#i remember every year since was a bad one. but the memory is shrouded in a honey coloured fog and i wish i could go back

[avallachs]

i know nostalgia is a liar and a bitch but that isn’t stopping me from going mad with grief for a rose-tinted past that i remember in fragments which slip through my fingers like sand

#ophelia.txt #summer is ending and all i can think of is summer one. three. five. ten years ago. i remember the grass under my feet. the sun on my face #i remember how the breeze smelled in my grandma’s backyard and i remember hearing her sing as she played the piano #i remember being ten years old and having never tasted grief and i remember being ten years old and suddenly devastated by it #i remember every year since was a bad one. but the memory is shrouded in a honey coloured fog and i wish i could go back #but i can’t go back and all i have left is stagnant water after summer rains and nectarines rotting in my mouth

[coralinnii]

You don’t have to do this right away but Part two for idia? Its okay if you dont feel like doing it, just remember to rest and take breaks!

"If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice"  feat: Idia genre: drama notes: sequel to “being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy” Idia ver., roughly 1.2k word count, mentions of blo*d, d*ath, and life-threatening situations, is there a gn equivalent of a himbo? cuz slight himbo!reader energy, unspecified beasts,

Finally, it’s here! The long-awaited villain/ess au sequel to the final housewarden (sorry Idia and Idia simps). Admittedly, this is not so much romantic as more fleshing out of their story :p whoops. I might make a continuation of the aftermath of this but I felt like this is a decent stopping point for now. 

Since accepting his growing feelings with you, Idia has been on an emotional roller coaster where he likes being around you but being around you makes him nervous to the point of almost puking. He finds himself glowing, both metaphorically and literally whenever you drop by and it doesn’t help when you seem to enjoy his personal space, seeing as you always bring yourself into said space. 

He knew that if he voiced his discomfort, you would make your best effort to distance yourself but the mere idea of that doesn’t make him feel too happy either. He’s grown accustomed to seeing your eyes sparkle at his new innovations, your warmth as you scoot closer to him on the couch, your voice when you share your random thoughts and questions

“Have you ever dreamt of your own death?” 

Ok, maybe he’s not too accustomed to everything you say

For a while now, you’ve experienced dreams that seem to burn themselves into your memories, forcing you to remember every detail as though the world compels you to. These dreams showed you snippets of life that seemed so real and scarily bears similarity to the real world. Your dreams foretold events in the near future which used to scare you to the point you begged your siblings to stay with you at night, assuring you it meant nothing. 

In truth, you wondered if you were given a strange and powerful gift but one thing about your visions stopped that train of thought. In your dreams, you tend to behave and act in ways you never would. The you in these dreams was spoiled and mean, especially to the Shroud family which you could never bring yourself to do in a million years. Because of that, you assumed your strange visions to be your imagination going wild. An alternative reality that didn’t happen.

But for the past few weeks, you were visioning your terrible end taking place in an expedition alongside your brother. You saw yourself perish at the hands of a feral beast with your brother then seeing your sister cry over your body and proclaiming to avenge your deaths, believing it to be the doing of the Shroud family. 

“What a strange dream, right?” You laughed in hopes to play off the absurdity of it all. “It’s just that…I've been seeing that dream more often now. I guess I’m more nervous about the expedition than I realise”

If it were someone else, you may have been considered strange or even going crazy. You thought Idia would see you that way or at best, try to convince you that it was nothing more than a wild fantasy, like your family does. 

But Idia was not a typical man. 

To be fair, you were not a typical person to him either. If it were anyone else, Idia wouldn’t care less about their troubles or at best, do the bare minimum to get them off his back. But it was the person who unknowingly stole his heart and watching you visibly affected by your disturbing visions persuaded him to seriously consider your words. 

“Tell me everything you saw” 

And lucky he did.  

Your father taught you a lot of things. How to swing your sword with gusto, to grit your teeth and dig in your heels when anticipating a blow, and to stand your ground no matter the odds. But he never told you how painful a racing heart can be or how loud the sound of blood rushing through your system is. Although, you supposed you can forgive him since he would never want to imagine you coming face-to-face to a deranged beast as your own blood blurred your vision. 

During your expedition, you and your siblings encountered a group of disorientated beasts and while this was nothing new to you, these creatures were more unpredictable in comparison to your previous encounters with this species. It was as though they were fighting something internally and your squadron was unfortunately caught in the crossfire. The large beasts were demolishing things in their vicinity, indiscriminately knocking down anything and anyone without care. 

Their unpredictable attacks ultimately led to one of them taking a vicious swing towards you and your brother, sending you both over a tall cliff with the large beast tumbling after from the force of its own attack. 

You vividly recalled this scene, as it was foretold in your dreams. You were trapped and wounded with your brother unconscious after taking the brunt of the attack when shielding you. You willed yourself to keep a strong grip on your sword. If your dreams truly turn to reality, you and your brother will meet an untimely end here. 

“Great heavens, give me strength to protect my brother” you prayed as you took one more long breath before letting out a feral roar. 

You ran full speed towards the rampaging beast, putting all your strength into your swing to sever its leg, hoping to incapacitate its movement. Unfortunately, your depleted strength and eyesight left your attempt with a sizable wound but not enough to deter the giant. 

Your blood has now ran cold as you realise the severity of your situation. Partially blinded and hurt, you were helpless in front of the deranged beast. Your tears mixed with the blood that cascaded over your eyes but you thought there was no use in wiping away the mess on your face. 

In your fearful madness, you thought you might as well make your last moment memorable. You turned your head towards the sky, intending to stare at the beast with as much defiance, refusing to show fear towards any foe. 

But something was odd 

Since the encounter with the beasts, they were nothing but aggressive monsters, agitated and reckless in motion and action. Every moment with them was spent defending yourself from their endless attacks. 

So why does it seem peaceful? 

Even with a wound on its leg, the beast’s body was relaxed like it was in pure relief from whatever was ailing them. If you weren’t just glad you’re still alive, you might have been a little offended by the lack of interest the beast had on you. 

With the rush of adrenaline slightly fading, you started taking notice of your senses a bit more, your injuries were being recognised, you felt the burn in your legs from the stress…and you felt a strange sensation on your wrist. 

Looking down, you found the source to be the beast radar device made by Idia. You found it strange since it wasn’t nearly this hot even when you first came in contact with the beasts earlier but now, the device was evidently warm and you could sense an aura-like energy being emitted from it. You weren’t confident but you wondered if Idia added something more to your device. And it was affecting the beast before you.

Daring to test your theory, you slowly stepped back from the beast, angling your wrist further from the beast, observing the facial changes of the creature. True to your hypothesis (but unfortunately so), the beast’s body started shaking as though something unpleasant had returned to it. You wanted to celebrate your eureka moment but acknowledged this may not be the best time. 

Then, like a gallant warrior, a figure appeared seemingly from the heavens and with a swift motion, speared the beast’s head from above. The creature let out a final painful roar before crashing down before your feet. You looked above to see your sister perched atop the beast, covered in sweat and blood. 

Your sister jumped from her position and ran to you, encasing you in a tight embrace. You noticed how your sister was shaking with palpable fear. 

“You’re alive. Thank the heavens you’re both alive” your usually level-headed sister cried into your sister as she wrapped her arms tighter, which you’re impressed she still could. 

Although, you were grateful for the embrace as you felt your legs give out under you from exhaustion. Your sister worriedly called out your name as she supported your weight but incredibly, you just let out a laugh. 

Against the odds and contrary to your haunting dreams, you were alive. 

Was it strange you thought of Idia when you realised that? 

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twst imagines #villainess au #idia shroud #idia x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

[lanterns-and-daydreams]

Hello! This is my first ever fanfic that i have written, so it might be kind of bad, but please bear with me. I hope you enjoy it :)

WINE AND WOES

Warnings: spoilers of The Battle of the Labyrinth and The Last Olympian

CHAPTER 1

NIGHTMARES

Pollux

I cant breathe. My throat feels like its constricting. I feel like im being strangled. Theres hands on my neck, his hands. Help. Help. Help-

I jolt awake, breathing heavily. The room is quiet, the only sound being my heavy, laboured breaths. I sit up slowly, my lungs feeling like their burning, my eyes stinging. I look around my dorm. I moved to Camp Jupiter a while after the battle with Gaia to go New Rome University to study botany.

I try to regulate my breathing, but its hard, especially when thoughts of him plague me almost every night. My throat constricts. Its been years since he died, and yet, everytime i think of him, my heart feels as if theres a hole in its place. A gaping hole, full of nothing but grief, regret, and guilt. I couldve saved him, i shouldve saved him. I shouldve been there. It should've been me and not him. Tears sting my eyes and threaten to fall as i try desperately not to remember his face. But that proves to be extremely difficult when his face is the same as mine

Its your fault

Its not my fault i try to convince myself, albeit however much it sounds like a lie

Is that the delusion you live under?

Please. Please, leave me alone, as if im not haunted enough

You deserve it. You deserve this pain.

The tears begin to slowly roll down my cheeks and i can do nothing to stop them. My breath hitches and i sob. He haunts my nightmares, he haunts me and won't leave me alone. I can never escape him, no matter how hard i try. He looks like me. Everytime i look in the mirror, i see him. His lifeless face. The face that couldve-- shouldve-- been full of life and light. A face that shouldve been smiling and grinning. The face of the boy who i grew up with. My brother, my twin, my other half.

Castor

I choke at the memory of his name. I try to get out of bed and move. I dont know where im going, i dont know what im doing. My legs wobble and i fall to the floor on my knees, my vision blurring momentarily. His face flashes behind my eyes. His lifeless face as his body went limp on the floor after he got stabbed and then hit on the head by an enemy. I couldnt help him. My arm was broken, and all i could do was lay there, staring at my brother, bleeding to his death, as he smiled at me one last time and did the little salute we always did ever since we were kids in a way of saying 'see ya later, loser' before his eyes glazed over.

I fall to my side and wrap my arms around myself, hugging myself as my body trembles. I was in denial, the whole way when another demigod helped me get to the healing camp, i was in denial. Pretending he wasnt dead, hoping so desperately that this was all just a dream, that he'd come back to me, that id wake up in my cabin and id see him laying on the bed next to mine.

I remember when his shroud burned. Purple and violet flowers, violet like his eyes, and the symbol of our father, Dionysus. I had stared, tears streaming down my face. Not bawling, not sobbing, just silently having a war with myself, and others must have seen it too. Will came to me afterwards, asking if i was okay, i hadnt answered him, he left after that. I wanted to cry, i wanted to sob and be angry, but i couldn't. I didnt know what was wrong with me, i hated myself for it.

I had gone back to my cabin. And then i had sobbed and bawled and cried till i had blacked out. I had skipped meals, and shut myself out. I thought itd get better with time. It did not. Even a snippet of our memories together makes me weak and vulnerable and want to cry.

Memories of our childhood flash behind my eyes. Two small boys, playing in the strawberry fields of Camp Half-Blood, eating strawberries, laughing and running around, their faces full of light and happiness, the sun gleaming in their golden blond hair, the light shining in their violet eyes, making them look like pieces cut from the purest of amethysts.

Two boys, arguing over what their secret handshake should be, and then eventually deciding on a two fingered salute. Stealing eachother's toys, clothes, and food, telling the worst jokes to each other but cracking up anyway, pretending to be each other and imitating personalities. Goofing around all day, pretending the world wasnt all that bad, as long as they had eachother. I used to always look for him when i woke up, checking the bed next to me to see if he was there.

And then the battle with Kronos had happened, and then one of them was gone. Now i dont even have to look at the bed next to mine when i visit Camp Half-Blood to know hes not there

My eyes land on the vertical upright mirror. I see a boy staring back at me, his face tear-streaked and his blond hair matted to his forehead, his chest moving up and down with his laboured breaths. Its him. Its me. And its all i have left.

Being alone had never bothered me. Castor didnt stay with me all the time, sometimes he left to train, or go talk with some other campers, or just going about his day in general. We were the only Dionysus kids, so we didnt really have any other siblings, so i was alone a lot. Being alone never bothered me, but being alone has never felt this lonely.

I shut my eyes, letting the sting subside. I sigh and open them again.

Im sorry

You should be

I close my eyes again and imagine him here.

I know. I am. Im sorry. I wish i could bring you back, but even if i could, i would never bring you back to this hell. All i hope for is that you can forgive me, and that you wait for me in the Elysium. We'll meet again, Cas. One day. One day, ill see you again. But till then, all i have are my wine and woes

#Idk what a divider is and where to get one lol #I just remembered pollux and how badass he actually is #But we never saw him grieve #So i wrote my own version of it #Albeit how shit it is lol #First fanfic YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #Pjo #Hoo #Heroes of olympus #The battle of the Labyrinth #the last olympian #The lost hero #the sea of monsters #The mark of athena #The house of hades #The burning maze #Trials of apollo #Toa #Pollux #Percabeth #Annabeth chase #Castor #Blood of olympus #Jason grace #Leo valdez #Nico di angelo #will solace #Wine and Woes fanfic

[moondal514]

I’ve been thinking about this ask from @theravenkin’s blog that talks about how AFTG is a fandom that likes to do random ass and hyperspecific niche au’s so naturally I thought I’d make a fic rec list of 5 of my faves:

Under A Sea of Mist by puddlejumper99/ @writingpuddle

For a thousand years the Lord Ruler has reigned over the Final Empire. Ash falls from the sky and strange mists shroud the night. The skaa labour in the fields and the nobility dance in their Keeps, their glittering lights blinding them to the cruelty in their hearts.

The skaa rebellion is a fantasy and Neil knows it. The Lord Ruler is immortal; there's no overthrowing him. It's as much a surprise to him as anyone else when he gets recruited. But as he gets drawn deeper into the plot, he starts to discover things that will change their understanding of magic forever.

There's always another secret.

Mistborn au. There‘s probably only like 4 people that love both of these fandoms like me, so reading this felt so self-indulgent, like it was ripped straight from high school me’s wildest dreams, and it just makes me clap my hands with joy like a child every time I think about the fact that this fic exists

Whispers in the leaves, shadows in the moonlit night by Silveriss/ @wulfrann

Monsters and ghouls of every age,

Wouldn't you like to see something strange?

Far beyond the graveyard and its renowned Spiral Hill, the Woods prevail. There are no animals to be found there, not one sign of life but for the shifting of the mist and gentle caress of the wind.

Neil has lived in Halloween Town for as long as he can remember, though memory is a fickle thing.

Since his mother, Mary Finkelstein, died two years ago, he hasn't been as good at following her orders as he used to be.

He's made friends. He's not sure how it happened, really - it feels like he just woke up one day with his life suddenly entangled with a whole group of people he hadn't noticed getting slowly closer.

He's also taken the habit of looking at the Woods.

There's something calling to him. He can hear them in the wind, the whispers in a hundred incoherent tongues.

They say crossing the threshold is always the most difficult part.

Nightmare Before Christmas au. Really gorgeous atmospheric writing and adds some v cool worldbuilding elements to the Nightmare Before Christmas universe

The Real Folk Blues by moonix/ @annawrites

Captain David Wymack and the bounty hunter crew of the Bebop spaceship might be a little out of their depths chasing down the infamous hacker and notorious runaway Neil Wesninski, whose bounty exceeds even Kevin's wildest dreams. Worst of all, Andrew might actually enjoy it.

Cowboy Bebop au. The Foxes are space cowboys, I think that’s all I need to say

I'd Never Want to Complicate Your Heart by jingerhead/ @jingerhead

Andrew glanced at the board and found his name at one of the pods of two rather than four (thank god), right next to the windows. Next to his name was ‘Neil Josten’, one Andrew didn’t recognize, but he had to be at least a sophomore to be in this class. Turning to find the right seats, Andrew found himself pausing as he walked, seeing the person he’d be sitting next to for the foreseeable future if Mr. Browning had his way.

And shit, this was either a good thing or a bad thing, because Andrew is very, very gay, and Neil was good looking enough to become a distraction very quickly.

~*~

Or, the Heartstopper AU nobody asked for but that I absolutely needed to write.

Heartstopper au. I called this fic Heartstopper for the asexuals in my bookmark notes and in my comment on it and I will stand by that until I die cuz some of Neil’s experiences with his sexual orientation in this fic echo my own so well I got chills

Andrew Minyard's Diary by fuzzballsheltiepants/ @fuzzballsheltiepants

Andrew is comfortable with his life. He helps edit bad books. He has his collection of people, an apartment, and a novel he will never finish writing. If only his cousin and best friend would stop trying to set him up with one Neil Josten.

Except...perhaps he wouldn't mind being set up with Neil after all.

In which Andrew is Bridget Jones, Kevin is Daniel Cleaver, and Neil is Mark Darcy. Except none of them are like their inspiration characters at all.

Inspired by @scribbleb_red, who said on Twitter "What if there was a Bridget Jones AU?" and when I said, "Yes please!" she handed me the reins. I hope this is even remotely what you were looking for.

Bridget Jones’s Diary au. Absolutely hilarious concept with just perfect character dynamics

#the effect of Nora’s strong character writing means you can throw the aftg characters into like any situation #and it’ll work #I hope to one day write my own hyperspecific niche aftg au that only I want to read #aftg #fic rec #fic rec list

[themculibrary]

Christmas Proposals Masterlist

A Lifetime Of Christmases (ao3) - Coffee_and_notebooks steve/tony G, 1k

Summary: One of the things that made Christmas so special for them was the traditions they had, what they could look forward to every year.

They had both always been those people that were absolutely obsessed with Christmas, getting excited well before Halloween and Thanksgiving, and getting excited all over again after the two occasions were over.

Or: Three Traditions Steve and Tony already had at Christmas and the One New Tradition they make.

All I Ever Wanted For You (ao3) - plumeria47 steve/bucky G, 833

Summary: They’d agreed that this year, their first Christmas together since 1944, they would each buy three things they’d wished they could have given the other one back when they were too dirt poor – or in the middle of a war. To discourage outrageous purchases, a dollar amount had been squabbled over and eventually agreed upon.

But someone broke the rules.

(AKA: An unapologetically fluffy Christmas ficlet.)

A Very Merry Christmas (ao3) - bluejaythebeautiful steve/bucky T, 557

Summary: Steve did that really annoying thing where he put a bunch of smaller boxes into one really big box. Bucky's fed up with him.

Christmas Sweaters (ao3) - tinytonysnark steve/tony T, 1k

Summary: That little velvet box has been burning a hole in Steve's pocket for weeks now

Five Golden Rings (ao3) - ripavengers steve/tony N/R, 1k

Summary: The five rings of life help make a relationship last, for Steve and Tony anyway.

I Never Knew The Meaning of Christmas (ao3) - JehBeeEh steve/tony G, 5k

Summary: A look at Steve and Tony's first Christmas together.

I remember (ao3) - dizzyingly_dreamy steve/bucky M, 5k

Summary: He hated snow. He couldn't remember why, but he knew that there was a deep, very stubborn hatred of snow. It seemed to run in his DNA, and no matter what angle he took, he hated snow even more than before.

For the moment, as he glared up at the sky, thick, cotton flakes drifted down towards the ground, lazily, twinkling softly in the lamplight. They were difficult to see without any light, but he could still see them, feel them in his hair, making his head feel heavy and insulated. It was strange, and he didn't know if he liked the feeling it or didn't. It looked light out, but that was only because the world was shrouded with thick, impenetrable clouds. There was no true darkness when the clouds were shielding them from it.

(or, Bucky manages to crawl his way back into a life he likes, and brightens up someone else's just in time for Christmas.)

Memories that last forever (ao3) - ArabellaAM steve/tony G, 2k

Summary: Tony sighed, turning around all the way and asking with a tired, raspy voice, “Why am I hugging a pillow on Christmas Eve, Rogers?”

Or, Steve can't sleep and Tony asks him to tell him a story about his mom.

Mistletoe (ao3) - CaptainJimothyCarter peggy/steve G, 3k

Summary: Steve cannot lie to save his life, especially to his girlfriend whose whole career is built on the ability to lie. His mother's yearly Christmas dinner will be a bit different this year and not just because Chester Phillips is officially his stepfather.

Quite the One-Eighty (ao3) - betheflame steve/tony, bucky/natasha G, 2k

Summary: Steve has a bad day, Tony is a nervous wreck, Nat is intent on making popcorn garland, and it all works out in the end.

rare and sweet as cherry wine (ao3) - arttemis peggy/steve T, 1k

Summary: He reaches into his blazer pocket and pulls out a small black box. “I’m gonna propose.”

“You cannot propose,” Bucky says.

-

Steve is in love and has bad timing.

Saved My Heart For You (ao3) - pensversusswords steve/tony T, 8k

Summary: Tony had been trying to propose for months, but it turned out that post-battle on Christmas Eve was the best time to pop the question.

The Best Day of the Year (ao3) - orphan_account pepper/tony G, 2k

Summary: Tony finally mans up and proposes to Pepper on Christmas Eve.

the promise to be near (ao3) - orphan_account peggy/steve G, 1k

Summary: The very prospect of having a future to plan, wide open and thrillingly interminable, was still enough to overwhelm Steve on the best of days.

Unwrapped (ao3) - nightwalker steve/tony E, 4k

Summary: Tony and Steve each have a surprise for the other. Turns out they were thinking along similar lines.

What Tony Got For Christmas (ao3) - TheRedGlass steve/tony T, 1k

Summary: In which Steve is a little shit and Tony gets the best Christmas surprise.

#themculibrary #marvel #mcu #masterlists #fluff #christmas #proposal #proposal masterlist

[cinnaminyoons]

( AEON. )

ミ☆ what is love without a little bit of heartbreak?

⤷ PAIRING jjk x m!reader

⤷ WORD COUNT 5.1k

⤷ TAGS reincarnation!au, soulmate!au, angst + happy ending

⤷ NOTES the story deviates slightly from the request. happy belated new year!!

⤷ REQUESTED

May you please write a Jungkook x male reader one-shot where they’re soulmates. When you’re born you get a soulmate mark, a black ring with initials of soulmate, that turns to gold ,with both your initials, once you kiss them, bonding your souls together forever. Jungkook has been searching for his soulmate since he was born. He’s found his soulmate as a leader of another idol group but doesn’t know if he should risk a relationship with reader. He’s going through a dilemma deciding whether he should fight for his relationship, which could mean they get hate from army and readers fandom, or be a good idol and not pursue reader, which would break their soulmate rings making them unable to meet in future lifetimes (The rings could mend together but they both would have to save the broken pieces while also mend their relationship). You could either do one ending (love or abandonment) or have Jungkook experience both endings but ultimately choosing one as a finality (love then abandonment or abandonment then love).

love. love love love love love. say it enough and maybe it’ll morph into something understandable.

here? there? found you.

he’s not supposed to know. he’s not supposed to remember the throbs and bruises of past lives, not supposed to see the blurry faces of everyone he’s loved and lost over and over again. because that’s how life is, isn’t it? find something so wonderful to wrap your fingers around, refuse to let go – only for it to escape like sand grains anyway.

he’s so full of memories that it gets hard to pick them apart. whose hands are these? whose elbows, whose aching shoulders?

he’s eating hong kong-style noodles for dinner. it tastes flat and isn’t as crispy as he likes. too much oil, not enough oyster sauce. for a moment, vertical neon signs blind his eyes, and there’s a man sitting across from him feeding him dumplings. this hazy, smoky memory is a woman’s – she’s wearing a rose-red qipao and matching heels. her life was his, too.

the strangest thing about it all is that when he was a child and told people about it – this used to be a schoolhouse, here was an opium den, i was killed in a crash like that – nobody believed him. even the doctors and academics raised their eyebrows and laughed it off as a little boy’s games.

he learned to clam up about it. he tried his hand at music and sports and was labelled a child prodigy, the family’s golden boy. those past lives were good at such things – too bad they never really focussed on maths – and each time he picked up a tennis racket or stood before a microphone onstage, everything came rushing back even if his current body couldn’t do it.

it’s like muscle memory, except nothing sits quite right. he was once a wealthy young lad who was terribly good with a piano but died at fourteen, and now every time he sits before a piano he finds himself stretching his fingers more than he needs to in order to reach keys.

he’s been many people before. village healer, king’s general, speakeasy singer. it feels, really, as if he’s perpetually lost in a void of experience – listless, unable to break habits he never learnt.

but there has been one thing that grounds him in his eternity of shrouded uncertainty. one person he spends each life searching for to turn the jet-black mark into that heart-bursting gold.

jeongguk finds that person backstage at an awards show. he’s more aware of you than you are of him. he’s staring, big eyes trained on your figure, and you’ve caught his gaze more than once – despite the embarrassment of being caught, he can’t help himself. he continues drinking you in, fingers digging into his thighs to make sure he doesn’t throw himself into your arms.

you don’t remember as he does. he has to remind himself of that.

taehyung leans over. his eyelids shimmer with dusted glitter and he smells like roses and mint. “you look like a total creep, you know?”

he whips his head forward to stare at his water bottle, flushing. “i’m not a creep.”

“that’s why i’m saying you look like one. hottie’s gonna have to be very kind if he gives you time to show him just how not-creepy you are.”

“hottie?” jeongguk parrots. “back off, i saw him first.” a thousand years ago.

taehyung leans away, hands raised in incredulous surrender. “whoa, no need to get possessive.”

he’s lost you before. his heart belonged to you, but yours was cupped carefully in his best friend’s hands. he doesn’t want to go through that again.

ducking in again, taehyung gazes curiously at the side of jeongguk’s face and speaks low enough that the idols next to him can’t hear. “do you feel the pull?”

swallowing harshly, jeongguk returns his eyes to his clasped hands. he nods.

taehyung inhales. “fuck.”

how appropriate. 

he’s tugged out of his thoughts when your group shoots to their feet, cheering and hugging each other tightly. your youngest member looks close to tears and you pull him into your side, soothing him.

jeongguk is reminded of one of his lifetimes – the first, where he was a healer and you were a hunter who helped him gather herbs. in that life, he married you, had children, grew old together. you were always good with the kids, stern but never cruel.

the rest of the show goes quickly for him. he’s too preoccupied with his thumping heart, the deep-seated longing that dries up his mouth whenever your eyes lock over the heads of screaming fans. they win a few awards.

once the show ends and he travels with his members down into the narrow hallways behind the stage, he passes a dangerously-sharp award to yoongi and makes a beeline towards you.

you’re alone, grabbing bottled water for your members. jeongguk struggles to pull his thoughts together into a reasonable excuse to talk to you.

“congratulations on your win,” he says softly, placing one hand on the snack table to stabilise himself. you grin brightly at him and his knees turn to jelly.

“thank you! they’ve worked so hard, and it’s always nice to have some external validation, you know?”

your voice is smooth and pleasant to listen to. at any time, in any life, his favourite thing about you is the sound of your voice.

a pause fills the space between you. it sits there comfortably as he takes in every inch of you, learning and relearning the ways the light caresses your features.

he wants to kiss you.

“forgive me,” you say suddenly, your smile just that little bit more forced. “i – i have to go. have a good night.”

you’re gone before jeongguk can shout your name. then he realises. that’s not your name anymore.

a hand rests hesitantly on his shoulder. “let’s go,” taehyung murmurs. “the others are waiting for us.”

jeongguk lets him lead him away. he thought becoming an idol would help him find you – that maybe you’d see his face somewhere and feel that deep, piercing want. maybe you would hunt down the soonest concert ticket and – well, in total honesty, he had no clue how this next part would go. he had hoped that the story would unfold on its own with no extra pushing needed and that eventually, you would come to love him as he loves you.

happy ending. a pretty epilogue. he rubs his ring finger on his left hand, where the dark ring stains his skin. 

—

“yoongi-hyung, can i—” jeongguk freezes at the entrance. his eyes snap to yours.

yoongi glances up, lowering his headphones to around his neck. “what is it? i’m working.”

a small notebook sits open between you, covered with crossed-out lyrics and underlined phrases. the writing inside is too neat to be yoongi’s, so it must be yours.

“s-sorry,” jeongguk stutters feebly. he feels sick, stomach churning. “your door was… unlocked.”

“what did you come here for?” yoongi asks gruffly. the beginnings of a song are coming together on his computer screens.

he feels tiny under your stare, pinned to the ground where he stands. finally, he manages to choke out: “you still want dinner?”

yoongi’s watch flashes as he twists his wrist. “shit, it’s so late already? i wasn’t supposed to keep you so long. i can drop you off at your dorms.”

you wave your hands, smiling kindly. “oh, no, it’s alright. i’ll just call our manager and ask her for a driver.” you stand and bow. “thank you.”

“as your elder, i insist. they gave me one rule and i broke it.” yoongi slaps on a black cap. “do you think you can sneak back without alerting your manager?”

jeongguk watches with deaf ears. there’s a tiredness under your eyes but you’re smiling anyway, trying to politely decline. you don’t want to be a burden, you’re saying, and yoongi’s shaking his head and pulling the blue usb out of his laptop to give back to you.

your hair is a mess. you’ve been running your fingers through it so much – jeongguk wishes he could do it for you. he wants you to be happy. he wants to kiss away the stress, watch it melt off of you so that you can hold him how he likes it.

“hey, jeongguk.”

he snaps his head up, eyes big and slightly fearful. “y-yeah?”

“can you take yn downstairs? just stay there. i’ll meet up with you in a minute.” jeongguk nods and obediently opens the door of yoongi’s studio, guiding you down into the back part of the building where the tinted cars are. he comes to an abrupt, awkward stop in front of the exit, swallowing harshly and wringing his hands and trying his best not to look at you.

he doesn’t know if he can trust himself to not do anything stupid. so many lives and so little self-control…

he can feel your presence behind him through the warm tingling of your gaze. blood pounds in his ears as every atom of his being screams to crash into yours, to hold you close and kiss you silly. you’re speaking, he acknowledges vaguely, and calling for his attention. so formal.

“jeongguk,” he blurts, leaning against the wall in a transparent attempt at composure. he looks into the corner instead of at you. “call me jeongguk. please.”

“jeongguk…” you try his name out in your mouth and he shuts his eyes tight. he can’t be anything more than a co-worker. he imagines what it would be like to hear you whisper his name in darkness. “are you alright?”

“yes.” no.

“you seem feverish… do you need water?”

a fever, now? that must be why he’s been sluggish. he really is so lovelorn it’s making him ill.

“i’m okay. don’t – don’t worry about it.” his head hurts.

“i think you should, uh, really sit down, at least,” you say softly. “i know we don’t know each other that well, but i’ve played doctor enough to know what a fever looks like.”

you place your hand on his bare arm with the intent to lead him to a nearby bench. he smacks your hand away and before you can be offended – he crushes his lips to yours.

he wraps his arms around your torso. it’s firm, well-defined, even over the button-up you’re wearing. his body is so warm and yours is so cool. he sags against you, relief flooding through his veins. it’s the sighing kind of relief, like gulping down iced tea on a hot summer’s afternoon.

your lips are stiff with shock until a point. his sigh is swallowed up and your hands find themselves at his waist on either side of his spine. there are security cameras in the building and at least one has certainly captured this moment, forever remembering it as ten pixels in the corner of the frame, but you couldn’t care less.

it feels as if you’re made to kiss him – your mouths fit together so perfectly. he fits just right against you.

all of a sudden, as if electricity shocks through him, he jerks himself out of your arms.

“i’m sorry,” he gasps. he flees. 

his name rolls off your tongue, irresistible as honey, and jeongguk halts at the elevator. it won’t come down fast enough, no matter how many times he punches the button.

he hears you approaching, and every version you’ve ever been flashes before his eyes. this is the first time he’s running away – it’s the strangest feeling, experiencing something he’s never done before. he shakes his head and takes the stairs instead, his rapid footsteps ascending and fading.

the elevator doors slide open anyway.

—

jeongguk has never been so terrified before.

the door he hovers in front of is a dark red. a thick brass ring sits between a lion’s jaws, teeth bared in an extraordinarily unfriendly expression. he rocks on his heels, pulling at his cheeks, tugging his bucket hat lower over his eyes.

nobody knows he’s here in this dimly-lit alley. a single yellow lamp flickers unsteadily over the doorway and little grey-black spots zigzag around it, crawling over the glass.

he takes a deep breath and bangs the knocker against the wood.

it opens after a few seconds. an old woman stands before him, her expression grave. her hair is still pitch-black, despite the deep furrows in her face and the liver spots on her hands, and her eyes track his figure astutely.

“come in,” she says. “take your shoes off here.”

he slips off his sneakers, placing them carefully on the rack next to the hatstand. there are only two pairs of shoes beside his and they’re the same size – she must live alone.

she leads him to a back room through a narrow hallway. the lintel is so low he has to duck to avoid it, and the inside is about the size of a large pantry. she flicks the light switch.

in the centre, a single round table is bookended by two rickety old seats. she gestures for him to sit and when he does, he finds one of the legs slightly shorter than the rest. the chair rocks unsteadily.

“you can take off your mask and hat,” she tells him, clasping her hands on top of the table. a solid jade bracelet is wrapped around her wrist. “i’ve lived for a long time. i’ve seen uglier.”

despite himself, jeongguk’s lips twitch up as he removes them and sets them beside him. he swallows as he lifts his face. her expression shifts minutely.

“i’ve seen you around,” she says, voice easing slightly. “big billboards and magazine covers.”

he lowers his eyes. a grey shame sits on his chest – he feels like he’s being scolded, somehow.

the hanging lamp about a hand’s length above his head is too warm to have been just turned on. there had been soft black soil smudged on her doormat, too – jeongguk’s not the first visitor she’s had today.

“then you’ll know why i’m here,” he says quietly. his voice is rough – he hasn’t spoken all day. 

she folds her sky-blue cardigan over herself for warmth. her right hand extends, palm up. “let me see.”

jeongguk leans forward in his seat. it tilts uncomfortably. he offers his left hand. he tugs up the too-big hoodie sleeve, revealing a golden band written into his skin. it looks like a temporary tattoo, the colour shimmery and vibrant, and he wishes – for the first time – that it was just as easy to wash down the drain.

she pulls his hand down, brushing the coarse pad of her thumb across the band. her fingernails are short and slightly uneven with shallow divots.

“you want it broken, is that right?” she asks.

“well...” he falters. “yes.”

she raises her eyes – just her eyes. she peers at him like a librarian would after he makes too much noise. “even though you’ve already met them in this life?”

he startles. “in th-this—?”

“you slump like atlas reborn. there is weight to living – it accumulates. we are the unlucky ones who don’t get clean slates each time.”

“you… you too?” jeongguk frowns at his hand. “i thought i was a mistake. an error in the code.”

her earrings flash as she nods. “i thought the same. and yet, here you are. here i am.”

she sighs and places her hand over his, cupping it. her eyes are intense, bottomless.

“if we go through with this, you will never find them again. you will feel incomplete, always not quite awake. i’ve known people who come to me, begging me to put it back. i can’t. i’m already meddling in things i shouldn’t, and the universe isn’t so lenient as to allow it a second time.”

jeongguk’s hands close into fists. “and yours – where’s yours?”

“gone.”

she offers no more explanation. she doesn’t have even a black ring – it’s just flesh-coloured. the absence of it is jarring. he’s doesn’t think he’s ever seen somebody without one.

“will that…” he feels cold. “will that happen to me?”

the misty partiality. he remembers it vividly. can’t forget it.

blundering blindly through his transient world until he trips on something so beautiful and bright he vows the rest of his days to keeping it safe. then it flickers out, icy in his palms, and the cycle repeats endlessly. the loss, the love, the loss.

“yes.” said with such grim certainty, her words ring in his hollow chest.

it is always the kind ones, the undeserving ones. she watches silently as the boy in front of her – he’s only a child, so young and easily bruised – sweeps his other hand nonchalantly beneath his eyes. they’re shadowed with puffy purple pillows and his skin seems pallid, tinted a rather sickly yellow under her lamp.

she does not love her job. but it is hers all the same and rather than forcing some other soul to step up, experience what she has twice over, she would rather do it herself. minimising pain is always her intention.

“if you go through with this,” she chooses her words carefully, “you may find yourself unable to… remember certain parts of your lives. it is only a warning. it might be good for you.”

“what will i lose?”

“it varies from case to case. for some, it’s the memories with their soulmate; others find it difficult to recall names, faces, or even the path home.”

jeongguk slides his hand out of hers and tucks it back into the sleeve of his black hoodie. he fiddles with a loose thread. he asks quietly, “why would anyone want to do this? it sounds terrible.”

“not everyone is blessed with someone kind. bad people still have soulmates, and i offer a way to ensure innocents will never have to suffer from fate’s hands again.” she glances down at his hidden hands. “is yours cruel?”

he shakes his head instantly, shuffling to the edge of his seat and leaning forward. “no! no, he’s perfect – in every life, he’s been perfect. caring, a-and faithful. i couldn’t ask for anyone better.”

“then why this? breaking your bond with him is not an easy end.”

“i—” he swallows. “i tend to lose him. poison, war, sickness. he always goes first and each time it hurts just as much…” he glances away. “i don’t know if i can keep doing it.”

“the pain means you still love him as if this cycle was your first. if someone else was in your position, i doubt they’d be able to say the same.” she nods to herself. “tell me about your lives with him.”

he huffs out something of a bitter laugh. “the hardest one: i was nineteen and he was twenty-one three days after he left for ‘the great adventure’. we were sent to different camps. his letters were always sweet and frequent until my commanding officer took the liberty of telling me he’d been killed.”

“you remember well,” she observes.

“yeah, well, i didn’t take care of myself after it. that death’s the one i hate the most. apart for two years and no closure.” he sighs.

“i was killed shortly after – kept putting myself in reckless situations. i didn’t want to keep going without him. and in the next one, i wasn’t his. he was mine but i wasn’t his. the universe hated me for giving up and gave him to me through a glass wall.”

“you speak like a poet.”

“lyrics and poetry are similar.”

she pauses, her eyes dropping to the table. it seems as if she’s searching for cue cards, the ones giving tips on avoiding taking a side. “is the punishment not for the better? you cherish him now more than you would have without it.”

“i spent forty years scrubbing my hands until they bled so he wouldn’t ask why it was gold and why i still lived alone. i don’t know what about that is ‘for the better’.”

“what do you think is the point of all of this? you are young, so i will give you the benefit of the doubt. why would we be given those—” she gestures at his hands and he hides them under the table “—if it truly meant nothing?”

he pulls more intensely at the thread of his cuff. “i dunno. to give us something to work towards, rather than tearing each other to bits? it’s all the same. it’s exhausting.”

her exhalation is tight and drawn-out. it reminds him of death’s shallow rattle. extending her thin, bony fingers, palm-up, she offers him one last way out: “constant, or exhausting?”

he hesitates. he rests his hand in hers. “exhausting.”

her lips thin. she closes her eyes and nods.

jeongguk’s heart beats like a caged beast, throwing itself fiercely at his ribs as the butcher’s knife descends. his tongue feels like sandpaper.

he asks softly, “will it hurt?”

she squeezes his hand in both of hers. “hold on to me, and do not fight it.”

—

seoul descends into a bright winter. dirty snow gathers in the gutter of the road and it melts in tiny trickling streams down the drain. cars honk. the sky turns grey.

“jeongguk-ah, do you want that?”

he startles, raising his head. he glances down at the creamy white candle he’s been holding. “oh, it’s alright.” he puts it back on the shelf.

jimin lifts a pair of red gloves. “you’re into gloves right now, aren’t you? you should have more colour in your wardrobe. all i’ve seen you wear is black.”

“it’s easier to match,” jeongguk says. “black goes with everything.”

“the least you could do would be neutral colours,” jimin replies, raising an eyebrow until it disappears under his fringe. “you’re wearing all-black for a reason. whose funeral is it?”

jeongguk clicks his tongue and dumps a bag of banana chips into the trolley. he glances around the empty aisle, then strikes a grand pose and holds one hand aloft like hamlet with yorick’s skull. “i felt a funeral, in my brain.”

“and mourners to and fro – yes, yes, we understand that you’re going through something.” jimin drops the gloves into the trolley. he points at them. “red like blood. the only thing you need to complete your costume is a raven on your shoulder.”

“har-har, very funny.”

jeongguk trails behind jimin as he passes through the aisles, occasionally glancing down to consult his shopping list. jimin gets tired of pushing the trolley and jeongguk takes over. he grips the sides of the trolley just past the handle and kicks off the ground, cruising along the long straights.

“don’t fall off,” jimin reminds without looking up as jeongguk skids to a stop next to him. he weighs up two types of almond milk in his hands. “do you remember which one taehyung wants?”

jeongguk scans the labels. “the left one.”

jimin places the left carton into the trolley. “okay – what’s up with you? you’ve been sad and quiet these past few weeks. you know you can still come to us, right?”

he smiles. it’s small and grateful, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “i’m alright, hyung. don’t worry about me. hey, look – it’s you!”

he picks up a small round plush. the yellow chick sits in an egg with the top part resting on its head like a hat. 

jimin huffs and pushes jeongguk’s hands down. he knows when to stop prodding. “no thanks. i’ve got a bigger version at home.”

“but it’ll be cute if you have a small one too. come on. why not?”

“only to stop you whinging.” lightly, jimin sets the fluffy plush on top of taehyung’s almond milk. “do you want anything else before we leave?”

jeongguk shakes his head. jimin pats his arm and pulls him behind the trolley. “you’re pushing.”

he lets out an exaggerated groan. “this is forced labour.”

“oh, be quiet and put those muscles of yours to good use.”

—

more and more, jeongguk finds himself wandering up to the roof for his breaks. sometimes he’ll bring his lunch up there, only to be so caught up in the detached beauty of the skyscrapers that his food goes cold.

when he’s not working, he heads out to the balcony and sits on the concrete with his legs dangling under the glass panel railing. he likes it best at night – he squeezes into a tight corner and rests his head against the wall that separates the outside from his living room. from that spot, he watches the moon wax and wane.

the winter nights always force him back inside after only a few minutes of being out in the nippy wind. the concrete floor sucks the heat out of him, thighs-first, and he can never walk properly until he bakes himself to full rise next to the heater. despite the discomfort this causes, he doesn’t stop.

he likes being high up. he’s alone, but he’s not lonely.

or so he tells himself.

jeongguk takes the tight staircase to the rooftop. he has some of the fried rice he whipped up the night before in his hand.

he pushes down on the door’s bar and steps out into a chilly gust of air. it’s freezing – he regrets not taking a heavier coat. he pulls his jacket closer and heads left, which is the nicer side to look at. the door squeaks shut.

he halts as if he’s slammed into a brick wall.

there, not five metres away, is the best thing to have ever tripped into his life.

was. was the best thing to have tripped into his life.

your back is to him, the sides of your shirt flapping and rippling in the wind. you’ve curled into yourself as you gaze across the sea of glass and road and clutch your arms. the occasional flick of your thumb is a half-hearted attempt to warm yourself.

“jeongguk. it’s good to see you again.”

the sound of his name coming from your mouth reignites something buried deep in his chest. his name from you is unadorned, simple, and unapologetically warm. 

you glance over to meet his wide-eyed stare. two moons, a deer – he is the animal to your steel headlights.

“yoongi-hyung says you like coming up here. i think i can see why.” you turn back to the spiky urban landscape. “it’s calming.”

yoongi-hyung. so much time has passed and jeongguk has felt none of it.

“y’know, i can’t stop thinking about you. is that weird?” you chuckle, playing with a thick ring on your finger. “probably. being obsessed with a stranger isn’t my greatest selling point.”

you step closer until your hair tickles his temple. you lift his downcast face with the tip of your finger and brush it up along his jaw curiously, as if you’re learning him.

he gulps, and his eyes flutter shut. you say softly, “but we aren’t strangers… are we?”

subconsciously, jeongguk follows your lips when you move away. he catches himself just before he falls forward with the motion and his face flushes, squeezing his little lunch box. he’d wrapped it in a blue cloth to keep it hot, though now its heat seeps through the cotton and tingles in his palms.

he sees you shiver slightly, doing your best to clutch your shirt to your body. hesitantly, he sets his food down and shuffles forward.

a heavy warmth drapes itself across your shoulders. his hands linger like disobedient pets – not entirely his fault, but still his responsibility.

“you’ll be cold.” you hold the front together to keep it from flying away.

“it’s okay,” he says quietly. “i don’t mind.”

your skin burns like liquid nitrogen when he grazes your arm. despite the shock of the sensation, his hands itch to touch you, to press themselves all over your body. he would set himself on fire just to keep you warm.

he isn’t surprised by his actions, his own desires. he’s always been so self-destructive – it’s just that sometimes it comes with a goal in mind: to love you. to warm you. to make sure nothing ever gets in the way of your happiness, even if he’s the one in the way.

“do you love me?” he blurts out. his eyes widen further and his jaw clamps shut, as if with a wire.

“that’s a big question, jeongguk.” you twist the ring along your finger. “should i?”

love is not a choice. love is a lot of things but it’s not a choice. he wants to say yes – yes, please, please love me because i don’t know how to love anybody else – and it aches every moment he doesn’t.

next to you, he stares at his gloved hands. “i don’t know.” he adds, in a voice so hushed it rivals the wind: “i hope you will.”

you grab his hand and spin him towards you. your lip balm tastes like cola and makes him feel like it – light on the tongue, dizzy, a delightful tingle that shocks him to his very core. your arms snake around him and his jacket slips off your shoulders, billowing as the wind picks it up and pins it to the wall.

he yanks his gloves off and he sighs as your skin touches his. this is the first time he’s ever felt right and complete and he wants to kiss you and keep kissing you until his lips are bruised and sore. his lips are very soft and you are very gentle and so kissing until it hurts sounds quite like forever – just as he wishes.

your jawline is diamond-sharp and your kisses are cotton candy-delicate. you trap his body against the high concrete barrier. he shivers against your chest, such a sweet little thing, and yet he’s so warm he could melt tungsten with just a touch.

this is it. this is right. he beams and giggles shyly. the matching gold bands on your fingers pulse fiery white, like stars.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x male reader #jeon jungkook x male reader #jungkook x reader #bts x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x male reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader #bts mlm

[aggressive-positivity-network]

do any of the mercs play board games?

Mercopoly (Board Game

Headcanons)

Scout:

You think he has enough of an attention span to play something that doesn’t involve sweating out his energy drinks?

Hell no!

He gets very bored very quickly, especially with something complex like chess.

He’ll play cards sometimes, but only Crazy Eights and Go Fish - that’s all he knows how to play.

However, there is one true board game he plays occasionally: Candy Land.

It’s one of the few board games that you don’t really have to read the rules for, and there isn’t any writing on the cards.

However, he only asks to play it when he’s not feeling very well.

Medic even has a page in his medical journal for the mercs that says, and I quote:

“The Scout has an extremely short attention span, and if an activity isn’t active or immersive, he will not stay long. If at any point he chooses a sedentary activity, a check-up is in order.”

As sad as it is, a request to play Candyland is a good way to know if Scout needs a little extra reassurance or support.

By the end of the game, Scout usually feels more himself, whether he wins or not.

Engie is especially good with Scout when he’s this way, being the one of the most emotionally sensitive of the group. But he also knows Scout would never admit straight-away how he was feeling, so he usually has a more fun way of getting answers.

“You feelin’ more like a King Candy or a Lord Licorice?”

“...Fudge Monster.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah...”

Spy:

If you ask him, he will most likely go off on a tangent about chess, and how it’s a game of strategy, deception, and crushing your enemy with your wit.

He scoffs at any other game, and constantly makes fun of several of his more intelligent peers for finding interest in them.

“You are mercenaries. Blood-thirsty killers of men. And you are playing ‘Hungry, Hungry Hippos’ like a hoarde of kindergartners?”

But one thing he cannot resist is Sorry.

He considers it above normal board games because it has strategy - or at least that what he says.

He actually just likes it because it’s a game of revenge, which is like a drug to him.

He’s gotten so good at it that if he asks you to play Sorry with him, it’s almost guaranteed that he’s mad at you and just wants to let off some steam by giving you a horrendous loss. However, occasionally, he’s the one who loses.

Spy isn’t a poor sport, exactly - he’s too cultured for that - but sometimes his pride outweighs his manners and he convinces himself that the other player cheated through made up signs of deception.

He simply “allows” them to win because he “doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

But god help the unfortunate soul who decides to rub their win in his face.

Sniper had won five games in a row, and it was clear Spy was getting hot under the collar.

Sniper ended their games with a mischievous, “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.” and a small pat on his shoulder.

Spy immediately saw red, grabbed Sniper’s hand, and before the aussie knew it, he was against a concrete wall with a butterfly knife to his throat.

“I could kill you right now. Your final cry for Medic will be drowned in blood, and I would leave you here to die a painful, dramatic death. You’ll be replaced with a rusted trash can of a bot until they could grow another clone of you. Every memory will be gone. The team will be shrouded in grief, not because of losing you, but losing what the clone can never have. And I shall bide my time, ask the clone to play the same game, and kill them when they win. Another clone, another kill. And again. And again. And again. You think the Manns give a damn as long as their work is getting done? You will never be able to form a single thought before I spill your blood - caught in an eternal prisoner’s dilemma where you always lose.”

After gathering his bearings, Sniper finally spoke.

“Is this about your takeout?”

Spy scoffed.

“Do you really think - !”

“Tonight, my treat if you don’t kill me.”

Spy squinted.

“Egg rolls?”

“And an extra order of crab rangoon.”

“Your treat?”

“Yep.”

“How do I know you won’t poison me?”

“Chemical test before and after the food arrives.”

“How do I know Medic isn’t in on it?”

“Miss Pauling as a witness and Scout as an overseer. Pauling’s main objective is to keep us alive, and Scout can’t do bloody anything subtle, even if he wanted to. You can also play back the cameras in the lab, if the mood really struck ya.”

Spy held Sniper against the wall for a minute or two while he thought it all over, then let Sniper fall to the ground.

“I don’t need your sympathy, bushman. But you had better keep your end of the deal. I am the only backstabber around here.”

Demo:

Can’t even stay awake long enough to play most board games.

On the rare chance that he’s sober, he, Engie, and Medic like to play Monopoly.

Here’s the thing: you should never ask a drunkard, an engineer, and a sadist genius to play Monopoly together. It will not end well.

They have been playing the same game for years, with new rules in place and physical extensions to the board in order to try and end the game. Every other Friday, they take the weekend to try and finish it.

However, it all ends up fruitless.

Demo is usually the one keeping the peace, since he is the least competitive out of the three. That isn’t to say he isn’t clawing for the win as much as the other two, but he is definitely the least invested. He’s mostly staying out of principle.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, ‘s ta ne’er give up, e’en when the goin’s gettin’ tough. Roll the dice, doc.”

Despite his confidence, he’s not even sure what he would do if he or anyone else won. It would seem more like a relief than a celebration.

Medic:

He’s the one who started the Eternal Monopoly game, which has led to some theories that the game itself came straight from hell, and is one of the many punishments used on sinners. The box does smell a bit of brimstone…

He seems to enjoy the chaos that each round brings and the challenge of coming up with new rules to the game. To any outsider, his commentary and directions are complete nonsense.

“According to zhe ‘Calvinball Rule,’ as stated by Engineer, and the ‘Double Kill,’ as stated by myself, since the current time ends vis a three and ve all received at least two kills zhis veek, ve need to double every other roll and whomever loses zhe resulting game of ‘Bim Bum’ vill have to go to zhe Purple Jail.”

The rules and mechanics are like an unholy amalgamation of Monpoly, Sorry, chess, D&D, Bluff, and poker.

However, when Medic isn’t stapling pages of rules together, he likes to play a nice, relaxing game of checkers with Heavy.

Both of them are excellent checker players, but neither of them care who wins.

In fact, they usually talk over the game, taking the other player’s pieces as one of them shares a story from that day’s battle.

They’ve even played while Heavy was in surgery - leading to many unfortunate times when Medic had to fish a piece out of Heavy’s intestines.

One would think that a genius doctor would also have a passion for chess, but he expresses his disdain for it almost every time the checker board is brought out.

“Ach, people think chess is such an intelligent sport. Let me tell you, liebling, it is terribly overrated. If zhe devil can play chess, anyvun can. He might as vell just give souls avay, vis those shaky claws of his.”

Engineer:

Being the engineer, he is usually the one to add to the Eternal Monopoly.

Pieces, board extensions, cards, trivia - it gives him a nice break from all the weaponry.

He’s usually the one who remembers all the mechanics and rules, and serves as the judge if rules contradict each other.

“Alright, now let’s see here…we’ve got the Infinity Loop over here, but now you’ve got the Time Travel card…how many years? Infinite? Ho boy…looks like I’m gonna have to add a Hilbert’s Hotel square somewhere. Hold on…”

Despite his affinity for Eternal Monopoly, Engineer will play almost any board game. He learns new rules and figures quickly, and enjoys the challenges that brings.

However, if he’s particularly burnt out, he likes to take a break by playing Jenga. He and Spy have a friendly rivalry, since Engie can tell which blocks are supporting and Spy has quick fingers.

Spy, oddly, is a lot more amiable losing in Jenga - he knows Engie won’t think less of him - but Engineer hates when the bricks fall over. Not because it means he lost, but because, to him, it’s a failure on his part…even if it was someone else that knocked it over.

He’s made several blueprints for the perfect Jenga game, but has concluded that no human hand could put it into practice.

During one particularly bad day, Engie bumped the table, causing the whole column to come crashing down. Spy had already recovered from the noise, but Engie was still standing there, stone-faced.

His eyes were covered by his goggles, but it was clear he was crying.

Several of his machines had broken on the job, and to him, this was just another egregious mistake.

Spy carefully put the blocks back in the container, and Engie came to his senses.

“I’m real sorry, Spy. Maybe another time…?”

Spy only nodded. He was thinking.

The next time they played, Spy brought out a different container.

Instead of wood, the bricks seemed to be made of a sturdy foam.

“They fall a bit more…quietly,” Spy explained. He dropped one, and it only made a small bouncing sound. “Pyro uses these, but they allowed me to borrow it.”

Engie was a bit skeptical at first, since it was a new material, but he got the hang of it rather quickly. He was almost ecstatic the first time it fell - the blocks barely made any sound at all!

After a few games, Spy had to leave for an assignment. Engie put a hand on their arm.

“Thank ya, Spy. Maybe you ain’t the cold-blooded backstabber I thought you were.”

Spy chuckled, but said little else. He didn’t want to admit that noise sensitivity plagued him as well.

Pyro:

Pyro loves board games, and has quite the collection in their room.

Each plastic piece is at least a little melted, and all the boxes have two or three scorch marks.

Hungry Hungry Hippos, Candyland, and Uno are among her favorites.

He is an absolute beast at Uno, though.

They take each game very seriously, especially when they can convince the whole team to play.

As you can imagine, it’s pure chaos - it even led to a rule in the Merc Guidebook: “When playing Uno with three or more players with the inclusion of a Pyro, at least one Mann Co. representative and/or a mediating Medic must be present.”

Pyro has been known the hide cards, bribe players, or even try to set flame to competition. Playing Uno is almost like a mission, with weapon preparation and Spy posing as other players.

The mercs even have a betting stand that Sniper runs. All parties have lost a lot of money that way.

It’s pretty much the only time outside of battle that the team remembers how cruel and malicious Pyro can be.

Sniper:

Conventional board games aren’t exactly his forté, but he does enjoy a bit of cards every once in a while - Solitaire being his favorite.

He even has a pack of cards in his Sniper Square for that exact purpose. It allows him the pass the time without having to look away from his targets too often.

On occasion, he could be pressed to play poker, but only if the stakes weren’t monetary (i.e candy pieces, crackers, duties, etc.).

His favorite part of every match is shuffling the cards. Pretty much every merc could shuffle cards, but Sniper could make them almost float with how quick his fingers and wrists moved. He always began the game with a new trick he learned, which delighted his fellow players (usually Spy, Engineer, Medic, and Demo).

You could always tell if he had a busy day because he would avoid tricks with too much movement, which would be murder on his sore fingers and hands.

Pyro is currently learning card tricks from Sniper, and show off what they learn at the beginning of every Uno game.

Heavy:

He isn’t a huge fan of the bright, plastic-y board games that Pyro has, although he will play them if asked.

It’s mostly because of how complicated the rules are and the fact there are almost never a Russian translation for the directions.

He always prefers checkers, cards, or mancala, which he almost exclusively plays with Medic because he’s the only one who speaks fluent Russian.

Heavy can play a mean game of mancala, though, and it’s the only game he can beat Medic at.

Soldier:

The only games he will play are Battleship and Uno - but only after Miss Pauling convinced him it was “American enough” because the game had red, white, and blue cards.

He prefers the electronic Battleship because of the sound effects and voices. However, if it’s out of batteries, he’ll make his own sound effects.

Miss Pauling is the best at pretending to be a commander, so she’s usually the one playing with him - but, sometimes, Demo gets in on the action, too.

#tf2 #tf2 fandom #tf2 headcanon #tf2 headcanons #tf2 sniper #tf2 demo #tf2 scout #tf2 medic #tf2 spy #tf2 pyro #tf2 engineer #tf2 miss pauling #tf2 solly #tf2 heavy #humor #funny post #just for laughs #funny content #funny #dank humor #send asks #ask blog

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Darker Shadows

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Azriel

Rating: PG-11/T-

Original Idea: Nothing in particular. Finished the first 4 books. Dunno if I can stand Nesta long enough to read ACOSF, so I wrote this with no information from ACOSF. Have fun.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Whaaaaa...? I break my ongoing hiatus for this? Yep. I did. I hope a few more one-shots join this one, but I am making no promises. This one just came to me for about an hour so surprise! Happy August.

^^^^^ 

“Darker Shadows”

Azriel said nothing as he slipped through the door to our apartment, quiet and soft as the shadows surrounding him. I watched from the sitting room adjacent to the foyer. He must have known I was there—the shadows must have informed him—but he didn’t so much as look at me. Just rested his forehead on the door and sighed.

“Long day?” I asked.

He blinked his eyes open and turned. “Incredibly,” he replied.

I patted the sofa next to me, indicating he come sit.

Azriel’s shadows seemed to grow more numerous around him as he crossed to me. I realized why as his leathers thumped to the floor in his wake, leaving him in a light undershirt and undershorts.

No matter how long we lived together, he was always so modest.

Part of me wondered if it was more insecurity than modesty; but I would never invade his privacy that much to ask. He’d tell me when he was comfortable.

He hit the sofa cushion next to me hard. His wings barely missed getting caught behind him. Ever the precise, too. One arm and one wing wrapped over my shoulders. He was warm, even if his underclothes were cold from his sweat. I snuggled into his side. We both stared at the fire for a while.

“Did you eat up at the House?” I asked.

The shadows shrouding him retreated a little, going back to their usual shades. He glanced at me with those sharp hazel eyes before returning his gaze to the fire. “Yes. Rhys and Feyre were hosting a dinner for the Palace governors. A private celebration of rebuilding the city so quickly before the grand, public celebration in three days.”

I snorted. “Bet they loved that,” I said sarcastically. Among the family, it was well-known that Rhys and Feyre both hated formal parties and dinners with a fiery passion.

A glimmer of amusement joined the reflection of the flames in Azriel’s eyes. “Oh, they slipped out an hour in. I heard them in the library… having fun amongst the stacks. I left them to it and didn’t interrupt.”

I couldn’t stop the laughter that burst from my throat, but clamped it down hard to not disturb the neighbors.

Azriel held me tighter. “Would have been more enjoyable if you were there,” he said. His voice was soft, almost as though he didn’t actually want to admit it.

Reaching up, I cupped the side of his face. “Sorry I couldn’t go. I’d have liked to have been there.” I gestured to my wrapped leg. “I just don’t think I could handle a party today. If Rhysand had decided to host it three days from now with the rest of the celebrations, I would have been able to make it.” I made a face. “Sorry I missed it.”

“It’s alright. I understand.”

I reached around his wing to the end table, picking up my glass and handing it to him. He downed the rest and handed it back to me. I chuckled and set the glass on the coffee table instead.

After shuddering at the freezing chill of the water from my glass, Azriel turned to me. “How’s the pain?”

I shrugged. “Better than it was,” I said.

“At least you’re healing quickly.”

“Mmhmm.”

“How did you spend your night?”

I waved a vague hand to the small pile of books on the coffee table. “Just decided to read a little.”

“A little?” Azriel quoted. “You read five novels in four hours.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t finish them all. When I got bored I’d switch between them.”

“None of them holding your attention?”

“Not like they used to. Not since—”

The War with Hybern. Azriel knew. We all broke in some way over the course of it. I hadn’t had the attention span I used to since.

Azriel smiled at me. “Bathe, then bed?”

“Sounds great,” I replied.

He scooped me into his lap and stood up. I yelped at the sensation. My bad leg dangled looser than my good leg. My yelp earned me a twitched smile from my spymaster.

He carried me into the bathing room and sat me on the edge of the tub before turning it on. As it began to warm up and fill, he helped me unwrap my splint and undress. I returned the favor as best I could.

We bathed quickly and then got in our sleep clothes after drying off. After carrying me to bed, Azriel poked the point of my ear. “Goodnight,” he said softly.

I smiled, never able to contain my affection. “Sleep well,” I replied.

He doused the faelights and climbed under the covers.

We snuggled against each other. One of his wings draped over the both of us, keeping us warmer than the covers could. That warmth, his scent… it helped lull me to sleep. I could fall fast asleep on stone if Azriel was beside me.

—

Azriel watched his own scarred hand brush her nightshirt away from the skin of her back, revealing two sharp scars and an elaborate tattoo. Another rare Illyrian/High Fae hybrid, she’d been born with wings. Unlike Rhys, who could summon and desummon his wings at will, hers had been permanent.

Until her High Fae mother ordered her wings removed when she was still a child. Barely more than a toddler.

Azriel hadn’t met her until Rhys disappeared Under the Mountain. She’d been fifty-seven-years-old at the time. He’d seen her in the Rainbow, in one of the pottery studios, on a hot summer day. Her clothing revealed her back. The deep, disgustingly neat scars that made it clear how her wings had been taken from her, and the deep blue-black ink covering most of the exposed skin. She’d told him once she got it to both hide and show off the scars. When he’d asked why, she’d simply replied, “I’m stronger than the people who tried to hurt me.”

She hadn’t told him it was her mother—who’d wanted her to be a normal High Fae—for another decade.

He hadn’t been in love with her at the time. But during those fifty years everyone was stuck in Velaris, they became good friends. Azriel found her company much more peaceful than the other members of the Inner Circle. He loved them all—his family—but there was no harm, or shame, in being around someone who was quiet.

Then, a human girl broke Tamlin’s curse and Amarantha was dead. The High Lords and the members of their courts were released from Under the Mountain. And Rhys came home. And Azriel was both busier and freer than ever to spend time with his new friend.

He’d been so quietly pining for Morrigan for so long that, at first, he hadn’t realized the subject of his affections had changed.

During that final battle, when Prythian’s forces were spread so thin and even every reinforcement that came didn’t seem to make a dent… she’d taken a hit. A bad slash across the lower back.

And Azriel had seen red. His powers had already been mostly used up, his Siphons dim, and his wings badly injured.

But he’d gone to rescue her anyway.

His wings had screamed at him the entire flight back to a healer’s tent and then back to the battle. But during those moments, as she bled in his arms, he knew his feelings had transcended just friendship. “If we get out of this alive,” he’d said, “I’d like to treat you to dinner.”

She’d hummed, her side vibrating against his torso. “Mmm… dinner sounds nice. Afterwards, I can buy dessert.”

“We’ll see,” Azriel had said, smiling.

After they’d both healed and returned to Velaris, they’d done just that.

They’d been together ever since.

Azriel smiled at the memories.

—

“You’re staring,” I said quietly. His staring and touching had woken me.

“You’re incredible,” Azriel replied. “Have I told you that?”

“Today? No. This week? Many times.”

A soft chuckle. “So long as you know it.”

I rolled over so I was facing him. With his wing bent over both of us, I felt like I was in a sheet fort.

His eyes harbored a small glint in the half-light. I stared at him. “What is it?” His question was gentle.

I shrugged, feeling my scars pulling on my skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” he said.

“Charmer,” I teased.

That earned me a chuckle. Though his smile dropped after a moment. “Does it bother you?” He asked.

“What?”

“That you can’t fly?”

My humor disappeared. The phantom wings I still felt sometimes shivered in the back of my mind. “Sort of,” I replied. “I’d only barely taught myself how when Mother forced me to get them removed. It’s hard to miss what I didn’t really know. But I remember the wind over my scalp. My entire body fighting desperately to keep me aloft. I loved it. But now… now I get to fly with you and remember what it felt like. It’s not quite the same, but it’s enough for me.”

Azriel kissed my forehead. “Sorry I woke you,” he said.

“It’s okay. Any extra time I get to spend with you is worth it,” I replied with a smile.

#Azriel Shadowsinger #Azriel #Azriel Imagine #Azriel FanFiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction #Darker Shadows

[novelconcepts]

Prompt: Dani and Jamie first argument. Maybe the first time one of them sleeps on the couch (and doesn't sleep at all)

It’s such a stupid fight, Jamie thinks even as they’re having it. Such a stupid argument, she doesn’t quite know what kicked it off. Months and months on the road with Dani, months and months of learning all the little particulars of her--taste in music, dislike for repetitive tapping sounds, unpredictable sense of humor, awful propensity for replicating in private the accent of whatever state they’ve landed in today--and never once did they argue. Not really. She was beginning to think they never would--that Dani’s peculiar burden, her own peculiar resistance to logic, would keep them both safe from that which befalls all couples.

Silly. Silly to imagine, with the lovesick eyes of that honeymoon stage, and sillier now. The Dani she’d been met with at the start had been alternately strange and sad, hopeful and haunted, but she’d always been new. There’s a certain sweet charm that comes with novelty, making even the most irritating traits shine. Everything can be wiped clean with a kiss, when it’s new, or with wandering hands, or with a well-timed joke.

But months fade into more, and before she knows it, there’s nearly a year behind them. A year of them. A year of Dani’s smile growing stronger, of Dani’s hands shaking less, of her own belief that this is...good. Better than she could have imagined, letting her guard down. Better than anything she’s ever been granted in her life.

And now: 

Now a fight. Stupid. Small. Not like the closest they’ve come before now--Dani rolling her eyes at Jamie’s inability to make a bed, Jamie scoffing over Dani’s oddball methods of sorting laundry--but...stupid, nonetheless. She’d been tired. She’d snipped. Dani, unexpectedly, had snipped back.

And suddenly, they were arguing. Genuinely, for the first time, arguing--about Jamie’s tendency to shut doors, about Dani’s irreparable need to feign a smile. Both of them spotting that urge in the other which is so easily reflected in a mirror: to fix at all costs. To close off paths to darkness. To make it better, even if it means doing it in silence, or doing it alone.

Dani says, “If you’re going to keep walking away in the middle of a conversation--”

Jamie says, “Well, it’s not like you’re talking--”

It’s stupid. It’s silly. It shouldn’t be happening at all. Tired, she thinks. Tired, and it’s been raining for days, and the shop hasn’t been pulling the customers they’d expected this quarter. Dani has been quieter lately, it’s true, though not the way she’d been those first few weeks. Not the quiet of miserable baggage. Not the simple weariness of looking into the jungle for the eyes of a beast. 

Jamie can understand that. Jamie’s gotten good already at searching out those moments, at taking Dani’s hand--or leaving her to her peace--as needed. 

This, the normal of it all. This, she isn’t ready for. She’s never had a normal relationship, exactly; there had been bone shards and broken promises in the last one, and secrets tucked carefully away, and smiles that never met bright eyes. There had been a lot to unpack, to offer up on the altar of her own dignity. But normalcy? The normal edge of a woman’s voice when she’s just too tired to say the right thing? The normal cut of her own words when she’s just too off to play diplomat in response?

It’s new, and it’s weird, and it sits badly in her chest when Dani throws up her hands and says, “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I need a minute.”

She watches her stalk away, down the hall to the bedroom. Dani doesn’t slam the door. It almost makes it harder; if she’d done that, the intention behind the act would be clear, impossible to miss. If she’d done that, Jamie could piece it together: a shut door means keep out, means stay away, means don’t follow. 

The Dani who wakes from shuddering nightmares always wants her close.

The Dani who’d just shaken her head in exasperation? She can’t be sure.

A part of her wonders if this isn’t all her fault--if it’s the mark of a bad day she should have seen coming. She’s better about this, normally. She’s better at all of this. The woman who had just snipped and sliced, whose smile had been bitter-edged, isn’t unrecognizable; she’d known her so well from a year-old mirror. The woman who had threatened violence at every irritation. The woman who had grown thorns to prevent her own puncture wounds. Not a woman she’s ever been with Dani, really, but do these shadow parts of a self ever die? Has she tricked herself--tricked them both--into believing Dani’s love was enough to bury thirty years of habit in the ground?

Dani hasn’t shut the door, but she hasn’t come slinking back out with apology in her voice, either. And maybe that’s as it should be. Maybe that’s right. Hadn’t it been Jamie who had started it? She can’t be sure--there’s a strange fog around the conversation, an adrenaline-pumping, threat-level-high intoxication eating away at the memory already. Anger has a way of banishing good sense, and all detail along with it. Maybe she hadn’t started it, but she sure hadn’t let it die with a single snide remark.

And now, she thinks, sitting on the edge of the couch with a spreading unease, Dani can see. For good, for real, the bits of her she’d managed to hide away for a year. Dani can see the part of her she’d tried so hard to keep leashed since a meltdown in a rose garden.

Dani can see it, and doesn’t Dani carry enough? Isn’t Dani tired enough, without this added burden of someone else’s anger?

It’s not...peaceful. It’s rage. She shakes her head, presses a hand to her mouth, remembering the shiver in Dani’s voice. And maybe this hadn’t been rage, exactly--neither of them yelling, neither throwing things or landing harsh blows--but it hadn’t been peace, either. It leaves a sour taste in her mouth, a tremble in her legs, how little like them the evening has felt.

The door is open, but she can’t hear Dani moving around. Maybe she’s gone to bed. Maybe she’s decided enough is enough for one night. 

All right. It’s one night. What’s one night? There will be others--probably. Never any certainty to a thing like that, but she’s as near to sure as she can be. There will be other nights, and they’ll talk it through, but...not now. Not with Dani having left her here. Not with Dani sitting silent in the other room, probably letting her own anger twist around her like a shroud. 

The couch isn’t so bad. The knit blanket is too light for the spring chill, maybe, and the throw pillow is too small beneath her head, but she’s had worse. Years on a prison cot, for one. In comparison, this couch is paradise. 

A quiet paradise. 

A quiet, miserable paradise.

She exhales, reaching to switch off the lamp. One night. Admittedly, sleeping alone for the first time in a year feels wrong--incredible, how quickly she’s come to rely on the pressure of Dani’s arm around her middle, the soft brush of Dani’s breath against her shoulder--but she had started it. She’s almost certain now. She’d started it, and Dani had rightly left her to think on her mistake. Dani had rightly walked away and left her to mull it all over.

It works. It has always worked. Worked just fine back then, leaving a shadowed greenhouse for a few days to get her head on straight. Maybe Dani’s right about that tendency to shut doors, to lick her wounds in private. Maybe Dani’s right that it’s a habit too ingrown to break.

Probably. 

She’s too aware of everything--the breeze through the cracked window, the hum of the refrigerator, each creak-and-settle of the walls around her--in the dark. Too aware of how small she feels, stretched out beneath a thin blanket, her hands folded awkwardly on her stomach. Too aware of the way Dani had thrown up her hands, headed back down the hall, left her to pace the cage of her own stupid anger alone.

What was she even so upset about? That Dani had...what? Looked at her askance? Shaken her head? Not quite modulated her tone, and come out sounding as though the business taking a bit of a dip is Jamie’s fault? Dani hadn’t meant it like that. She’s sure neither of them had really meant any of it like it had come out--that, sometimes, words and tone get all muddied up and blow holes in things that ought to be strong enough to withstand any attack. Hadn’t they been over it and over it in therapy? That she needs to stop and breathe and calculate the intent, not the impact, of a person’s behavior?

Intent: mild irritation. A bad mood. Offense taken and dealt without really looking.

Impact: Dani in the bedroom. Her on the couch. Sleeping apart for the first time since leaving Bly. 

She closes her eyes. Tries to breathe. Tries to remember what it was like sleeping alone, all those months ago. Tries to remember how naturally it had come, stepping back from the others, going home to her own flat. 

That woman feels even further away than the one who’d used anger as armor. That woman feels too far to reach. 

“What are you doing?”

She jumps. Dani is standing in the hall, backlit by the bedroom light. Her expression is washed out, unreadable. 

“Sleeping,” Jamie says in a voice not quite calm, not quite stable. Dani makes a thin noise.

“On the couch?”

“You--” She sits up, clutching the blanket for support. “You said you needed space.”

“I said...” Dani takes a step nearer, and another. Her brows are drawn, Jamie can see now, her arms wrapped around herself as though for warmth. “I said I needed a minute.”

“Right.” This doesn’t feel like them. This feels even less like them than the argument had--because that, at least, had been petty and dumb. This feels too much like open water, uncharted, unexpectedly deep. “Wanted to respect that.”

“By sleeping on the couch.” Dani has stopped, still hugging herself, just out of reach. Jamie gropes up for the lamp, switching it on without looking. 

“Well...yeah. You said--”

“A minute, Jamie.” Is it her imagination, or is Dani trying not to smile? “You thought a minute meant the whole night?”

She doesn’t answer. Her throat is suddenly tight. Dani is looking at her, not with irritation, not with a fed-up grimace, but with a burgeoning smile. 

“Haven’t you ever had a weird spat with a girlfriend before?” 

Not trusting herself to speak, Jamie shakes her head. Not one like you. Not one carrying too much to manage. Not one I’ve fallen in--

“Well--neither have I, I guess.” Dani is almost grinning now, though there’s something jumpy about her eyes. Something like she’s trying, even now, to hide behind old habits. “That was...that was weird, right?”

“It was,” says Jamie carefully. She’s too off-kilter to read between the lines of Dani’s rictus grin. Too unbalanced to see what Dani is really trying to ask.

“It was weird,” Dani repeats, as if trying to convince herself. “And weird happens. Weird doesn’t mean...weird doesn’t mean we...”

Ah. There it is. She may have lain out here staring at the ceiling, parsing out her own guilt, but Dani was in there doing something worse. Dani was in that bedroom trying to determine how much of that fight was even her--and how much, maybe, belonged to a particularly weighty ghost.

She unfolds from the couch slowly, not sure if Dani is quite ready to be touched. She’s rocking a little, Jamie can see now, back and forth on her heels. Like she’s trying desperately to hold together. Like she’s coming ever-closer to unwinding. 

“Fights happen,” Jamie says. “Dumb ones, more’n most. I’m sorry for starting it.”

“You didn’t,” Dani says. “Did you?”

Her grin is loosening a little, the struts falling out along the way. In a minute, the whole thing is going to come down, and the expression waiting beneath will--Jamie suspects--look an awful lot like a woman freshly haunted. 

“I don’t know,” she says honestly, taking a hesitant step closer. “Does it matter? Sorry either way.”

“Me too,” Dani says, her voice small. “It was a--a bad day.”

“Yeah.” Her fingers are twitching at her sides, itching to reach out. Dani glances from her face to her hand, her smile flickering at last. 

“Can you, um. Can you come to bed anyway? Even if it’s not okay. Even if we’re--”

“We’re okay,” Jamie says, and knows it. Stupid, petty arguments full of bitter, petty words mean so little when stacked up to how Dani makes her feel. Even on bad nights, Dani makes her feel safer than anyone she’s ever known. 

She hopes Dani can say the same. Is determined, if Dani can’t yet, to make sure she leaves that exact legacy on Dani’s life. Safe. Secure. Loved. 

Dani is reaching out, pulling her close, her breath fast and sharp. “Can we make it a rule?” she asks into Jamie’s shoulder, her forehead pressing down hard. 

“What? Never go to bed angry?”

“Never go to bed apart.” With every stroke of Jamie’s hand across her hair, she seems to settle a little more. Seems to breathe a little easier. “You can be angry, I can’t--we can’t always help that. But come to bed anyway. Kiss me goodnight anyway. Can we make that promise?”

She sounds uncertain, and Jamie knows she’s remembering a final conversation with another person she’d loved. A last she hadn’t known was such until it was too late to take back. There hadn’t been room for forgiveness there, or apology, or a goodnight kiss. 

“Promise,” Jamie says, and knows it’s one she’ll keep faithfully to the end. However long they get. However much time. If they fight once a year or once a month, it won’t matter. Never go to bed apart. That’s doable. It’s the least she can do. 

“Does this mean,” Dani asks, voice muffled, “we’re official now?”

“Officially what?”

Dani shrugs one shoulder. She seems unwilling to remove her face from Jamie’s shoulder, to pull free of Jamie’s embrace. “I dunno. Isn’t this what real couples do? Argue?”

“Maybe.” She’s not sure either of them is standing on firm enough ground to say what real couples do, or don’t do, or shouldn’t do. She’s not sure relationships have enough ground rules to be drawn out and catalogued as such. 

What she is sure of is how Dani makes her feel. That she has, over the past months, been stepping closer and closer to a line. That she will, soon enough, tip over it into something that looks an awful lot like always. 

She could say it now. It might soothe Dani, to hear the words for the first time. But it wouldn’t feel quite right. Wouldn’t be quite what Dani deserves. It can wait. 

“I don’t think that part matters,” she says instead. “The arguing. I think the part that counts is what comes after.”

“Where I can’t stand five more minutes without you hugging me?” Dani sounds shaky, embarrassed. Jamie grips her a little tighter.

“That even when you want to throttle me, you still want me in that bed more.”

That, she thinks, is the mark of a relationship. Of their relationship, at least. Not the bickering. Not the silliness or the pettiness. The desire to make it right again as soon as it’s over. 

“Don’t like fighting with you,” Dani says. Jamie gives her a gentle shake. 

“I do hear it improves the sex.”

“I like the sex,” Dani says, almost sullenly, and Jamie laughs. 

“Well then. No reason to change things, is there?”

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #damie #this week has been way too long and I've been way too tired to do much proper writing #but this sort of thing has been requested more than a few times #so I figured why not

[persephone-plasmids]

The Third Rail

Deacon X Sole fanfic

[AO3]

(Part 1 can be found here)

Deacon was sitting on a padded bar stool in The Third Rail, his fingers gingerly wrapped around a cold drink. He’d never really been a fan of tuxedos. He normally called them penguin suits, but he had to admit, he looked good in his current disguise.

His dark hair was slicked back and his trademark sunglasses protected him from any intimate interaction with the other bar patrons.

Even though Deacon kept his eyes trained on his drink, his ears were working overtime. Dez seemed positive that information about a kidnapped Synth would be discussed at the bar that night and she’d sent Deacon undercover to get as much intel as possible.

The tux had been his idea. He told Dez that his character was a wealthy trader who came to the Third Rail to unwind after a long day trading in chems and fancy hats. When Dez had pointed out that she just needed him to sit at a bar and listen for a few hours, he’d shushed her, insisting that his character was a vital part of the mission.

Sole had been sitting nearby in the Railroad HQ, her legs draped over the arms of a chair as she read an old tattered copy of Time Regained that Deacon had loaned her. She’d laughed at his insistence and when Dez had rolled her eyes and stomped away, Sole winked at Deacon.

The memory of this short interaction was enough to make his heart rate pick up a few paces. Not because it had been particularly special, but because it only reminded him that he and Sole shared something now. A special closeness. She’d kissed him, however briefly, one night after she single handedly killed a Deathclaw. Of course they hadn’t acknowledged it since then, which was just fine with Deacon. His feelings for Sole were already complicated enough. His best course of action would be to bury those feelings deep down and never examine them again.

He could do that… right?

Deacon tapped his thumb lightly against his glass, sighing deeply.

He didn’t want to bury the feelings down. He wanted to crush his lips against Sole’s and tell her how much he loved the way she laughed at his dumb jokes. He wanted her to know how much he loved the little dimples she got in her cheeks when she smiled. And he wanted her to know that he loved the way she believed almost any lie he told her and then got mad when she found out the truth.

He loved all of it.

But he couldn’t say that. So he took another drink and continued to bury those feelings deep down.

When Deacon felt two hands rest on his shoulders before sliding down the front of his chest, he jumped.

It wasn’t until a pair of lips brushed his ear lobe and a familiar voice said, “Fancy meeting you here,” that an involuntary smile broke across his face.

“What are you doing here, Charmer?” Deacon asked, tilting his head to face Sole with the ridiculous smile still in place.

He couldn’t help it. This was just the way his face looked around her.

“I’ve been looking for you all night, Darlin,” Sole said loudly with an exaggerated fake southern accent. “I trust your long hard day of selling chems and fancy hats hasn’t made you too tired for our date?”

Deacon couldn’t stop the smile from spreading even further across his cheeks. “I’m never too tired for you… Peaches.” Deacon had tried to think of the most ridiculous pet name he could think of. The fact that Sole almost broke character when she heard the name he’d come up with, told him he’d done a good job.

Swivelling around in his bar stool, Deacon finally got a proper look at Sole and had to work hard to keep his jaw from dropping. She wore a form-fitting red sequin dress that seemed to hug every curve of her body in a way that made his mouth go dry. She also wore a pair of sunglasses identical to Deacon’s, her crimson lips quirked up into a smile.

The last thing Deacon wanted to do was let Sole know just how incredible he thought she looked. He needed to maintain some semblance of dignity. Instead, he patted the bar stool beside him, and when Sole sat down, leaned over and said in an exaggerated whisper, “You’re wearing the same dress as Magnolia. That’s just embarrassing. One of you will have to change.”

“It’ll have to be her, Sugar. I’m having a drink with my man.” Sole kept the awful southern accent going and Deacon broke down in a fit of laughter that he stifled with his hand.

Sole was notoriously bad at accents. When she’d tried to do the Silver Shroud voice for him a few weeks back, he’d almost passed out from laughing so hard. She knew her bad accents were his weakness. She was doing this on purpose.

Another thing for him to add to the checklist of things he loved about her.

The checklist was quickly becoming its own novel.

“And remind me where you’ve been all day?” Deacon asked. He wanted to see just how much thought Sole had really put into this little ruse of hers.

“Why I’ve been off at the old Cabot place, basking in the refinement, of course,” Sole said.

Deacon shook his head before lowering his voice so that the other bar patrons wouldn’t over hear him. “Seriously though, what are you doing here?”

Sole leaned in conspiratorially, her grin full of mischief. “Dez didn’t trust that you were taking the job seriously after you came up with your whole… character.”

“So she sent you to babysit?” Deacon guessed. It wouldn’t be the first time.

At his question Sole looked down at Deacon’s drink and blushed. “I volunteered. Told her you might need some looking after.”

Sole had asked to come keep Deacon company? They hadn’t really been alone since she’d kissed him and he liked it that way. He didn’t need any more reasons to be head-over-heels for this girl. He was supposed to be past those kinds of attachments.

“And Dez didn’t think your character idea was childish?”

At this, Sole’s grin returned. “She didn’t know I was coming in costume.”

Deacon let a sly smile that matched Sole’s cross his lips. “So that’s the trick, is it? Be childish, but only when Dez isn’t looking?”

“It’s been working pretty well for me so far.”

“You just out-Deaconed me,” Deacon said. “I’m impressed, Charmer. You’ve even got the shades.”

At his words, Sole removed the sunglasses and sat them down on the bar in front of her. She rubbed the bridge of her nose gingerly.

“I know you swear by those things, but I just can’t get the hang of them. I don’t like that they add a barrier between me and the person I’m talking to,” Sole said. “It’s weird.”

“That’s exactly why I like them,” Deacon admitted, his sideways smile back.

Sole watched him with her lips pressed together in a hard line. Her eyes roamed across his face in a way that made him feel oddly vulnerable; even with the sunglasses on.

“You trying to use your x-ray vision over there?” Deacon joked. It was his default and the only way he knew to deal with an uncomfortable situation.

“Just trying to remember if I’ve ever actually seen you without the sunglasses on.”

“That’s a privilege you have to earn,” Deacon said.

At this, Sole perked up, her eyes alight with the challenge. “And how do I go about doing that?”

Deacon thought about this for a moment. What could ever make him feel comfortable taking his sunglasses off in front of Sole? Nothing came to mind. Because if she did see him, really see him, she might not like what she saw. That thought alone nearly killed Deacon. He wasn’t even sure he liked what he saw on the rare moments he allowed himself some brief introspection. But he was stuck with himself. Sole wasn’t. She could leave. And that was something he didn’t think he could bear.

It seemed better to keep her at arms length so he could continue to enjoy her company. He didn’t want to risk disappointing her. He didn’t think he could live with that.

“Don’t blow this mission for me and I’ll start to consider possibly thinking about maybe letting you see what’s behind the sunglasses,” Deacon said with a vague wave of his hand.

“Oh my! You’ll actually start to consider possibly maybe hypothetically letting me see you?” Sole repeated in an exaggerated tone. “How could I ever turn down a rock solid offer like that?”

“I don’t make the rules, sister. I just enforce them,” Deacon laughed, taking a long drink. “But if you could help me get some intel on this possible Synth kidnapping, Dez might actually respect me.”

“She respects you as an agent already. You know that,” Sole said, before grinning. “She just thinks you’re a hopeless man-child.”

“That��s Professor Hopeless Man-Child, thank you very much. I didn’t go to years of Peter Pan school to not be addressed by my full title.”

“Noted,” Sole said with a little salute in Deacon’s direction. “So, do we know who might have this possible intel?”

Deacon turned slightly in his chair and let his eyes roam over the patrons of The Third Rail. There were the regulars on the couch, holding their drinks while listening to Magnolia’s sultry voice with rapt attention. He gave a sidelong glance to the VIP room where he knew MacCready would be making deals with shady characters for caps. And then there were a few strangers he didn’t recognize sitting at the bar a few stools away from him and Sole. Those were the most likely sources of intel.

“I’d say we keep an eye on old no-nose and Danse over there,” Deacon said, nodding subtly in the direction of a ghoul and an uptight looking perfectly-groomed man.

Sole let a little giggle escape her lips as she turned away from the pair. “He totally does look like Danse,” she said, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she laughed.

Deacon tried not to notice.

He failed.

“Ad Victorium,” Sole mocked in her best Paladin Danse impression. It was just as awful as her southern accent.

“That old tin can is such a boy scout,” Deacon said, wanting nothing more than to make Sole laugh again. The sound made him happy. “But he’s good in a fire fight.”

“He’s actually really sweet,” Sole said. “And super helpful out in the field.”

Hearing Sole say nice things about Danse should have warmed Deacon’s heart. But instead he felt something ugly and unfamiliar spring up inside of him. Was it jealousy?

“Yeah, he’s great. If you get over the fact that he’s a raging bigot who hates synths,” Deacon said. His words sounded harsher than he’d meant for them to. He actually liked Danse a lot. But for some reason, he didn’t want Sole liking him too much.

“Hey, he’s still coming to terms with a lot right now,” Sole said. “Give him time. He’s a good person.”

Deacon nodded but didn’t answer. He didn’t like how much this conversation was bugging him. He wanted to pretend it was because of Danse’s less-than-stellar opinion of synths. But he knew the truth. Bigotry aside, Danse was a good guy. A wholesome guy. The kind of guy that probably reminded Sole of her late husband.

What was Deacon?

A liar. A man-child. Someone who couldn’t get close to people without devolving into a stand-up comedian for fear he might expose too much of himself.

Why would Sole want that when she could have the muscled boy scout with the badass scar over his eyebrow?

“Hey, are you okay?” Sole asked, placing her hand on Deacon’s arm and looking at him with a furrowed brow. “You kind of disappeared for a second.”

Deacon cleared his throat and adopted the fake smile that served as his everyday mask. “I’m good, boss. I was just listening for any intel we might hear.”

It wasn’t a great lie, but he hoped it was good enough to get Sole’s hand off of his arm. He couldn’t handle it when she touched him. Even like this. It gave him hope. And hope was dangerous.

The two sat in silence for a long time and when Sole did eventually move her hand away from Deacon’s arm, he hated its absence.

They watched the ghoul and the pretty boy drink their drinks in silence and Deacon began to wonder if they weren’t actually the people they’d been looking for. But when Deacon saw MacCready leave the red VIP room and walk up their stairs towards Goodneighbor, the ghoul and the pretty boy instantly stood up in unison and headed over to the now empty room.

“Bingo,” Deacon whispered. “They were waiting for somewhere more private.”

“This is so exciting,” Sole said, bouncing in her seat a little.

It was quite possibly the most adorable thing Deacon had ever seen in his entire life.

And that was including the time he’d seen a mutated bunny with four soft fuzzy ears hopping around the Wasteland.

“We need to get in that room,” Deacon whispered, standing from the bar stool and heading over to the VIP room.

He and Sole entered, but made sure to stand around the corner where the two conspirators wouldn’t be able to see them.

The ghoul and the pretty boy spoke in hushed tones, but Deacon was still able to make out the key points.

“Nuka World,” Sole whispered, looking up at Deacon who nodded.

That was it. That was where the Synth was being held. Dez would be over-the-moon with this intel.

Deacon only had a moment to revel in their victory, because without warning, he could hear the footsteps of the ghoul and the pretty boy heading towards them. They would have maybe two seconds before they saw Deacon and Sole standing there. And then what? They’d probably try to kill them without a second thought.

Deacon opened his mouth to try to tell Sole to run, but before he could, she pushed him up against the wall and crushed her lips against his.

The forcefulness of the kiss caught Deacon off guard, but it only took him a moment to understand her strategy. Just be a couple of Third Rail occupants looking for some privacy for a good time and no one would suspect they’d been spying on the conspirators.

Sole pressed her body against Deacon’s, her hands sliding inside of his tux jacket and around to his back. Her lips were soft, even as they moved forcefully against his. And even though he was tempted to close his eyes and give into the kiss, he kept one eye open to make sure they hadn’t drawn any suspicion from the pair they’d just been spying on.

Deacon watched as the two men eyeballed them for a moment before shaking their heads and leaving the VIP room without another thought.

They’d done it. They’d fooled them. And now they could stop kissing. But Sole didn’t seem keen on slowing down. That meant it would be Deacon’s responsibility to stop the kiss.

But did he really want to? Now that he had a good reason to kiss Sole that wouldn’t make him have an existential crisis?

Instead, Deacon placed his hands on Sole’s waist, squeezing her sides and pulling her against him. He could feel her smile under his lips and the expression only encouraged him. He ran one hand up her back, keeping the other low on her waist as he kissed her back passionately.

He never wanted this to stop.

The heat from Sole’s body mixed deliciously with his own and with every kiss, he felt himself fall for her even more.

After a moment, Sole finally slowed down their moment of passion and broke the kiss. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were bright and full of life.

“Our targets left,” Deacon finally said after a moment, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. “I don’t think they suspected us… good thinking, boss.”

He knew he sounded breathless and frazzled and he hated himself for it.

Sole didn’t step back away from him. Instead she stayed leaned up against him with her hands resting on his back.

“Mission accomplished,” she whispered. He could feel her breath against his lips and it made him shiver. Being this close to Sole was like drinking clean cold water after wandering the Wasteland for days with no rest.

Deacon and Sole stared at each other for another moment, neither one willing to break contact. Deacon still had his hand low on Sole’s waist, and he moved his thumb over the bumpy sequins there.

“We should probably report back to Dez,” Deacon said after a minute. Something that looked like disappointment passed behind Sole’s eyes and he wondered briefly if she had wanted him to say something else. Something unrelated to the mission.

Had he wanted to say something else too?

“Good teamwork,” Sole said, standing up on her tiptoes and placing one last long, slow, soft kiss against Deacon’s lips.

The motion gave Deacon chills all over his body.

When she pulled away, she gave him a meaningful look. “I guess we should be getting back.”

Deacon nodded dumbly, unable to speak for a moment.

When Sole pulled away from Deacon, he felt her absence like a punch to the gut.

“Right behind you, boss,” Deacon said, watching as Sole headed towards the stairs that would lead to Goodneighbor.

He let her climb a few before he started to follow her. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to be too close to her right now. Not after the kiss they’d just shared. Because he knew he wanted more. And he knew he’d always want more.

But the worst part of it was, he almost thought that maybe Sole wanted more too. The look she’d given him had held some kind of meaning. But there was no way he was going to pursue that. If he was wrong, and Sole wasn’t sending him signals, he’d be devastated.

No. It was better to live a life wondering, than to throw away a good thing on a small possibility that his feelings were reciprocated. Sole was too good for him and he knew it. She probably knew it too.

But maybe she didn’t care. And maybe he shouldn’t either.

[Part 3]

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

Based on this pic of my OC and Deacon being dorks together.

#fallout #fallout 4 #deacon #fallout deacon #deacon x sole survivor #deacon x sole #fallout fanfic #fallout 4 fanfic #deacon fanfic #deacon x sole fanfic #fo4 #fo4 fanfic

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, violence and abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of death [other warning to be added throughout series]

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader’s husband brings home an unexpected houseguest.

Note: So i just worked my ass off and retail is always crummy this time of year so I’m gonna escape with some sweet Arvin Russell writing. 

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The spring air was warm as the breeze swept over the low fence and fluttered the tails of shirts hung across the line. You grabbed two pegs and a swathe of damp fabric and stretched it over the cord, pinning it in place before moving along. Your old machine had taken much of the day to wrangle and had even received a kick. It was decades old, an heirloom inherited with the old country house and much more clunky than the modern machines. Not many in the county had anything more than the old wringing machines.

Roy would be home soon. Your husband hated to hear about how the wringer jammed so easily and the fear that your fingers might again be bruised by the mechanism. Even so, you were certain it wouldn't last for much longer. It's rattles foretold its imminent fate. You'd be back to a bucket and board soon enough.

As you hung the last piece, Roy's oil stained overalls, you heard the putter of the truck. You picked up the woven basket and headed for the gate along the front of the house. You waved as he pulled up, tires loudly mulching the dirt, and you stopped short as he came to a jagged halt. He wasn't alone and you were stillwearing your grimy and wet apron.

Roy pushed his door open so roughly it creaked. He stepped out and gave an exaggerated stretch as he glanced across the roof of the truck and slammed the door.

"Don't forget your bag, boy," he growled at the other man as he felt around the chest pocket of his overall for his smokes. "Looks like you're too late for laundry day."

"Roy?" You unclasped the gate and opened it as Roy stomped across the gravel and lit up a smoke, "How was your day?" 

You peeked over at the other man who climbed out of the truck. He wore similar overall, though they were unbuttoned over a greasy white shirt, and he was shorter and thinner than your husband. He reached back into the truck and grabbed a long military style duffel before he swung the door shut. 

Your husband grumbled and blew out a mouthful of smoke.

"We have a guest?" You asked as you stayed by the gate.

"Arvin Russell," Roy flicked the ash away, "You remember I was talkin' 'bout renting out the attic."

"Um, yes," you blinked as the other man, Arvin, neared meekly. Roy had mentioned the idea once when he noticed the way his truck had started rumbling.  "It'll need a good dusting."

"So you better get on that." Roy coughed. "What's for dinner?"

"Meatloaf," you answered and turned back to smile at the other man as he bowed his head and passed through the gate.

"Hello, missus," he said kindly, "Nice to meet ya. I work with your husband, says you're a fine cook."

"The one thing she can do," Roy muttered as he ambled up the steps of the porch and dropped onto the bench sat by the window. "You go grab us some bottles."

You closed the gate behind Arvin but he waited for you to precede him before going any further. He was surprisingly polite for any man who worked at the shop. 

"Yes, Roy," you hid your disappointment. Those nights when Roy started drinking before dinner rarely ended well.

"Can I just have some water?" Arvin asked as he followed you onto the porch, "Please. I didn't get to my lunch today so I'm not really feeling like drinking."

"Of course," you said, "If you're hungry, I got a box of crackers and some cheese I can bring out."

"Thank you but I'd hate to spoil dinner." Arvin sat on the end of the bench and kept his bag between his feet as Roy threw away his cigarette. "Thank you both for having me."

You nodded and quickly skirted inside. You were a bit confounded by Roy's sudden burst of generosity. He rarely did anything for anyone else. To think he'd offer a room to a coworker was unlike him.

You went to the old fridge, marked with dings and dents, and wiggled the handle until it opened. You remember the day you Pa had broken the handle, he'd always promised to fix it but had only managed to make it worse. You missed him. It was easy to miss him in this old place. His wedding present to you and Roy. It was too tragic he hadn't lived long enough to see you enjoy it.

You grabbed a brown bottle then filled a tall glass from the tap. You went back to the door and opened it with your elbow. You handed Roy his beer as Arvin stood to accept his glass of water.

"Thank you," he chimed but your husband only popped the cap of his beer with his teeth and glared out at the yard.

"Well dinner is in the oven still. I'll just be finishing that before I get started in the attic." You told Roy but he only shrugged and gulped down the beer. "Let me know if you boys need anything." 

"Peace and quiet," Roy snarled. "S'all I need right now."

Arvin gave a sympathetic look and traced his thumb along the side of the glass. You hid your discomfort and retreated inside. That was just Roy. He was always in a mood after work. An hour or two and he would mellow out. The beer would surely help.

🚬

When you finished supper, you called the men in to eat. Roy started his second beer as Arvin remained quiet and awkward at the table. You didn’t say much as you pondered the work still left to be done. You had to tidy the attic before the night ended and collect the laundry from the line. You would also have to clear the table and clean up the mess of your cooking.

You stood before the men finished. You scraped your untouched scraps into the dish of leftovers and placed the glass lid on it. You scoured the loaf pan as you listened to the clink of cutlery on plates and set the pots on the drying rack. You returned to the men to gather their empty dishes and Arvin thank you as Roy belched and stood with a satisfied but gruff rumble.

Arvin watched you as you tried to ignore the pity in his face. You knew your husband wasn’t the most loving or vocal, but he was yours and he worked hard. You turned away and went back to the kitchen. You finished washing the last of the glassware and dried it before stacking it in the cupboards.

As you passed through the dining room, Arvin was gone and you could hear the buzz of the radio from the front room. Roy always liked to listen to the game after he ate. Sometimes you sat with him and crocheted or read but not often.

You tiptoed upstairs and found the footstool hidden in the bottom of the linen closet. You climbed onto the step and reached up to unhook the cord of the attic door. It dangled down and you pulled it carefully as you backed off the stool and kicked it away. The steps unfolded and you barely stepped out of the way of their descent as the heavy wood thumped against the carpet.

It had been a while since you ventured up to the third floor. There was only dust and forgotten memories up there. You slowly made your way up and sneezed as you reached the top. A wall of boxes blocked the window along the front of the house and shrouded furniture sat beneath grimy sheets.

You started with the boxes. You took one and peeked under the flaps. Some old oil lamps hoarded by your father from his own parents. You awkwardly made your way back down to the second floor and placed the box at the bottom. When you had them all down, you’d take them into your father’s old room to store. Perhaps you should sort through them at last and get rid of the unneeded artifacts.

You were six boxes deep when you were startled by a shadow in the open hatch. You exclaimed and nearly dropped your armful as Arvin poked his head through and peered over at you.

“Arvin,” you gasped. “My apologies, this place is a mess.”

“Not so bad,” he climbed up and stood, “You need some help?”

“Don’t be silly, I can manage--”

“You’re right. It’s a mess,” he insisted, “A lot for just one person.”

You stared at him and gave a small smile. He was funny. He neared you and reached out for the box in your arms.

“How about this, I’ll stay on the ladder and you bring the boxes to me and I’ll take ‘em down.” He took the box gently from you, “It’ll be much quicker.”

You looked into his soft brown eyes and let him. He backed away and cautiously made his way down the ladder. You turned and grabbed another box and he reappeared through the hatch. You handed him the box of figurines and he retreated once more. You carried on and soon, the boxes were stacked high on the lower floor.

“Alright,” Arvin climbed up and dusted off his hands, “Already lookin’ better.”

He neared the old sofa against the wall and pulled off the sheet. He coughed as the dust was kicked up and it soon turned into a chuck as he waved away the cloud.

“We can keep this here,” he draped the sheet over his arm and pulled the next from the tall lamp with the glass shade, “Move this into the corner,” he continued on and peeked under a sheet before unveiling the tall shelf, “If you don’t mind, of course?”

“Not at all. We should’ve sold all this years ago.” You teetered on your heels anxiously. Every piece reminded you of your father. “There’s a cot folded up over there,” you pointed behind a hidden end table, “But that wouldn’t be much better than the floor.”

“It’ll do,” he assured you and turned to sit on the sofa. He bounced as he hugged the sheets. “This isn’t too bad.”

“Well, there’s a bed down in my pa’s room. We could try to bring it up tomorrow. If you don’t mind offerin’ a little more help.” You wrung your hands. You were never very good with strangers and Roy’s friends often weren’t much nicer than him. You were tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I think I could do that,” he stood and wiggled his nose as a sneeze threatened. “You got a broom? Maybe a duster?”

“You’ve done enough, I can finish it--”

“Ma’am, I’m a guest in your home. I might be paying for the room but it doesn’t make you my maid,” he intoned, “You’ve already done more than enough. I don’t think I’ve eaten so well since before my momma died.”

“Oh, I’m… sorry,” you uttered. “I--”

“Now, don’t be sorry,” he cooed, “Nothing to be sorry for. I assume you lost your daddy if his bed is free.” 

You nodded dumbly and blinked.

“Well, at least let me take these,” you reached for the sheets and he hesitated before he let you take them. You struggled to keep them balled up and hugged them against your hip as you turned back to the hatch. “I’ll bring you the broom.”

“Thank you,” he said behind you and you looked back at him as you took your first step down the ladder, “You let me know when you bring that washin’ in and I’ll help you fold.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I want to. Makes me feel a little better about stealin’ your attic,” he assured you.

You looked down and slowly descended. As your feet met the carpet, you sighed and looked around at the boxes. You couldn’t remember a time Roy had ever offered to help with anything. If it wasn’t to do with his truck, he couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger.

🚬

You were completely drained by the time you retired to your bedroom. You were still on edge, your exhaustion laced with anxiety as you unbuttoned your blouse. You sat on the side of the bed as you slowly undressed. It was still absurd to you that another person, barely more than a stranger, was living in your home. In your father’s house.

It changed your whole routine. You couldn’t help but go over it in your mind. That meant three plates, not two, for every meal, that meant the laundry basket would fill up quicker, than meant the shoes tracks in the front entrance would need to be mopped up more often. That mean you had to act like your marriage was truly happy.

You pulled on your night gown, the short sleeves tickled your upper arms as you dropped your clothes in the wicker basket on your chest of drawers. A framed photo of your parents’ wedding day sat beside it and on the shelf beside the door, was your own wedding portrait.

Three years wasn’t so long but it felt an eternity. You couldn’t quite recall when Roy had changed. When the beer had started to taint his kisses and his words. When all pretense fell away and only the man remained. The brutish country boy with the churlish demeanour.

Maybe the first day of your marriage. Maybe. You were so nervous on your wedding night that it angered him. You’d mend your dress one day, hopefully when you had a daughter of your own so you had something to promise her. 

Or maybe a week after the wedding, when you broke the vase gifted to you upon your nuptials and it shattered across the floor. Roy’s booming voice and his boulder-like fists.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, a month in when the world went black with his hand on your throat and you awoke alone on the kitchen floor.

Maybe a year when your finger was dislocated by a slammed door. Maybe the next year when you couldn’t sit for the pain in your hips. Maybe the one after when he’d grown impatient for a child only to find your sheets soaked in blood. 

Maybe it had always been there, from the first date, but you’d simply refused to accept it. Not you. Not Roy. You loved him and he loved you, didn’t he?

The door slammed and shook you from your sombre recollections. You looked up as Roy stumbled in. He snickered darkly as your eyes met his and his legs wobbled beneath him drunkenly.

You slid off the bed and turned to plant your elbows on the mattress. A prayer before bed, as your grandmother had taught you. Another sarcastic chuckle aimed in your direction as Roy’s stained white tee missed the basket.

“On your knees for me already,” he sat beside your elbow as he unbuckled his belt.

You couldn’t focus on your inner recitation. You could smell the alcohol on him, the stench of oil and his sweat. You clutched your hands together and cleared your throat.

“Why didn’t you call me?” You asked calmly.

He frowned and stood to shove his pants past his knees. He kicked the jeans away and fell heavily back to the bed.

“Call you?” He sneered.

“To let me know about our guest?” You wondered innocently. “I could’ve readied for him better.”

“Workin’,” he growled. “I don’t got time to be callin’ you with my head under an engine. Fuckin’ Christ.”

“There isn’t a bed in the attic.” You said.

“So. Arv’s small enough. I’ve seen him sleep on a stool.” Roy spat. 

You hid your chagrin behind your hands as you pressed them to your lips.

“Why’d you bring him?”

Roy’s nostrils flared and a fist formed atop his hairy thigh. “I gotta explain to you?” He snapped. “He paid me outright and he been sleepin’ at the motel since he started.”

“Mr. Dace has a room--”

“Mr. Dace lives twice as far as we do. I did the kid a favour. He saved my ass his first day.” Roy stomped his foot. “Woulda burned down the whole garage if he hadn’t caught that leak.”

“Kid? He that young?”

“Couple years younger than you, I s’pose, maybe less,” Roy rubbed his cheeks and shook his head, “What’s it matter to you?”

“Curious,” you said quietly and closed your eyes as you rested your chin on your knuckles.

Roy was quiet. He let out a long, thick breath and the bed jolted beneath your arms.

“You finished bleeding?” He asked gruffly. 

“I’m praying, Roy,” you insisted.

“How long’s it take you? I’m sure God’s heard it all before.”

“Don’t talk like that, R--”

You squeaked as he grabbed your wrist and wrenched your arms away. He rose and lifted you with him. Always a strong man, he moved you like a puppet to his will. He took your other wrist and pulled you against him.

“You know, I don’t even care if you’re bleeding.” He turned you and shoved you onto the bed. You cried out as you bounced so hard you bit your tongue.

“Roy, please, I’m tired,” you stared up at him fearfully as you pushed yourself up on your elbows. You could taste blood.

“You’re my wife. You do your duty.” He pushed his underwear down as his cock twitched. “You got energy to wash all them clothes, you can lay on your back for your husband.”

“Roy--”

“Shut up!” He shouted. “We got company. I don’t need ya keepin’ him up with your whining.”

You closed your eyes as he fell onto you. He crushed you beneath him as he tugged your skirt up harshly. He pushed your legs apart with his knee and you braced yourself for his painful intrusion. Even so long into the marriage, you had never grown used to his touch.

He retracted his hand and began to touch himself. He stroked his cock as he swore under his breath.

“Fuck. Come on.” He moved his hand quicker and rubbed his soft tip against your folds. “Open up.” 

He forced his dick against your entrance and tried to push inside. He was still half-flaccid and struggled to get further than an inch. You balled your hands and sank your head into the mattress as he thrust. He fell out of you, softer than before.

You opened your eyes sat up on his knees and looked down at his limp dick. He gritted his teeth as you watched him.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he punched your stomach as hard as he could and you wheezed as you folded in on yourself. “Can’t even keep me hard.”

“Roy--” You hissed. “I’m s--”

“One more word and you’ll be real sorry.” He pushed himself from between your legs, making certain to pinch you as he did.

He stood and turned. You barely moved out of the way before he sprawled over his side of the mattress. You held your stomach, a painful pressure lodge there, and rolled to the edge of the bed. You reached over and pulled the chain on the lamp. 

As you laid back, Roy caught the back of your neck and kept you in a painful limbo.

“On the floor,” he jarred your neck as he tried to throw you off the bed. “Like the dog you are.”

You slid off the side and landed sharply on your knees. You stifled a shameful sob and lowered yourself down onto your side. You bent your knees and cushioned your head on one arm. You stared into the void beneath the bed as the frame groaned beneath Roy’s heavy body.

“Goddamn bitch,” he uttered groggily. “Fuckin’--”

His words turned to snores as he finally drowned in his bellyful of beer. You listened to his jagged, drunken breaths as you shivered on the cold wood. You closed your eyes and recalled the first night you’d slept on the floor. You’d been in much poorer shape and it had been the dead of winter.

At least, you didn’t have to sleep next to him.

#arvin russell #arvin russell x reader #dark fic #dark!fic #fic #series #the devil all the time #of something beautiful but annihilating

[moeruhoshi]

Lucy sighed as she let her hair out of her tight bun, groaning and falling to sit on her couch.

The day has been filled with meeting after meeting, hours of sitting in a chair placed in the corner of the room.

Her father insisted that she take part in every one, otherwise how was she supposed to know how a company was run?

Between that and private tutor sessions that lasted all morning, she was tuckered out.

She kicked off her heels and unbuttoned the top of her shirt, feeling fatigue claim her body.

Lucy wasn't sure she could go on like this much longer, but her father wasn't keen on giving her breaks. The only time she got was the few hours for sleep alone in her apartment. There were no weekends, no sunshine, no amusement.

The gray colorscheme of this life was never the one she wanted. The money, the business, it meant nothing to her.

But where was she going to go? Without her father, she had nothing. There was nothing for her outside of this world, he made sure of that. His business would be succeeded, that was the only care he had.

Another groan passed through her lips as a heavy knock fell on her door. The ache in her legs carried her to answer it, assuming Jude sent a secretary to deliver papers for the next day.

She opened the door with a polite smile, her breath quickly stolen as they made eye contact.

"Hey, Luce," The thick, burly, voice of the man who stood before her sunk into her bones like a well-lit fire. He stood with his hands in his pockets, that familiar white scarf, and his hansomly wide grin. "It took me a while to find ya, sorry I'm late,"

"Natsu," His name was so distant on her tongue, like a dream she had when she was younger.

It felt like that at times, her world before she was forcefully yanked out of it.

She had friends, happiness, a real life any teenager would want.

Every day was eventful, always different and full of laughs. They did everything together, the whole gang inseparable. They were her first real family.

Levy, Erza, Gray, Gajeel, Juvia, and...Natsu. He was more than a friend, and it was too late by the time she realized it.

They were closer than close, together whenever they could be. She remembered the nights where he snuck into her room, bringing in junk food and video games that her father would never allow through the front door.

They called each other if they couldn't meet up, texted in the middle of class when the teacher wasn't looking. She tutored him in the classes he nearly failed, had her maids sneak her into the kitchen so she could make him lunch. She snuck out of the house to meet him, Natsu taking her around every inch of town. They even saved a stray kitten together, his fur an odd blue shade.

When they held hands, hugged, or he slung his arm around ger shoulders, it just felt right. His whole presence seemed to light up her life, warmed her to the center of her soul.

She lost him, them all, when Jude caught the two kissing on the front porch.

They had been out the whole day, on a picnic and watching the cherry blossoms fall. She made a big lunch with Virgo, packed with Natsu’s favorite things. She always loved the way he got so excited over the things she cooked for him.

It was a day like any other, as they spent so many of them together. But his demeanor seemed off when they got to her front door that night. Suddenly he was shy and quiet, blushing and fidgeting.

His words kept getting jumbled and tugged on his scarf at least a hundred times.

In the end, he settled his confession with an abrupt kiss. His hands wrapped around her waist, the sudden movement making her drop the basket.

And for a first kiss, it was a pleasant embrace. His lips were soft and adorable, puckered against her own. Her eyes closed, a dream-like feeling overwhelming her. Maybe that's when reality took its rightful place, maybe it was always just a dream.

Jude opened the door, yelling at Natsu to let her go. He pulled the pink-haired boy off of her, angrily punching him in the nose.

Lucy screamed as she was dragged inside, not able to make sure Natsu was okay.

Her father had him thrown off the property, barring him or anyone else she knew from coming back.

He moved them out of Magnolia before she knew it, before the school year was over, before she could say goodbye.

And just because of a kiss? Surely that was an overreaction for any parent, but this was a special case.

Natsu came from a jaded family, the Dragneels known for their very shady business dealings. His two older brothers stood by his father's side, and ran things on the street. Though no one could ever prove what they were really doing.

A Dragneel would never be good enough for a Heartfilia, he made sure to drill that in her head.

A scandal with that seedy family could mean ruin, it was already bad enough that he allowed them to be friends.

"Natsu," She said again, his name filling up her heart. It took away her soreness, blew away the dark clouds that shrouded her life. His wide spread grin made butterflies rise in her stomach; she never realized how much she missed this feeling.

"Natsu..." He closed the door as he stepped inside, wrapping her up in his arms.

When was the last time she felt so relaxed? Those few years ago when he kissed her, she assumed.

"You still smell so good," He mumbled into her hair, nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

"I missed you so much," She teared up slightly, giggling as he lifted her off her feet and walked them further into her home.

"I missed you too," They both laughed as they fell onto the couch, still tangled in each other's arms.

"What's with the suit?" She asked, smirking as he rolled his eyes.

"Really? Thats your first question? Not how I am or anything normal, weirdo?"

"You always wore hoodies and jeans, don't blame me," She smacked his arm with a small pout.

"It's for work, okay? Duh," He sighed. "Dad insists that I gotta look nice."

"It looks nice on you," She pulled playfully on his tie, Natsu leaning his forehead against hers.

"Its like you never left," He groaned. "Dammit, Luce, its like you never left,"

"I never wanted to leave you," His hands held her face, thumbs rubbing calm circles on her cheek.

"Everyone's been worried sick since, you never called,"

"Father tracks my phone bill," Her chuckle was fitted with annoyance, her fist slightly balled up. "I wanted to,"

"Damn bastard, he's lucky my nose healed," Lucy giggled as he looked away, the blonde gently kissing the ridge.

"What took you so long?" Her lips felt tingly, Natsu's eyes boring into her, as if he could see her soul.

"I had a lot to do before I could come get ya," His voice was suddenly a bit rough, his hands a bit more steady. "I'll take you away, I promised myself I'd come save ya,"

"Really?" Her heart clenched as he nodded, both of them leaning forward.

"I never got to hear what you thought of my kiss," She gulped as he now spoke in a husky whisper. "Do you remember it?"

"Mhm," She felt smothered in a pool of honey, all of her previous worries vanishing with each passing second. Had it felt like this the first time? She only remembered the pain of watching the bloodied Natsu being dragged away by their security team.

Their kiss was gentle at first, like an old memory rising from the dirt of the past. Natsu laid back against the couch, pulling her along with him. His hands stayed cupped on her face, their lips moving in slight sync.

It was a warm embrace that grew as their hunger for more was ignited.

Their kisses became deeper, their hands began to wander and explore each other.

He pulled her tongue into his mouth along with a soft moan, his hands fondling her hips.

"No one taught you how to kiss, right?" Natsu grumbled as he pulled away for a brief moment.

"You're my first and only kiss," Lucy let out a happy gasp as Natsu flipped them over, a slobbering kiss pressed against her cheek.

"Damn right I am," She rolled her eyes and bit her lip as he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing a dragon tattoo that wrapped around his torso.

"I wanna be sure, Luce," She frowned as he stopped at the last button. "I know I showed up outta the blue, but you know what I want. So if you can't come with me, I'll understand. Just know that I'm gonna give you the whole fucking world if you do. I fuckin' love you,"

"You're my soulmate," He purred happily, grinning his signature grin as she began to unbutton her own shirt. "Take me wherever you want, Natsu,"

#fairy tail #nalu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #natsu and lucy #natsu x lucy #lucy and natsu #lucy x natsu #nalu fanfiction #fairy tail nalu

[bluebellefox]

It is a Far, Far Better Thing

When he first begins to regain consciousness, he is aware only of the sense of darkness blanketing around him, allowing his body to float along the gentle waves of a softly rolling black sea. It is not oppressive darkness that surrounds him, but rather a soothing one, one that brings none of the weight that being alone in the dark has brought him these past few years. One that reminds him of summer nights under a tree shared by unassuming children ready to take on the world or rainy mornings spent with tea cooling in its chipped mug and dog-eared and creased worn pages. Or the gentle pressure of a wizened hand laying on his shoulder and the echo of a lilting laugh that shone brightly in emerald eyes and always seemed to staunch the deep ache in his very soul that has haunted him since he could remember. It is peaceful and for the first time in a long time, Severus feels calm.

He wakes slowly, for the first time in months, years, decades… There is no rushed sense of duty that usually accompanies him and spurs him to action the second he is aware of the waking world. There is only the feeling of a warm spring breeze lofting over his face, pulling playfully at his hair as it dances across, well wherever he is. Normally finding himself in an unknown place after being so deeply wrapped in the arms of Morpheus would alarm him, even send him into a whirlwind of abject panic but strangely enough, the familiar anxiety isn’t present. Instead, he allows himself to relish the sounds of leaves rhythmically swaying in the wind, the prickles of untrimmed ryegrass through the fabric of his robes, the pleasant warmth radiating from the traditionally more traitorous English sun. He hasn’t been allowed to just exist in this simple capacity since he was a small child before his life was so convoluted and controlled by the decisions of more powerful men before the weight of the fate of all wizard-kind across Britain fell upon his shoulders, bowing his back and making him more Atlas than man.

There was something pulling at the back of his conscience, he can feel it pulsing through the severe fog that's invaded his senses. Not unlike when he uses his occlumency to bury his emotions when they overwhelmed him, or when it was imperative the Dark Lord not see the thoughts that ravaged his mind during Death Eater meetings. However, unlike those occasions where occlumency was the only option to halt an oncoming nervous breakdown, he couldn't wave away the haze. The longer he laid there, poking around at this inexplicable barrier around the parts of his mind that had ruled supreme these past few years, the spymaster, the renegade, the ruthless Death Eater, the protector, they all fell away. Hidden behind walls, not of his own construction and remained unreachable through the thick shroud of hazy quiet. Until suddenly even that muted feeling of alarm was swept away in the breeze and floated gently in the wind along with the dandelion seeds. Far, far away from him, and he finds he doesn’t bemoan the loss.

Severus supposes he should care, waking up in a strange place and so far removed from his own mind and thoughts. He should care, but he doesn’t remember ever being this tired. His eyelids feel so heavy that even thinking about prying them open takes an insurmountable amount of energy that he does not possess. The grass and weeds feel good against his back, far more comforting and soft than even his bed at Hogwarts and certainly his moth-eaten and unbalanced one at Spinner’s End, somehow feeling like the glimmers of contentment and peace of his childhood. The breeze a nice change from the howling winds of the Scottish Highlands, he thinks as it settles across him like a warm blanket. He supposes it’s not a bad spot for a bit of a nap, and he is so very tired. There are much worse places to drift away in.

That thought breaks through the veil in his head, just for one moment but it’s enough to bring the muted pressure of rotting wood up against his spine, a sharp, coppery scent replacing the smell of wildflowers in his nose, a cold voice breaking the peace he’s found. Severus tenses, his fight against the haze in his mind redoubles and twice as savage as before, panic and desperation by his side once more. Until he catches sight of green eyes in the unpleasant memories flowing by him, solemn but bright enough to burn away the flashes of images of a familiar-seeming, dilapidated house. That green fills his mind, gently carrying him away from whatever horrors trying to claw and scratch their way back into his awareness, pulling him gently away from an office with numerous paintings lining the walls and a high-backed chair, from the darkness clinging to a sprawling manor even it’s elegance could not override, from a smoky and underground lecture room, from a cramped, angry house by a polluted river.

Severus is distantly aware that these places hold some great significance to him, he feels the subdued emotional ties to them but is unable to articulate what they are or explain where they came from. He can’t bring himself to care and gladly follows that green back to the peaceful weightlessness of before, because somewhere he knows with a bone-deep surety that those eyes are home.

“Hey, Sev.”

Despite his previous weariness and weight of his eyelids, Severus finds it extremely easy to open his eyes. He is greeted by the pale blue sky of a warm spring evening, streaks of white clouds held in place above him, and the swaying branches of an old oak tree. It feels familiar, like greeting an old friend after a time apart. He slowly pulls his arms from his stomach, and props himself up on his elbows, and looks in the direction of the voice. And sitting amidst the knots and gnarled roots of the oak, chin casually resting in the cradle of her hand, sits Lily.

Red hair floats down around her shoulders, a few strands following the breeze as it makes its way through the field again. Her freckles scattered along the bridge of her nose, curling around her cheekbones just as he remembers. An easy smile splits her lips, one that speaks of fond and long-held affection, the very same as the one that haunts him in his dreams. But here she sits before him, solid and real in a way her presence hasn't been to him in many years. And those green eyes that he sees every time he closes his eyes, are looking at him with a gentle sort of mirth and a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time.

There are a thousand words he wants to say, hundreds of apologies laying at the tip of his tongue, but they stick in the back of his throat. There is something in the way she reaches her hand out to him and sweeps the hair out of his face that makes them unnecessary, a sense of causal affection that tells him that she requires no explanations. They would break this wonderful moment of reprieve, so he’s content to spend the remainder of forever in this comfortable silence.

A million memories spill forth from the dam in his mind, some fuzzy with a deep fondness and peace, others sharp with a deep-set pain and desperate loneliness. They swirl around him in branching streams and he runs his fingers through them. The sudden sound of a cracking branch, biting retorts flown in reckless abandon, a betrayal by a glass-green lake. They flit about the edges of his mind, too quick to hold fast to and they slip from his grasp and dissipate into the lovely spring air. A small hand clasped in his, a peal of musical laughter, and those green, green eyes are the only things left. Home, Severus thinks, this is home.

“Hey, Lily.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, and Severus thinks she is every bit as bright and lovely and magical as she has ever been. She cups her hand around his cheek, and he can’t help but lean into her touch, feeling every bit like the grumpy cat she always compared him to. She gives him an affectionate glance and turns her eyes back to the field in front of them. The sloping hill, the grasses and the weeds, the wildflowers, all much more numerous and beautiful than their spot in Cokeworth but it feels right, familiar all the same.

Lily slowly rises to her feet and takes a moment to brush off the dirt collected on her trousers. She holds her hand out to him with a look of patient expectancy. He looked at her hand and then back up at her face.

“You ready to go?”

Severus closes his eyes for a moment, taking in the quiet and the lovely weather a final time, and stands. When he reaches for her hand, she opens it readily and grips him with a comfortable tightness. Here they stand again, hand in hand, after everything that's happened and against all odds. Joy fills him in a way that he hasn’t felt since he was that nine-year-old boy, bathing in her warmth and secreting away what happiness he could afford.

“I think I am.”

When they take their first steps together, he can feel Lily swinging their joined hands between them. And for the first time in a long time, Severus smiles.

#hello again hellsite how I've missed you #wow it really has been a hot second since I posted #have this stream of consciousness mini-fic as an apology #the first few paragraphs sat on my computer for months and then the rest was written in like the past hour so apologies if it's a bit rough #listened to elizabeth by sammy copley on repeat while writing this it fits the vibe perfectly methinks #I just have a lot of feelings about how alone Snape must have felt at his death and how little comfort the man had in life #so I will endeavor to give him what canon never did #I honestly have very strong and complicated feelings about his relationship with Lily but at the end of the day #she was extremely important to him and I could think of no one better suited to bring him over so to speak #let me know what you guys think #I haven't shared anything I've written since my terrible terrible SPN fanfic days in middle school #mine #long post #pro snape #snapedom

[heavenunderthemoon]

Can we get JJ and daughter reader where the reader bio father comes back

ROOM 286

Warnings: mentions of drug abuse, blood, death, abandonment. 

This piece is extremely angsty, I didn't even mean for it to happen it just kinda came to me while writing last night, enjoy:)

Sanitizer.

It smelled of sanitizer and something else. Something heavy, pulling you down, the scent dragging against the floor as you walked along with it, sneakers hitting the freshly waxed floor with a squeak. What was that smell?

It could have been anything, walking among the halls of that hospital, a hospital you had never been to, a hospital far away from your home, from Quantico.

Blood, maybe. Blood leaving someone else's body, a severe injury or just a small wound. Or blood entering someone else's body. A transfusion, a hope to save someone's life, a wish to stay alive for just a while longer. Blood, scarlet and distinct, heavy and substantial, entering or leaving.

Or death. Perhaps the heaviness was the mere proximity of death that hospitals seemed to have. Hospitals were like a precipice, a border between the living and the dead. Some who entered simply never left, and those who didn't were walking behind you, mirroring your footsteps, following your direction. It was the darkness of death, the souls of those that were lost covering the hospital like a shroud. The weight of those souls, the anger, dread, and our sadness that filled them weighed them down, pulling the hospital with it.

You had never liked hospitals.

"This is his room."

Your mother's voice was taut, laced with pain and something else. Bitterness, maybe? You snuck a glance toward her. She was still dressed in her work clothes, having practically sprinted off the jet to grab you from the house. Her gun was holstered, resting on her hip directly next to her badge that clipped to her belt loop. It gleamed under the fluorescent lights of the hospital, and you looked away, back to your mother's face.

She was crying, albeit small. Tears pooled in her eyes, the bright blue you had stared into for your entire life. Her teeth were sinking into her bottom lip, tiny sniffles escaping every so often, as if attempting to console herself as to not let you hear it. She never liked you to see her cry, not even after those stupid, cheesy romance movies that the two of you rented out every Valentine's Day. The woman was still operating under that archaic belief that once you turned an adult, once you became a parent, your emotions were supposed to simply leave you, become secondary to your child. You wished she wasn't. You wished you could take her hand and let her know she could cry but the entire situation at the moment, the real-life fever dream had you incredibly uncertain of how to handle anything that came next. Your hands clenched in your jacket pockets, glancing back to the room before you.

Room 286.

"Your father is dying, Y/N."

A glance back to Will in the kitchen had made you furrow your brows. The LaMontagne man was whistling as he cooked, fingers clenched around a wooden spoon being used to stir the noodles in the pot. Will was an excellent chef, and you had just gotten your report card back for the first semester- straight A's (and one B, but it was math, and both Will and your mother knew how much you absolutely loathed the subject, and so they took that as a win). The dinner was celebratory in a way, nothing too fancy  you didn't like all the fuss, nor did you want to have to make your mother miss a nice dinner in a restaurant that passed out free breadsticks before a meal (she would argue that any restaurant that did so was, automatically her favorite, no matter if the bread was crappy and stale). And so, pasta at home it was, and you had even negotiated Will's famous peanut-butter cookies for dessert. Henry sat on the counter beside him, giggling at his father's horrible dance moves. They were off-beat, choppy, and out-dated, but it made both Henry and you laugh uncontrollably when he did them, and so he continued.

The sun was just setting and your mother was on a case. She liked to call before bedtime when she was away, enough time to coax Henry into a sleepy stupor, to tell him goodnight, and to let you know how much longer she would be gone. You would tell her about your day, and she hers. The two of you would talk for forty-five minutes if she had time, ten if she didn't. But the sound of your phone ringing at dinnertime hadn't made you think anything was wrong. Perhaps she was calling early, or maybe she just wanted to hear your voice. That happened sometimes too, when the cases were especially heinous.

"What?" You asked confusedly. Will was looking at you with a raised brow, mouthing a 'You okay?', to which you didn't quite have an answer for. Instead, you shrugged, holding up a finger as a signal to give you a minute, before you were exiting the room. The playroom was a mess, Henry rarely ever picked up his toys. You sidestepped two matchbox cars before you stepped on a lego, hissing at the pain and walking over it irritatedly. For as small as he was, he sure could create a mess.

A pregnant pause.

"It's Christopher." Another pause. You were starting to hate those. "Your birthfather... He's dying."

Your breath seemed to have been stolen, and the last of your air hitched in your throat, eyes becoming unfocused. How were you supposed to react to this? You weren't entirely sure. your birth father, a man you didn't know, a stranger, really. You didn't know anything about him.

Horrible thoughts began to flood your mind.

You didn't know what he looked like. You inherited a lot of traits- too many traits, honestly- from your mother, so you had never thought to ask. You were a bit taller than your mother...was that him? Was that his genetics coming into play? What color eyes did he have? What did his smile look like? You didn't know small things either. How did he like his eggs cooked? What method of shoe-tying did he prefer (bunny loops or round-a-bouts)? Dogs or cats? Movies or books? Did he watch T.V. with the captions on or off?  You didn't know his favorite book genre, or band, or what foods he didn't like. You didn't know any of these things about him, about your father.

You knew these things about Will, of course. Because when you thought of 'father', Will was the first thing that came to mind. It had been that way for a while, so perhaps the fulfillment of the 'father' role in your brain was obscuring your mind, but you were wracking your brain to remember the last time you had thought of your brith father. But, then again, maybe you shouldn't have, because now, flashing before your mind were not saccharine , wholesome stories, but memories of empty chairs in audiences, uncelebrated Father's days, and 'Father-daughter' dances with Derek, or Reid, or Hotch.  Sour thoughts and memories of an absentee father who left your mother in the lurch, abandoned her in her time of need, was that bad to think of he was dying? Were you supposed to be nice now? You weren't sure the rules of this arrangement.

"What?" It was weak and strangled, as if someone had clutched your throat right then and there and squeezed.

"He's at Saint Mercer's. It looks like an overdose, he had a stroke. It was too much for his body, and the doctors declared him brain dead. I was his emergency contact, and..." Your mother was speaking, rambling from the tone of her voice. She was in shock, surely, and you were only half-listening.

An overdose.

You wondered what you'd find on the other side of the door.

"Are you ready?"

Your mother was speaking, but she didn't sound like she was...there. You were sure she wasn't. No, she hadn't been there ever since she had gotten you, taken you to that airport, boarded you on the first flight out, planted you both in front of room 286 in Saint Mercer's Hospital. Her eyes were glazed over, as if replaying every single moment with the man she had once known , the man she had created another child, her first child, with. A man she hadn't seen for entirely too long, and a man she hadn't ever expected to see again. A man she wouldn't even recognize, surely, because he wasn't a man when he left. You weren't sure if he had ever become a man. To your mother, he had been a boy, just a boy and a girl, in childish love, until they weren't.

"Are you?" You countered, eyes glued onto the wooden door separating you and a man you should know, but had no relation to.

For the fist time that night, she smiled.

She smiled because despite it being the most unfair situation in the world- a situation in which she was placed as an emergency contact for a man who intentionally left her when she was pregnant with his child (placed as an emergency contact in hopes to either advocate for them to try harder to save his life, or to let him go if need be, which, ironically, he had abandoned her completely without regards to treat her reciprocally)- you were there. You, her shining hope, a silver lining in the entirety of it all. You were the one thing that made her not regret a single decision she had made with the man, made her not regret meeting him in the first place, because she had gotten you. Your hair was shoved into a baseball cap, Will's, she recognized. It usually hung on the coat rack by the door, the man tugging it on whenever he went to the store or to pick Henry up from school. It was sun-damaged, tearing at the lip, but he refused to buy a new one because 'that just means it was well-loved, JJ.'. And now it sat on your head, a hat that belonged to a man you had met six years ago, a man you called Dad, willingly and without any input from her. You, a girl who had gone without a father for so long. Years of Father's Day cards, heart-wrenchingly sweet cards made out to Reid, or Derek, or Hotch because they volunteered to take you to your dances, even if she had offered to go, because you said you didn't think it would be allowed for her to crash it. Cards made out to her, thanking her for being both the mom and the dad (those tended to make her cry a lot). Years of ballet recitals, soccer games, spelling bees, silly school graduations, all of which she happily attended, but attended alone. All the nights of fevers and stomach aches and sniffles and dry throats. All the diaper changes and reverse cycling. All the scraped knees, busted elbows, trips to the ER. And now you were here, in front of the man who had abandoned you before you had even let out your horridly beautiful wail. JJ felt so many emotions at once, swelling within her that she reached out, grabbing your hand.

You weren't sure if it was to comfort you or herself, but you took it, entering the room as she opened it.

Machines.

Lots and lots of machines.

They stood at attention by his bedside, beeping and humming so loudly you weren't sure your thoughts would be able to tear their way through your mind anymore. Perhaps stat was a good thing.

There he was, lying in the bed before you. A standard hospital blanket was draped across his lower half. It was cream and thin, you recalled your days spent in a hospital not too long ago, how much you had hated it then. Those blankets were always itchy and uncomfortable, and you had all but forced Penelope to bring you one from home, to which she happily obliged, toting an assortment of stuffed animals as well (you argued you were too old for them, to which she had responded that no one was too old for comfort brought about by a stuffed animal.). His hands were resting limply at his sides, and you forced your eyes to skip over his arms, the damage an indicator of the activities he had chosen over taking care of you for the past decade.

When you reached his face you tilted your head. His face was sullen, cheeks sunken in, lips dried and caked in dead-skin. A redness spread about his face, a sunburn, perhaps, but you weren't sure. His hair, brittle and receding, was brown and you wondered of you had gotten anything from the man. A small part of you hoped you didn't. Looking at him now, you weren't sure if you wanted to. A sudden thought popped into your mind and you turned to your mother, who seemed to try to be looking anywhere but the man before her.

"What color were his eyes?"

They were shut now, and he almost looked...peaceful.

JJ lips parted, eyes coming to meet yours. "Brown." She said softly. Her hand was still in yours and you didn't make a move to drop it.

You nodded, glancing back to him. Something was missing, you gazed around the small hospital room to find what it was before it came to you. "Where is everyone? His family, or friends? Do they know he's here?" You looked back to the man, eyes following the rise and fall of his chest created by the ventilators attached to him.

The blonde stiffened, looking at her shoes. "They do. They won't come." With a clear of her throat, she was glancing back to you, your face softening as your teeth took your lip in their hold.

He was alone.

Was that by choice? Or had he run away from them like he had run away from you and your mother?

The doctor entered the rom, signaling for your mother to speak with her, and she left with a squeeze of your hand, leaving you with...him.

What were you to call him? Christopher? Dad?

Alone.

He was alone. His parents weren't coming to see him, he didn't have any friends. No loved ones to hold his hand in his time of need, to tell him it was going to be okay, to tell him that he was safe, and loved, and would be remembered. Regardless of his past actions, you felt...awful. Looking at him, you couldn't feel anything other than immense sympathy, because he had pushed away everyone and everything in his life, and he was left with nothing. You pondered his appearance, wondering what he must have looked like back when he had met your mother, what had drawn her in to him, made her love him and want him and that thought train had you reaching for his hand. Your mother didn't love without reason. She was logical, and fair-minded, and welcoming, and you knew that if she had loved a man, the man before you, it must've been for a good reason. And so, you couldn't judge him based on what was before you, because that was a result of all of his bad choices, all of his digressions and, yes, they were horrible, but they had also allowed your mother to meet Will. It allowed them to have Henry, it allowed you to have a family, a perfect family, and now all you felt was sympathy. No anger. No pain. Just sadness.

His hand was warm, surprisingly. What would it have been like to grow up with his hand, one to put in yours when you crossed the street, to feel your forehead when you said you felt sick, to help tie your shoes when you were still learning?  

The beeps of the machines sang louder as you stepped closer.

"Nice to meet you." You said softly, closing your eyes for just a moment. Just enough time for you to feel the weight of his hand in yours, to reassure yourself that this was real, that you were there, before you were opening them again.

When you did, your mother was back in the room.

Your mother's heart almost broke when she entered. The doctor needed her signature, needed a confirmation that they could remove life support, and her shaky hand had signed beside the 'x' with tear-filled eyes. And when she returned back to that godforsaken room, a room in which she felt all the air was removed, a room in which she felt suffocated, she saw you. Your hand in his, an image she had imagined in her head over and over and over again when you were growing up, a pipe dream, really.  A dream in which he suddenly got his act together, came back to find the both of you, declared his love for her, and begged for forgiveness for leaving. It was a dream that she wasn't even sure she wanted to happen so much as wondered if it would. Because you two didn't need him, she would attest that you two didn't need anyone, not really. Not before Will and Henry. You two were strong and independent. Jareau women were fighters. But still, she had thought about Christopher, and now that dream was shattered because instead of him holding flowers, he was hooked up to a life support machine, brain dead and unresponsive.

She wanted to yell. She wanted to yell and laugh and cry because this wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. She wanted to stomp her feet and throw herself to the floor like a toddler throwing a tantrum but it just...wasn't fair. She couldn't yell at him because he couldn't respond. She couldn't yell at him, because he was practically already dead, and he had left the decision for someone to give him the final blow to her. Her, a woman he had neglected, and your hand was in his, and everything was wrong.

Her feet took her to you, despite every cell in her body attempting to make her turn around.

"They're gonna unplug him, right?" She had told you on the way there that it was a strong possibility, depending on his state. But saying it aloud made it feel much more real. It shouldn't feel so absurd, you scolded. He was never in your life anyway, it wouldn't particularly make a difference. But, in some strange, bizarre way, it did It made a difference because now, Christopher wasn't just some man who abandoned you, he was a dead man who abandoned you.

"Yes." Her voice was small, and you latched onto her once more.

"He's all alone." You said with a frown, and she removed her hand from yours, instead, choosing to drape her arm across your shoulder and bring you into her embrace. Doctors were beginning to enter the room, beginning to explain what each machine did, the consequences of unplugging it, and then doing so quietly, though neither of you were listening.

"He is." She nodded, blonde hair rubbing against the side of your face.

You both stood silent for a moment watching the doctors continue.

"Tell me about him. When you loved him."

JJ sucked in a breath. She had only thought about the bad for so long, only thought about the moment his hand was no longer hers, his retreating figure as she clutched that pregnancy test in her hand, that panic in her chest as she realized she would have to do this alone. "He transferred to my high school in my sophomore year. Everybody went nuts. We didn't get new people in town...ever. But there he was. His hair was a mess," She glanced toward you, a soft smile replacing the frown she had been wearing. "Kinda like yours when you wake up."

"Hey." You mumbled into her shoulder, but you laughed all the same.

"We had a few classes together and he never let me forget it. Chris bugged me almost every minute of them, passing me notes, trying to talk to me, asking me out. I swore I wouldn't, I was too focused on soccer. But, he wore me down."

You rose a brow. "Wore you down? I didn't think that was possible."

She chuckled, the vibrations from it were felt on your cheek. "It wasn't before him. He was...different. He was a total music snob, spent almost all his money on the latest releases. He liked to take me swimming, said everything, all the bad things and all the troubles just floated away when you were in the water."

You looked back to the man in the bed, the doctors having turned off all the machines by now. Now, it was just a waiting game.

"That sounds silly." You whispered.

"It was. But, then again, so was he. He was carefree, spirited, and laid back. He hated the thought of having to grow up one day, said that being an adult was a life sentence to nowhere. Your grandparents hated him, but I didn't care. He was my first love."

You took in all the information, watching the ragged rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his wheezing making you cringe. "Would he have been good dad, you think?"

JJ thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. He chose to run. But I don't think he was suited for being a dad. I think he wouldn't have liked the responsibility of it all." She said thoughtfully, squeezing your shoulder before she was placing her head atop yours. "I know, without a doubt, that he would have loved you, though."

A snort escaped your lips. "Really?" You asked doubtfully.

"Oh, for sure. I think that if he had met you, he would have tried his best to be there, to be there for you. You both do that thing when you get mad, where you nose twitches like a little bunny and it's so cute that no one can ever stay mad at you. Or when you're tired, your eyes droop down and you can sleep instantly, no matter where you are. You both like rock music, and comedy movies, and blankets when they're fresh out of the dryer-"

"I don't think anyone can hate blankets when they're fresh out of the dryer."

She chuckled. "And you both hate peas. I swear, I tried to feed them to you when you were little and you actually scoffed at me. A seventh month old baby, scoffing at me."

"Hmm, wonder where I learned that from."

JJ rolled her eyes. "And you both have a big heart. Sometimes, his heart was so big, that he didn't quite know what to with it. You're better with following it, but you both have it. Just, too much love to give, and he never knew where to place it."

Silence settled over the two of you once more, the wheezing become quieter.

It was just you and her. You and her and the man in the bed. Her arms around you, chin atop your head as you lay in the crook of her neck.

"Are you sad?" you asked softly.

She took three breaths before she answered. "Yes."

You looked back at Christopher, imagining a relationship, one that included movie nights and car rides filled with shared music interests and dinners that revolved around your hatred of snow peas. But the image was foreign and fleeting, and all you could see was Will in your kitchen, producing horrible dance moves and whistled melodies. You could only see Henry shaking you awake. Reality reminded you of the life you actually lived, one without a Dad for a small amount of time, and then finding one. A life without Christopher. Your life and his. Ones that should have been lived together, but never were.

"Me too."

And the wheezing ceased.

Well damn. ANYWAYS, I’m so happy people are liking my JJxdaughter!reader content. It’s so strange because I really thought it wouldn't get much attention so that’s a fun surprise. Let me know what you think about this piece!

#Jennifer Jareau x daughter! reader #jennifer jareau x reader #Jennifer Jareau #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds

[maplecornia]

chapter 22

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.36K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: our first full introduction to all of BTS! I hope you're all excited ^^

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo

Why did there have to be a meeting today of all days?

Yoongi scowls in the back of the car, trying his best to work on the small music app he’s downloaded for free on his phone. Letting out a small growl, he throws the phone aside, frustrated and annoyed.

“Absolute trash.” He snarls, staring ahead with nothing but malice in his eyes. The driver flinches a bit at the dark aura emanating from the back seat, and slowly rolls up the little partition glass that separates the two.

You know...just in case.

Yoongi notices the small act of distance and rolls his eyes, scoffing. He doesn't have to apologize. He can have a bad attitude if he wants. His schedule was supposed to be completely free today, a day where he could work on the album quietly. It was supposed to be a productive day, one where he could hole himself up in his studio and work and work until he made music that was perfect for their comeback.

Perfect for BTS.

Narrowing his eyes, he mutters a string of curse words under his breath for the 7th time that morning.

Then he got the call. That there was an urgent meeting for BTS to attend. A meeting that would affect the future of the company.

Running his hands through his hair, he tries to refrain himself from punching the car window out.

"What the hell is that even supposed to mean?!" He screams in aggravation, causing the driver on the other side of the partition to jump, startled. Not paying any mind to the driver currently struggling to restart his heart, Yoongi sighs, positioning himself on the seat so that he's comfortably lying down. Looking up at the ceiling with his soft, sparkling eyes, he tries to calm down. See things in a brighter light, try not to care so much. It's just...things are so frustrating to him.

All.

The.

Time.

Raising his hand to cover his eyes, he tries to remember a time when things had been so hard. He remembers training, debut, remembers the struggles of rising to the top, remembers injuries, exhaustion, remembers quarantine and tireless motivation…

Each moment seemed worse than the last. Every time they conquered a new struggle, another presented itself. As though they were walking down a road filled with multiple storms. A road that was destined to tear them apart, scatter them and leave them for dead.

Suga didn't think it would be so hard to leave. They were only gone for 2 years and yet by the time they got back it was almost as though the world had either forgotten about them, replaced them, or turned against them. Smiling bitterly, he raises his dark eyes to the ceiling once more, his hand curling into a fist at his side.

"You really fooled us didn't you...?" He mutters, his voice soft, but cold. Shivering with forgotten remorse. His hand rests itself safely over his eyes, shielding himself from the world. Trying so hard not to lose himself, he fights back the tears, barely able to struggle out the one word he's been holding back for so long.

"ARMY…"

Closing his eyes, he fails to catch one solo tear that falls, trailing a lonesome streak of wet painful memories across his soft ivory cheek.

He doesn’t remember the rest of the drive to the studio, choosing instead to block everything out and focus on releasing the dark cloud shrouding his mind. He’s learned how to deal with the pain, how to erase it, ease it safely and securely back into the inner corners of his mind...his heart. It's an endless procedure, falling and picking the pieces back up again. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times he may lock them away...they always come back, stronger and worse than before.

At least he’s learned to keep it inside.

At least he can safely hide.

And pretend everything is alright.

As the car pulls to a stop, Yoongi seriously considers skipping the meeting and staying home. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like crap. Maybe then he’ll be able to forget...at least for a while. However, as soon as the car pulls up, the driver immediately opens the door and cuts the ignition. Yoongi groans from the back seat, glaring up at the ceiling just as his driver opens his door, and nervously waits for him to exit.

Muttering under his breath about how some people are such pussies nowadays, Yoongi reluctantly sits up, gathers his things and exits the car. Paying no mind to the nervous driver, he stares up at his company building. His face hidden in a shadow, he bites his bottom lip, his hand clenching around the strap to his backpack.

Since when has he regretted coming here?

Since when was he afraid to see what may lie on the other side?

Shaking his head free of such thoughts, he groans, the dark cloud surrounding him only growing. Today’s just a bad day, he really needs to pull himself together. Sighing, he rubs his hand over his face before heading towards the building. Each step seems to weigh him down, blur the world around him, bring him further and further into his mind.

A dark mess of music notes and compositions.

Of torrents of pain and broken promises.

Of hidden fears and memories.

The mind of a man past his breaking point.

But then he hears the voice.

“Yoongi!”

Just as he’s opening the door to the building, it calls out from right behind him. That one voice...that one sweet cacophony holding brotherhood and love, is enough to draw him back to reality. It’s enough to break the hold the darkness had had on him. Smiling softly to himself, he turns and meets his eyes with a soft steady look of his own.

“Hoseok.”

Jhope smiles broadly at the mention of his name, and finishes running across the distance to his hyung. Clapping his hand around his shoulder he chuckles a bit as they walk together inside. Yoongi smiles at him a bit, but looks away before Jhope could notice.

If he was being honest, any one of his members have the same effect on him. Every one of them...the hidden parts to the family they have struggled so hard to build...they make everything okay. They make everything worth it.

If Yoongi were to suffer…

Then it would be okay.

As long as it was all for them.

“Hyung, why do you think PD-nim wanted us here this early?” Hoseok asks, breaking his hold on his friend in order to stretch as he yawns. Yoongi doesn’t answer, brooding a bit over how his work got interrupted once more. First it was Namjoon, over a stupid assistant, now its Bang Sihyuk?

“Whatever it is, I hope he has a good reason for interrupting me.” Yoongi mutters darkly under his breath, startling Jhope a bit. Jhope flinches, and noticing the change in Yoongi’s mood, steps away a small distance, chuckling nervously.

“Were you working on something important?” he asks as they walk inside the elevator, headed to the office on the top floor. Yoongi scoffs as he presses the button and the elevator doors close.

“I sure hope it was. It was for our new album, which is due no less than a few months from now! Namjoon and I still haven’t even gotten the beat down for the title track...and now this?! What could possibly be more important?” Yoongi sighs, collapsing against the cool metal walls against the elevator. Cold and indifferent, he stares at his warped expression in them, wondering if that’s enough to protect himself.

But...

What does he need to protect himself from?

Jhope regards Suga with a soft look, almost pitiful. He’s found that when he gets like this, sometimes it’s just best to leave him be, to let him work it out on his own. But right now…

Is this really the best way to solve things?

The look on Yoongi’s face is familiar, and yet different from all those times before.

Hoseok finds that he can't read it, he doesn’t recognize it. Something about that…

Scares him.

As the elevator dings, and Yoongi immediately steps out into the hallway, it takes Jhope a moment to follow suit. Silent, he watches the back of Yoongi, trying hard to understand him, figure out what’s going on with him. It frustrates him that right now, when he needs him most is when Jhope has no idea how to help him.

Can he help him?

Biting the inside of his cheek, he looks at his feet as they make their way to the meeting room. He knows that ever since they were separated, ever since the military enlistment, no one has been the same. Once beloved by the world, they found themselves facing the fear of being forgotten. Of entering a world where no one cares about who you are...only how strong you can be. An honorable service, but a taxing one, something that would change a person.

And so it has changed Bangtan.

For Yoongi, it drove him further into himself. Into the depression of darkness he had tried so hard to avoid. Without his sources of light, without that grasp on hope he had before...he found everything fading away. He found himself fading away.

How easy is it to find yourself again?

How easy is it to turn everything back to how it was before?

For anyone who knows...it’s near impossible.

So he’s trying, he’s trying his hardest to turn it into something that he can live with. Into a strength he can look back on and say he grew from. Another obstacle that he has defeated in his pathetic excuse he calls a life…

But what can he do right now?

Except fall deeper and deeper into the darkness which becomes so alluring to him. He finds himself longing for it, he finds himself wishing to end it...because what is he fighting for anyway? He already reached the top...and now he has to make his way back up again? What is that supposed to mean to him? How is he supposed to deal with that?

They said they would stay with them.

They said they would wait for them.

But they lied.

They moved on, they forgot.

Was everything they ever did…

Did everything mean nothing to them?

Entering the meeting room the pair of them are greeted by noise. The familiar noise of joy and laughter Bangtan carries with them everywhere, just happy being with the other...no matter how many hardships they may face nor how much the darkness may cloud each of their minds...as long as they're together, nothing else matters. Yoongi can’t help it…

He smiles.

It happens on its own accord, without warning. It's just...seeing them, seeing how happy they are despite everything makes him feel a bit of happiness, a little ray of joy, a little speck of pride and amongst them all he finds what he’s been looking for all along.

Hope.

The one thing stronger than his fear.

“Yoongi! And Hobi hyung! You guys made it!” Jimin practically barrels into Yoongi as Jhope closes the door behind the two of them. Laughing like a maniac, Jimin squeezes Suga so tightly that it's hard for him to pry him off.

“Seriously Jimin, you saw me just yesterday, you act as though it’s been years.” Suga sighs, placing his backpack in one of the many chairs in the meeting room as Jimin pouts. Jhope chuckles at his expression, rubbing his hair affectionately before following suit.

“It feels like it’s been years! Have you forgotten that we only got back a few weeks ago? I’ve missed our hugs--” Yoongi places his hand expertly on Jimin’s face, stopping him as he moves in for another hug. Growling, Jimin gives him a glare and Suga raises his eyebrow.

“What was our deal about hugs?” Jimin pulls away at the ultimatum and dramatically deflates into the chair next to Yoongi as he sarcastically recites the “deal”, deepening his voice and flattening it as much as he can in order to match Suga’s.

“One free hug a day...any other extra will cost you.” While Suga rolls his eyes, he can’t help but crack a smile as everyone else in the room laughs along and Jimin sits up in the chair, chuckling to himself at his great impersonation. Well...great in his eyes. Shaking his head, Yoongi looks around at the room, smiling at the familiar faces he finds meeting his own.

There’s Jin, who hasn’t stopped laughing, his unique laughter carrying through the room, half hurting everyone’s ears, and half bringing them joy and happiness. Yoongi always forgets that it’s actually possible to miss that strange windshield laugh.

There’s Taehyung who sits next to Jin and rolls his eyes a bit at how hard he’s laughing, before chuckling softly to himself in quiet happiness. Yoongi still can’t believe that there was ever a time he didn’t cherish Tae as much as he does now.

There’s Hobi who has just settled into a chair right next to Yoongi and laughs that contagious laugh that strikes hope and joy into even the darkest of hearts. Suga still remembers when that laugh first entered his life.

There’s Jimin who has just tackled Suga into another hug before dancing away and laughing almost manically. Yoongi lets him off the hook, smiling softly to himself because if he were being really honest...he would want those hugs every day of his life.

Then there’s Namjoon, the one who watches over them all, a small but distant smile present on his face. As Yoongi raises his eyes to him, he can’t help but feel a bit of nostalgia.

His first friend.

His best friend.

Perhaps the only one who could understand him and yet…

He always seems so far away.

Namjoon, as though feeling Suga’s gaze on him, slowly flickers his eyes over to him and is startled by what he finds.

He sees the darkness shrouding his dear friend's mind. He sees the cry for help. His heart pounding with worry and trepidation, he bravely meets Suga’s deep conflicted eyes and tries to pick them apart, solve them as though they were a problem only he could untangle. He hasn’t seen this face for so long, he hasn’t seen this kind of fear in his friend before. His chest constricting, he almost wants to hold onto Yoongi and hold him tight in his arms until he makes everything better.

As though it were his job to make everything better.

His brow crinkling with concern, he opens his mouth in order to address him, but an outburst from Taehyung who is looking out into the hallway cuts him off and the connection is broken. Yoongi almost immediately looks away, leaving Namjoon to continue to stare at him, in deep thought.

"Where's Jungkookie? Why is he so late?" Tae is asking as he leans back in his chair to stare out the see-through glass that encases them inside the meeting room. Jimin, coming up behind Tae, almost makes him fall as he pushes the chair down so that Tae meets his eye.

"Wha…" Taehyung begins but Jimin cuts him off.

"That's rich coming from you Mr. MickeyD." Jimin snorts at the reference to the soaked bags Tae brought as a peace offering yesterday, before letting go of his chair and leaving Taehyung to teeter slowly to a stop. Jin, picking up on the let's tease Taehyung memo nods and leans forward in his chair as though invested in the conversation.

"Yeah, where were you yesterday? You took an hour to get here TaeTae…" he coos, reaching forward to touch his hand but Tae pulls away grimacing. Jin laughs before pulling away and Namjoon rolls his eyes, ignoring the small smirk growing on his face.

"Stop it guys, he was helping Yen, my new assistant manager." Namjoon explains as he pulls out his phone to check any new notifications. "She fell during the afternoon rush in the lobby yesterday and hurt her ankle. Tae was helping her to the hospital. That's why she's not coming in today."

At that comment, Jimin's face goes a bit cold, and he glances at Tae in the corner of his eye. Tae nods frantically in agreement to Namjoon's statement almost as if he were clearing his name, and Jimin can't help but feel a pang of disappointment.

Tae used to tell him everything…

So why does Namjoon know this and he doesn't?

It wasn't that hard to explain...he would have understood...so why?

Why couldn't Taehyung talk to him instead of having to turn to RM?

Tae swallows hard to see if they all believe him, his heart pounding a bit fiercely in his chest. That was partly the truth...but Namjoon doesn't know the whole story. Nervously glancing at Namjoon in the corner of his eye, he can't help but fidget a bit.

The only way he was able to keep Yen home was to get the all clear from RM. And in order to do that...he had to tell him that you were hurt. And so that's exactly what he did...it just wasn't entirely the truth.

Looking down at his hands, he holds them tightly, faintly remembering how your hands felt in them. If he told Namjoon about what happened, who knows what he would have thought? Besides, Taehyung doesn’t want to tell anyone about that day. He doesn’t know why, he has nothing to hide but…

It's almost as if he mentions it to someone else…

It’ll become theirs and not his.

“In any case, we’ve been waiting long enough...where’s BangPD anyway?” Suga wonders quietly, not bothering to hide the frustration in his tone.

“Good morning to you too, Yoongi.” At the voice, the 6 of them freeze, and slowly turn toward the door, which was closed once before, but now occupies three significant figures. Suga tries hard not to wince, but as he meets BangPD’s dark eyes, he can’t help it. The other members seem to shrink due to the tension rising in the room as the door closes behind the newcomers. This isn’t exactly a situation they would like to be present for.

“Jungkook!” Jhope cries as he scans the three faces, and sure enough there he is standing attentively behind BangPD. He smiles a bit as Jhope calls his name, and waves to them but when BangPD walks into the room, Jungkook follows closely behind. The third figure, a tall and slender woman, closes the door behind them.

Namjoon glances towards her a bit curiously, trying to place where he may have seen her before. As she sits in a chair near to the door, a reasonable distance from the rest of the others, she glances towards him as well. As their eyes meet, Namjoon barely has time to notice the small flecks of gold circling in her brown eyes before she looks quickly away. Raising his eyebrow, he shrugs before turning to BangPD who is setting down a few papers and documents in the head chair of the meeting room.

“Sir, what exactly is going on? Why did you ask Jungkook to text us all to meet here? Is it something to do with the album?” BangPD smiles at Namjoon’s quick wit as the rest of the members glance at each other a bit confused. He’s the only one who figured out that BangPD was the one behind that strange text last night. Sitting down, BangPD meets Namjoon’s stern but curious eyes, trying to pick apart the complexity hidden behind their depths.

“The reason is simple. We needed to confer with you 7 as shareholders in the company.” Taehyung sits up from his once relaxed position at the sentence, turning attentively towards BangPD-nim. He glances toward Jungkook to try and read his expression, but Jungkoook avoids his gaze. What exactly are the two of them planning?

BangPD nods to the woman sitting attentively in the back and she nods back, pulling out a computer and walking to the head of the table. She opens it and begins connecting it to the stereo system. Yoongi crinkles his brow at the curious setup. Once the woman is finished, she nods toward BangPD before heading back to her seat next to the door.

“Before we can do that however...there’s something you need to hear.”

With that, BangPD presses play and once more...your voice fills the room.

It instills a hush over each of them. Each one of them, even the woman in the back, is visibly affected by the emotion in your voice. The soulful pain that you carry through each note you sing takes them to a world which only they can see; drives them to emotions they have never felt before.

Jin goes completely still, trying his hardest to hold back the tears which are threatening to spill over and wet his cheeks. He wants to hurt whoever made you feel this way. Whoever made you sing like this...as though you were crying out for help.

Jhope’s expression is blank, completely out of character for him. But he can't help it. At the sound of your voice, he is unable to keep the mask up for any longer. It falls, shows everything underneath, shows what he really hides behind his smile. He can hardly feel it as the single tear runs down his cheek.

It takes all Jimin has not to break down into tears right then and there. He stares at the computer as though that would help him reach you. Help him to erase the pain that has affected you deep inside. As though he could erase in you what he could never erase in himself.

Yoongi has closed his eyes, leaning his head back in the chair he sits in. As though if he were to open them, the voice would disappear and the beauty he sees behind his eyes would go with it. As though it's the only anchor keeping him from completely fading away.

Namjoon finds himself searching through his mind, trying to figure out where he’s heard this voice before. Where he’s felt this kind of pain, this deep level of sadness and insecurity. Trying to remember why he can find some familiarity in it. Why he feels as though he’s home and safe.

Taehyung is petrified. He’s heard this voice before. He has it saved safely in his pocket at this very moment. He helped the owner of this voice home the other day. He can still feel her touch on his skin.

Frantically, he glances toward Jungkook once more. How was he able to get this recording? Was he there? And if he was…

Then was that moment Taehyung shared, that one break in time where he could only see you, that one moment where he knew, he just knew that you were perhaps the only one who could truly understand him…

When he couldn’t understand himself…

Did it mean nothing at all?

Jungkook smiles to himself now as he sees the room which is alight with your voice. As he sees the way they change, the way they are affected, how it seems as though they have been healed with the sound, the beautiful world which your voice brings to each one of them. When he sees the way your voice alights in them a new fire, a new flame unable to be doused, he sees the true purpose behind your voice behind you.

A light that was meant to be shared.

As the song ends, though he’s sad to see it go, this time he’s sure that he’ll hear it again.

That he’ll hear you again.

In the silence, the ones who remain have a hard time coming back to themselves. It's as though they are wandering in the dark, now that the world they were able to see has disappeared. Almost as though they had forgotten how to live, how to breathe without that utopia in their mind.

But the main thing is that suddenly, all at once…

They felt as though they had been healed.

Even if it was only for a moment.

“Her name is Yen.” BangPD’s voice breaks through the fragile silence, catching everyone’s attention, including Jungkook. Clearing his throat, Bang Sihyuk opens your file, passing it forward on the table. Everyone is able to see your ID picture, where you were born, your current number, your family members, your current address...even your social security number. It’s all there, for each of them to see and to immediately know…

“She has recently been hired as Namjoon’s assistant in Jaejin’s absence.” BangPD explains, but this is something they already know. They share a look with each other, recognizing that this is the same girl who brought a smile on their face yesterday.

“Now that you have heard her voice, let’s get down to business.”

The same girl who was hours late for her first day.

“The real reason I called you all here is because we need to make a decision.”

The same girl who turned Namjoon into a frantic mess.

“A choice that may make or break this company.”

The same girl who turned Jungkook into a dumbstruck teenage boy.

“A choice that involves this voice, that involves Yen.”

The same girl who helped Taehyung find himself...even for a little while.

“As shareholders for this company this affects each and every one of you.”

Though the rest may not have met you...they all saw the picture.

“I called you here today to ask you…”

They saw in you the same charming girl that everyone else had seen throughout the day.

“If the 7 of you would agree to signing this girl on as a trainee for our company.”

The one behind this voice.

Is the same girl who tried to stuff an entire bowl of salad in her face.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: crazy crazy

chapter 23 here

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[fairestwriting]

title: a treasure hunt of sorts

word count: 2696

summary: Malleus had been gifting Ellis gems, recently, so many that they were piling up and he wouldn't know what to do with them even if he actually understood the meaning behind the gift. After some "careful consideration", he decides to give something back.

commissioned by @nymphgrotto​ , also available on ao3 here ! tysm for the commission, i hope you enjoy it!

my guidelines for commissions are here, in case anyone else is interested

Everything in the Ramshackle dorm building creaks, floorboards and doors and ceiling threatening to collapse in a way that Ellis somehow had just grown used to. Door shut behind him, he walks noisy steps towards the lounge, leaving the beautiful night outside, and placing a red gem the size of his palm on the coffee table.

Another one. The fifth one he’d gotten this week, and they were only halfway through it.

The gems gather on top of the surface like freshly picked fruits, full of color and life and almost glaring at him in their little shiny pile. He slides the blazer off, tossing it somewhere — Grim was asleep at this point, it’s fine if he wasn’t being the best influence — and lets himself collapse on the plush stuffing of the couch.

The gems were a gift from Malleus Draconia — A name that strikes fear into many students’ hearts, for reasons Ellis just couldn’t see. They had met by chance outside Ramshackle, Malleus was taking a nightly stroll and they just ended up chatting for a reason or another. He found out bits and pieces of information every time they saw each other. That he liked abandoned buildings and the night sky, that he was very knowledgeable about gargoyles and owned a tamagotchi, then his name that he had been refusing to actually tell. They hit it off and became friends. Malleus was a person Ellis liked to be around.

And a person he had an exponentially growing crush on, he admits, but just to himself for now. He sighs again, head in his hands. His crush, putting a different precious gem in his hand every night. It should have been a dream scenario, but he just doesn’t get it. The way Malleus does it is so unaffected, they couldn’t be heartfelt gifts at all. It looked like he was lending him money.

Maybe that’s what’s happening, he thinks tiredly, looking around the inside of the building. He had been cleaning up for most of the semester, it managed to look decent now, if only a little like somewhere a grandmother would live, but that was cozy in its own way. The outside was still screwed up, though, so maybe Malleus trying to help him with repairs? Ellis stares at the pile of gems, they stare back. With the amount all of them were worth, they were probably enough to cover all the costs needed to polish Ramshackle’s outside, so maybe…

...he really didn’t want his crush, a guy so lofty and admirable, to think he just couldn’t do something like that by himself, though. The very thought of it makes him uneasy.

He sighs. Maybe he should talk it out with someone, he was burning up his brain cells just thinking by himself like this. He scrolls through names in his contact list before stopping on Cater’s. Cater had mentioned talking to Malleus before, right? And he didn’t seem scared. Plus he may have been aware of Ellis’ crush, even half so — Though that’s sort of embarrassing, it’s not like he’d been trying to hide.

But it’s okay, the phone makes its dialing noise. “Hey, Cater?”

“Ellis! Hi hi.” Cater chimes from the other side of the line. Ellis could hear ruffling even through the phone, maybe he just moved around on his bed. “What’s up!”

“Malleus.” Ellis starts, leaning back against the couch. Thank god it was so comfy, right. “Has he ever brought you, um… gems and stuff? Like really expensive looking things?”

There’s silence.

“Uh, no?” Cater responds mid a confused laugh. “...why are you asking that? We don’t really talk.”

“I don’t know.” Ellis admits, shaking his head in defeat. “He’s been giving me gems all week and I don’t get it. I thought maybe you knew something since you’ve talked to him...once? That’s more than most people here, anyways.”

Cater hums, a short pause. “Well, I really can’t tell what that means.”

Another sigh, another feeling of defeat. Ellis sinks on the couch.

“Ugh. Do you think he feels bad about the state of the dorm or something? I like gifts as much as everyone else, but…” He sighs. “I just wanna know what’s going on in his head.”

“Y’know, they’re still gems, I don’t get why you’re complaining. And you’re so curious about him too.”

“I just wanna know.” He huffs, face feeling hot. “I feel bad I’m not giving him anything back, is all. Gifts are nice but this is too much.”

“Ehh, you wanna one up Malleus?” He asks, voice incredulous. Do I wanna do that? Ellis finds himself wondering. Is that what this is about?

“I mean, I might as well try, right.” He says. He thinks of it as a joke, but it might not really be one. Looking up to Malleus all the time felt… kind of lame, sometimes, Ellis wanted him to look up to him too. His heart feels heavy thinking about it — But he does.

“Okay, that’s just crazy.” Cater laughs from the other side of the line, mixing with the ruffling sound again.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe.” He laughs back, but, again, he’s actually thinking about it. He can’t help but think about it. What if he actually impressed Malleus this time? He wonders how he’d look.

They say their goodbyes after more idle chatter and Ellis has his flushed cheeks on his hands, pulling his knees closer to his body. He’s tried doing something impressive before, though it usually just ends up going humorously wrong… but, but, maybe this time it’d work. He stares at the gems on the coffee table. These could be the clue he needed.

A wide-eyed Malleus comes to mind. If things went like that, maybe the messages he’d been wanting to send with all the casual affection would get through. Even if Malleus didn’t like him back — That was a scary thought, but he knew it wouldn’t ruin their friendship, Malleus wasn’t like anyone else — he’d been wanting to tell him in a way where he could actually understand, visualize how deep his feelings had been running. This seemed like the perfect chance.

He dreams of emeralds in a treasure room that night.

. . .

He knew that this, at least, was something Malleus would like — Ellis can’t help but giggle in excitement while he drags him around the woods, clutching at his hand, hearing the crunching of leaves under their shoes and the subtle howling of the wind.

“So, tonight,” He introduces, voice chimy and full of energy. Malleus is standing right behind him in his towering glory. His stare is mostly blank, but Ellis somewhat knows how to decode it, and he can see a glint of curiosity there. They stop in front of an assortment of rocks that made up something looking like a gate. “I was thinking we could go looking for gems in this little cave? I heard from some guys that it has a lot of interesting stuff inside!”

Some guys was a chain of information that started with Rook, who had been doing god knows what in the cave, but what mattered now is that Ellis would go there, and he would find something that would blow Malleus away.

“A cave,” Malleus repeats, blinking. His long hair sways with the wind, lime green glow emitted from his eyes — He did things to his heart, honestly, even just being there — as he looks at Ellis with amusement. “Is that… a common outing for your culture, Child of Man?”

“I mean, not really? But I like collecting things.” He says, a bit sheepish as they begin to walk inside. It’s dark, but that’s an issue easily solved by flicking his flashlight on. “And I thought you might like this.”

Malleus chuckles, and that does more to his heart than him just standing here. “I see,” He says, the amusement visible. Ellis can’t help the excited smile beginning to show up on his face. This was it. “I do think it could be interesting.”

“Yeah!” He chimes. Shining the light forwards, he inspects the path in front of them as they walk further away from the entrance — It was safe, right? A lot of people seemed to have been there, plus it wasn’t exactly hard to move inside, the ground wasn’t as rocky as the walls “I heard they have gems deeper inside? Uh, it might be a little creepy for a bit, though.”

Malleus hums. The glow of his eyes shows up more at every step they take towards the inner parts of the cave, shrouded in darkness. Looks magical, Ellis’ brain unhelpfully reminds him, majestic, beautiful.

(He needed to get that confession out already, and yet…)

“I’m not displeased with this place, though.” Malleus’ voice makes a light echo. “It reminds me of home in a way.”

“Home? Like in the Valley of Thorns?” He asks, wincing when he steps against what seemed to be a tree branch, cracking it into two. How do things like that end up here, anyway?

“It’s a very rocky scenery. Tall mountains and thorn bushes, dark almost all year long.” Malleus explains. “I remember seeing it through my room’s window.”

“You know, that’s kind of cool in a way, I’ve never been somewhere like that.” He comments, thumb resting over the flashlight’s switch. He feels fidgety trying to visualize the Valley of Thorns in his mind, then briefly entertaining the thought of actually being there, with him too… “Is the palace all dark too?”

“Darkness is associated with royalty, so naturally it is.” He speaks. There’s a hint of nostalgia in his voice, almost. It’s strangely warm thinking of a smaller Malleus walking around a big, imposing dark castle, and still making all those sweet childhood memories there. It’s a testament to Malleus himself, maybe. The contrast between the imposing exterior and the softer interior. “It's tall, built in black bricks a long time ago, surrounded by thorn bushes…”

“You should bring me there one day.” Ellis suggests. His voice comes out sweet, it always does — And he hopes Malleus can notice why, he wants him to. But he doesn’t expect it at this point.

(Because if there’s one thing about Malleus’ he’s learned, it’s that genius or not, everything just flew right over his head, and flirting with him was a battle you lost before you even started fighting.)

“Perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.” Malleus says mid a chuckle, and his heart flutters. Oh to have a tour around Malleus’ hometown. Maybe there wasn’t much more to see at the place than thorn bushes, but Ellis thought about it insistently anyways. The things that made it unique, and the things about it that Malleus carried over. It’s insistent curiosity and his equally insistent crushing.

He glances forward as he smiles, recalling what he’d been told about the cave. They should be getting to the part with the cool rocks (Cater’s words, not his, maybe not even Cater’s either, since he got that from Ace who got it from someone else… you know how it is) now, Ellis is excited. He’s read up a little bit on gems before doing this. Surely Malleus would be caught off guard by that too, if he was interested in them, then they could choose one to bring home, and it’d be like jewelry shopping, kind of, maybe…

But jewelry stores don’t have swarms of bats in it, and caves do — And in they come, screechy noises and motion blur, and Ellis wasn’t thinking about the presence of bats at all, so he completely flips out, jumping in shock with a yelp and dropping the flashlight.

Dropping himself, actually, tripping on a damned rock and almost falling on top of Malleus as he hears the crack of his light falling, rolling somewhere he couldn’t see.

“Careful, Child of Man—”

Ellis blinks, looking around to try and find that light, but it’s nowhere to be seen — Not that he could see anything, the place was shrouded in darkness now — and his breath quickens with panic, damn it this wasn’t what…

“The flashlight?” Ellis asks, voice frantic. “Damn it, I can’t see it, I…”

Malleus’ eyes are still glowing green.

“I’m guessing you can’t see in the dark?”

“No?” He sputters. What, now he could see in the dark too? Malleus’ abilities are usually interesting to hear about, but now… “Ugh, the flashlight…”

“It’s not anywhere near us.” He informs unhelpfully. “Fallen from a drop. Perhaps I should guide us back.”

He sighs, heavy and tired. Great, there went his plans, everything down the drain again. Usually he could just laugh something like this off, but…

Maybe he had higher hopes for tonight.

“Yeah, I guess.” Ellis mumbles. “Sorry, in the end we couldn’t really do anything cool.”

“We still have time for a stroll near the woods, don’t we?” He can’t see Malleus’ face, exactly, just the outline of his eyes dotting the black dye, but with the way they move he guesses he may have tilted his head. “And I’ve actually enjoyed visiting this cave, short as our outing was.”

“...yeah, b-but I wanted to impress you.” His face feels hot, mostly with shame, the stutter comes with the blurting out of the words. He hates being upset like this, and yet— “You’re always the one doing cool things, disappearing in thin air and leaving fireflies behind, bringing me all that stuff… I wanted to do it too, I guess, especially with you bringing me all those gems for reasons I still don’t know why. I wanted you to… l-like me more, I guess, because I really like you.”

Too many words. He feels his core burn, but they’d been spinning around in his mind for so long now, at some point it was meant to come out. At least, even if Malleus hated that, he wouldn’t…

“Child of Man,” He speaks, voice clear and blank after a pause. There it comes, Ellis thinks dejectedly, though he doesn’t know exactly what bad thing he’s expecting. “Ellis.”

But that’s his name. His agape mouth closes. Was it that bad? One might worry his heartbeat would start echoing into the empty cave.

“...I believe there may have been a misunderstanding here.”

He shakes his head, heart twisting. “N-No, it’s okay, I get that you don’t…”

“Are you not aware of dragon courting traditions?”

Ellis feels his heart both drop the ground and soar at the same time.

“...the gifting of gems. I’d been trying to tell you about… how I feel, I suppose, for a while.” He says, and his voice sounds different. Quieter. Guilty? Ellis can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, but he wonders if Malleus is blushing.

And the image of it in his mind makes him want to look away, even as he can’t.

“There’s been a misunderstanding after all.” Malleus sighs. Yeah, his voice is different. Airy, light, something to it that has Ellis’ face burning. “If you’ve been thinking you could make me like you any more than I already do.”

It feels like an impossible dream to have something like this happen, in this damn cave of all places too, but the smile makes its way into his lips and doesn’t leave, lopsided or not. The laughter starts bubbling up. And on his first snicker, he has Malleus’ confusion too.

“Are you laughing at my confession?” He asks when the snickers turn into a full on laugh, one that has him wiping tears off his eyes with his sleeves.

“G-God, no way, I’m just laughing ‘cause we’re both so stupid…” Ellis shakes his head. Who would have known, huh. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Then we can go for that walk you wanted. I think it’d be nice.”

“As you wish, then.” He replies, and Ellis feels his hand on his, warmth spreading across him. It’s really a dream— “Would that mean we are… dating, now?”

Oh to see the great Malleus asking him all these dorky questions. “Maybe. Let’s get out of here first.”

The light from the entrance shines back onto them soon.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x oc #twst oc #malleus draconia #lis writing #commissions tag