pain pal by now. Did something happen?” He tries to sound casual, but his eyes are anything but. 

“What? No, no, of course not.” Did you sound flustered? You probably sounded flustered. “Just having some me time, that’s all.” 

“As long as you’re sure.” Always a gem, that Sam. What a bestie to have. 

“I’m sure Sam, I promise. I’m not slipping.” You give him a sad sort of smile, sad that he has to check, the smile because he always does.

“Oh, I knew that.”

“You did?”

“Sure. You’ve got concrete legs these days, steadiest I’ve ever seen you.” That’s what does it, pours that spoken concrete down your spine to force away the curve. Unending faith. The smile near splits your face in two. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Bucky says as he sits down next to you, close enough to keep your conversation soft, close enough to feel the heat of his arm drift across your skin. 

“Maybe a little,” you admit, tucking your chin a little even as you attempt a smile. He nods but still doesn’t turn to look at you and for that you are glad. It gives you a few more seconds to arrange your expression into something normal. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know. Hide from me.” He looks at you now, with the same face and the same sharp lines, his mouth still hangs on his face like a question, his eyes still answer in a language you didn't know, and yet, he looks different. He holds himself differently, or looks at you differently, it’s hard to separate him alone and him with you. “You can tell me if you, um, regret it?” 

“I do,” you answer honestly, and then clarify unhelpfully, “and I don’t.” 

“Oh?” he says simply, pushes his tongue under his top lip. “Don’t suppose you could clarify that for me?” 

How do you explain, when you barely know yourself? He deserves as much, you suppose, probably more.

“I wondered, maybe, if I’d been a bit...forceful,” you admit, hesitant to say it and to also know the answer because you suspect that his face would show the truth regardless. 

His mouth goes slack and you are prepared to swallow whatever pride you might have left and beg forgiveness when he leans forward a little. “If you're asking if I wanted it, Y/N, I did. Want you.” 

You forget what answer you wanted, forget to look away from his eyes that reflect an ocean under siege, one that might reach out and pull you from your seat to drown in their depths. You forget to breathe for just enough seconds to notice. This feeling is so foreign to you, this inability to control your reactions, your emotions. The past and present are now so inexplicably tangled you can no longer see the sky. 

You experience them all. Every emotion humans are capable of barrels through you in the span of a second and a lifetime. It feels too much, too many things all wrapped up together for anything sensible to happen. You think back to Sam’s warning, long past messy and into something edged with chaos. 

“But we should, you know, stay friends,” you say finally, carefully looking at the one freckle above his eyebrow.

“Sure,” he says carefully. “If that’s what you want.” 

“It is,” you say, firmly--like standing in sand--and answer his smile with one of your own. 

There’s something about that smile he gives you, like he has too many teeth or they are suddenly razor sharp. There’s an edge you’ve never seen, or he’s never shown you. Somehow, despite the way it's ended, you can't help but feel you've unwittingly entered a challenge. 

You read and reread the same sentence of your book a few times, eyes straining to make sense of the letters as they merge together and it’s only then that you realise day has turned into night long ago. You’re sitting alone; everyone else has no doubt gone to bed back when it was appropriate to do so. There’s a full cup of cold coffee in front of you that you know you didn’t make, and you smother the smile when you realise who likely did. 

Bucky had left a few hours ago, summoned by Fury, and so you assume he’s out on a mission, Sam trailing reluctantly behind him. You’re startled at the sight of him entering the kitchen, the swift downing of a beer from the fridge doing nothing to ease the tenseness of his shoulders. You stand, bones creaking in protest at the lack of use and carry that cold mug over to him.

“I assume this was your doing?” you say softly and watch him jump a little anyway. He was so lost in his thoughts that he never even scanned the room in that compulsive way he does. He doesn’t answer, just swallows a few times like he's swallowing the words themselves. “Bucky, what’s wrong?” 

He sighs, finally, runs a hand down his face and lets his fingers catch on his skin. “I just… sometimes I really fucking hate holding a gun.” His shoulders sag, every ounce of muscle used to hold it in and hold it together now dissipates at the admission, like the secret was made of bone and without it, he’s just liquid. 

Just when you think he can’t unmake you any further, he does it again. One sentence, one look and you are grieving for the man he should be: the one without the ghosts and unending pain. 

You unburden him the only way you know how, by stepping up close and pressing your lips to his with a gentleness you shouldn’t possess anymore. He looks at you once, a fire inside those ocean eyes and kisses you back, just as gently. And then, not. 

He kisses you again, and again, and you wonder if he can taste the salt on your lips the way you can taste it on his.

TAGS:  @manawhaat​ @theashhole @captainrogerss @higherfurtherfasterbby  @peculiar-persephone  @captain-rogers-beard @chrisevansnco @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @samingtonwilson @vintagevalentinexx @abovethesmokestacks @imhereforbvcky @avengerofyourheart  @carriefish-er @stormy-thomas @danijimenezv   @angelicthor   @betheboo55 @palaiasaurus64 @raxacoricofallapatoriuspotter @johnmurphys-sass @katbird787    @sexyvixen7 @jobean12-blog​  @justreadingfics @justareader @smoothdogsgirl @theliarone @aikibriarrose​ @timeladylaurel @badassbakers​ @earinafae​ @crushed-pink-petals-writes​ @tardis-is-mine​ @httpmcrvel​ @bucky2-0​ @mocking-rain​ @sociallyimpairedme​ @jezzula​ @bless-my-demons​ @ign-is​ @indominusregina​ @-supernatural-coffee-llama​ @alwayshave-faith​ @itsonlysarah​ @superwholocknda @shifutheshihtzu​ @mizzzpink​ @yknott81​ @haven-in-writing​ @xtina2191​ @reniescarlett​ @notsoprettykitty​ @wickedwerewolf​ @ayeputita​ @tori-medusa-belongs-to-bucky​  @tatalopes23​ @pineapplebooboo​ @mizzezm​ @thefridgeismybestie​ @memory-of-a-goldfish​ @supernatural-girl97​ @standing-onthe-edge​ @ruinerofcheese​ @rosescentedblood @mysweetcookie99​

#kale writes #through his eyes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #marvel fanfic

[bibliocratic]

‘this is the trouble, even now, with being an archive’

or: Martin’s not the only one overly susceptible to the Lonely 

nebulous post-160 domestic future, hurt/comfort and softness, jonmartin and the cottagecore life they deserve

Jon loses himself in the odds-and-sods shop.

The sign on the door makes promises of it being a cosy bookshop. And there are books, certainly, stalagmites of tomes and paperbacks and collections teetering graspingly up towards the ceiling.

The books are absent flatmates however compared to the boisterous gaggle of stuff that takes up room everywhere else. Teacup candles balanced on Norton Anthologies. A wooden rocking horse keeping the dusty Faber and Faber poetry company. It's bizarre flotsam of the most incomprehensible comforting sort, and it sometimes bustles its way to star in the shop's equally manic window display.

Which is why Jon first came in. He'd told himself that this trip into town was an in-and-out only affair; pick up the spices he couldn't get at the small-stocked village shop, buy more firelighters and return some of Martin's horde to the library from whence it came. He's entertaining some thoughts of making a start on pruning back some of the more frivolous bushes in the garden if the weather holds, though he knows his knees won't credit the idea by the evening if he does so.

But then he saw the pen in the window. Silver filigree engraved at the end like frost spiralling up a window, the base colour deep and blue. 

And it's not anywhere near Christmas, and there's no birthdays for another few months, but Jon looks at it and he can see Martin sat in the two-seater in their living room,  holding the pen, tongue between his teeth as he worries at words, scratching and rewriting and humming when he's caught upon a phrase he feels sits well.

He goes inside with all the furtiveness of a guilty cat. Maryam is at the counter today, and she beams to see him. And he intends – completely – to pick out the pen and be done with it. But Maryam gets talking even once he's pointed out and paid for the pen, and he's twisted up in the soft and easy twirl of her conversation. The pen does come with a box, a regular black affair, but she mentions that they've got in a few antique pen cases down at the back of the non-fiction isle – covering P for Persian Empire to T for Travelogues – and Jon fancifully commits to having a leisurely look because he's going to have to wait for the next bus back anyway, quite taken by the idea of being able to leave such a distinguished looking surprise on the side-table near Martin's armchair for him to find when he comes in from work.

He considers the cases with a furrowing frown, as though weighing up some great decision. For so long in fact, he doesn't notice the shop dip quiet, the muffled steps and page-flicking of other patrons muted to silent.

He glances up, around. Puts back the supple brown leather case he was thinking over, stepping out of his isolated row.

There is no one at the front desk. No one in the other shelves. Through the clogged-up and slapdash window display, he sees no one on the street outside and a sky starting to grey with the threat of rain.

He notices – far away, like glancing through the wrong end of a telescope – that his breathing is getting faster.

“Maryam?” he says, but his voice croaks heatless. He tells himself that he's too old for this now, to be taken in by such worn-down ghosts, that she's gone in the back, that it's just gone quiet, that's all. But the silence is a terror that begets greater, stronger strains, a cycling distress of pin-balling fears and memories, and there is no one around, no one coming, and the panting of his own body is so loud in such an empty space.

And he has always been more easily enveloped by some fears than by others.

He hears the wash of mile-distant waves, as though behind the shelves to the front of the shop, and thinks not here, not here.

He tries to shake his head loose of the fog beginning to bind it like cobwebbing wisps. But the world has such terrors in it, and the Archive keeps record of them all. And that's what Jon is, in the end. A dutiful collection of horror, cruelly moulded into such service by a long dead man. He's long since unshouldered the mantle of Archivist, yet Archive has proven to be such a long-lived, enduring post.

Behind his eyes, he plays out the washed-out retellings of all those almost lost to the Lonely.

He's the statement of Zoe Aristidou, who moved to a beam-bright city but brought her fog along with her, who lost her face amongst the impartial crowds, sanded away like a wind-abused statue.

The statement of Keira Hurley, who struggled to make friends, who drank thinking it might stuff up the gaping absence inside her where the fog was beginning to spark up like struck flint, who would lose her keys, and her wallet and whole days to unremembrance.

There is the echo of beachland nearby and Jon's lost sight of the shelves. The layering cares and carefully tended wards that make him up are starting to peel away.

He rubs at his hands and the colour wipes off like highlighter on whiteboard, smearing before vanishing, his skin blotching with an absent glass-colour of nothing at all. And it's not real, it can't be, it's years since he sighted this muted, mist-encrusted shoreline, the way it gnawed at and  sapped Martin's skin translucent, younger then, his hair still unpicked by white.

But it's so easy to return here even after all that time. Like tripping over your own feet.

It is peaceful here. It always is.

Jon grips the pen, feeling the drunken choke of the statement of Keira Hurley, how it makes his legs unmoored and unbalanced, and he thinks no, no, I'm going to give this to him, I'll surprise him, I'll leave it on his side table to find when he gets home. And the statement is thick on his tongue, as he recalls how she woke up, head woozy, and she had not known where she was, had forgotten her address, her name, and the muted panic of her fear sleeked her face with tears, and Jon shakes his head fervently to try and clear it.

He thinks of how Martin will glow, pleased, will say something like you shouldn't have, or even, you know I don't need any more, and Jon will say, I know but I wanted to, I know but I thought of you, I know but I wanted to make you happy.

There is sand crunching underfoot as he walks, and he's getting lost.

He is the statement of Agneta Blom regarding her grandmother Ebba Blom, swallowed by the fog in her later years at a nursing home; the statement of Lakshman Hamal, the last member of his regiment far from home; the statement of Finlay Erskine, a lone lighthouse keeper midst a terrible storm.

And Jon is one man but he is also all these stories – he breathes in salt-damp from a wave spray that leaves freckles of water struck across his face, he feels the knotted ache in his legs from where he's crouched, tense and gripping his kukri for hours, the over-softness of blankets and pillows and the faded mist of lavender down an empty hallway.

He feels his fingers cramping around the sides of the pen, and he wants to think of Martin, to fill up with recollections of him,  but Martin is someone Jon knows, someone Jon loves, and it is so very hard to remember he is Jon at the moment.  

The fog that subsumes him like a dust cloud, it's muffling. Quiet. He who is Agneta Blom and Lakshman Hamal and Finlay Erskine and so many other names that are layering palimpsest over Jonathan Blackwood, he wanders the beach to the shoreline, letting the sea lap over his shoes. The sky is expectant with dour rainclouds, and his jean cuffs are getting wet, and he hears a distant tumult of voices ever so far off. Like a muttered conversation in another room, a tune playing in a building he is walking past.

“...call the school.... It's Mr Blackwood, Conor... one of his turns.... don't crowd the poor man, let him be...”

The Archive drinks in the flat, null landscape with interest and lets the fog bury into the soft spaces of him. It wants to walk out into the shallow waters and see what swims there.

There's a pen in his hand, and it's heavy, and it weighs him down shore-bound.

“Jon? Hey, hey, Jon. Don't go out so far, yeah?”

The Archive sucks in a breath. It is not salted with a harsh coastal grind, it does not bite at his throat. The air is warm, dry with indoor heating, and the people he is not, Agneta and Lakshman and Finlay and Mairead and Pavo and so many more witness to Forsaken, begin to slough off him like autumnal leaves.

There is a hand on his arm, someone being shushed, a breathing like someone's been running.

“That's it, you're doing so well, you can do it.”

He is Jonathan again. He blinks loose the crisping grains of salt that have begun to sediment in his lashes. There are tears streaming down his face, he realises belatedly, and he is trembling like he's freezing.

He looks at Martin who makes up such a happy horizon to be greeted by, looking down. His tie become loose, who has come from work, sweat-patches at the front of his chest, his throat and face reddened with exertion, who is still wearing his navy lanyard, has board pens clunking in his pocket. Martin who is grounding him.

“I...” he says, clearing his throat feeling stupid, and then he is thrusting out the pen almost bullishly. “I got you a pen.”

Maybe Martin doesn't understand how important it is for him to see. But he nods delicately, and carefully nods, takes it from Jon's shaking fingers – You shouldn't have, you know, he says like Jon's foolish, but fondly, ever so, just like Jon thought he would, and Jon almost sobs to be granted such a small victory.  

“You wanting me to call Doctor Varma, Mr B?” comes the tentative, worried voice of Conor at Martin's elbows – sixteen, his voice breaking awkwardly, helping out in the shop after school; Jon remembers lending him books when he was a precocious, demanding child, voracious for knowing.

“We should be ok,” Martin replies kindly. To Jon, he says:

“Julienne's car's out front.”

Jon frowns, confused, before remembering – theirs is in for its MOT, Martin must have borrowed it to cross the three miles between the villages. There is something heavy around his shoulders, warm and scratchy, and he wants to wonder but the questions are sunken in the softness still lingering in his head.

“Do you need...?” Jon starts, and the words are thick and phlegmy in his throat. “The school...?”

“Julienne's covering my last class,” Martin says soothingly. “They understand.”

Jon nods. Years ago, he might have apologised, stewed in how much he needed Martin today, but time has wasted away those anxieties.

“Thank you for coming for me,” he replies instead, his voice still sea-bitten and hoarse, and lets Martin lead him wobbly-legged out of the door so they can drive home.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #cws for disassociation #cws the lonely #hurt/comfort

[ashes-and-ashes]

It’s been one day without Fred and George can’t breathe.

He’s heard of it, before, when someone lost a twin, the way the world stopped spinning, the air stopped moving, like an arm or a leg or hourehart being ripped from your body. Like stepping on shore after years at sea, the way the land seemed to sway underneath your feet, the world seeming so empty without Fred at his side.

He’s still covered in Fred’s blood, dried flakes of crimson smeared across his skin. For a moment, he’s spinning back through time, staring at his hands whilst blood gushed from his nose, the sugary-sweet taste of nosebleed nougat still heavy on his tongue. For a moment he’s with Fred again, the way they could always read each other’s thoughts, how he was never, not once alone.

He doesn’t know if he can survive another day. He wishes he could die.

~

It’s been 7 days without Fred.

He hasn’t been able to sleep, the comforting sounds of Fred’s even breaths absent, the room ringing uncomfortably with silence. For 20 years he had fallen asleep to the sound of his brother, the rustle of the blankets, the soft murmurs of his dreams and now the room was empty.

They used to dream together, sometimes, would appear in each other’s nightmares, fight their way out together. He remembers when he was 10 and terrified of the statue against the brick wall of Diagon Alley, how he had dreamed that it had come alive and was hunting him down. Fred had appeared in a flash of blue light, eyes narrowed and thoughtful. They had fought off the statue together with dungbombs, and George was never afraid of that statue again.

Thank you, he had said.

Don’t worry about it.

He knows now that there would be no one to save him from his nightmares now.

~

It’s been 30 days without Fred and George is drowning.

He finds himself pleading, begging to whoever was up there bring him back, I’ll do anything just bring him back. He stares in the mirror and sees his twin staring back and his heart hurts, screams at the knowledge that Fred was gone, that he would never have his twin again.

His family has moved on, he knows, slowly but surely and he’s the only one left, still drowning in the grief and the pain and the sorrow. Time passes differently now, infinitely long and yet too fast for him to track, the days warping like years, like months, like seconds.

He wishes he had been taken too.

~

It’s been 62 days without Fred.

The grief still hits him, takes him by surprise. He was wearing a coat the other day, reached into his pocket and pulled out a Ton-Tongue toffee -

And how could he explain to the random passerby’s, the kind lady who had grabbed his shoulder and said “Son? Are you alright?” How could he explain all the late nights spent developing those sweets, all the doxy bites and the acid burns and the explosions, the ones that always turned both their heads the colour of soot, the hours after spent laughing and cursing and writing even more notes?

Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes sits empty and desolate, the windows dark and the glass dusty. He can’t bring himself to go back in there, the rooms and the roof and the shelves full of Fred, full of his brother.

They had spent all of last summer trying to find the perfect shade of purple to paint their walls with, a mix between indigo and navy, something deep and dark and powerful. Pizzaz Purple, they’d decided, after much deliberation.

He can’t look at it without feeling sick.

~

It’s been 90 days without Fred.

He sits in the bar, with Lee Jordan by his side. He knows he’s been drinking too much since Fred’s been gone. He can’t stop.

Sometimes he finds himself turning around, as if to speak to the ghost of a brother long gone. Sometimes he finds himself laughing at something they would have both loved, a fragment of a memory coming back to him.

The realization that he truly was gone always hurt so much more.

So he sits in the bar and he knocks back drinks, one after another until the spinning in his head is enough to drown out the thoughts of Fred. What does it matter if I never wake up? he thinks. At least I’ll be with him.

Lee stares into his cup. He’s maybe the only person who could understand what George was feeling, the only person who knew Fred like he did. “I loved him,” he says. “Did he ever tell you that?”

He didn’t need to, George thinks. He knew his twin like the back of his hand, every smile and every laugh, every brush of his hands against Lee’s. His twin only really loved two people romantically, Lee and Angelina and he had loved Lee for longer.

But Lee’s still waiting for an answer so he smiles and knocks back his drink, closes his eyes and says “Yeah. Yeah, he did.”

~

It’s been 184 days without Fred and George is going to kill Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy’s in his flat right now, all pale hair and grey eyes, positively glowing with happiness and George wants to kill him.

He’s happy. He’s happy Harry managed to find some love in his life because God that kid deserved it but he doesn’t think he can look Malfoy in the eyes, see the Mark on his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy says. He sounds like he means it. George doesn’t care.

“Get out.”

He sees Harry move out of the corner of his eye, subtlety positioning his body between him and Malfoy. George wonders when he had changed, from the jokester of the family to someone dangerous enough to hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy says again, and George is this close to snapping -

“We should go,” Harry says, his voice low. George watched them leave.

He knows Fred would preache forgiveness. He doesn’t care.

~

It’s been 300 days without Fred.

George runs into Angelina on the street, near the enterance to Diagon Alley. He stares at the statue of the Hag new the enterance and fights back the lump in his throat.

“I know you’ve heard this before,” Angelina says, “But I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t recognize his own voice when he speaks, devoid of any of his old humor. “It’s been almost a year.”

“I know,” Angelina says quietly. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

He takes her into a bar and buys her a drink. She’s a pro Quidditch player these days, and George sits quietly in the back whilst she is swarmed with requests for autographs. Afterwards they sit in silence, the ice melting in the glasses in front of them.

“Does it get any easier?” she asks, staring into her cup. “You know. Losing someone.”

George lets out a long breath, stares at the familiar expanse of freckled skin on his arm. “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

Angelina fixes him with a steady stare.

“No,” he says. “And I feel like I should move on. But I...if I died...”

“Wouldn’t you want him to move on? To live his life?”

“Of course, but - “

“He wouldn’t want you to end up like this, George.”

George lets out a dry chuckle. “You think I haven’t heard this before?”

Angelina raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t heard it from me.”

With a flourish, she slaps down a napkin onto the surface of the bar, a number scrawled in a flowery script. “Call me. When you’re ready to start living again.”

George watches her leave, her long black hair swaying behind her, and for the first time since Fred died a smile stretches across his face.

#fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter #drarry #second wizarding war #angst #harry potter fanfic #george weasley fanfic

[pls-let-me-out]

Invisible String 20th of December

Nico would have liked to complain. He would have like to complain very much, because if the universe were a fair place, he wouldn’t have been given a soulmate that kept waking him up in the middle of the night. And every time, he did it with a stupid excuse.

“For the last time, we are not being robbed,” Nico said, keeping his voice down. Earlier, when he had tried to talk normally, Will pinched him so hard Nico could feel it bruising. “If you have insomnia, go see a fucking therapist.”

And with that, he turned on his back. The hand Will had placed on his shoulder tightened its grasp. Will was close enough for his body heat to warm Nico, and it would be a lie to say it was unpleasant.

“I’m serious,” Will hissed. “the doorbell rang and the door opened. I heard it, fuck I–where is the safety box?”

“Rang the doorbell.” He scoffed. “What nice thieves.” Nico hugged the pillow, he was so close to falling back asleep, his bones were relaxing. Even his knee wasn’t being a bitch, it was–

A loud crash resonated from downstairs. In a second, Nico was completely awake.

“Oh my God, we will die–”

Nico turned quickly, and put his hand on Will’s mouth. “Shut up. We are not being robbed. That’s–that’s–”

Will liked Nico’s palm, until he retreated his hand with disgust, and cleaned it on the blankets. “If you are about to tell me a fucking raccoon rang the doorbell, I’m throwing–”

“Who said anything about raccoon? But why would thieves ring the bell? In what world?”

“In this world! Those are clever thieves, you fool! They wanted to know if we were in the house, so they could get in.”

“Oh, silly me then.” Nico pushed the duvet back, standing to search for a torch.

Will got out of the bed with far more noise. “Where are you going? What do you think you’re–tell me that’s not a fucking torch. You–I don’t even have enough words to describe you.”

“I’m going downstairs and checking. Go back to sleep.”

“Don’t you dare leaving me here alone!” Will exclaimed, and promptly slapped his hand on his mouth, as though that were enough to take the noise back. “Don’t you dare abandon me.”

Nico exhaled through gritted teeth. It was incredible how easily Will could get under his skin and irk him, really. “I’m going downstairs.”

“Please don’t leave me here.”

Here it came again. Will’s little, soft, whispered pleases would follow Nico forever, he was sure of it. A haunted house, Will had called the chalet, except the ghosts would only follow Nico.

Nico put his hand against the doorframe. If he looked back, he knew he would crack. There was just something in Will’s blue eyes, especially in the night, when the only thing he could look at without being afraid was Nico.

Will’s hand sneaked around Nico’s wrist. “I’m coming with you.”

Nico wasn’t good at making friends. Too closed off, couldn’t bring himself to speak more than two words at a time with people he didn’t know. Will wasn’t like that. It was Will who initiated their first conversation, who filled the silences in the house. He decided what to do in the afternoon, dragging Nico along even when he complained.

When Nico turned, Will was just behind him. “Stay behind me, and be silent.”

He didn’t wait for Will to nod. The door of the bedroom creaked far too loudly, but Nico managed to avoid the oldest boards of the floor. Will seemed to get the point, and followed in Nico’s footsteps, never letting go of his wrist.

Someone was in the kitchen. The light was on, flooding in the corridor from the door, left slightly ajar.

Nico turned to Will, and put a finger to his lips. Will stepped closer, until his chest was flush against Nico’s back, and nodded slightly. He seemed to hide behind Nico’s back, his breath warm on Nico’s neck. Did he hear the crazy thumping of Nico’s heart?

Nico pushed the kitchen door open a bit more. Just a little, less than a centimeter. There was a man by the fridge, his back to Nico. His head was blonde, his shoulders broad, and Nico could have sworn he knew him. He turned to the stoves, Nico caught his profile. What was he doing here? And if he was here, then the other idiot wouldn’t be far.

It happened so fast. The blond boy caught sight of Nico, a smile lightened up his face, he began walking, no doubt to crush Nico into a hug, and–

“Neeks!”

Whenever they saw each other, they had this little charade going on. It was true that Nico and Percy were friends, really close friends, but it was even more true to say that they butt heads every time talked. They had simply known each other for far too long.

Jason got along with Nico better, as different as they were. He was just more understanding, calmer, less loud–unless Leo was with him, that is. He also asked before crushing people into his arms.

Percy, however, didn’t ask.

The scene played out in slow motion. Jason’s smile, the door of the cellar opening, Percy’s cry of Nico’s name, Will’s squeal.

Will throwing Nico forward, the door opening under his weight, Nico falling on his butt, Will throwing a punch directed at Percy face.

And completely hitting the spot, Nico was amazed. Percy bent forward, his hands cupping his nose, as he swore loudly. The door of the living room opened, Annabeth and Leo walked out. Leo dropped the remote of the TV when Percy straightened, and fresh blood glowed under the light.

“Hi,” he said, holding out his bloodied hand to Will. “I’m Percy.”

Nico saw the dumbfounded expression on Will’s face, the way he kept glancing from his knuckles to Percy and back. It lasted just a tad too long for his liking. “Not a thief,” he said, standing and dusting off his pajama pants.

Will’s tongue poked his cheek, he looked so embarrassed Nico could have burst out laughing. He bit his lips, and kept it all inside.

Nico leaned against the doorframe, he felt Jason coming closer. “So, it looks like I was right and you were wrong.”

“Oh, shut up,” Will replied, crossing his arms on the chest.

“I’d like to say he’s just cranky in the morning, but he always is,” Nico said, turning to the others, who were watching their bickering like one would watch a tennis match.

“Just get me the First Aid kit so I can fix his nose.”

“Get it yourself.”

“I don’t even know where the toilet is.”

“It’s in the same place as every other day–”

“Stop being an asshole for two seconds and get me the damn kit.”

Nico groaned loudly as he walked to the toilet.

 Will was usually great with first impressions. Kayla said it had to do with his smile, Austin thought it was the freckles. Jerry said it was the curls. Their grandmother liked to think it was his manners.

If she saw him as he carefully cleaned Percy’s nose –Prince Percy, second born of King Hades’ younger brother– she would have hit his head with a wooden spoon. Luckily, she was still in Texas.

“If it makes you feel better,” Percy said, his feet hanging a few inches from the kitchen ground as he sat on the stove, “it was a really good hit.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” the Prince commented around a mouthful of chips, which he’d taken from Jason’s backpack. “The nose didn’t break.”

“Maybe I can try again on you, see how your nose gets out,” Will suggested, sending the Prince a wink.

The Prince chose to ignore him, and talked to his cousins. “Anyway, you got what you deserve for coming in unannounced.”

“We weren’t,” Piper said. “We told Persephone. She told us to bring sleeping bags.”

The Prince shook his head. “I can’t believe her sometimes.”

“Hazel did say something about her taking all the beds out,” Annabeth said. Or at least Will thought she was Annabeth, he honestly wasn’t sure. He was still a bit shaken. “Persephone, I mean. It took her a lot of effort to arrange it.”

“She could have at least ordered food,” the Prince muttered. “We have none.”

“Have you ever thought about grocery shopping?” Leo asked.

The Prince rolled his eyes. Will responded in his stance. “We wanted to, but then we forgot. He didn’t actually know people needed to go grocery shopping themselves, we woke up and he said the fridge would be full again.”

Nico sighed. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but his cheeks seemed red. “That’s not even true.”

“Yes, it is. You ran to the kitchen, saw the fridge was empty and whined. I told you–”

“I absolutely did not whine.”

“Yes, you did, and don’t interrupt me. So, I told you we could get something at a bar, and you responded ‘but I’m hungry now’. Don’t you dare come at me and say you don’t whine.”

“Shut up, at least I don’t have a crush on the bookstore boy.”

“I don’t have a crush on him, I merely noticed his arm muscles.”

“You drooled when you saw him.”

“I literally told him you were my husband.”

“Maybe you were hoping he had a cheating kink. Who knows what’s going on in your Texan head.”

“That’s not even a kink, and don’t attack my birthplace.”

“Shut up, you’ve been complaining about Italy since we got here.”

“That’s not even true.”

“Insulting my native country every chance you get.”

“Wait, don’t you come from that island?”

“What do you mean I don’t come from that island? Don’t you even know that I was born in Italy? That’s a new low, even for you.”

“Where was I born, then?”

“Texas.”

“I really wasn’t.”

“What do you mean you weren’t? You’ve been on my case about Texas, every three steps you see something that reminds you of Texas. You talked about your childhood in Texas, with old Johnny and his drinks–”

“Cokes, they were cokes.”

“–oh, sorry, his cokes. You talked about all of that and you weren’t even born there? That’s cheating, William.”

Will turned back to Percy, a small smile on his lips as he adjusted the pink band aid on his nose. “I really can’t wait to see his face when he discovers my name isn’t even William.”

“What the–Will don’t you dare walking away now!”

“It was nice meeting you all, and sorry again for your nose!”

“No problem!”

“Will!”

 There was a girl on the stairs, and Will knew her far too well. Her hair was still the same as last time they’d seen each other, as though she had come straight out of his memories. It had been years.

Will stopped on his tracks, as did she. Her hand, which had been covering her mouth in a yawn, fell limp to her side.

“I wasn’t sure it was you,” Piper said.

Up closer, it was clear that she had grown. They met mid-stairs, both of them covering halfway of the distance. Would she tell the Prince? She–she wouldn’t. Or maybe yes. Maybe she would.

“He doesn’t know about my parents,” Wil whispered.

Piper’s eyes widened. “You haven’t told him anything.”

“I’ve known him for two days.”

“He’s your soulmate.”

Will side-stepped Piper, but her hand caught his wrist in an iron-like grasp. They hadn’t seen each other in so long, so why was she here? She had to be friends with the Prince. Will wished they had been left alone, and no one had come looking for them.

“Your opinion on that hasn’t changed, I guess,” Piper said. She took a step back, as though it was her that had been wounded by the words. Maybe she was. She had been awfully empathetic when they were younger, crying whenever one of the boys fell and scratched his knees. “You should tell him that.”

“I will.” Will raked a hand through his hair, finding them even more knotted than when he’d gone to sleep. “I just need time.”

Piper nodded, and looked around them, making sure they were alone. “Have you heard from your mom recently?”

Will shook his head. “I don’t have my phone with me, so that’s a no.”

“Don’t hate me for what I’m about to say, then.” She leaned forward, until her lips were just a few centimeters away from Will’s ear. “She’s getting married.”

“I sure as hell hope it’s not to Apollo.”

Piper snorted. “Not him.”

“Is it public already?” Will asked. “I suppose it’s new, since I haven’t heard it when I was in New York.” He shrugged. “Never paid for international traffic, so I guess I’m a bit out of the loop.”

Piper shook her head. “You’re always the same. And no, it isn’t public yet. I just heard Naomi telling my father. She also said she had called your grandmother, and she–”

“Piper!             I see you met Will! Have you told her you punched Percy?”

Will turned, to see Leo coming up the stairs. He didn’t look like he’d heard anything, Will just hoped Piper had never told him anything about him. Why would she, anyway? They had been friends years earlier.

“Not yet,” Will said.

“Well, can’t say I’ve never thought about punching him myself,” Piper said.

Leo laughed. He looked at Piper like she was an angel sent by the heavens, his eyes full of adoration. They had to be very close. Close to the Prince as well, seeing how he’d joked with them in the kitchen.

“I’ll tell you everything about how it happened.” Leo grabbed Piper’s hand and tugged her forward, and put his arm around her shoulder when they walked side by side. “There was so much blood, Piper, so much blood. Percy’s nose was broken in several parts–”

“That’s not true at all!” Will shouted after them.

He didn’t sleep that night. When the Prince came to bed, Will closed his eyes and didn’t move. Not even when a warm finger touched the mole under his left eye. It took everything in him not to grab that hand, and cradle it to his chest. He couldn’t help the disappointment when the finger retreated.

  Annabeth, Piper and Leo would take Will to breakfast, or so they said, before shoving Nico out of the house, right into those two idiots that were his cousins. They were holding his coat, scarf and beanie. Actually, the scarf was the blue one Will usually wore.

“We’re going grocery shopping,” Percy said, putting his arm around Nico’s shoulder. Nico shrugged it off. “I’ve been told you’ve never gone.”

Nico grunted. He should have gone with Will for the first time, not with them. Would Will be disappointed? Probably not, yet Nico still worried. “Have you ever gone?”

“We don’t live with our fathers, of course we have,” Percy said.

“So, why don’t you tell us about Will?” Jason asked. “You two seem to get along pretty well.”

“He gets on my nerves so much, we are literally constantly fighting.”

“So were Annabeth and I when we first met,” Percy said, with that stupidly dreamy smile he always got when he thought of her.

Just a year earlier, hearing those words from Percy would have burnt a hole in his chest. Now he simply rolled his eyes. “You were eleven. Will is a fully grown adult.”

“Annabeth and Percy still spend half their time bickering, though,” Jason said. He grimaced. “By the way, remind me to never, ever take a flight with them again. Worst eleven hours of my life.”

“Maybe if you’d bother telling me before visiting, I would.”

Percy cooed, poking Nico’s cheek. Nico swatted his hand away, but the smug grin didn’t fade.  “Don’t be so bitter.”

“How long are you even staying?” Nico asked.

“We’re leaving tomorrow night,” Jason said. “We are actually on our way to the palace. Your–the Queen, she wanted updates on how you two are getting along.”

“Why diving us, then?” Nico asked, hitting a rock with his foot. It went rolling down the street. “Wouldn’t you have had more to pry, if you’d kept us together?”

“Because we aren’t fucking spies,” Percy replied. His cheeks were red, maybe the cold wasn’t the only thing to blame. “So don’t treat us as such.”

“What the hell should I treat you as, then?”

“Like your friends, which we are, by the way. Which we’ve been, even though you don’t bother to pick up the phone, even though you–”

“Guys!” Jason exclaimed, always the pacifier, always the one to break them apart before they could go for each other’s throat. “Let’s try not to let anger get the best of us, mh? What Percy meant, was that we have no intention of reporting anything back to Persephone. We are simply here to see how you’re doing, since it’s been months since the last time we were all together.”

Percy snorted, looking at the hand Jason had put on Nico’s shoulder. “You never let me do that.”

“Because you fucking stink.”

Percy threw a snowball right in Nico’s face. Somewhere in the background, Jason sighed, already kneeling to the ground to make a bigger snowball.

 “So, tell us about yourself,” Annabeth said, once they were all sitting in a coffee shop. “What you do, what you like. What you think of Nico.”

“Ay, charla caliente,” Leo commented. “Spill the tea, Will.”

Will wetted his lips. Which topic was less dangerous? “Well, he’s nice? No, actually, he’s almost never nice. But he’s endearing.”

“Endearing?” Piper repeated.

“Yeah. The way he does things. Like, if you want him to do something, it’s a real battle. The first day we were here, I wanted a tour of the house, because I didn’t know where anything was, obviously, and he complained about having to do it for more than an hour. He complained while doing it, too. Then he did it four times.”

Piper laughed. “Typical Nico.”

“And he really is clueless. I laugh about it, but sometimes it’s almost scary. He thought fridges filled themselves. How has he survived so long?”

“By being filthy rich,” Leo supplied, around a mouthful of chocolate croissant. Annabeth eyed the crumbles he spat with disgust.

“And where do you stand with each other? Have you talked about the bond?” Annabeth asked.

Will shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Maybe you should,” Piper said. “It could help. Knowing where you are with each other.”

“It surely would have helped Percy and me,” Annabeth said, running the tip of her finger on the rim of her cup. Her gray eyes met Will’s, and he found himself unable to look away. “We discovered we were soulmates after years of knowing each other, and being friends.”

“I’m assuming it went well? Since I saw you two making out in the kitchen an hour ago,” Will said.

Annabeth’s cheeks turned pink, Piper made a choking sound as she tried to control her laughter. Leo had no such qualms, slapping his thigh as he loudly laughed.

“Yeah, it did,” she said. “But it got worse before it got better. We’d had crush on each other for years, but he was also involved with this other girl. Since we both the other had a mark, though we’d kept them covered, we didn’t want to risk our friendship. What if we were together for a year, then one of us found the soulmate? What would it mean for us?”

“And don’t forget Rachel,” Leo said.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Leo. Really helpful.”

“They are friends now,” Piper reprimanded him, leaning forward on the table to tuck a dark curl behind Leo’s ear. “Don’t put them up against each other.”

“I just like the story! I want to hear it all!”

Annabeth sighed. “Rachel and Percy went out on a few dates. Rachel didn’t hide her mark, so I assumed that it was the same as Percy’s.”

“Spoiler alert, it wasn’t,” came Leo’s comment.

“Eat this and shut up,” Annabeth said, giving him the rest of her apple cake. Leo happily complied. “But it wasn’t. Rachel asked Percy to show her his mark, then told him to get his head out of his ass and stop leading her on, when his heart already belonged to someone else.”

“There’s a but coming,” Leo mouthed at Will. Will bit his lip to stop a smile.

“But when Percy told me things were off with Rachel, and showed me his mark, I told him that I had no intention of being his second choice, just because Rachel didn’t want him.”

“Severo,” Leo said.

“So, Percy spent the summer trying to get Annabeth to believe him,” Piper said.

“And he did,” Annabeth admitted, raising her hand to show off an engagement ring. “Six years and still going strong. I showed him my mark. So he knew I was his soulmate.”

Will smiled, congratulated them, asked about the wedding preparation. In reality, he didn’t understand what that story had to do with Will and Nico. That was how people were supposed to find their soulmate, by being friends first. Not like Will and Nico, who had been thrown into that.

“Nico is a good guy,” Piper said, later that day, while she and Will helped Leo prepare lunch. Leo had gone to the toilet, but they still spoke in hushed tones. “I hope you know that. And so are you.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not going to tell you that if you hurt him I’m going to beat you up or some shit like that, mostly because I know Percy and Jason will tell you this. I’m just asking you not to hurt him.”

“It’s really not my intention.”

“Then maybe you should tell him you only want to be friends. Or maybe not even that, if you don’t.”

“It’s not like he’s in love with me.”

“Yeah, but I know what you think about soulmates. I know it must be hard for you now.”

“It could have happened better,” Will admitted.

“I know they saw your mark from a video. Was it one of Drew’s?”

Ah, Drew Tanaka, Piper’s half-sister. And also one of Will’s friends back in New York. She was a handful, to be honest, but she also loved with a fierceness Will had never seen in anyone else.

“Connor Stoll’s. Maybe you know him? He makes prank videos with his brother, mostly.”

Piper hummed. “Wait, didn’t he make Drew’s makeup at some point? In a collaboration video.”

Will chuckled. “Does Drew know you watch her videos? Maybe I should tell her. I’m sure she’d be delighted.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Solace.” Piper pointed the knife she was using to cut onions at Will, which only made him laugh.

Drew and Piper’s rivalry was an evergreen of amusing factors in his life.

“How are things between the two of you, anyway?” Piper asked, teasingly. “Both over it?”

“We were both over it years ago,” Will replied. “What Drew’s not over, though, is my sister.”

“Kayla?”

“God, you have no idea. They are practically pining after each other in the most absurd way possible. Poor Austin has to stand it all on his own now, honestly.”

“Oh my God, are you for real? Drew and Kayla? I never even thought about it.”

“Yeah, heteronormativity does that to you. I think it started about a year ago? If you want to see it, you can find it on Drew’s channel, there’s a video of her doing Kayla’s hair green. Poor editor took out like thirty minutes of them just staring into each other’s eyes.”

Piper chuckled. But, when she turned to Will, her expression was serious again. “Could they be, you know, soulmates?”

Will shrugged. “They know I’m not a big fan of the topic, so they don’t talk to me about it.”

Piper nodded. “God, I can’t wait to tell Mitchell about it. Drew whipped for someone is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Rude. She was more than whipped for me, I’ll let you know.”

“Is it weird? Seeing them together, I mean.”

“I’m just joking, Pips. I care about Drew, I care about her a lot. I love her, but I’m not in love with her. I’ve seen her turning Kayla’s days upside down. Just seeing her makes Kayla so happy, even when she’s feeling shitty. But when we were together… we really were children, you know? We got together when we were fourteen. I loved her, but I’m not the same, and neither is she.”

“It’s insane how you’ve stayed friends even after being through so much together.”

“I had absolutely no say in it. She’s always been my best friend, y’know? Even though I absolutely can’t stand her a times. I’m glad Kayla’s got her love. I just –honestly I just hope she treats Drew better than I did.”

“You two were good for each other.”

Will’s eyes burnt. “I shut her out. She never talks about it, but I think it really hurt her.”

“You said it yourself. You were little more than children.”

“I know, but I should’ve handled it better.”

That was Piper was afraid of, Will knew. Will hurting Nico like he’d hurt Drew. His hands were shaking, he closed them in fists.

“It was years ago,” Piper said, rubbing her hand on Will’s shoulder blade. “It’s okay now. Antagonizing yourself over it won’t make it better.”

“I know.”

“Remember it, then. You’re a good person, Will. Don’t forget it.”

Before they could continue, the kitchen door opened, and Leo didn’t come alone. The Prince’s cousins were with him, which meant that, somewhere in the house, was the Prince.

 Will let himself fall from the couch, crawling toward Nico, raising to his knees once he’d reached him. “What are you looking at?”

They were alone once again. Jason, Piper and Leo had gone out, while Annabeth and Percy napped upstairs.

Nico turned, so that he was resting on his stomach, and Will could see his phone. “Did you know Piper was reporting our conversations on her Instagram Stories?”

Will shook his head. “But at least now the world know what a grumpy meanie you are.”

“Oh, fuck off. Explain this to me, if I’m the grumpy one.” He turned back several stories, until he’d reached one written in blue. Piper hadn’t written their names, only X and Y.

X: I’m taller than you, stop being a kid and admit it.

Y: Sure. Keep telling yourself that, pal.

X: I’m looking down at you right now. See my eyes? They’re looking down at you.

Y: That’s because you’re arrogant, shortie.

Will covered his face with his hands. “God. Everyone is going to know I’m the mean one.”

Nico laughed. “Because you’re shorter? Finally you see it.”

“Wait, does that mean you have Instagram?”

“I don’t live in the Middle Ages, so…”

“Oh my God, show me your posts.”

“I don’t post things myself.”

“I still want to see.”

“Well, you’re about to be disappointed.”

“Pretty please.”

Nico groaned. He couldn’t believe Will, honestly. What did he think, that Nico would just give in every time his eyes turned into puppy mood? He was about to have a rude awakening.

But then Nico did the mistake of turning, just to tell Will no while looking right into the puppy eyes. And ended up handing Will his phone.

He couldn’t believe himself.

“Scoot over, punk,” Will ordered, and Nico couldn’t do anything but sit, so that Will could get between him and the armrest.

As always, Will’s body heat surprised Nico. Will curled his knees to his chest, and with a smile he scrolled through Nico’s posts. Nico let his arm fall limp behind the back of the sofa. His first instinct had been to put it on Will’s shoulder.

“You have a shit-tone of followers. Wait, are you actually wearing something colorful in this one? This comment section is scary. People always manage to scare me. Is this young you? You were so soft. God, this girl looks a lot like you.”

And Will went to the tagged profile, before Nico could stop him. Nico barely had time to blink, and Bianca’s profile was looking back at him. In the bio was written the year she was born in, and the one she had died in. The last phone posted, was of her grave.

And Will wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t stupid, and he had connected the dots. He looked up at Nico, and he was absolutely crestfallen. Nico’s breath was knocked out of him.

He didn’t take his phone back. He just got up, and walked away, barely grabbing his coat as he left. Maybe Will called after him, or maybe he didn’t. Either way, Nico didn’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears.

 The cold air was biting Will’s reddened cheeks when he finally found the Prince.

The Prince was sitting on a bench, looking utterly out of it. Will couldn’t have found the way back on his own even if he tried. He wasn’t even sure where he was, just that there was no one around, and the sun was setting.

The Prince looked at Will, his face reddened by the cold. And he called Will’s name in a breath, surprise flooding on his features.

“Will. Will, have you been crying?”

And Will couldn’t stop the half-sob that escaped his lips. He sat next to the Prince, half freezing without a coat on, and curled on himself.

“Don’t go away like that again,” he said. His voice trembled far less than he thought it would. “I was sick with worry.”

“I’m sorry.”

Will shook his head. “Don’t be. Just promise me you won’t do that again.”

“I won’t.” Will raised his eyes from the ground, arching his eyebrows. The Prince let out a sigh. “I promise I won’t.”

Will nodded. “Okay.”

“You’ll freeze to death, fuck.” Without waiting for an answer, the Prince took off his coat, and put it around Will’s shoulders. “Will. Why were you so worried?”

Ah. There was something about the way the Prince said his name. Like it was important, like it held all the answers, but he was too afraid to see them. He said it like it was a prayer, the only thing left to save him.

“Last time I couldn’t find someone, when I did it was too late,” Will revealed. He wasn’t good with vulnerability. He blamed it on being an older brother, and a man. He was always told he should be strong, never cry, never complain. If he wanted something, he had to go take it.

He knew it was bullshit. Still, he had never felt so naked in front of the Prince.

“I know the feeling,” the Prince said. His voice was little more than a whisper.

Will turned to look at him. Really look at him. Over the past days, the dark circles under his eyes had almost completely faded. Will already knew that he was beautiful, but something in his gaze that day made him even more so.

“With your sister?” Will asked. It was a stupid thing to ask. It was stupid, and he was stupid, and the Prince was going to hate him forever. Worse still, Nico was going to hate him forever.

“Yeah. She–she was my older sister. Princess Bianca di Angelo. She was older, so Crown Princess. She got into an accident near a military base.”

“You don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay. It’s not a secret, you know? Just, not something I usually talk about.”

“Yeah.” Will breathed in deep, until his lungs hurt. “I know.”

“The person you lost?”

Nico’s questions so often sounded like he wasn’t asking at all. Like he already knew everything. Will closed his eyes, but it didn’t make them burn any less.

“My older brothers.”

“The world really sucks, doesn’t it?”

A wet laugh went past Will’s lips. “It really does.”

Under his clothes, Will’s mark felt hot.

 Just when Nico thought he would freeze, his mark warmed.

 “What do you want out of this?” Will asked. “What do you expect from me?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.”

Niccolò sighed. “Me neither.”

“I like spending time with you, though. Can–can we be friends?”

“Of course we can.”

 To be honest, Nico can’t imagine anything less with Will. It’s scary, how easily people can get you to care for them.

#solangelo #solangelo fic #riordanverse #soulmate au #nico di angelo #will solace

[lornashore]

Happy Halloween Carnival

Summary: An Arthur Fleck reader insert. You bring him over to your house for some halloween fun!

A/N: Halloween is most definitely my favorite holiday so this was incredibly fun to write! As we all know, Arthur deserves the best so I’m giving him a wonderful Halloween. Happy Halloween everyone!

Arthur watched out the window at the trees as the car sped down the empty street, observing all the gold and wine colors of the leaves. He had never seen such vibrant colors before, being used to the dull, drizzly days surrounded by the grey buildings of Gotham.

As you brought the car to a stop at a red light, you turned toward him for a moment, gently squeezing his knee. He looked at you, smiling brightly, clear excitement showing on his wrinkled features. 

“Is this where you live?” He asked, motioning to the small neighborhood that was across from the long line of trees. 

“I do. In fact you can see my house from here.” You said, pointing to a yard that was lit up by an orange and purple glow. Arthur's feet began to bounce up and down, unable to keep his nerves contained any longer. You giggled at him when he leaned forward in his seat to see the yard as you drove closer to it, pulling into the driveway and shutting off the engine. His features brightened even more when he was finally able to see your house in full view before him, exiting the care as swiftly as his feet would allow. He had always wanted to be able to decorate for holidays like this, but between his job and mother, he never found the time or reason to. 

“Do you like it?” You asked him, wrapping your arm around his thin, boney waist. 

“Yes of course! I think this little guy here is my favorite.” He said, pointing to a short, pudgy zombie jester sitting on one of your steps. Leaning forward, he reached out, grazing his hands over the blood soaked hair on his head when suddenly, the figure spun towards him. It’s pupils lit up red and a high pitched laugh sounded from the internal speaker, making Arthur startle, standing up straight.

“Happy Halloween!” The animatronic cackled, and Arthur laughed along with it, no longer frightened by the sudden movement. 

“He’s motion censored, so anyone who walks past will get a frightful greeting! He’s one of my favorites too.” You said, leading Arthur up to your front door with your two grocery bags in hand and Arthur's overnight pack slung over your shoulder. He ducked beneath the fake webbing you strung all across the front deck, smiling when he noticed sparkly black bats and ghosts hanging from the roof. 

Once you entered your home, you switched on the lights, revealing more of your spooky decor. A large cardboard coffin leaned against the wall in the entry room, lid ajar with two skeleton hands clung to it. You noticed him observing it and smirked as you plugged in the fog machine that was hidden within. He took a few steps back when he noticed the artificial mist  collect around his feet. 

“We’ll be leaving this on once the trick or treating starts. For now, come help me with these. I still have to fill up the candy bowl.” You said, taking Arthur by the hand and into your kitchen where you had a large plastic bowl decorated by white skulls setting on the counter. 

“Here, can you fill that up for me?” You asked, handing him two large sacks of candy. He

did as you asked, stealing a couple pieces for himself when your back was turned. 

“For now we can keep this on the little table next to the front door. Otherwise, let’s go get into our costumes!” You said, watching as he placed the bowl where you instructed and followed you to your bedroom. 

You reached into the bag, taking your costume from it. Looking at the picture on the front of the package, you smiled at the soft rainbow colored clown costume Arthur had chosen for you. It wasn’t your first choice, but meeting those large blue orbs and puffed bottom lip, you couldn’t say no. He wanted to be a clown couple, so that’s what you intended to do. You changed quickly, seeing him deeply focused in your vanity mirror, his makeup and brushes strewn out in front of him, 

You approached him, observing how the brush glided across his skin with an experienced hand. He paused for a moment to look at you, in your colorful polka-dotted dress and matching bow. 

“I was right. You do look really cute in that.” He spoke softly. A light blush coated your face at his compliment, knowing he was doing the same despite the white paint that fully covered his cheeks. Leaning forward, you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head against the side of his. He grasped onto your arms and kissed you softly there, still watching you. 

“All you need now is a bit of paint.” He said, turning towards you. 

“Oh..no I think It’ll be ok. You can finish yours.” You told him, not knowing where to begin as far as makeup went. You didn’t know the first thing about coming up with a look like that. 

“Mines all done though. Please? I really want to do yours. I have plenty here.” He said. And again, you didn’t have the heart to tell him no. 

You took a seat beside him on the two seater bench, closing your eyes so he could do whatever he wanted with the greasepaint. The gentle strokes of the brush relaxed you more than you thought it would, and you tried your best to imagine in your mind what he was drawing. When he was finished, he turned you towards the mirror. 

You opened your eyes and studied your now painted face. The heart shaped pastel pink lips, matching cheeks, painted freckles, and an impressively detailed sun painted over your left eye tied it all together. You blushed again beneath the makeup, seeing your reflections side by side made you realize again how much he truly loved you, and loved spending moments like these together. The thought made your heart race, wishing the moment could last forever. 

“One last thing.” He reached into his pocket for the spare red nose that never came with the costumes. He wanted you to feel like a real, professional clown like him, even if it were just for a night. With one hand, he turned your head towards him so you couldn’t see yourself anymore. You closed your eyes as well, remembering what he told you before about how one should never see the nose be put on. He did the same, and then pressed the puffy red ball to your nose, tying the string around the back of your head to secure it. Once again, he directed you towards your reflection. You opened your eyes and immediately they went wide, a shy grin slightly crinkling your painted skin seeing the costume completely done and ready. 

“I think we should call you...Loonetta.” He said after a moment of pause. You giggled, covering your mouth with one hand. 

“Look at you, you’re so cute! There’s no need to be shy.” His voice was high pitched as he spoke, now fully into his character. With both hands, he took your hands in his and began to dance. You moved along with him, humming an unknown tune out of key as you stepped in time with him. He spun you a few times, holding you close to his rigid frame and kissed the back of your neck. Even with the paint you thought his lips felt warm, leaving tingles on the cool flesh. You relaxed into him, still swaying back and forth in your bedroom, not wanting the moment to end. 

The doorbell jingle brought you back to the present. You quickly dashed off smiling wide at the clown that was close on your heels. 

“Who could be here at this time?” Carnival asked you. You paused at the door before opening it to turn to him. 

“Just wait, I know you’ve never seen this before.” He cocked his head at your words, wondering what it was that he missed in your yard. You opened the door when you heard the bell ring again, stepping aside so he could see. 

    “Trick or Treat!” The small group of kids said in unison, holding their buckets and pillow cases out in front of them. Unsure of what to do next, he glanced over at you, then back at the expectant children. 

“It’s ok, give them each a piece of candy from the bowl!” You instructed. And he did, happily, waving as he watched them walk back down the drive and onto the next house. 

“Where did all these kids come from?” He asked, looking out at the many bodies crowding the street. You giggled at how silly he seemed, standing so close to the door that his nose almost pressed against the glass. 

“It’s always this busy on Halloween! This year is actually more so then last. I hope I bought enough to last the whole night.” You said, eyeing the bowl that was once almost overfull now slowly losing its contents. You stepped out onto your front porch, propping the door open just as another group of kids approached. 

“Trick or Treat!” They shouted from halfway up the yard. Immediately Carnival stepped beside you with the bowl in his hands. He dropped a piece in every bag that was held out to him with a different sound effect each time. One little girl in particular dressed as snow white found him to be very entertaining. She didn’t leave with the others and clapped her hands together when he produced a long string of handkerchiefs from his jacket sleeve. He beamed at this, clearly having the time of his life on that very night.

“What’s your name?” She asked, pointing at him with a tiny finger. 

“Why, my name is Carnival! And this here is my companion, Loonetta!” He said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. 

Suddenly, the little girl approached him, arms outstretched and her candy sack left on the wood stair. She tightly wrapped her arms around one of his knees, resting her head there for a moment. 

“I love you Carnival.” She said, tightening her grip. I looked at his face just in time to see a tear slip past his lashes, clearly surprised and touched by this child's kindness. 

“Lucy! Geez, I’m so sorry. She doesn’t understand boundaries yet.” A curvy blond lady said, rushing towards the little girl that was still latched to Arthur's limb. 

“It’s quite alright. She’s very sweet!” He leaned down then to pat the top of her head. “And you know what? I think I know what you would like.” He straightened his posture, placing his heels together before pulling a bouquet of pink flowers from his suit. She perked up immediately, stubby fingers reaching for the fake flowers he held out to her. 

“Thank you!” She said before following her mother down to the street. 

It was quiet after that, only a few older kids stopped by every so often. 

Once everything calmed down, and the once crowded road was now quiet and empty, The after excitement fatigue creeped upon your tired, slumped frame. You shivered, feeling a cold breeze cut through you as you gazed out into the night.

“That’s everyone. Let’s head back in now.” You said, turning to your door. Once you were inside, Carnival closed and locked the door behind you. He grasped onto your wrist, pulling  you to him as close as he could before you could walk off, resting his hands on the small of your back. 

“Thank you for inviting me, I never knew Halloween could be this much fun.” He said, his voice husky and tired. 

“I’m just glad you agreed to come over. I knew you would enjoy it.” You said, placing a kiss to his soft red painted lips. He brushed his rough fingers through your hair, stopping at the back of your head to massage gentle circles there. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your forehead against his gazing at each other. Neither of you wanted to let go of the other, yet both began to feel a tingle of sleep fast approaching. 

“Happy Halloween Loonetta.” He whispered after a long moment of comfortable silence passed. 

“Happy Halloween Carnival.” You replied, kissing his forehead. You then led him down the hall so the two of you could ready yourselves for a long, much needed sleep. 

#arthur #fleck #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck reader insert #arthur fleck imagine #arthur imagine #arthur x reader #joker #joker x reader #JOKER2019 #2019 #joker movie

[67midnightwriter]

Angel Down

A/N: I wrote this for @impala-dreamer Make Me Feel It Challenge, and it took a little longer than expected, but I really hope you consider it worth the wait! Thank you @thoughtslikeaminefield​ and @boondoctorwho​ for the read through, and the amazing aesthetic. 

W/C: 2,887

Dean x Cas

Warnings: Angst, Heartache, Gore, Nightmares, Soul-Crushing

Summary: Cas takes on the Mark of Chuck, and Dean makes him a promise.

It wasn’t something that had hit him out of nowhere, a life-changing bolt of lightning sent from Zeus. Rather, it was something that came second nature, a reaction rather than revelation, akin to how the human brain knows instinctively to take in oxygen. Dean had heard somewhere you couldn’t successfully drown yourself, and while he had never tested that himself, he knew trying to stop loving Castiel would feel about the same, and that he had put to trial. Time and time again they had pushed each other away, been torn apart, lost to the other, but in the end, they came back together.

“It has to be you.” Cas’s gruff voice was loud compared to the soft clinks of spell ingredients hitting the bowl. Dean huffed, not answering an unspoken question he refused to acknowledge. He tore herbs mechanically, losing himself in the instructions on the aged paper to his left. Cas reached out and laid a hand on top of his, and Dean noticed his own hands were trembling. “Dean.” The tone was soft and commanding, tearing Dean’s gaze from his hands and directing it to deep blue eyes. “Promise me. It has to be you.”

“It’s not going to come to that Cas.” It can’t come to that.

“Dean.” Cas’s hand grasped Dean’s wrist, warm and grounding. 

Dean’s throat burned with the effort of holding back a sob. He willed his eyes dry, staring holes into the countertop, unable to meet Castiel’s gaze without a complete breakdown. The weight of the silence caused his shoulders to sag, unspoken words pushing in on him from every angle.

“Okay.” The word was vile on his lips, clinging to his throat, but he forced it out. Cas smiled softly at him, and Dean clung to it, a life preserve in an ocean of uncertain, doomed outcomes. 

————

Dean’s fingers traced the raised scar on Castiel’s arm as it lay draped across his abdomen. The dark pressed in, heavy with the thoughts racing around his mind. The scar was warm, and for a moment Dean imagined it was throbbing beneath his fingers with a heartbeat all its own, a living thing he could kill. He bit his bottom lip to stop its trembling, hyper-aware of Castiel lying awake beside him, despite his deep and steady breathing. 

His arm burned with phantom pains, his own Mark five years gone, and he tried to match his own breathing to Cas’s before the panic and anxiety could lock its claws into his chest. He knew that he should be happy; Chuck was locked away, the world once again lay blissfully safe and ignorant at the feet of the Winchesters, but now his world was in danger. A time bomb lay beside him, locked and loaded, with an invisible countdown and an inaudible tick.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was tender, whispered into his ear in the dark. “Something is bothering you.”

Dean swallowed hard, trying to force down the irrational emotions threatening to overflow. He inhaled, slow and deep, holding his breath, grasping at the illusion of control.  

Castiel shifted, and Dean knew he was propped up on his elbow, blue eyes piercing through the darkness and searching his face. Dean let go, hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he exhaled through his nose. 

“What is it?” Cas reached out and touched Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean could easily predict the way Cas’s brow always furrow when he’s confused, the way his head always tilts, his eyes squinting; and he couldn’t stop the desperate laugh that dissolved into a sob. He was reminded of all the times he’d glance over while they were watching a movie, or the stolen glances in the rearview mirror while they were on a case and he’d just made a comment that Castiel doesn’t understand — the ones that seem to happen fewer and fewer as they spent more and more time together. 

“I’m so sorry Cas.” Dean’s voice cracked, the final wall crumbling beneath a tidal wave of pain. 

He couldn’t stop the flood, couldn’t hold on anymore as the words tumbled from his lips.

He reached to anchor himself to the solid body beside him. 

“It shouldn’t happen like this. You shouldn’t have to fight this. I shouldn’t have to… to lose…” Dean tightened his grip, his tongue unwilling to speak the unimaginable.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas lowered his body back onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shuddering form and pulling him close. He pressed his lips to the side of Dean’s head as he cried against his neck, murmuring assurance and wordless comforting sounds. 

Dean wasn’t sure how long he cried; it seemed like a lifetime had passed, and in the inky blackness of the windowless bedroom, time was but an illusion. 

“Do you remember the time I used the Leviathans to become God?” Cas whispered into the dark once Dean had begun to calm.

“As if I would ever let you live down the first time you nearly destroyed the world by yourself.” Dean couldn’t see Cas, but he knew that he was smiling.

“What about the time I became human?”

Dean didn’t verbally answer, merely shifted uncomfortably. It hadn’t been one of his finest moments.

“Or the time that you carried the Mark? The time you were a demon? The time Lucifer killed-“

“What’s your point Cas?” Dean’s voice was heavy again, but he didn’t have it in him to cry anymore. 

“We’ve been through tough spots before. We’ll get through this one. I have faith in you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean felt Cas shift until he was leaning over him, and Dean could feel that look Cas gave him, a mix of pure adoration and unwavering faith, the one that Dean didn’t believe he deserved, the one that said Cas believed the stars were merely the sky’s imitation of the freckles dusted across his nose, the one that made Dean shiver. 

Because in that look, a being who had been around to see the world spun into existence saw Dean as the most beautiful creation. Dean swallowed with what he was sure was an audible click, a vain attempt to choke down the lump in his throat.

“Promise?” 

Dean felt like a child, a frail paper doll, like one wrong move would tear him into unfixable pieces. Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s, and Dean lost himself in the steady warmth, the presence of him, the constant. With a thousand touches Castiel promised, until Dean’s mind stopped racing, until all Dean could think about was now, until he slept. 

———

Dean clutched the boy to his chest, putting himself between the child and the danger. He pressed the boy’s head in the crook of his shoulder, murmuring comfort that was drowned out by the screams coming from behind him. He rocked back and forth, whether for his own comfort or the boy’s he wasn’t sure. The boy’s name came to him in a flash of thought — Dylan — and he collected himself enough to remember to warn him as he felt the telltale change in the atmosphere of the room, a crackle of static that he could never be sure was actually sounding or just imagined. 

“Close your eyes, Dylan. Close your eyes.”

Dean squeezed his own eyes shut, pressing Dylan’s head even tighter to his neck, and suddenly the world was red beneath his closed lids. He felt a warm, thick splatter against his back, heard the droplets splash across him in the sudden silence. Dylan was crying, but alive, and Dean held on to that as a win. Dean cracked his eyes open, blinking away spots as the glow in the room faded. He looked over his shoulder at Castiel, internally wincing as he stood in the center of the room, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, eyes and Mark still white with diminishing power. 

Dean shook away the thought that bringing Cas on hunts was like bringing an A-Bomb to a water gunfight. He pushed away the uncertainty of whether or not the use of power was helping Cas control his urges or making them worse. He studied Sam’s pale face, the terror in his brother’s eyes that he prayed wasn’t mirrored in his own. 

The whiskey made it easier to pretend. The way Castiel touched him in the dark made it easier to believe. How Castiel still loved him made it easier to lie.

———

The girl was screaming, and Dean knew she wouldn’t stop. He had learned long ago, in the ghost of a deeply buried past, that when a person was skinned, they never stopped screaming. He watched, transfixed, as her muscles flexed against the bonds that held her, shiny with still pumping blood. Her eyes rolled in her head, desperate for lids to clamp shut, but they lay upon the dirty, bloodstained floor, nothing more than two pieces of flesh upon a pile of stained ivory skin. He could see a red hair ribbon still tied around her soft brunette curls, now flowing out of a deflated scalp. 

Her eyes locked on him, unbridled terror giving way to a focused desperation. Her mouth opened and she tried to speak, but she had no tongue or lips left to form words. Fresh drops of blood splattered on the ground as she groaned, and it was a sound Dean didn’t need words to translate. He was back in training, standing before Alistair’s victims, learning the most unspeakable talents, his gut twisting at the ease with which he wielded these weapons, guilt laying heavy on his shoulders at the desperate need for praise. 

Please, please kill me before he comes back. 

But they weren’t in Hell, Alistair was dead, and this time Dean’s hands were empty. Clean and empty. 

A door shut behind them, tearing her stare from Dean, her screaming starting again at their company. Dean turned, the blood draining from his face as he took in the familiar suit, the deep blue eyes, the Mark bright red against the skin of a forearm that had cradled his head on countless nights. 

Dean jolted awake, his heart galloping in his chest, his blood cold, the screams still surrounding him. His screams surrounding him. Dean clamped his mouth shut, teeth digging painfully into his bottom lip as he forced himself back into reality. He reached out for Cas, adrenaline shooting through his veins as his hand fell on a cold bed.

Dean threw the sheets back, stepping into a pair of boxers and grabbing his robe on his way through the door. The slaps of his bare feet echoed down the empty halls, quickening as his mind played over the worst of what he might find, his most recent nightmare included. Every empty room, every unanswered call pushed him faster, until he finally came to the room he avoided the most. Inside was another Ma’Lak box Castiel had insisted they build, and here Dean found him, sitting next to it, eyes, hand, and Mark glowing as he added or strengthened its wards yet another night. 

Dean let out the breath, the ever-building pressure of anxiety deflating with it. He clenched his fists to stop the tremble of fear in his hands. 

“Dean?” Concern softened Cas’s voice, and Dean’s shoulders dropped a little more. Here was his Cas, the Cas that made it easy to pretend, the angel that cushioned the lies. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I just…” Dean stumbled over his words, unwilling and unable to admit his fears completely. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” 

The silence between them was thick. Castiel opened his mouth, looking from Dean to the Ma’Lak box, an explanation on the top of his tongue, and Dean pleaded for him not to speak. They were tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, and Dean was certain that with any wrong word it would trample him. 

“Would you like me to come back to bed with you?” 

Dean’s knees felt weak with relief, and suddenly the box seemed like a looming monster. He felt as though it was sucking the air out of the room, and he wanted to rescue Cas from it, take him far away from here, but he knew it brought Cas a sense of comfort, to be warding and rewarding his tomb. 

“No, that’s okay. I don’t think I’m going to be sleeping much anymore anyway. I’ll be in the kitchen with some coffee.”

He left the room without waiting for a reply, forcing himself to walk calmly away from the room. 

Sam found Dean in the kitchen, a mug of cold coffee between his hands. The clock on the coffee maker read 6:03am, and Dean had watched every minute of the last two hours tick by wasted, felt them drip through his hands like water. Yet he was utterly unable to move, to read, to be of use. He watched another minute tick over, felt another pebble of guilt land on his shoulders. 

“You okay?” Sam’s voice was cautious because Sam’s words were dangerous. Sam was sharpened rationality, and Dean had no armor left. 

“We were supposed to have time.” Dean’s voice was low and level, his knuckles white around his mug. 

“We still have time, Dean.”

Another lie, another false hope. They hung like strings in the air, and Dean was tangled in their web, not sure anymore if he was unable to get out or just unwilling. The truth danced on top, ready to devour him where he lay entrapped. Dean lifted his mug and brought it down hard on the counter. He felt the crack, watched helplessly as his coffee began to seep out, drop by drop beneath his hands, pooling on the cool steel before spilling off the edge. 

He felt like he was watching a supermotion of his angel, losing himself drop by drop out of a crack that wasn’t his fault, no matter how hard Dean tried to keep him together. He held on, willing the coffee to stop until the mug was empty. He shook the foreshadowing from his mind, and he cleaned up his mess, just like he promised. 

He walked out of the kitchen, dirty cracked mug in hand. 

Sam said nothing. 

———

Dean was waiting for his love to run out. He was waiting for that moment he would look at Cas and no longer see his future, no longer see stability. He was waiting for the guilt to subside, but instead he was drowning. 

“Would you condemn the world for the love of two people?” Sam had asked one night after Cas had electrified an entire lake to kill a Rawhead, and then resurrected all of the fish.

“It’s Cas.” Dean had answered, as though it in itself was an answer. 

“Not anymore, Dean.” Sam watched Cas over Dean’s shoulder, and even still Dean could tell Sam’s eyes were focused on the Mark. “Not anymore.”

Still Dean waited, searching in vain, barely holding a monster at bay with lies, building walls out of plaster filler instead of stone. He pushed and prodded until they were standing on the edge, and then he jumped. He jumped without fear, because for so long Cas’s wings had been there to catch him. But broken wings do not fly.

The grit on the ground bit into Dean’s palms as they took the brunt of his fall. It smelled strongly of iron, and cooling blood was gathering in puddles around them. Dean heaved himself back on to his feet, gaining his balance moments before Cas slammed into him. He hit the wall, his head thudding against the concrete and causing dark spots to dance across his line of sight. 

Cas’s hand wrapped around his throat, and began to squeeze. Dean stared into the face before him, the face of a monster. There was nothing left of his Cas, the real Cas. He had pushed him on for too long, begged him to keep up the lie, but now he had to face the truth.

“Cas,” he choked, gasping, “I’m so sorry.” Castiel’s skin gave with a pop as the knife slid in, the potion on its blade immobilizing him long enough for Dean to get free and snap the Archangel shackles into place. “I lied.”

———

Hearts don’t break, Dean Winchester has learned this just as he learned that ghosts can’t cross salt rings, demons can’t drink holy water, and shifters can’t wear silver. 

He knows life would be easier if they did. 

Souls break, minds break, wills break. But hearts? They take a lick and keep on beating. They bleed, and ooze, and crack, but they never fully break. They ache deep inside, in a place where even the burn of whiskey can’t reach. Sometimes time can scab the wound, heal them until only a fine scar remains as an ever-constant reminder, just another line in the story of life. 

But not all wounds close; some keep seeping, pump after pump pushing out drop after drop, each thump an agitation to an ever festering jagged hole, right up until the end. Dean watched his reflection appear on the water, a ghostly image of someone he didn’t know how to be.

A tear dropped from Dean’s cheek and chased the metal box, just another drop in the ocean. 

Taglist:

@impala-dreamer @adoptdontshoppets @supernatural-idjit-95 @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @missjenniferb @tumbler-tidbits @maddiepants @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield @there-must-be-a-lock @cracksinthewalls

#Destiel #DESTIEL ANGST #angst #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #Supernatural Fan Fiction #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #dean x castiel