#seafoam drafts

[seafoamwaffle]

Next Stop: Pelican Town // Stardew Valley AU

Ever since @norinenglish posted about their stardew ranchers fic concept I haven't been able to get the idea out of my head, so I've decided to make it everybody's problem.

I'm not going to be following the farmer's story beat for beat, instead, I'm just taking it as a loose inspiration and seeing where it takes me. Is there going to be more? Who knows, certainly not me!

First draft of Jimmy coming to the valley can be found under the cut :D

The bus travelled down the lonely highway, the slight unevenness of the road sending Jimmy’s head bumping against the window. There were endless mountain ranges just on the other side of the glass and peaking between the small crevices he could even see the ocean. Verdant grass covered every inch of the place—such a far cry from the dull greys of Zuzu City. 

Which, he supposed was the point. Looking back at it, it was only a matter of time before the city chipped away at the last bits of himself until all that remained was just a shallow husk of a being. It was too loud, too full, too much. 

Though who was he kidding? He could blame all his recent troubles on the city all he wanted, it wouldn’t get him anywhere. There was no guarantee things would get better in Pelican Town either. 

Positive thoughts, Jimmy, warned Pearl’s voice somewhere in the back of his head. Positive thoughts. 

Right. Things at least—probably?—couldn’t get any worse than they had been. And now he at least wouldn’t have to burden his cousins with coming all the way out to Zuzu City to keep an eye on him. 

It had been their idea to have him move back to Stardew Valley in the first place. Grian had suggested he stay with him up in the spare bedroom of his cabin, though Jimmy had resisted the idea with all his might. He’d caused them enough trouble as it was. The last thing they needed was to have him leeching off their kindness at all hours of the day and invading their personal space. 

After that conversation though, the incessant need to move out of that city to get away increased tenfold, until his small apartment full of stuff that wasn’t even his own began closing in on him, until there was no longer enough space for him to even breathe. 

“What about Gramps’ old farm?” Grian had asked as they were lounging on the couch one evening. “You wouldn’t have us breathing down your neck all the time there and we’d be a few minutes walk out if you ever needed company.” 

“Have you been to that place at all in the past few years? It’s so overgrown you can barely get to the house!” Protested Pearl. Her legs were draped across the both of them while she nursed a bowl of popcorn in her arms. 

“Okay, so it needs a little bit of cleaning up—”

“Understatement of the year.” 

“—but it would solve our conundrum here, right Timmy?” 

Two sets of eyes turned to stare at him as Jimmy shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pretended he’d still been paying attention to the long-forgotten movie playing in the background. 

“I… I think I’d need to sleep on it.” 

Up until that point he hadn’t thought about the old ranch much. Though he had spent most of his early childhood there, he and his mum moved to Zuzu City after Grandpa passed away. He can’t even remember if they ever came back to visit, although that’s not exactly something he could ever blame her for. What was there to return for besides memories now painted over by grief?

He had loved that place to bits as a kid. How could he not? It was a pocket of the world that always felt as if it had been carved out just for him, endless fields and meadows he could run around until he could no longer catch his breath, chasing around friends whose faces he could barely recall anymore. And the animals—the chickens, the cows, the goats, creatures that at times understood him better than any person could. He wanted to become a vet because of them, though that dream was now long forgotten, locked away with every other ambition. 

It had been the happiest he’d ever been. 

That realisation had hooked its claws underneath his ribs and refused to disappear, reminding him of its existence with each breath he took. 

He could have that again if he gave it a try. 

At first, he attempted to squash that idea down as best he could, to lock it away in a small box tucked at the very back of his mind. It tasted too much like the sickly sweetness of false hope and he wouldn’t—couldn’t let himself be overtaken by it again before he inevitably came crashing down into reality. 

But it was too persistent, growing louder and louder the further down he attempted to push it. So, when he had gone through the few things he still owned from back then and found the deed to the old ranch tucked between photo albums and Grandpa’s old books, it felt as though fate had made the decision for him. 

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

It was all too soon that the bus hissed to a halt at a small clearing with barely any indication that there was a bus stop to begin with, besides a ticket machine tucked to the side that anyone could miss easily if they didn’t know it was there. With dread and anticipation both mixing in the pit of his stomach, he stepped out into the open. 

“Timmy!” 

Before he processed what was going on, there was an arm that hooked around his neck, pulling him down enough for Grian to reach and ruffle his blond hair. It took him a moment to pull out of the grasp. 

“What happened to a good old-fashioned hello?” 

“Welcome to Stardew Valley!” A theatrical voice boomed from the side, immediately catching Jimmy’s attention. 

On the dirt path leading to the bus stop stood a man dressed in elegant reddish clothing. He leaned heavily on an ornate cane while his other hand held a matching tophat. A wide smile overtook his features. Behind him he caught a glimpse of Pearl, sitting on a wooden fence.

The stranger made his way over to them. “I’m Scar, mayor of Pelican Town.” He offered a small bow, before placing the tophat back on his head and offering Jimmy the now free hand. 

“I’m—I’m Jimmy Solidarity.” He stumbled over his words as he shook the hand of this clearly important man. His brain wasn’t going to let him forget that for weeks to come. 

If he noticed anything amiss, Scar didn’t comment on it. “I’ve heard a lot about you! It’s not every day someone new moves it. It’s quite a big deal! The entirety of Pelican Town is anxious to meet you.” 

The words sent Jimmy’s stomach tying up in knots and though he attempted to cover that up as best he could, the pitying look Pearl sent his way told him he hadn’t done a good job at it. 

“How ‘bout we take him to the cabin first, yeah? I’m sure others are gonna be able to wait until he gets settled in.” 

Scar’s smile never wavered. “Why of course, of course. Just follow me!” 

An uncanny feeling crept up his spine as they walked down the dirt path he must’ve walked through thousands of times as a child. It seemed much smaller now, the wooden fences surrounding it were much worse for wear. Something so familiar growing into something foreign. 

They stopped once they reached another big clearing and oh—he’d thought Pearl had been exaggerating about how overgrown the property had become. But weeds and debris stretched as far as he could see and where there used to be fields full of crops now grew sturdy trees. 

And the house… Well, it looked as though no one had set foot in or around it in more than a decade, which he supposed must have been the case. 

“Told you it was bad,” Pearl half-snickered, though there was no real malice in her tone. 

“You’re exaggerating! With enough time this can all be fixed up easily.” 

“Says the carpenter. The house looks like it’s being held together with duct tape and Gramps’ old stubbornness! Are you sure this is even safe to stay in?” 

Grian waved a hand in dismissal. “I went to check it over a few days back. It’s not a luxury hotel or anything, it’s covered in about an inch layer of dust and I’m pretty sure most of the wiring and plumbing needs to be redone, but it’s not going to collapse at a moment's notice.”

“Reassuring,” Jimmy chimed in, though his gaze wouldn’t leave the old house. It stood tall, with warm-toned wooden walls and a big front porch leading to the reddish front door. The attic window had been broken, with plastic stapled on from the inside to prevent rain from soaking the inside. 

This was what had become of his childhood home. A broken, empty mess. 

“I mean, it’s got character, it’s rustic!” Scar jumped in.

“Crusty’s a better way to put it—” 

“Listen,” Grian jumped in, cutting off whatever Pearl was about to say. “I’ll help you get it back into proper shape as long as you’ll get all the materials, deal?” 

Jimmy mumbled something vaguely affirmative as he continued staring at the overgrown ranch in front of him. 

It was going to be one hell of a fresh start

#these new dreams #seafoam drafts #traffic stardew au #stardew valley ranchers #jimmy solidarity #pearlescentmoon #grian #goodtimeswithscar #team rancher #trafficblr #seafoam archives #stardew valley #sdv

[karamazovanon]

thought about raskolnikov while listening to car seat headrest incident 39 dead 18407 injured

#literally every csh fits him but it was sober to death that made me snap #might make a parallel post with razumikhin at the end uprooting his life to siberia to “...begin a new life together” and the line #“dont worry / you and me wont be alone no more” because im dissolving into seafoam over it #not to mention the you can text me when punching mattresses gets old / dont think itll always be this way / not comforted by anything i say #oghgohhogohhhgh #and NERVOUS YOUNG INHUMANS GETS MY ASS TOO. #you never lifted your voice / you never raised your hand / i only showed you my inhuman / you understand #like what if i walke dinto the ocean #anontalks #sorry i post about music so much idk why thats always where my brain goes #eventually i will make organized playlist posts. someday. i have drafts for the brothers but i need to Cultivate them #<- also if you want to lose your mind think about ivan w any csh :) #the beach life in death i dont want to be insane / i dont want to have sc/hizophrenia (dont want to clog that tag) #that part of the song. so. so ivan

[megarywrites]

Worked out the chapter titles for part one of book one today. Love that for me.

#writing journal #wip: seafoam #book: tss #sf 2nd draft #most of them are carried over from the first draft #but since i’m fleshing out the first book to make up for the fact that i was only planning on this whole thing being a single book #instead of a duology i’ve extended the content for book one for sure #and the parts are all already titled with the ‘stages’ of a tsunami #since that’s what Thala’s going to metaphorically become #book one’s parts are: tremor; split; and ripple and book two’s parts are: undertow; low tide; and wave #i’m really happy with the changes so far I think it’s really improving the story #looking forward to it being a lot more polished #also #does anyone want me to post snippets? it’s been a while and i usually don’t get much interaction on them so i’m just hesitant #kinda not wanting to tbh but we’ll see

[figgriffin]

VAELLUS SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!¡.

#this was a draft FROM THE FUCKING SEAFOAM COURT SPA #TRUSTING MY INSTINCTS NEXT TIME #GODDAMN FUCKING SHIT #duck game #dnd: duck game #dnd duck game

[eyrri]

umicorm

#Seafoam the unicorn #unicorn #draft horse

[seafoampuddings]

I love being a writer, especially the part where I get to do hours' worth of research that amounts to a single passing line no one's gonna notice

#i just spent probably an hour and a half learning about germ theory #because I wasn't sure if my characters would be able to reference it #it should've only taken me 3 minutes #and watch me cut it from the final draft #writblr #writing #writing problems #seafoam archives

[leibholz-moved]

#🗡 insubstantial as seafoam or the memory of home #💖 txt #— found this in my drafts lmaooo he’s so silly… #he HAS to go thru all 6 stages of something all in duration of listening to One Reply fr… girl your face

[bbnibini]

You, Over the World (Solomon)

So, I wasn't satisfied with the “snow” entry in the 9days of Solomon challenge and always intended to write another fic in the challenge outside of the continuing narrative I was working on, but life had plans and I ran out of time so I dedicate this oneshot to its wonderful organiser @impish-ivy. I switched out “humanity” for “the world” in the repeating dialogues cause it sounded more dramatic lol but this should have been an entry for ‘humanity’.  If the vibes are familiar, I was thinking a lot about Frieren while writing this. :))

“Would you choose the world over me?”

He mutters a yes over the verdant foliage, amongst the spring flowers that bloomed over melted snow. He says it again as he traced the petals with his fingers, his memories simmering in the past—your understanding eyes, smiling and unwavering, as if he were waiting for you to say something else. 

He held his breath,

“Would you choose the world over me?”

…and he says yes again under the shade of an umbrella overlooking the horizon. He squints his eyes against the hot air blowing on his face. The unchanging view he once saw with you became unrecognisable. The sky was blue as always; the summer sun, hot and cruel as he buried his feet under the warm sand—he strained his ears to listen to your stories, but even a whisper of them had been lost in time—the weight of his choice carried away by the thrashing waves. The world over you. “The greater good”. The “logical” choice that even you understood that he had to make. He thinks this over and over until the cicadas had stopped crying, and the punishing heat of the sun hid itself away to welcome a cool, moonless sky. 

With nothing but his thoughts to occupy him, he walks towards the ocean again. Aimlessly, almost dragging his feet, until he heard the currents, the salty air welcoming him as his feet touched the seawater. He hated everything about it, but he couldn't get you it off his mind–he should not even care anymore. He never cared. Everything that carried a piece of you is seafoam dissolving in the tides, and your memories were nothing but a ghost haunting him in the night.

“Would you choose the world over me?”

He was at a loss for words as he remembered the question again when a leaf fell on his face, waking him up from an unplanned nap. He was never the earliest riser. Mornings to him were nothing but extra hours of sleep, but he found himself there again despite the absence of…everything. The busy crowds haggling for bargains—cinnamon and nutmeg and the falling leaves. Your hands were on his face, slapping him gently on his cheeks to rouse him from his slumber. Your voice was admonishing yet sweet.

It's gone too, I suppose. 

He thought to himself as he waited for a flea market in the forgotten park, with nothing but the dents on the pavement and fading paint telling him that it was actually there. Years ago, maybe. Relocated somewhere else. Why didn't he bother to know? He did remember a stall there that he frequented with you. A kind stranger told him they have a whole chain of restaurants now; sold to a big company after the original owner’s passing. The orange leaves crunched beneath him as he left to take another train, waiting for hours on the queue to be seated.

He ordered your favourite.

But it didn't taste anything like it. 

The texture was off. Something was wrong with the taste. It was too hot and too cold at the same time. That couldn't be right, so he tried again and ordered his usual but it tasted even weirder: an amalgamation of textures and flavours that barely paid homage to its humble roots. And he wasn't even much of a gourmet. 

He left, letting his eyes linger on the seated crowd: their blissful faces obviously enjoying their meal. He sighs.

“Would you choose the world over me?”

Everything was grey; the orange and yellows and reds were being buried in the cold drafts. He asks you to close the door, only to be reminded that Cocytus Hall was nothing but ruins now; earth and dust. Rotting foundations and leaking ceilings. Seen better days. 

“Why have you chosen the world over me?”

He didn't know. What should he have answered you? The more time passed, the more it felt as if the hours had gotten slower and slower. His youthful face was a painful reminder of an eternity waiting for him. There was an aching that lingered in his chest that never went away. The view from outside was pure white. A light fog formed on the window as he breathed out and drew faces. He had many thoughts, but most were barely comprehensible, mangling into static noise. He stared into the distance. 

It must be a beautiful day. It was warmer than a usual December, and the view from outside was breathtaking. Didn't he just  make a breakthrough in his research? The Demon Prince and his butler are set to arrive in a day to honour his contributions…or something like that. He wasn't sure. It was a feat that his academic peers envied greatly, for he had yet again proven why he was called “The Wise”. 

.

.

.

.

.

Never “The Heartful.” Not even discerning. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. There, he saw you. 

“Cheer up, Solomon!”

A gloved hand that took his own. There was a question lingering in his mind as you walked through the thick snow. 

“Would you let me choose the world over you?”

He couldn't remember your face. He had imagined the scenes in his head so many times, and it only worsened every cold winter he had to spend on his own.

But he had no choice.

Company was all but warm bodies that didn't seep into his soul. They laced fingers with him and whispered sweet words, but he was a phantom whose presence they couldn't even touch. 

He was barely there or anywhere. See-through and paper-thin; deaf to kindness even in the face of sincerity. He remembered caring more, maybe a century ago, when he could still count the numbers of your fading presence with his fingers. But now…

…he saw you walking away again, so he pulled you back into his arms where you fit perfectly.

Where dreams were his only comfort. Where centuries and aeons felt like minutes ago, and the entire world that remained at your loss had any semblance of meaning. He held your face and pressed your lips on his, hoping all of what he couldn't say would reach you, 

“I wish I didn't.”

…even if it's too late.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me shall we date #om! shall we date #solomon x reader #solomon x mc #obey me solomon x reader #obey me fic

[ussgallifrey]

Home for the Holiday | Part 3

✦ Summary: Never let it be said that you weren’t willing to do just about anything for your squadron. As you find yourself roped into an elaborate ruse to help fool Hangman’s mother for Christmas all seems to be going according to plan. But when that plan spirals out of control, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.

✦ Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Anxiety, arguments, fake dating, hurt/comfort, Jake’s family being fake and generally awful towards him, mentions of divorce, mentions of past abuse, minor angst.

✦ Word Count: 9.9k

✦ Author’s Note: Hi, has it been over a year since I posted anything for this story? It must be a Christmas miracle! Anyway, this one has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, slowly getting added to every few months. And here we come to the end of Jake's annoying family. The next two chapters will be decidedly happier, I promise.

[Master List]

You’re woken neither by your own internal clock nor the backup alarm on your phone but by the irritated slamming of something across the hotel room. It takes you a second to properly assess the sound as being of the non-dream variety. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you push up onto your elbow to stare into the unsettled darkness.

The golden light from the bathroom spills out into the entryway where a shirtless Hangman seems to be fighting a losing battle with the foldup ironing board.

“You good?” you call out, voice still hoarse with sleep.

His eyes snap up to meet yours, mustering out an almost guilty, “Shit, sorry Pits.”

You wave him off, sitting up properly - the white sheets spilling over your thighs.

The bedside clock informs you that it’s still early in the morning, though not unreasonably so. He had told you the drive to his father’s place would take a while, so it made sense for him to be up at this hour but less so for whatever the hell he was trying to accomplish across the room.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, scratching at the back of your neck as you pad your way over to find out.

“What’s with the iron?”

There’s a seafoam green shirt on the board with a plugged-in iron on its end, that much you can see.

“Damn thing won’t turn on,” he flicks the buttons on the iron up and down, on and off.

Quirking your brow, “You know it takes time to heat up, yeah?”

He pauses, fixing you with an exasperated look, “Fifteen minutes enough for you?”

Throwing your hands up in a defensive hold, you take a step back.

“Shit. Look, I’m not trying to be a total ass here. Just, I didn’t exactly go packing a lot of options and I can’t go wearing what I did yesterday because Josh saw it already - ”

“Got it.”

He sighs in defeat, grabbing hold of the shirt. Giving it a good flap, you can see the clear wrinkles on the front.

For a lazy day in, the shirt would be fine. But this was a family get-together and Jake Seresin was a naval officer. His closet was likely similar to your own when it came to precision-pressed and properly hung items. Wearing this shirt, the way it was, would not fly.

“Well, before you go complain to the front desk - give it here, and let me try something.”

His own brow rises but he ultimately hands it over by the scruff of the collar. Swiping up your toiletry bag, you head into the bathroom, looking over your shoulder to give him a small smile.

“Let’s see if the magic of steam can’t work a miracle on this.”

His features drop in a way that says he hadn’t even considered that as an option before he grins, “Here’s hoping.”

After hanging the shirt on the towel bar, you take an extra long and heated shower. Letting the water massage your back and shoulders with its pressure. You certainly missed the little things like this when you were aboard the carrier. Uninterrupted, hot, lengthy showers where you didn’t feel like it might be a biohazard to touch any surface.

No, this was nice.

And when you step out of the tub and wrap a towel around your middle, you crack the door open to inform Jake that his shirt is just about good to go.

“But I can hit it with the hair dryer still. We got time, right?”

He hums in reply from the other side of the room, though you can’t see him.

Turning on the exhaust fan, you wipe down the steam-covered mirror with a hand towel and go about finishing your routine. Making sure your feet are actually dry, you step back into the room - walking over to your bag in search of another outfit.

Jake had pushed aside the blackout curtains in your absence, filling the room with natural light. He’s sat on the edge of his bed again, but now he has a plain white tank on to go with his jeans. You can hear the faintest clearing of his throat, making you look back at him.

His gaze drifts down your back for a second before he seems to busy himself with his phone again.

“I’m guessing this one is a little more casual?” you ask, pulling out three different shirts.

“Mmm, yeah,” he clears his throat again with a cough, glancing over towards the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get your shirt out in a minute. I’m just letting the steam work its last bit of magic on it.”

His eyes finally meet yours and he frowns slightly, “I wasn’t - y-yeah… okay.”

And then it seems to dawn on you: you were only wearing a towel.

And while it might be common for the guys of your squadron to walk around shirtless in the gym, or when they were changing out of sweaty flight gear, it wasn’t exactly a frequent occurrence for you to be seen in anything but your usual navy-issued tank and shorts. And while Hangman himself had been in nothing more than a towel yesterday morning, during the rush to get ready, that seemed like an entirely different situation to your own.

Your heart races as you become aware of just how exposed you are right now.

Grabbing hold of your entire bag and muttering out an embarrassed: “Sorry, I’ll just - ” as you hurriedly flee back into the bathroom.

Hangman, for his part, seems too stunned to even form a reply and you can’t exactly blame him.

Jesus, what were you thinking? You might be comfortable around your squadron but nothing over the past two days had elicited that level of comfort between the two of you.

Taking far longer than necessary to choose an outfit and get dressed, you’re slow and methodical about your hair and makeup this time too. Only when your nerves have settled down from the encounter, do you finally grab his shirt and return to the room.

“Well, what do you think?”

You hold the shirt up for him to examine. He nods, standing from his spot on the bed to take hold of it by the shoulders.

“Thank you.”

You just nod, tight-lipped, as you go about putting your bag away in its rightful spot. Jake tugs his arms through the sleeves before heading over to the full-length mirror by the front door. You watch as he methodically rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, creasing the cuff perfectly each time. When he’s done, he twists his watch around - back and forth, a few times.

And then he clears his throat, looking over towards you as you slip on your boots.

“You look good, by the way.”

Slowly, your eyes meet his and you offer him a gentle smile.

“Not too shabby yourself, Bagman.”

He ducks his head down for a second, grinning all the same. But then he’s glancing down at his watch and frowning again, patting his front and back pockets as he checks his EDC.

“You ready to go?”

Rising from the desk chair, you fix him with a questioning look, “Are you?”

With a smirk, he shakes his head. Offering an honest, “No.”

Jake holds the door open for you as you leave the room, heading down to the stairwell. You make an off-hand comment about it not being the way to the free dine-in breakfast. But he just keeps walking and eventually, you're in the parking lot. Slipping into the passenger side of the rental car, you watch as he adjusts the rearview mirror and his own seat.

Before he even starts the ignition, he looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Well, someone wouldn’t let us go down to the lobby for breakfast.”

“Ha,” he chuckles. “Come on, I know a better place.”

Raising your brow as you buckle your seatbelt you say, “I’m intrigued.”

Hangman just grins, grabbing hold of the back of your seat as he backs out of the parking spot.

You're not sure what you expected, but when Jake pulls into a busy Sunoco gas station ten minutes later, you can't help but raise your brow skeptically at him.

“Trust me,” he grins - all teeth - as he snags his aviators from his shirt collar.

“Tell me they have the best donuts around at least,” you call, following him out of the car.

He had parked off to the side, away from the entrance of the food mart. Digging his hands into his jean pockets, he waits for you to meet him on the sidewalk in front of the hood of the rental car.

Grinning with all the smugness of a higher power, he nudges your arm with his elbow and leads the way. Avoiding the building entirely, which makes you even more curious. The two of you round the other side of the gas station where the smell of smoked meat and spice fills the air.

There are two food trucks, a yellow tear-drop-shaped repurposed camper, and a smaller red build. Each has its own canvas tent with tables and chairs set up underneath. Fancy chalkboard signs bring the promise of amazing food as do the long-stretched lines outside of them both.

“Okay,” you admit, “You had me concerned for a second there.”

He chuckles, getting into the yellow truck's line, “Gotta keep you on your toes, sweetheart. Anyway, I wanted to give you the chance of having an Austin staple.”

Well, if the menu wasn't enticing enough for you, then the smell certainly was. You find yourself nearly floating along the line with Jake. After ordering, you grab an empty picnic table to yourselves and proceed to dig into the absolutely massive breakfast burritos.

“Have you eaten here before?” you ask after swallowing another absolutely sinful bite.

“No, actually,” he wipes his mouth with another napkin. “This place didn't exist until two years back. Found it online when you were, uh, getting ready.”

Your chest aches as you recall the awkward encounter from this morning. Slowing your chewing, you manage out a pinched, "Well, god bless online reviews. This is incredible."

After another bite, you rub your lips with the back of your hand, glancing across to meet his gaze - his sunglasses remain folded on the table now, so you're able to see the green of his eyes once again.

“I mean it,” you swallow. “This might be the best breakfast I've ever had.”

He stares for a moment, swallowing his own bite before a slow smile graces his lips.

“Better not let your momma hear you talking like that.”

You laugh, “I'm sure she'd understand.”

Jake gives a warm chuckle, shaking his head, “Hell, think you know more about my family than I do about yours at this point. Not even sure I can remember you ever talking about them.”

Setting the burrito down carefully in the foil wrapper, you contemplate his small accusation. While you had certainly heard your fill of just about everyone else’s families while on deployment, you can’t recall if you really ever dove into talking about your own.

Obviously, you had heard all about Jake’s very extended family at this point. But even you knew about Freud and his weird association with his mom’s current husband - her fifth husband if you were remembering things correctly. Cosmo had a close relationship with his sister Cecilia but not his sister Lucia. Slab had a complicated connection with his adoptive parents but got on okay with his older brother. And so on.

“They’re not very interesting,” you finally settle on.

He raises a single eyebrow, “I highly doubt that.”

“Compared to yours?”

That makes him smirk, “Fair point.”

From there, it takes you a little longer to realize that you’re both eating at a leisurely pace and that Jake isn’t constantly checking his watch or telling you to speed it up. It’s a strange occurrence, given his usual attentiveness for being timely. Jake Seresin lived by the motto that if you’re early, you’re on time and if you’re on time, you’re late.

So, as nearly a full hour of the two of you sitting there and shooting the shit passes, you start to grow the slightest bit concerned. Going on to ask:

“How far did you say your dad’s place was?”

His lips immediately fall into a sort of scowl as you pull him away from a very amusing story about his time in officer’s school.

“Two hours,” comes the almost robotic reply.

“Does that mean we should start, you know, heading out?”

Your breakfast had long since been finished and the wrappers thrown away. Your drinks were little more than melted ice and semi-chewed straws at this point.

After ruffling his hair and twisting his watch around a few times, he finally sighs.

“Yeah, probably.”

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, you slap his shoulder as you finally stand up from the picnic table.

“Come on, Seresin. You got me as your wingman for a second round today. No time like the present.”

Grabbing hold of both of your near-empty drinks, he too lifts his leg over the side of the bench and stands up with a playfully annoyed, “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up now, Pits.”

The ride to his dad’s house is filled with Christmas music played by two different country radio stations. As the odometer slowly creeps up mile by mile, you can see the difference in your companion’s composure. He started out relaxed, almost lounging in his seat. And then it grows more rigid; with his hands clutching the steering wheel like it had personally wronged him.

Last night, the two of you had talked about the upcoming shitstorm of a holiday get-together.

You knew Josh would be there again. But you would also be meeting his other brother, Justin, and his wife and kids of course. And then there was his sister, Jess, and her brood - as he had put it.

Just from the way he talked about his siblings, it was clear that Jake did not get on with - nor keep in close contact with - any of them. He seemed particularly hung up on his sister more so than his older brothers. And while you were sure there was a story - or two - there, you didn’t feel it was the time, or place,to pry.

And then, of course, there was the infamous Mr. Seresin himself. Of him, you knew the least amount of information. Only being told that you should keep your conversations limited if not just nonexistent. You weren’t sure how well that idea would apply in reality, but for your friend’s sake, you promised to keep things to his plan.

As the radio DJ announces yet another Thomas Rhett song, Jake finally hops onto an exit ramp, signaling that you were close to the inevitable get-together.

In almost two hours, you had covered a variety of topics pertaining to work. But seeing the great amount of tension currently attacking your wingman, you finally relent with a different story.

“I got my pilot’s license at seventeen.”

Only because you’re at a stoplight does Jake look over at you, wide-eyed and mouth slightly ajar as the beginnings of a smirk curl into place.

“Do tell.”

You chuckle as he turns the wheel.

“Whole line of aviators, actually. Great-grandpa was a paratrooper during Korea and I guess he just missed the adrenaline when he came back to the States. His son took up commercial flying and my dad got his license just because it seemed like everyone else in the family was doing it.”

“And you?” his sage green eyes meet yours for a quick second before he focuses back on the road ahead of you.

With a shrug, you draw your knee up on the seat and stare out the passenger window. Swatches of dusty farmland and wooden fences pass you by.

“Guess I was always just growing up around them. My grandpa took me flying all the time when my dad was busy working. Did my first solo ride at fifteen in a glider and got my license two years later.”

You can see his grin from out of your peripheral and count it as a victory.

“Any other incredible talents you’ve kept hidden under that smartass exterior?”

“Hey!” you gently slap his arm, pulling a fake pout. “If there was, I’m not telling you now.”

“Alright, alright,” he bites his lip, tapping the steering wheel as a sense of ease washes over him. “I’ll play nice.”

With a roll of your eyes, you mutter under your breath, “Fat fucking chance.”

There’s a seemingly dramatic sigh from him which is immediately followed by a hand being jabbed into your flank and a screech of laughter erupting from your lips as Jake proceeds to tickle your side.

“G-god fuckin- STOP, y-you asshole,” you try to squirm away from his touch, but his fingers seem to know your exact weak points and there’s only so far you can scramble away.

“Give it up, Pita,” he croons sweetly, still somehow managing to drive the car steadily down the road with his left hand.

“Mercy! Mer-cy, you jackass!”

You shove at his hand until he finally relents. Absolutely beaming as he looks over at you, unable to stop his own chuckle from seeing the state of you. He sighs, the bubble of laughter on his lips as he turns down a dirt road.

“Sure know how to distract a guy.”

With a huff of indignation, you say, “I’m sure there’s more alluring ways to do that.”

Only when Jake chokes on his own spit do you throw your head back in a howl of laughter.

“Christ, the look on your face, Seresin.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans, catching your gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “Laugh it up, sweetheart. Cause we’re almost there.”

That does seem to sober you both up almost instantly.

The radio sways in and out between bits of static break-up. As the houses fall further and further back from the road, it seems like you’re looking at nothing but straight-up copper-dusted fields.

Hangman leans forward on the wheel as he peers out at the stretch of dirt road, checking the numbers on the mailboxes that pop up every mile. And then, at last, he finally slows the car down to a steady roll.

And while Lady A is singing about it being an absolutely Wonderful Christmastime, you watch as all signs of joy seem to drain from your friend’s face as he turns onto the long-winding drive of his father’s ranch. The tires kick up dirt and pebbles, leaving a trail of dust in your wake. You’re jostled in your seat from the rough terrain of the unpaved driveway.

“Can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” he murmurs, staring up ahead at the trucks already parked next to the white barn.

The house itself is a massive ranch-style home, with wood siding that almost makes it look like an older cabin. But the windows are clearly modern and sleek. It was no question at all that Jake’s father had some serious money to his name here. If the accompanying acres of farmland weren’t already a dead giveaway.

You wait for him to park, killing the ignition and resting his arms on the steering wheel with a resigned look in place of his usually bright eyes.

“When, uh, when was the last time you were here?”

With a sigh, his chin resting on the wheel now too as he stares up at the sprawling house.

“All the time as a kid. It was my granddad’s. Went on to my uncle until he ran himself straight into debt from all the gambling and drinking. Then this one - ” he jerks his head in the general direction of the house once again, “ - got it passed onto him. Haven’t been back since my granddad passed. So maybe… fourteen years?”

With a singular blink, you mutter an equally pressed, “Jesus, Seresin.”

“Yeah, well…” he just shakes his head, having already given you the gist of everything last night. No point in rehashing old news.

“Looks like everyone is here,” you comment after glancing around at the other numerous vehicles in the drive.

He nods, finally pulling the keys from the ignition and swinging the chain into his hand.

You follow him up the path to the front porch – a once beautiful piece of craftsmanship now deteriorating and stained. The floorboards of the deck squeak under your shoes and a handful of the railings seem to be either broken-off or missing entirely. A black bear carved out of wood greets you both with a simple welcome sign held in its fur-textured paws.

Jake gives a solid rap to the door before he grabs hold of the handle and shoves it open. More of a courtesy knock than anything.

With a little squeeze to his bicep, you give him your best encouraging nod and follow after him as he slides through the entryway where a massive pile of boots and shoes has been deposited.

You’re only afforded a sliver of a proper view into the main living space, but the noise level is already on par with an F18 ready to take off from the flight deck.

As you kick off your shoes into the sprawling mess of footwear, you’re assaulted by the sound of screaming children, raucous cheers, a football announcer blasting through surround-sound speakers, and the faint twang of Christmas music radiating out from a speaker somewhere in the middle of it all.

Mixed with the pungent smell of sweat-soaked shoes and rosemary-scented turkey roasting in an oven, you reach out to grab hold of Jake’s arm – simply from the overwhelming amount of things happening all around you before you even see a single person.

“You good?” he murmurs, a shocking amount of concern etched onto his usually playful features.

“Mhmm,” you manage.

A warm hand eases its way onto the small of your back and you feel the madness fall into a pinpoint tunnel where it’s easily manageable and not so disconcerting.

“Never better,” said through a set of clenched teeth is all you can work up for him.

With another squeeze to his arm, you allow Jake to guide you – by the hand still on your lower back – down the front hall to the large open-plan living space. To your left, several women lean against the russet-colored cabinets, with glasses of dark red wine in hand and ringing laughs as short blonde-haired children weave their way through the space.

To the right, near the stone fireplace sits the majority of the men on overstuffed leather couches and recliners as they stare up, with rapt attention, at the game currently projected on the large flat screen mounted above the mantel.

“Uncle Jake!”

Your eyes lock onto the blur of yellow and red that comes charging toward you both. Stepping out of the fray, you watch as your companion drops to his knees to scoop up the girl with the maroon ribbons laced through her platinum hair.

“Kenna Kenna Kenna,” he grins, grabbing hold of the young girl around her waist as he hefts her up and swings her back and forth in his embrace.

A smile that you can’t seem to control graces your lips as you watch the scene play out.

Oh, the guys back on the carrier would kill to see this side of Hangman right now. What a privilege it was for you to bear witness to.

From over his shoulder, you’re presented with the curious brown eyes of the girl who then jabs her hand against Jake’s chest and demands:

“Who’s that?”

You watch as your companion’s grin slips down for just a brief second before he forces a tight smile.

“That,” comes the familiar voice of the older Seresin brother, who rises from one of the leather recliners with a beer in hand, and a too-smug smile on his face. “Is Uncle Jackie’s girlfriend.”

The girl gasps, staring up at Jake with a pure look of wonderment, “You have a girlfriend?”

Out of instinct alone, you wrap a hand around his right arm – encouraging the act from him.

“I do,” he nods at last, glancing over at you with those piercing green eyes. And then he’s laughing, dropping the girl back down onto her feet as he says, “God, when’d you get so big?”

“Probably sometime between your last visit and now.”

Your gaze snaps over to the woman in a denim blouse in the kitchen area, swirling her wine before she finishes it off.

If you had to take a guess...

“Jess,” he greets, short and to the point with a curt nod of his head.

Bingo.

As the girl, Kenna, skirts off to join the other kids currently hanging back by the patio doors near the massive Christmas tree, another man wanders over. Similar to Josh and Jake, he’s got dimpled cheeks, darker blonde hair, and a distinctive swagger to his walk.

“Hey man,” he claps Hangman on the shoulder, presenting him with a bottle of beer in his other hand. “Long time no fucking see. Look good though.”

Jake takes hold of the drink before he slinks his arm back around your waist, guiding you forward and into his side.

“Justin,” he nods, half in greeting, and half in explanation for your current confusion.

Ah, brother number two.

“And you’re the mysterious girlfriend,” his eyes slip past his brother to land firmly upon your face.

You offer your hand in return, along with your name.

“Never thought we’d see the day,” he grins in return. And then he’s backing away, gesturing toward the fridge, “Something to drink? Beer, wine, Coke?”

Surrounded by so many people who all seem to be particularly interested in scrutinizing your every move, you merely shake your head, “Think I’m good for now, thanks.”

Jake squeezes your side and you look to your left to see him already staring down at you with a soft smile. Emboldened by his apparent approval, you begin to make your rounds with him never far from reach.

You’re introduced, quickly, to Gwen. His bubbly stepmother with dark roots and straw-colored hair who hands you a glass of wine without taking no for an answer. She’s brightness personified and the definition of a doting host. Beside her stands a rather quiet fixture in the kitchen.

Marissa is the curly-haired young wife of Justin Seresin. She watches on with a bottle held between her chipped-red nails as Jess hollers at Kenna from across the room when she tries to drop a handful of slime on her uncle’s head.

The woman remains silent, though she holds an amused smile, as she watches the madness of her inlaws take place. There’s a brood of children that moves and weaves through the adults who remain largely indifferent to their antics.

From the countertop, where an array of appetizers are laid out, you watch as the two seven-year-old twins – Dawson and Dixon – gulf down scoops and scoops of bean dip. While their sister - Brynlee, as Jake’s stepmother manages to tell you over the noise of the get-together – seems content to cling to Marissa’s pant leg as she stares up at the towering adults overhead.

Your nerves begin to ease as a sort of familiar feeling washes over you. If you convinced yourself hard enough, you could almost pretend this was one of your mom’s extended family reunions.

Sure, you weren’t well-acquainted with everyone yet. But if you forced a good smile and made an effort to be courteous, you were sure you could get through the ordeal without tarnishing your wingman’s reputation.

Slowly, Jake guides you through the room, until, at last, you’re sat on the armrest of one of the leather recliners, watching with distant interest as the announcers recount the last play in the game before halftime.

“So, you gonna introduce us properly?”

Your eyes shift toward the couch where you spot the gray-haired tresses and stern sun-baked face of Daniel Seresin. Your companion, who had been standing off to the side of the living room speaking in quiet conversation with his eldest brother, seems to straighten up to full attention as if an admiral had just entered the room.

With a twinge of discomfort, your gaze tracks Jake as he strides over to you, a hand resting on your shoulder when he finally comes to a stop. You can feel his breath on your neck, the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

In a rigid tone bordering on inspection-line worthy, he introduces you by name and rank to his father.

A smile flits across the older man’s face as he beams up at you, rising from his lounged position on the couch to properly shake your hand. He looks the part of a typical rancher with his light-washed jeans and buttoned-down shirt tucked in with a flashy belt buckle.

“Real pleasure to meet you,” he grins. His hand is large, calloused by years of work. “I can’t tell you the last time Jake mentioned a girl catching his interest. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

You feel rather than hear the clipped mhmm that Jake gives in return. His gaze remains largely focused on the wall behind his father where an array of framed family photos resides. Never affording the man with the respect of holding his gaze.

Daniel claps your shoulder warmly and invites you to sit down with promises of their dinner being a real feast.

“She’s a saint, Gwen,” he tells you as you resume your position on the side of the armrest.

Jake, pointedly, slouches down in the actual recliner, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle as he stares – unseeing – at the TV.

“Hell, damn near blew myself up last year with the fryer. Don’t think she’ll let me in the kitchen, will ya, honey?”

He shouts the last part, to be heard over the crowd. Followed by a ringing you bet your ass I won’t coming from the vicinity of the stove.

You watch as Josh shakes his head in amusement, cradling a wriggly toddler in his arms. But your attention ultimately falls to the man seated to the side of you. Lost in his thoughts, trapped in his own head.

Reaching down with a tentative hand, you squeeze his fingers with your own.

It takes a minute, but then those welcomed meadow-green eyes meet your gaze and you can almost see the momentary relief that crosses his face as he squeezes your hand in return.

Dinner at the Seresin house is a decidedly casual affair in comparison to the meal you had shared with Patricia the day before. Gwen dishes out the seasonal fixings onto Christmas-themed heavy-duty disposable plates. Accompanied by wrapped bundles of plastic cutlery in Santa Claus paper napkins.

Balancing your plate on your lap is a true feat of talent as you’re the main entry and exit point to the kitchen, still settled on the armrest beside Jake.

The nieces and nephews, all eight of them, are situated on the floor on a big fleece blanket that quickly becomes an absorbent towel for their stray food bits more than anything else. Your hostess has the foresight to turn the game down to a more reasonable level, though the noise in the living room is still on par with a jet engine firing.

You find yourself shouting to be heard whenever anyone graces you with a question, which isn’t many... at first.

“ - anyway, after he pulled them over,” Jess continues her story about her husband, Nick: the Statetrooper. “He told them that he – god damnit! MacKenna Jaymes, are you or are you not watching your sister?”

Your attention, involuntary, falls to the oldest grandchild who has a mouth full of food as she stares helplessly at her younger sister who’s let her plate slip and spill all over the blanket.

“Fucking Christ,” Jake scoffs in heated breath, too quiet for anyone besides you to hear. His anger isn’t directed at his niece, of course, but at his sister.

Shoving his plate onto the other armrest, he peels himself up from the chair and crouches down to the oblivious toddler who has orange cheese sauce all around her lips – which he wipes clean with a napkin.

Jess, for her part, rolls her eyes and continues on with a biting tone about children needing to take care of their own messes. But Jake merely scoops up the girl’s food and settles the plate back down on the floor in front of her with a gentle ruffle of her sweet blonde locks.

You hold his plate for him when he returns to the chair, running a hand through his own hair.

“Thanks, honey,” he says in a cadence so natural it almost makes you drop his plate.

When he’s settled, you chance a look at him before you find your gaze trailing over to the far too smug brother seated on the chair adjacent to yours.

“See? This is the shit I was talking about last night,” he waggles a finger between the two of you as an example.

“Dad, do you remember when he brought over that girl? God, Jackie, what was her fuckin’ name?” Josh perks up, sitting on the edge of the cushion as he grabs his father’s attention, and, inadvertently, Jake’s as well.

“Oh, gosh,” Daniel starts, slapping his knee in thought as he stares up at the ceiling for the answer.

After a beat, you hear the soft utterance of, “Sarah.”

You glance down at Jake who keeps his head bowed under the weight of old memories.

Josh snaps his fingers, “That’s it! Fucking head cheerleader wrapped around his damn finger and did he even spare the girl a glance? I swear to God, he - ”

“Christ, can you knock it off with the swearing already?” Jess snaps.

The mischievous brother merely grins at you in a way that seems to say you see what I’m dealing with here?

“Must be all that growing up that’s got you so enamored.”

Settling your hand on Jake’s left shoulder, you give him a reasurring squeeze. You’d already dealt with his brother’s annoying antics and personality last night, what was a few more hours of unending torture under a familial microscope?

He lets out a long ragged breath, but you can feel his shoulders loosen marginally.

You almost miss the biting sound of the Seresin sister when she mutters, “Doubt it.”

But Jake doesn’t.

And he latches on to it like an enemy target on his radar system.

“Something you wanna say?”

The room falls to a stifling silence like the distant whistle of a falling shell about to make impact. You fear for the fallout from the impending crater.

She has the audacity to look aghast, a hand held to her heart in surprise as she manages to finish off her potato salad in one quick bite.

“Jacob. If you can’t say something nice, you don’t say anything at all.”

“And yet you always manage,” comes his lightning-quick response.

“Well,” she drawls. “On a holy day like Christmas, I think you can find a way to keep your opinions sealed up.”

The other occupants watch the sparring of words like a tennis volley. But someone seems to have had enough.

“Oh, bless your heart dear!” Gwen says, standing quickly from her position on the couch beside her husband as she makes her way over to you. “You’re all out of casserole. Come on, now. Let’s get you fixed back up.”

Your chest tightens as you’re literally pulled to your feet by the determined woman, who quickly leads you into the depths of the kitchen. The words from the two siblings are still just as biting, but slowly the trickle of grandchildren also make their way into the kitchen.

Just another Christmas get-together for them as the grown-ups row.

As Gwen tops your plate to the point of sagging with more food, you watch MacKenna as she settles her younger sister on her hip while holding a hand on top of the toddler’s head.

“You’ve got your hands full,” you manage to say, hoping the smile you offer her isn’t tight with worry as the noise in the living room continues to grow.

The girl shrugs, as much as she can with a one-year-old in her arms. She tracks her siblings as they settle onto the hightop stools and begin to rummage through the lower cabinets.

Josh has his hands out as he tries to delegate between the bickering siblings, but Justin and Marissa just have the peace of mind to leave the scene altogether – also journeying over to the sanctuary of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” the eldest brother says to you, leaning on the counter as he carefully pushes his twin sons away from the bowl of Chex mix. “They always get into it when they’re together. Has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh,” is all you can say in return.

“Here, hun,” his wife says to the nine-year-old struggling to hold onto her baby sister any longer. “Give your arms a break.”

With a handful of chips in his mouth, Justin points at his wife, “We’re not having another one.”

She nods congenially, patting the baby’s back with her hand, “I know that.”

Jess is on her feet now, pointing a dangerous finger at Jake, but you feel rooted to the spot because this was never a discussed topic of possible scenarios between the two of you back at the hotel.

“Abandoning your fucking family because you have goddamn daddy issues. Get the fuck over yourself, Jacob!”

For all the hostility his sister throws his way, your companion remains level and coolheaded as always.

He stares up at her with a perfectly blank face, “Can’t go one damn holiday without throwing a tantrum can you?”

Gwen coughs, pulling your attention away for just a moment as she all but shoves a platter of cookies in your face.

“Want one? Got more than the two of us can eat here. I made peanut butter, peppermint, pecan – ”

“ - and you think you can just show up here like it’s all water under the bridge and everything’s fine and dandy just because you have a girl on your arm? That doesn’t make up for the last decade of your shit.”

You take a step toward the living room, where even Josh has shrunken down onto the couch with his head between his hands. Daniel remains completely stock still as he watches the seemingly one-sided fight drag on.

“Just ‘cause you found the first broad to give you the time of day, doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here and – ”

Before you can even register the words, Jake is on his feet.

Staring down at his sister with a heaving chest and balled fists.

You break away from the cluster of family members as you make your way to his side. Tentatively, you reach for his hand – easing his fingers away until you can entwine your hands together. His nostrils flare as words that have been building up since childhood begin to battle their way up to his lips, but it all comes to a halt when you murmur a gentle:

“Baby?”

With a slow turn of his head, he looks down at you – fight dissipating from his eyes as you squeeze his hand. Giving a gentle tug, Jake follows you over to the sliding doors of the back deck.

Behind you, you can hear Josh give an admonishing, “Never known when to close your massive fucking trap, do you?”

But you push aside the door and lead your wingman into the fresh afternoon air before you can hear her likely cutting response.

Having no real idea of the lay of the land, you pull him down the back steps and find yourself traversing a small pebble path around the back of the house. Jake, still in a state of silence, allows you to guide him forward without so much as a peep.

Near the back wooden cattle fence dividing the backyard from the actual farm property, you stop under the shade of a large tree. The billowing branches bring not only cool shade but a sense of privacy away from the prying eyes of the bickering family inside.

Releasing your grip on his hand, Jack takes a few unsteady steps forward before he drops down onto a faded old wooden porch swing. It creaks under his weight but seems sturdy enough as he eases his heels into the ground and pushes back and forth.

You stand there, staring out at the vast fields for a long long moment before you hear your name whispered into the breeze.

Turning back to your wingman, you take a seat beside him, your knees brushing as he continues to make the old swing sway.

Out here, if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine you’re in the cockpit on a smooth return flight. The only noise comes from the gentle breeze drooping over the tall grass that bends like ripples in the water.

But your attention ultimately falls to your friend. With his knuckles gripped white on his knees, his head bowed down with his shoulders hunched high to protect him.

This version of Hangman would never be seen by your squadron, nor would it ever be mentioned.

With a steadying breath, your voice cracking as you force out the words, you say, “I have a soft spot for disco music.”

It takes a second for the words to register, but Jake slowly lifts his head and stares at you with pure confusion.

“What?”

“Disco. It’s my... thing? And I’m swearing you to fucking secrecy, Bagman. But... I belt out ABBA songs when I’m alone. Donna Summers too.”

The making of a grin begins to form on the corner of his lips.

“I’ve got it bad for the Bee Gees.”

His brow raises ever so slightly.

“Do those private serenades also include a dance number?”

With a bark of laughter, you tuck your hands between your knees as he rocks you further back on the wide swing.

“Oh, absolutely.”

When you look up, you find his eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. But not in a harsh way. More like you were a puzzle he was just only now figuring out the missing pieces of.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Giving a shrug, you say, “Because I wanted to. Also, no one will ever believe you.”

There’s a beat of silence before his lips tug up into a radiant smile that has him shaking his head.

“God damnit, you’re right.”

You let your left shoulder bump into his right as his laughter slowly ebbs away to silence once again.

He spares the house a furrowed expression before he lets out a slow exhale of breath.

“This thing,” he starts, twisting his watch back and forth on his wrist. “Between me and Jess, it goes back years.”

“You don’t have to explain it,” you assure him with a soft utterance.

But he presses forward despite it.

“Josh and Justin were already out by the time things got bad. Just me and her in the house. Not that she paid much mind. She was ‘bout to graduate and I was just some snot-nosed ten-year-old.”

He eases into the swing, dipping his head back over the headrest to stare up at the swaying green leaves above the two of you. You find yourself turning to face him, pulling your left knee up onto the seat.

“Mom started drinking ‘round then after she found out he was fucking his bowling buddy. Had been, for the last two years or so. But Jess didn’t know that shit, just saw Mom passed out on the couch with an empty bottle on the floor.”

Jake shakes his head, pushing away the memory.

“They never said it to my face, but I know. I was the save the marriage baby.”

“Jake...”

Offering you a tight grimace, he continues.

“Spoiled as hell, got whatever I wanted and then some. Private school, the works. Brothers didn’t care much, but Jess...” he trails off.

Your hand settles onto his forearm, offering a squeeze of comfort when your own words fail you. He dips his chin in return, welcoming the touch of familiarity.

“That’s what I meant by it the other day. They sided with him and I went along with her because I found out what was really happening. Don’t get me wrong, Gwen’s a good lady and the two of them are better off divorced. But... put a wedge between me and the three of them.”

Clearing your throat, you ask, “Is that why you left to join up?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Couldn’t fucking stand to be around either of them by the time I graduated. Just wanted to start over, do something for myself on my own terms.”

And then he scrubs his palm over his face, wincing as he does so.

“Christ, I don’t know why I’m fucking telling you any of this.”

“I said you didn’t have to, you know,” you nudge him with a teasing tone.

With a look of pure exasperation, he holds his hands out like a confession, “Got me bleeding my heart out here like I’m Freeze or something, Pits.”

“Eh,” you sigh, twisting your body to pull up both of your legs onto the bench – only to deposit them both right across Jake’s lap with little fanfare. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it.”

Something funny flits over his features for a moment before he places his hand over your calf and resumes his gentle rocking of the swing.

Eventually, you both manage to peel yourselves off the swing and wander back into the house. Jake says something about being completely okay with ditching the whole thing and heading back to the rental car. But you have to remind him that your shoes are still currently lost in the massive pile in the front entryway.

He then tries to convince you to leave them, going so far as to say he’ll buy you a new pair before your flight.

But, reluctant as he is, you walk hand-in-hand back into the house. You get lost in the excitement of the kids who want to open up all their presents right this very second and it seems like, for the moment at least, the fight has been put on hold to allow the true joy of Christmas to take place.

Though Jake and his sister remain on opposite sides of the room for the entire duration of the madness that is eight kids scrambling to unwrap their numerous presents the fastest.

While Justin plays the role of gift hander-outer, Jess lounges on a barstool in the kitchen, watching the mess play out with a stink eye. Jake, for all his hold-ups on the day, also drops to his knees to help the younger nieces unwrap their gifts.

Which leaves you, surprisingly, with a small bundle of drooling baby in your arms since her own mother would rather watch from afar than interact with her own children.

June is happy to suck on the left foot of her new stuffed buddy, lounging out in your lap as you rock the recliner back and forth. Jake shoots you several amused glances before he gets tugged into the decidedly un-fun realm of opening up all the plastic-wrapped toys for the kids.

The living room floor is heaped with wrapping paper and ribbons, loose twist ties, and chunks of cardboard and plastic molds by the time he returns to your side. This time, he’s the one resting on the armrest as he gently taps the snoozing baby’s foot with his fingers.

“Out like a light.”

“No better way to celebrate the day,” you agree.

The sleeping babe must be used to the chaos that is the Seresin family, as her siblings and cousins run amok with their new toys that beep and jingle. Tiny feet thundering against the hardwood floors as they zoom up and down the long hallway separating the living area from the rest of the house.

“Now that’s a picture if I’ve ever seen one.”

You lift your gaze to Gwen as she rounds the corner, a wine glass in hand as she settles in next to Daniel on the couch across from the three of you.

“Think you two will ever settle down stateside?” he asks with a true glimmer of hope in his graveled voice.

Jake winces, hand falling to your inner thigh for support.

“I, uhm, I could never ask Jake to put his career on hold for that,” you find yourself saying.

“Same for you,” he adds a second later.

Gwen, for her part, gives an understanding nod – settling a hand on her husband’s arm to stifle the topic down.

“How long have you two been flying together?”

Your wingman seeks out your gaze as the two of you mentally run through the tangle of memories.

“Three, almost four years now?”

“Mhmm.”

“And what set this all off, if you don’t mind me prying?”

Jake clears his throat, and you have to turn your head to hide the beginnings of laughter that bubble up to the surface. He shifts his weight, draping his right arm over the back of the chair, a finger playfully tugs at the fabric of your shirt.

“It was after a mission debrief. Fourteen hours, dead on our feet,” the story, completely fabricated, comes to him with a true sense of ease.

“And, I dunno. Everyone was shuffling outta the room and I just looked over and saw Pita and thought...”

At the pause, you turn your face to look up at him only to find his softened eyes seeking you out.

“Wow. I can’t have this girl out of my life.”

That piercing expression nearly takes your breath away and you want to applaud Jake for his terrific acting on the fly.

Pulling your gaze back to the seated couple, you add, in jest, “I’m sure my greasy hair and flight suit was what did it for him.”

“Hundred percent!” he grins, tugging a strand of your hair.

At some point, the others filter back into the room and Marissa kindly takes the snoozing June from you. You have to shake out your arms just to return the blood circulation. Who knew kids that little could be that heavy?

And while you get lost in the rushed conversation of two seven-year-olds trying to tell you all about the mechanical workings of their new RC cars, Daniel pushes up from the couch and weaves his way over to Jake, before saying something in his ear. You can feel the way he goes rigid as he slips his arm away from you and slowly stands and follows after his father.

You watch as the two men disappear down the hall, toward one of the bedrooms or office from the looks of it. A cold dredge of worry washes over you, cooling your insides and twisting your stomach into another uncomfortable slosh of concern. He had just started smiling again.

“He’s really got you bad, doesn’t he?”

Pulling your gaze away from the empty hall, you find the piercing eyes of Josh inspecting your face as he leans across his chair to speak to you.

“You. You’re worried about him.”

“Comes with the job,” you say.

A smirk tugs his lips into a twisted look as he too glances down the hallway.

“He’ll be fine. Little testy with whatever Dad’s about to try pulling. Won’t be too surprised if that’s the end of our little visit.”

Your brows pinch, “That bad?”

He chuckles, easing back into his recliner, “Always.”

You try to focus on the happy children occupied with their new toys and the soft lull of the TV sportscaster, but you find your primary focus pulled toward the long empty hallway.

He had told you all about the history between him and his old man, both in the backyard confessional an hour prior and the day you arrived in Austin. Yet now your mind was conjuring up worse and worse scenarios of what was happening in a closed-door room several feet away.

Another few minutes pass where you try your best to ignore what could be transpiring a few yards away, but the sound of a door opening followed by a pleading voice saying:

“Jacob, come on now. Jake. Jake.”

You crane your head just in time to see your companion striding down the hallway, directly toward you – pushing both Justin and Gwen gently out of his way. You’re on your feet by the time he reaches you and before you can even ask are you okay, he’s grabbing hold of your arm.

“Think we’re done here, sweetheart.”

Trying to get a read from his expression alone is useless, so you merely nod in return.

“Okay.”

As Jake directs you toward the entryway once again, with a trail of family members walking a few steps behind you both in silent anticipation, Daniel Seresin finally makes a reappearance.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he just shakes his head in return to his wife’s questioning look.

Hangman can’t seem to move fast enough, even as the nieces creep past you to get to him.

“Are you leaving now, Uncle Jake?”

“When am I gonna see you again?”

He’s halfway between tying his left boot when he looks up at the little faces curled with worry and childhood innocence. Frozen, unable to find the right words to explain his hasty escape as he peers up and over their heads at his father standing silently at the end of the hall.

“Oh, that’s my fault, I’m afraid,” you say, leaning down to grab your own boots as three braided-blonde heads turn to look up at you.

“We need to hurry to the airport to catch our flight, don’t we, honey?”

A flash of gratitude in his eyes and a slow exhale has Jake nodding, quick to play along to your tune.

“That’s right, sweetheart. We have to go see Pita’s family now. Wouldn’t be fair to keep her away on Christmas, yeah?”

Shelby clings to his leg, her face squished into his thigh as she murmurs, “But I’ll miss you.”

Jake shoots you a clear help me look, but your rescue comes in the shape of Josh Seresin who swoops in and collects the five-year-old up into his arms.

“I’m sure you’ll hear from Uncle Jackie soon. Won’t you?”

Your companion gives a fast nod, “That’s right, kiddo. Soon as we’re back on the carrier, I’m gonna call you right up.”

The little girl peers over her uncle’s shoulder and you meet her soft gaze.

“And Pita too?”

Jake almost laughs, but he curves it into a smile instead.

“Yeah, her too, honey.”

Oh, your breakup in a few weeks was gonna be fun to talk through with a kindergartner.

Pushing that thought from your head, you righten your boot into place and fall back into Jake’s easy embrace, his hand finding a too-familiar spot on your waist.

The drive back to the city is shared in silence with only the familiar Christmas tunes from the radio there to fill the void between you both. And even then, the holiday spirit has already seeped out of the vehicle and into the vast countryside. No amount of classic jingles could fix that at this point.

When you arrive back at the hotel, it’s as though you’re waiting for the missile to hit. That weapon of course being Jake himself.

But the man in question is as silent as ever as he drops down onto the edge of his bed. Too tired to even remove his boots as you carefully tread around him to take care of your own shoes.

His silence makes you even more cautious in your moves, tiptoeing across the carpet to your bag and back again. Afraid to make any noise that could set him off. Oh, you could handle the fallout, of course. You’re just not sure if he could at this point.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed in your sleepwear, Jake is lying flat on his back with his legs hanging over the edge. His eyes open and staring, almost unseeing, at the popcorn ceiling.

After spending a moment to assess your situation, you unceremoniously flop down on the bed beside him, a hand plopping down on his right knee.

And there you sit, in the stillness of the hotel room for a series of long-passing minutes. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, curling your fingers tighter and then looser on his jean-clad knee. Until, at last, he speaks.

“Should have never did this to you.”

You wait until his eyes land on you before you respond.

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.”

It takes a second, but he eases up onto his elbows.

“I’m serious. Yesterday with my mom was one thing. But this shit? Today? God,” he drags a hand down his face in annoyance.

Releasing a breath, you lay down beside him on the bed. He stares down at you for a long moment before he falls back down next to you.

“I told you, I don’t care. I agreed to this entire insane endeavor and I told you I was gonna see it through no matter what. So, lose the bullshit grief, and don’t worry about me.”

Tugging on the loose fabric of his seafoam-colored button-down, you give him the space to respond or not. Hell, you were gonna be the last person to try and press the man for anything right now.

“I just...” he exhales, resting a hand on his chest. “I dragged you across the country, away from your own damn family, just to do this.”

Rising up slightly so you can stare down at him, you retort, “Which I agreed to. If I didn’t want to do this for you, do you honestly think you could force me to do any of this? Honestly?”

Jake glances back at the ceiling before a smile graces his lips.

“Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you reply, dropping back down.

“Well... at least it’s over.”

You hum in response.

Come morning, you would take the rental car back to the airport and board separate flights. You up to Michigan and Jake back to California. You would enjoy a family-filled holiday and he would be...

Your stomach turns at the thought.

Alone.

After everything that had transpired over the past forty-eight hours, after all that he was dragged through. Jake would be alone come Christmas day. Alone with his own damn thoughts and whatever reemerged trauma that came with this particular visit produced.

Maybe that’s why, after several more minutes have passed you both by, that you turn toward him and say:

“Do you... I don’t – well, that is to say, uhm...”

You can feel the look he gives you but you have to crane your neck back to properly look him in the eyes. There’s something there in the meadow green of his irises that emboldens you – allowing the words to come easily.

“Jake, would you like to come home with me for Christmas?”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

#jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #top gun fan fic #series: home for the holidays #my fic

[silentium-symphony]

Now Watch Me Whip III (Link x Reader)

(a/n) ya'll have no idea how many drafts i had to burn through to get here dear god--

it's finally done! it felt kinda all over the place, but it was made w lots of love & effort ♡ if you're curious, the dance is loosely based on Azura's Nohrian dance from Fire Emblem Fates! Please start at 0:51.

i hope you enjoy! :)

Part I \\ Part II

cw: afab!reader, link rediscovering joy :D, he also lowkey horny as HELL, him just getting flustered lol, violence (somewhat explicit), dancing in the forest, gentle kisses

wc: 4.3k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"And... There!" You firmly pinched the metal clasps together, fastening the end of a small rod to the end of a dark green strip of silk. You twirled it in the air and watched the gleam of the setting sun glow through the ribbon and bounce off the golden handle. It was perfect!

The door cracked open and the familiar scent of a hearty homecooked meal wafted to your nose. With a snap of your wrist, the ribbon chased the rod hurriedly tucked under your pillow. Seafoam eyes popped in and crinkled at you happily.

"Link!" You waved the man over and patted the edge of your bed. He gave a curt nod and the rest of his body spilled in, hands occupied with a tray of two steamy bowls of stew. In a few short steps, his body had sunk into the edge of your bed and he handed you the tray.

"How're you feeling?" He muttered, wariness directed at your bandaged shoulder.

"So much better! And I have you to thank for that." You smiled in between spoonfuls, lightly "mm-ing" at the mildly seasoned creme stew. Its delicate flavors reminisced of simpler times, of bygone eras of innocence.

"It's nothing, really." He returned your appreciative look with an abashed one, feeling a heat rise to his cheeks. "Have you been moving it?"

"I'm trying, but it's been... hard." A swell of panic arose in your chest at his crestfallen features. "But! I've made some good progress! Look."

You carefully maneuvered your hot bowl onto your bedside table, mindful to keep its scalding contents within the clay's confines, and slowly outstretched your bad hand towards the sky. Unused ligaments pulled and contracted and protested the simple action, but you kept at it and lowered it back down into your lap with care. Bliss and relief wrought the man's expressions.

"That's amazing! You're recovering so well."

"Yeah! And it's all thanks to you. You've taken such good care of me these past several days..." You motioned to your dinner and the dozens of empty potion bottles lined up neatly on a nearby table. "You've saved my life, Link. Thank you--from the bottom of my heart, thank you."

The Hero gulped, feeling that familiar warmth kiss his cheeks and flutter his stomach. Knighthood was often a thankless job and Link had fully accepted that his heroic deeds would be overcast by the normality of idyllicity most Hylians took for granted--one that he had worked so hard to protect. Seeing you look at him with nothing but pure gratefulness in your eyes... Truthfully, it was something he could get used to.

"You're welcome."

Your heart punched a quickening tempo in your chest, happy that he had finally accepted your thanks instead of brushing it off like what he was doing for you wasn't the most considerate, sweetest thing in the world.

"Are you this chivalrous to everyone?" You laughed, half-jokingly. "Surely I'm not the only injured traveler you've come across. Do you also draft potions, cook their meals, and grant them free lodging at your expense?"

You hadn't realized your little quip would get the battle-hardened warrior flabbergasted, but here you were. Link's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as his ears adopted a pretty crimson.

"T-Truthfully..." He stammered. "... No..."

"Oh? Then what makes me so different than your average traveler?" You mused, hoping to rile up the stoic swordsman like a little schoolboy. Sure it was a question that's been burning in the back of your mind, but frankly, you were enjoying the scene in front of you far more than gaining the satisfaction of solving your biggest mystery since day one.

"Well--... I don't... know."

That was a lie. He did know.

The thought crossed so clearly in both of your heads, but you decided to drop it before the man in front of you dropped dead from embarrassment. You laughed at his dumbfounded expression and caught his gaze with a softer look.

"I'm... really gonna miss this time we had together. So that's why..." Your good hand sneaked behind you and pinched the thin rod, yanking it out like some sort of magic trick. "Ta-daaah! I fashioned you your very own twirler!"

Oh Hylia, this man was gonna cry.

There was an undeniable twinkle in Link's usually terse look--one that screamed with childlike wonder and innocent joy.

"This... You made this for me?" He reached up, fingers ghosting along the rod's golden sheen. He handled it almost frightened—as if it were to disappear from his grasp.

"Of course! I know I can never repay you for what you've done, but I hope this can be a start." You wedged it into his fingers. "Take it! It's yours now."

The ribbon trailed after his hand as he pulled it to his chest, inspecting and handling the twirler like it was something sacred. He suddenly whipped his hand to the left; unadulterated joy flamed his pupils at the sight of the dark green trail. He snapped his arm to the right and watched the silk flit after his movements. With a mighty downward stroke, the fabric whisped past his ears and sang a gentle chortle.

His sword-swinging techniques mettled under the most ferocious battles felt... beautiful, for once.

"This is..." He said at last, eyes never leaving the ribbon. "The best gift I've ever gotten."

"R-... Really?" A strange twinge of melancholic joy pricked your heart, touched by his sentiment.

Link turned to you with a gaze overflowing with thanks.

"Thank you."

"You're..." You stammered, choking under his affectionate eyes. "You're welcome."

Both pairs of eyes drifted downward, finding respite in the way your blankets folded in on themselves, the gnarled patterns carved into the wooden floor's grain, and the shadows of trees shaking in the setting sun.

"Oh, right!" Your voice boomed with excitement. "Let me teach you the basics!"

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

As Link settled into the log, he gazed up at the dome of stars that would lull him to sleep for the night. The crackle-pop of the fire filled the empty gaps between his thoughts with a vague sense of comfort as he recounted the memory from weeks ago; if he listened past the flames, he swore he could hear that lyrical melody imparting your lips. You had since recovered from your injury and left the inn, a promise of seeing each other again carrying itself on the winds.

Hylia only knew how deeply he wanted to see you again.

To talk to you, to share meals with you, to come home to you. But a domestic life was not a lifestyle he could so easily achieve, with him being Hyrule's sword and shield against every iteration of evil. A life with you would have to remain a pipe dream, just like the promise of seeing you again.

As he rolled out his bed cot and wrapped his shield with a worn cloak, he kicked off his boats and tucked under the thin blanket, resting his head on the shield-pillow. Staying at the inn was a treat he had divulged in for too long--his neck had grown soft from its feathery pillows and downy sheets. He rolled this way and that, feeling every vertebra in his spine whine at him to find something more comfortable. In the end, he opted to count the residents that dotted the night sky with glimmers of white and yellow.

Were you warm, well-fed, and under a roof? Or were you under the cloak of wilderness, looking at the stars like him? Were you fast asleep, happy and content? Or were your thoughts consumed with him, like he were of you?

The bright glow of the stars began to dull as his conscience finally caught the elusive Sleep, dangling the quick-footed thing in victory. But before his mind faded to softer worlds, he noted how the stars could not compare to the twinkle your eyes once held for him.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

A crack in the air and a crazed whinny tore his thoughts asunder and he shot up, grabbing the hilt of sharpened iron with him. A chorus of raspy croaks assaulted his ears and sent his senses into a flurry. He scrounged for his boots and drew his shield; another snap in the air, right behind him, and he whorled around to greet that familiar noise.

"(F/N)--?!"

"Link! Are you all right?!"

He saw the beginnings of a horn prick just behind you, and a blink later he found himself in the heat of battle, repelling an attack that would have otherwise spelled your doom. Your backs pressed against each other as the horde of Lizalfos began to circle you, shrill yips and grunts seeping your senses.

"I-It's good to see you again," you panted. "Though I was hoping it would’ve been under... better circumstances."

Link hummed, effortlessly twirling the readied blade as he waited for the first sign of movement. He felt your shoulders squeeze into his, anticipation baiting your breath.

The Lizalfos to your left was the first to move. With almost telepathic synchronicity, the body of your whip dealt a welt to the fiend's scaly skin while cold steel dug into its flesh, warmed at the blood that spilled forth. The monster faltered slightly, giving Link enough room for a mighty swing at its torso.

Your eyes caught a glint of brandishing metal and you found your thick cord already reaching for it, snapping at the brutish digits with a bitter hiss. A shocked cry left the monster as it dropped the weapon, bending over just in time for the body of Link's sword to puncture through its stretched neck. A wet gurgle popped from its throat as it keeled over and stained the ground it once stood.

The remaining Lizalfos, in a frenzy of bloodlust and rage, threw coordination to the winds and pounced on you all at once. You had barely managed to dodge the swing of a Lizalfos tail before you felt something hard and metallic hit the backside of your head. You felt your knees buckle and saw the ground propel towards you at alarming speeds; you sucked in a breath and gritted your teeth as you spun around and dealt a marring blow to the offender's face (which quickly met its brutal end). A rough arm looped under your armpit and hoisted you up.

"You okay?!"

"Y-Yeah!" A streak of metal graced your periphery. "Watch out!"

You latched onto the man's shoulder and pulled him down, the chill of metal and what could have been sending shivers down your spine. Link promptly retaliated with a swing of his sword and a stab for the chest. Yet another Lizalfos crumpled to the ground, and the remaining monsters fled in a panic.

Your sweaty body pressed into Link's comparatively cooler skin, your haggard pants filling the silence. Cautious (E/C)s lilted about you before finally meeting a pair of blues (that had been resting on your heaving form the whole time, but you didn't need to know that).

"G-Good morning, by the way." You laughed out tiredly.

"Morning." He huffed.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" You were facing him fully now, eyes and fingers scanning his face for injuries.

The rush of battle meshed with the surge of heat your gentle grazes left pulsed his core with butterflies. His eyes naturally fell on your previously debilitated shoulder.

"I should be asking you that. How's your shoulder? And your head? That Lizalfos got you good earlier."

"I'll be all right. I can move my shoulder just fine too. " Your fingerpads tingled with his warmth and you worriedly pressed the back of your hand to his forehead. "You're awfully warm... You haven't caught a fever, have you?"

Link cleared his throat, his brain scouring for a new topic.

"What are you doing here? How did... How did you find me?"

"I stopped by a stable to find out where the next town would be and I was on my way there. Then I… saw a body on the ground and a couple of Lizalfos nearby. I feared the worst." You laughed, drawing your hands away and standing up. "I never thought it would be you."

Link nodded, still starstruck from seeing you dazed from his rudely awakened sleep and the sudden onset of battle. You extended a hand, which was promptly clasped and pulled.

"Well regardless, thank you. If it weren't for you... I would have feared the worst."

"No problem. It was by sheer luck we ran into each other again… Actually..." You hummed thoughtfully. "If you're up for it, would you like to head to town together? We need all the help we can get out here, and I personally think we make a great team."

Link graciously took you up on your offer and you helped him pack his things (which consisted of a bed cot and a beaten pot). As you handed him his tightly rolled mat and his bag, a familiar golden sheen caught the morning sun. Your next exhale lodged in your throat and your heart swelled.

"Is that...?"

Link followed your gaze; his heart performed theatricals against the confines of his ribcage as his brain sputtered an answer.

"Y-Yes. I keep it with me at all times--it’s like a good luck charm, of sorts."

"Didn't really do its job this morning." You chuckled, slinging your own pouch over your shoulder.

"I wouldn't say so. After all, it brought you back to me."

...

...

I want to go die in a hole now

Link mentally pounded his head against a tree as his still-groggy brain worked overtime to make up for his social ineptness. You both looked at each other, dazed and dumbfounded, and all the swordsman could muster was a steady, silent gaze into your eyes.

"That..." You finally coughed out, breaking the spell between you. "was incredibly smooth. Good job, Hero."

You looked away in time to hide the blush on your cheeks and you busied your hands with swatting the imaginary dirt from your tunic. A gentle stream of clops thankfully filled the void between you and Link; Epona had returned!

You both exclaimed a shout of surprise and glee and bounded your way over to her, you hugging and nuzzling your friend's loyal companion and Link checking her for injuries. Once it was made clear she was in tip-top shape, Link mounted first and you handed your bags to him. With some help from Link, you managed to lug yourself onto her back and sit in a mostly upright position. You snaked your arms around his torso and pressed your bodies flush against each other; the hero's grip noticeably tightened as he felt your body meld wondrously with his own. Your hot breath fanned across his neck and your chest caressed his back--

"Um... Link?"

Link clicked his tongue and you were off.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"Why do we keep meeting at the worst possible times?"

A laugh bounced off the silent man as he slowly drank a bottle of milk. He glanced at you with a hopeless look, a faint shimmer of amusement streaking his irises.

Your guess is as good as mine.

You swirled the cup in your hand and watched its watery contents lap at some cracks while your ears passively tuned into the hums of the inn's dining hall. Clinks of glass mugs meeting wood choired from the bar and a childish laugh or two left the young family holding out in the corner. Link politely patted his mouth with one of the barkeep's rags and resumed his dinner in peace.

"So how've you been? It's been a couple weeks since we saw each other."

He shrugged, motioning to the constellation of fresh wounds marring his exposed skin. They were minor enough to not be life-threatening, but concern still tensed your gut.

"Do you need some potions? I think I got a couple extras--"

A calloused hand clasped onto your wrist before it could retreat into the recesses of your pouch. He shook his head widely, his long locks whipping to and fro.

"I'm okay."

You most certainly weren't as your hands and cheeks flushed with a warmth you hadn't felt in weeks. You drew an inconspicuous breath and redirected your focus away from your hand to Link's steady gaze.

"I just worry for you, 's all."

"I know," stormy blues softened to clear skies, "but I'm okay."

A slight squeeze pressed into your wrist, skyrocketing your heart rate to unhealthy levels. Gods, it was almost shameful how such a simple, platonic act could spur you so. With great effort, you managed to still your inner fangirl and flashed him a charming smile.

"Whatever you say, Hero. But if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

He nodded. "You too."

You worked on the plate in front of you (which had regrettably gone cold) and a comfortable silence filled the space between you two. You were once again enveloped in the hearty, homey atmosphere of the inn as patrons percolated in and out of the dining hall, having had their fill or venturing to lift their spirits (in more ways than one).

"Have you been practicing the routines I showed you?"

When you turned to him, your countenance joking and side glance light-hearted, you were not expecting to see a dutiful glint and a firm nod.

"Wait what."

"I wanted to be ready for the off-chance we saw each other again, so I've been practicing in my free time."

He said it so matter-of-factly (he was—in fact—panicking), your heart couldn't take it. The energy to scream and flail your arms about you hysterically took hold of you, and you funneled all of that chaos into a toothy grin.

"That's really great! I'm glad you're enjoying it."

His face flushed a deep ruby and his eyes swam this way and that, his brain fishing for an answer.

"I-It's not good by any means, but... I think I'm getting the hang of it."

"I'm sure you're doing just fine." You patted him on his shoulder. "You're a pretty fast learner!"

Well, he had to be given his... unique position. You couldn't fight the uncomfortable squeeze in your chest when you thought about how he quickly he had to forego life's simple pleasures to keep the world safe.

"Can you..." Link's barely-there voice was just loud enough to pull you out of your reflection. "... help me with some parts?"

His pretty eyes glowed something soft, something pleading. Behind his puppy-dog eyes, there was an unmistakable flash of excitement pooling underneath the surface.

"I'd be happy to!"

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

After paying for dinner, you agreed to meet each other at the entrance of the inn and went to drop your stuff off in your room, noting to grab your twirler before you headed out. Heart soaring and feet light, you skipped down the hall and over to your waiting companion (who looked quite heavenly in the moonlight).

"Hey! You got everything you need?"

His shoulders barely rose at your voice and he turned to you carefully, features blank but eyes sparked with enthusiasm. He nodded and held out his hand to you, his pink cheeks mixing with the pale blue moonbeam.

"If it's all right with you, I would like to practice somewhere more... private."

"Of course! I know these routines need a lot of space to be done well." You slipped your fingers into his outstretched ones, heart fluttering at the near-imperceptible squeeze. "Heck, I taught you in a wide, open clearing."

Link hummed a confirmation, turned on his heels, and marched onward. You, a mere traveler, weren't used to his solder-like gait and trailed helplessly behind him as he dragged you a little ways past the inn. However, Link wasn't blind or cruel--he slowed his pace so he comfortably fell at your side; it was a small, wordless gesture, but something about matching a steady, even pace with him tugged your chest with the most pleasant feeling.

A tall statue hung in the middle of the square, lanterns stringing from its highest point to the stores and houses that circled it. The whole vicinity was abuzzed with quaint leisure as the giggles of children faux-sleeping under their sheets coddled the air while passing couples clasped their hands in tender closeness--not unlike you and a certain blonde.

"This town sure is beautiful... What do you think, Link?"

"Indeed, it's all very..." He paused, eyes shifting slowly to his distracted companion. "Beautiful."

You dipped back into darkness, the sights and sounds of the gently lit square coalescing into a symphony of the night. The shrill chirps of crickets rounded the body of the choir while the baritone 'hoo-hoots' of owls balanced the insect's biting trill. It wasn't long until you found a nice, secluded pocket of forest away from the prying eyes of an uninvited audience.

"All right, anything specific you need help with?"

You both ran through parts of the routine he struggled with, with you going first, him copying your movements, and you correcting what needed to be fixed.

"Relax your shoulders, you're so tense!"

He just about melted under your soft ministrations, enjoying how amazing it felt for your fingers to lightly pat and rub into his shoulders. His tight sores mixed indistinctly with his toned arms and muscly shoulders; you pressed into a particularly sore spot just between his shoulder blades and he had to bite back a pleased groan.

"Relaxing your shoulders helps you loosen your arms, which will help you look more like you're dancing and less like you're fighting a Moblin." The way your hands curled about his biceps paralleled how you had him wrapped around your little finger.

"Oh, and twist your hips like this--if you snap your hips too fast, you might lose count of the song." A soft pair of hands rested on his hips, rocking him in a gentler sway. "Do you feel the difference? It doesn't feel so tight anymore, right?"

His pants disagree Link swallowed thickly, trying so hard to focus on your words and not the fire your fingers flamed across his skin--or the way you beheld him with such tenderness in gaze and touch, or the sugary, flowery scent emanating from the crook of your neck oh Hylia help him

"--and just like that! Ready to go again?"

Wait what.

Oh, he was screwed.

He didn't process any of that.

"... Can you show me one more time please?"

"Oh, sure!" You spun around and he mentally slapped himself at how quickly his eyes went to your hips.

"Why don't you take a break and watch me?"

With PLEASURE The blanket of moss on the stump beckoned him to sit.

"I'm gonna run through the whole routine and emphasize the parts you struggled on, okay?"

Link's chin dipped and you took a deep breath, shifting your focus to your expanding diaphragm. The words you had known so well belted out of you, and for a moment the forest seemed to have silenced themselves to hear your honeyed voice. The very air about you changed into something mystic as your hands snapped in front of you. The silken strip arced below your waist, before snapping up into a tight vortex above your head. A foot darted out and your hips shook to the imaginary beat, your body rolling as you bore a heavy, hooded gaze into the hero's soul.

His blown-out pupils followed your every movement, spellbound as your alluring eyes pulled him further and further into the depths. His mind blanked, his feet finding a mind of its own as he barely processed your quickly approaching figure. Your head bolted to look behind you; a loud gasp slipped your lips at the man's sudden proximity and a pair of arms circling your lower back.

"L-Link...?"

His face was mere inches away from yours, your doe-like eyes curiously peering at him through trembling lashes. His arms tightened, pulling you close enough to pick up traces of his earthy scent. The heat emanating from his body made you squeak and your eyes flew shut, heart racing and breath slowing.

The bright light of realization dispelled the desire that darkened his irises and alarm bells of every sort rang through his head in a demonic chorus.

"(F/N), I'm..."

Sorry.

Except it never left his lips.

As it became enveloped by the taste of you.

The clatter of twirlers hitting the ground was lost to you as you cloaked your arms about his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Your waist was beckoned by a gentle tug until your bodies were flushed together; a soft sigh fanned across your cheeks as Link's muscled frame nestled perfectly into your softer one.

A hand found residence in your hair and softly combed through it, jogging memories of him soothing you on your deathbed. Knees quivering, you leaned into him as happy tears dared to leak from your eyes. He moved his lips away from yours to kiss away the hot tears before landing a soft kiss on your temple. The middle of your foreheads pressed into each other as weathered hands cupped your cheeks, thumbing away the faint trail of tears.

"...sof..." He breathed.

"Hm...?"

"You're soft..." He muttered a little louder this time, the deep rumble in his chest tickling you slightly. He captured your lips in another faint peck and hummed.

"And warm..."

Another.

"And sweet..."

And another.

"Your lips are so addicting." He concluded, pressing one final kiss onto your forehead. You giggled at the buzzy tingling on your lips and he dipped into the crook of your neck.

"Come with me," he muttered into the flushed skin, "let's travel Hyrule together."

"Of course I'm coming with you." You carded your fingers through his hair, laughing at how he slinked into you. "We make a pretty great team, after all."

#totk link #totk fanfic #link #link x you #link x reader #legend of zelda #loz #link legend of zelda #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda fanfiction #legend of zelda fandom #loz link x reader

[dragonskxn]

@xdauntlessx

She had never traveled further than the countryside village before, but Annalise had accepted Norrington's invitation to tour his ship, which meant traveling to the coast, to a more lively port town.

Annalise felt more out of place here than she did in the village — not because of any suspicion from the townsfolk, but more of the fact that people were staring as this petite woman was attempting to maneuver a massive draft horse through the bustling crowds and towards the docks.

She had dressed nicely for the occasion, wearing a soft seafoam green dress embroidered with pale pink flowers along the bust and hem. Not extravagant by any means, but it was, at the very least, one of the nicest articles of clothing she owned.

Annalise tugged her bonnet's strings tightly with a free hand, squeezing Stroganoff's sides with her legs to ease him closer to the docks where ships were anchored. Which boat was it again...? Dauntless, she remembered.

#xdauntlessx #YIPPIE NEW THREAD #dragonskin || main verse.

[megarywrites]

Finished chapter 2 earlier! So far, haven’t made too many significant changes beyond rewording passages that needed it, but I think the next chapter will be when I start making some big(ish) changes

#wip: seafoam #book: tss #sf 2nd draft #i can’t remember if i have a tag for the 2nd draft yet but i’m gonna make one #the biggest change so far is reestablishing or redefinining her relationship with Zeno #instead of being her best friend he’s now her best friend’s older brother which establishes not only their inherent closeness #but also a necessary distance if that makes sense alsdfjas #the change i’m referring to for ch3 is Sosta’s introduction and the way he is perceived (beore shit hits the fan at least) #something else I want to accomplish with part 1 is reinforcing the reality that Thala is in fact a lesbian #i don’t think i failed in the first draft however I want to make sure that it’s like very clear lol #anyways feeling good about it so far and i’m looking forward to making some real progress here soon

[princessasmosprincess]

Mermaid Splash Bonus Chapter

Lucifer and the Old Wizard

Summary: Obey Me! Fairy tale au. A retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid.

Pairing: Asmodeus x GN MC

Warnings: Death mentioned, mild blood in other chapters.

***

Author's note: This isn't exactly a deleted scene since Mermaid Splash exclusively follows Asmo, but it was a concept I thought would be interesting to explore while I was writing the story. Lucifer giving up his life in exchange for his brother's is so him. He already has such a great dynamic with Solomon but they're usually evenly matched or Lucifer has the upper hand, being a powerful demon; I've tipped the scales in favor of Solomon this time to see what would happen. This been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and what better time to release it than Mermay? In the continuity of Mermaid Splash this scene would have taken place during chapter 5, about a day before the engagement ball at your castle.

As for what Solomon did to get banished from the kingdom... I have no idea. You're welcome to make your own theories in the comments or tags ;)

***

Lucifer knew exactly where the Old Wizard Solomon’s cave was. When the others went to bed, exhausted from weeks of sleepless nights searching all over the kingdom for Asmodeus, Lucifer swam to the gates and snuck past the guards. He would ask for forgiveness from Crown Prince Diavolo later, if he was caught.

“Prince Lucifer, what a pleasant surprise.” said the Old Wizard as Lucifer surfaced in his cave.

“Where is my brother?” he demanded.

“Oh come now, that's hardly a greeting. And besides, you have so very many brothers, which one are you referring to?”

“Asmodeus. Where is Asmodeus?” Lucifer gritted his teeth. “The last time I spoke to him, we were talking about you–”

“Oh, I come up in your family discussions, I am too flattered.” The Wizard came to where the edge of the stone floor met the water, bending down to be closer to Lucifer’s level although he still spoke down to him. “Asmodeus is on land, making use of the legs I gave him, likely courting that human of his.”

“What?” Lucifer blanched.

Leaving the kingdom's walls was already grounds for punishment, at least it had been during the Sea King’s rule. Forsaking the sea altogether... That was unprecedented. It could mean exile or worse. If only Lucifer or any of his brothers had noticed Asmo drifting away sooner.

“Yes he was quite insistent that he wanted to become human. So much that he was willing to give up his beautiful voice.” The Wizard sat down with his legs crossed. “Now isn’t that dedication?”

“What were the terms?”

“Hmm?” the Wizard feigned ignorance with a small smile and speaking infuriatingly slow. “Oh, the terms? They were simple, really. He has thirty days to win the heart of his human and he can keep his legs and become one himself.”

Every deal with the Old Wizard came with a catch. Asmo was foolish to make a pact with him. “And if he fails?”

The Wizard leaned back on his hands. “If, at the end of the thirty days he is unable to obtain the human’s heart, he will dissolve into seafoam and die.” He’d said it so casually, as if discussing the tides.

“No!” Lucifer gripped the edge of the stone for stability. “Without his voice it will be impossible. How can he–”

“Well it's a good thing the object of his affection seems to be the one human who can’t fall for his voice.” said the Old Wizard.

So Asmo hadn't been speaking in hypotheticals then, he really had found someone immune to the song of merpeople.

“Do you think so little of your brother? A pretty thing like him should have no trouble seducing a human.”

“He is young!” Lucifer’s ruby red eyes glowed in anger in the dim light of the candles, seawater sloshing over the stone floor. “He is impulsive. He couldn't have known what he was getting into!”

Wizard Solomon was unbothered by Lucifer’s outburst. “Young he may be but he is grown for a merperson and for a human, which is what he is now, and may remain if he accomplishes his task. I wouldn't have made the pact with him had I not believed he was equal to it. I am not evil as most merpeople would lead you to believe.” he sniffed.

“Then why have you been banished from the kingdom?” The incident had happened before Lucifer’s time and it was seldom spoken of, so even he didn’t know the details.

“That is a personal matter.”

Cryptic as Lucifer had expected, he wouldn't get an answer. But that didn’t matter now. Lucifer needed his brother back.

He looked up at the Wizard, “Can the spell be reversed? Can he come back to the sea?”

The Old Wizard thought for a long moment, so long that a few candles sputtered out in the dampness of the room. Lucifer stared at him, tense, but patiently. It would do him no good to anger the Wizard.

“It is possible. I can make our pact void, yes.” He said, “But as you know, that will cost you. And I will need something greater than Asmodeus was able to give.”

“Please,” said Lucifer, bowing his head and lowering his eyes, both hands pressed against the floor. “I’ll do anything. Whatever you ask, whatever you require.”

Lucifer was a prideful merman, he was known for it throughout the kingdom, but this was his little brother’s life on the line. He would find a way to change the tides and wake the sleeping King of the Sea if he needed to.

The Old Wizard Solomon grinned, enjoying Prince Lucifer’s display of humility.

“I require only a single thing,” He lifted Lucifer’s chin with one finger, making him gaze up into his eyes. “Your life in exchange for his.”

Lucifer reeled back. “What do you–”

“Servitude, my dear prince,” the Wizard stood and made his way back into the room by the many shelves that lined the walls. “You will work for me, bound until the end of my days, or yours, whichever comes first. Agree to this pact and I will give you this.” He produced a long knife from one of the shelves.

Lucifer leaned over the stone floor, almost coming out of the water to get a better look. “And what use would I have for that?”

“This knife is the key to severing Asmodeus’ spell,” said the Wizard. He sat back down at the edge of the floor. “His voice will not return, but if he kills the human he loves and lets their blood spill upon his legs, his tail will grow back and he can return to the sea. All of this must be done before the sun rises on the thirty-first day, which is soon, three days’ time.”

Lucifer reached for the knife but stopped himself before he touched it. “Asmo would never do that, it’s not in his heart.”

Asmo was someone so full of love and compassion. Even if the human didn't love him back, even if it would lead to his own death, Lucifer couldn't see Asmo being able to kill, not if he’d already become attached. He knew his brother.

“Perhaps not,” Wizard Solomon smirked. “But it is the only way he can become a merman again. I think it’s worth a try to ask him, don’t you?”

Lucifer hesitated.

“What is worse, Prince Lucifer? Your younger brother’s death, of which you are so sure. Or a lifetime of servitude to me?”

Lucifer eyed the knife in the Wizard’s hand. If this was truly all it would take…

“I will do it,” he said finally.

“Excellent,” said Wizard Solomon. He set the knife aside. “And now we must make our pact.” He took Lucifer’s right hand in his. “You are in agreement, yes?”

“I am,” said Lucifer, firmly.

“Good.”

With a squeeze of his hand, the Old Wizard recited a complicated incantation. Sparks and symbols flashed in front of Lucifer’s eyes, all coming from his and the Wizard’s clasped hands. Warmth grew from his palm, snaking up his arm and wrapping itself around his heart.

“What is-” he managed to say, but the Wizard ignored him as he continued the spell.

Lucifer’s muscles were becoming weak as the spell progressed, he felt like he was being paralyzed limb by limb, and he worried he would sink under the water. He clawed at the floor, trying to gain purchase. For some reason he knew it was vital that his and the Wizard’s hands stayed connected until he completed the spell.

The Wizard grabbed Lucifer’s other hand, preventing him from slipping under. More and more of his breath was stolen with each word. He thought he would suffocate.

As the Wizard’s words slowed, the sparks began to dissipate. The spell was done.

He let go.

Lucifer sagged against the stone, clinging to a divot in the floor. His breaths came shaky and rapid. After a moment, he was able to move his tail again.

A sigil was etched into his palm.

“Our pact mark,” said the Wizard. He tossed the knife in front of Lucifer. “Now go. Give the knife to your brothers, they can retrieve Asmodeus. But do come back quickly, we have much work to do, my prince.”

The sigil glowed with sapphire blue light at the command.

When Lucifer was able to catch his breath, he grabbed the knife and swam for the kingdom.

***

“Lucifer!” Mammon cried as his older brother reentered their undersea home. “I thought you were gone as well.”

Lucifer pulled Mammon into a tight hug.

“I know where Asmodeus is,” he said.

“That’s great news!” Mammon slipped out of Lucifer’s arms to wake the others but Lucifer pulled him back.

His heart pounded. Mammon’s face was so hopeful. But he needed to tell him, Asmo could only return to the sea if his brothers could convince him to.

“Asmodeus is on land. He traded his voice to the Old Wizard of the Sea for a pair of legs.” said Lucifer.

Mammon was speechless. As a prince of the sea, he knew the laws of the kingdom well. Asmo had betrayed the Crown Prince and the kingdom.

“His pact with the Wizard is almost up. If he can’t obtain the heart of the human he loves in three days’ time, he will dissolve into seafoam.”

“But that means he’ll die,” Mammon clutched at his heart. “Lucifer, what can we do?”

The others were beginning to wake up, roused by the voices in the hallway.

Lucifer had wanted to avoid this and leave without them knowing, but he would miss his younger brothers. They all filed in, still half asleep.

He spoke directly to Mammon. “Go to the crown prince and plead our case. I’m sure he’ll listen when you tell him where I…” Lucifer trailed off. “Just ask him to let Asmo back into the kingdom.”

“But if he’s on land with human legs–”

His brothers murmured in confusion behind him.

“Find him on land and give him this.” said Lucifer. “If he can kill the human he loves and spill their blood on his legs, according to the Old Wizard, his tail will be restored. His voice is lost but that is a small price to pay for him to return.”

Lucifer handed the knife to Satan, knowing it would be safe with him until it needed to be used. He turned to leave.

“Lucifer, how do you know that?” Mammon asked cautiously.

The pact mark on his palm burned as if he held a hot coal in his hand. He looked at each of his brothers before turning away. It was too painful.

“The Old Wizard is waiting for me.” He clenched his hand into a fist.

“What?”

“I must go,” said Lucifer, choking back tears. “Please. Save him.”

***

Cross-posted on AO3

#mermaid splash #mermay #obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #asmo #asmodeus #asmo obey me #asmodeus obey me #lucifer obey me #solomon obey me #mammon obey me #obey me au

[sentinelpri]

Ten Years

Since his promotion to Kazekage at fifteen years old, Gaara has received a letter with a gift on the anniversary of his promotion each following year. Just like every letter of adoration he’s received since becoming Kazekage, he keeps them, but these letters are… Special. In them are very ardent confessions of love from someone who clearly knows him, but since they’re not ever addressed with a name or a location, he can’t figure out who it is.

It’s weird, too. Most of the time, he only receives these sorts of things from his admirers on special holidays like his birthday. But this one person has been writing to him for ten years, sending him things he loves like new cacti starters and special herbal teas. Each letter is increasingly intimate, too, wishing him good fortune and telling him how well he’s done for himself. Part of him likes these letters. The other part of him is just confused by them- at least until today. 

It’s about to be the eleventh anniversary of his promotion to Kazekage. Gaara, who’s about to go to Konohagakure for a meeting, goes to check up on the man that Kakashi- Konoha’s most recent Hokage- sent as his escort. In the back of his mind, he’s looking forward to whatever the eleventh letter and gift will be.

Rock Lee is staying in a guest bedroom in the Kazekage compound, just a few doors down from Gaara’s personal suite. Gaara is honestly more excited to see his old friend than he should be, but then again, he figures his feelings for Lee go far beyond ‘old friend’. Since their battle with Kimimaro, his feelings have only grown and evolved into something much more romantic. Why he hasn’t acted on it- well, being Kazekage is complicated and he doesn’t want to drag Lee into it, even if he does return the sentiment, which Gaara knows he has no reason to.

But then, he checks the knob to Lee’s room and opens the door when he notices it’s unlocked. He sees the ravenette sitting at a desk writing something on paper, to which he blinks. Lee’s hobbies include training, exercising, fighting, gardening (something he picked up because of Gaara), and woodwork- all very physical things that involve you standing, moving, and being outside to some degree. 

Seeing Lee sitting at the desk of his guest room is odd. Aside from the little notepad that Lee carries around and refers to as his ‘ultra secret ninja tips’, Gaara isn’t sure he’s actually seen Lee write anything. Not mission reports, not songs or poems or stories, not letters, nothing. 

Lee hasn’t noticed him, so with his interest piqued, Gaara quietly sneaks behind him and looks over his shoulder. He expects to see he draft of a mission report or maybe the ‘ultra secret ninja tips’ notepad. Instead, he’s faced with a familiar stationary that makes his face burn the same shade of red as his hair.

Gaara can’t see the words Lee is writing, he’s just not close enough, and he doesn’t have his reading glasses. He does, however, recognize the silly white stationary with multi-colored leaves around the border as well as the dark green pen ink and the green envelope that sits to Lee’s left. To Lee’s right is a gift wrapped with the exact wrapping paper that Lee has apparently been using for the past ten- now eleven- years. 

Gaara wants to scream. He has a million things he thinks to say- proclamations of love, yells of frustration, demands of when and why and how. All that comes out is a choked-

“So it was you the entire time.”

Lee turns around, seemingly startled by Gaara’s presence, but he doesn’t look upset. His face doesn’t drop. He doesn’t appear distressed in the way that Gaara feels like he should be considering the circumstances.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Lee asks casually.

“The letters, and the gifts,” Gaara reiterates, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. His seafoam eyes are trained on the boring hardwood floors as if they’re the most interesting thing he’s seen in his entire life. “They’ve been from you?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t know?” And that’s when Gaara realizes that he may have sorta maybe probably messed up really badly here- or, for the past decade. With the letters having very specific details about his life and promotion, the author would’ve had to have been someone who knew him, and with the gifts always fitting his tastes, the author also would’ve had to be a good friend who Gaara would divulge his interests to. Plus, rather than the usual ‘you’re hot and I love you’ letters that Gaara has grown accustomed to from his admirers, all of the ones he’s received from Lee have been very wholesome and heartfelt. Finally, with the green wrapping paper, green pen, green envelope and leaf-themed stationary… He should’ve guessed that it was Lee years ago. Apparently, even Lee thinks he should’ve known. “My handwriting is very distinct! I assumed you’d recognize it.”

“Honestly, I should’ve guessed…” Gaara sighs, a little disappointed in his own lack of deductive reasoning skills. Lee just sits in the chair, unbothered and beaming up at him. “But are you seriously telling me you confessed your love to me through letter a decade ago and you thought I just ignored it? Why would you keep talking to me after that?”

“I dunno, I just thought you weren’t ready yet or something and that you’d come to me when you were!” Lee shrugs. 

Gaara isn’t sure he gets the line of thought. If Lee assumed Gaara wasn’t interested at the time, why would he continue to send letters and gifts for years after the first one was supposedly ignored?

“So you… Kept sending them even after you thought I brushed off your love confession and just… Didn’t bother addressing it with you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing- well, aside from the fact that we could’ve been dating ten years ago,” Gaara huffs. Sure, his position is complicated, and he knows the council will throw a hissy fit about him dating a man and not producing a biological heir at some point, but he would’ve been willing to deal with that back then and is still willing to do so now if it would mean being with Lee. He always thought that Lee wasn’t interested, though, which is why he didn’t bother in fear of ruining their friendship. “It’s just… A tad overwhelming, but in hindsight, it was obvious. You are quite persistent like that.”

“Wait, you love me back!?” Lee practically cheers and stands from his chair at the desk, his pen still in hand.

With the force of how fast Lee rises up to his feet, the chair clatters to the floor and makes an obnoxiously loud noise that Lee doesn’t even bat an eye at.

“How could you not know that by now?” Gaara groans and buries his face in his hands. “Lee, for the love of God, I’m the Kazekage and I do not need an escort but every time I have to travel out of town, I request you specifically. Why do you think that is?”

“Well, I thought it was because you wanted to catch up with your old pal Rock Lee, but I guess it was a little more complicated than that!” Lee laughs, blushes, and scratches the back of his neck. “Huh, what a relief!”

“At the very least, I’m glad you return my feelings…”

A pause, and then, Gaara is leaning forward to press a chaste kiss against Lee’s lips. It’s warm and sweet, even with Gaara being anxious that he didn’t do it quite right. Lee briefly kisses him back, then pulls away to ask-

“What now?”

“If you don’t mind, could I read the letter you were planning on sending this year?” Gaara requests and points to the stationary Lee was writing on before he interrupted. “That’s it on the desk, isn’t it?”

“Oh, uh, sure! Here!”

Lee hands the letter to Gaara. And so, the two men sit on the floor of Gaara’s guest room, reading the new letter Lee has written and laughing about the ten years they wasted.

#gaalee #gaara #kazekage gaara #naruto gaara #rock lee #post-canon #set between naruto shippuden and boruto #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto fanfiction #naruto shippuden fanfiction #boruto #boruto fanfiction #fluff #oneshot #oneshots #drabble #drabbles

[vollzz]

biiig blackflame excerpt below the cut (5k words!). posting this for the secret story swap hence the extended length. this is quite early on - calliope has met lucas and parted ways after a daring escape together. she reunites with eves, who has delighted her with talk of spending the week together. except, of course, with eves there’s always an ulterior motive. you don’t need to be familiar with the story to follow (at least that’s my hope).

read a little, or a lot, or even the whole thing if you’d like! we’re still in first draft zone so bear that in mind. would love to hear any thoughts :)

“I want you to focus on deflection for these next few blows. Use their momentum to place me in a vulnerable position.” Eves' face seemed as fresh as if they'd just woken from a restful slumber. Calliope, on the other hand, was doubled over, her hands resting on her knees as she panted with exhaustion. Just about three hours had passed, if she'd read the length that the trees' shadows had moved correctly. “If-”

“Eves.” The word came out in between two labored breaths. “I need... a minute.”

Eves blinked, their face unchanged. “An attacker will not give you a minute, Calliope. They will murder you where you stand.”

Three more heaving breaths passed before Calliope replied. “Something tells me...” she exhaled somewhat less forcefully before standing, “...an attacker wouldn't engage me for three hours straight.” A part of her cringed internally at the snippiness of her reply.

“Do not-” Eves' voice quieted abruptly as their head turned to the side, their eyes suddenly distant. It took a moment before Calliope recognized the motion - someone was calling out to them. Calliope counted to thirty in her head, her irritation steadily growing. This was supposed to be her uninterrupted time with Eves, not a series of training sessions followed by a quick departure.

Eves blinked a few times to signal their mental return. “Very well then,” they smiled, “I suppose you've done enough. What do you say to a trip in the city? We've urgent business to attend to.”

It wasn’t quite a question, and Calliope hesitated to respond. She'd avoided the city of Lorien like the plague since shortly after she'd entered Eves' service. With a small swallow she mustered a nod despite the odd choice of words; she certainly did not have business in that chaotic sprawl of a place.

Calliope had hardly given her reply before a jeweled hand grasped her arm and whisked the two of them away in a flash of wind and darkness. The journey passed in a blink of her eyes; when she was able to focus once more, the brick-and-foliage of a square courtyard settled into her view. A black iron gate, pointed at its tips, greeted her from the other end of the square. Just outside of it stood two comically dressed individuals stoically gripping spears in their gloved hands.

Calliope was not personally acquainted with the vibrant sky blue and seafoam green alternating between stripes of black, but she knew all too well of the crest they hailed from. The royal family of the southern provinces, helmed by the silent King Brentiss, had kept the pompous uniform of their guard untouched for centuries.

Eves' hand dropped Calliope's after a reassuring squeeze. They seemed undeterred by the presence of the royal guard, a stark contrast to the stiffness now pervading through Calliope's body. There wasn't much she could see beyond the courtyard's towering walls but this area didn't quite match where she'd known the palace grounds to be. It struck her as extraordinarily odd that she would accompany them on such a venture. She'd never had any direct dealings with royals, and for good reason - the less any of them knew of her identity the better for everyone involved. Eves had always been more than happy being the one to rub elbows with people in power, and for that Calliope was grateful.

“Calliope.” Eves inclined their head, directing her attention to a lone, unmanned door leading into an adjacent building. “As always, you represent not just yourself but your deity. You will present yourself as such, yes?” There was no trace of anger or irritation in their tone, yet Calliope could feel it brewing in her bones.

Calliope nodded, lifting her chin, and adopted the cool demeanor she wore when conversing with clients. Eves gave an approving nod.

The unassuming door yielded easily to the turn of its handle; Calliope stepped across the building’s threshold in the same lithe manner as the deity in front of her, silently shutting it as she passed.

The building’s interior felt as sterile and decorated as the many unused guest homes Calliope had trespassed over the years. The intention of the decor was nothing to scoff at, though the pristine velvet finishings and gleaming wooden floors gave the impression that this home was more a showroom than anything else - another gleaming jewel for a rich man to gesture towards while swaggering by.

“Eves, it’s truly a pleasure.” A soft-spoken male voice drifted from the stairwell next to the brick of the fireplace. Calliope turned as footsteps trudged downwards, giving a face to the sound. “Thank you for your time.”

He’d stopped at the foot of the stairs a healthy few feet from the deity with an incline of his raven-haired head. Eves merely stood, appearing almost bored, their hands tucked into the pockets of their black trousers. The man, who had yet to acknowledge Calliope, waited a few moments in silence, seemingly put off by Eves’ lack of response.

“My time is exceedingly valuable, Tedrin,” they finally said, “I suggest you utilize it accordingly.”

Tedrin smiled, looking downwards as if embarrassed. His well-manicured hands clasped together. “Of course.” Brown eyes finally veered from the deity to glance up and down at Calliope. “To whom do I have the pleasure?”

The beginnings of anxiety began to brew in Calliope’s insides. She stowed them away for a later time when she didn’t need to be as aloof as the god standing before her. “My name is Calliope.”

A smile. “Tedrin Aramos, that of Brentiss’ name. I hope you’ll understand the need for such secrecy - I’d prefer all business of this nature to be kept away from my uncle’s field of view.” Calliope dipped her head, as it was customary for Lovers to be of few words with clientele. “I take it that Eves has informed you of all the necessary details?”

Calliope looked to Eves for some indication of any such details, only to be met with a gaze betraying nothing. Their honeyed voice filled the room.

“Of course, though I’d like you to go over everything once more to assure we are all equally informed.” They strode silently to a nearby table and took a seat, gesturing for Tedrin and Calliope to do the same. Calliope avoided too many glances at Eves - suddenly the seemingly random set of training sessions began to make sense.

Tedrin cleared his throat, his hands splayed out on the wooden surface. “Though I have some degree of access to my uncle’s resources, I have a vested interest in certain… unscrupulous dealings occurring within the city. It would be beneficial for everyone involved if I conducted my business with an independent entity.” He addressed Calliope directly. “You may think of this position as my personal spy network. Rest assured that you won’t be involved in anything particularly dangerous - at most I need eyes and ears on private undercity happenings. This home will be your base of operations and you will only need to interface with me. And of course, you both will be compensated more than adequately for your time and service.”

Calliope’s mouth pressed into a tight line. The new clothes, the training, the promise of extended time spent together… it had all been in preparation for whisking her away to the city. She trained her eyes on the pattern of the wooden table, painfully aware of the golden eyes burning holes into the side of her head and the slight drop in the room’s temperature.

“How long do you expect to need my assistance?” A bold question, but still reasonable enough that she could feign innocence if pressed.

Tedrin thought for a moment. “I would expect this to be a long-term position. Though,” he smiled, “I can assure you that you will not want for anything during your tenure here.”

“Very well. Tedrin,” Eves stood abruptly from their seat and flicked a finger upwards in Calliope’s direction, “a moment?”

Tedrin’s mouth opened to speak, but Eves’ hand tapped Calliope’s shoulder and whisked them away before any sound left it. They’d arrived in a bedroom that looked to already contain all of Calliope’s belongings. The deity now leaned against the bedroom door, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Judging from the room's temperature Calliope figured they weren’t angry, but she could never quite be sure.

“I see you are not amused with this venture.” The statement was more matter-of-fact than accusatory.

Calliope swallowed, unsure of how to navigate the situation. Assignments like these were exactly that - there was no room for negotiation. “Why?”

Eves sighed. “You are the only one capable of it. He needs someone with extensive knowledge of Lorien - you ran about this area for three years, did you not?”

“I did, but I don’t particularly like Lorien. You know that.” The reality of the situation wore down on Calliope’s façade, bringing stuffiness in her nose and glassiness in her eyes. There were far too many memories roaming within the city’s walls, stretching from joyous to not quite so - and then, of course, there was the night that both filled her soul and ripped it all into nothing.

Delicate hands clasped Calliope’s face, followed by the cool imprint of lips on her forehead. “Calliope,” Eves crooned, “I love you, darling. I trust you. I know this may be difficult for you, but think of how this will aid us. No more sleeping in those dreadful inns. Tedrin will pay you handsomely, I swear it. And…” another kiss gently pressed to her lips, “I need a reliable base in the city. We no longer have eyes in the court - the king now conspires with Greylin.” Knuckles clad in silver wiped away tears that had yet to fall.

“Come now - we show no weakness.” With a sigh Calliope weakly nodded. Eves wanted the best for her, that she knew in the deepest reaches of her heart. She decided to make the best of what had been thrust upon her and make Eves proud. She would reassure them that they made the right decision to entrust her.

And try as she might, Calliope could not argue with the fact that a city as dense and lauded as Lorien would have an abundance of shady resources to track missing people down.

Eves grabbed Calliope’s hand to go back downstairs, but paused. Their voice dropped significantly in volume, their lips inches from Calliope’s ear.

“I do not like him. Stay on your guard.” Leaving no time for her to process their words, Eves whisked them to stand once more in front of a hesitant Tedrin.

“I will be in touch. May this be the beginning of a beneficial arrangement.” They spared a final, smiling glance towards Calliope. “Until next time, darling.” They promptly disappeared in a flash of darkness.

Silence crept about Calliope's newly acquired living room. In all honesty she had hoped Tedrin would take his leave - the day had already proved to be exhausting. Unfortunately, he instead rifled through the drawers of a nearby cabinet and grabbed what looked to be a small booklet stuffed with thick paper. He cleared his throat before laying everything out on the table.

“I've already made the necessary preparations for your documents of rightful passage. Eves tells me you're familiar with Lorien's entrance and exit verification?”

Calliope leaned across the table and picked up a small, thick rectangle of paper. Intricate calligraphy marked the center of the page followed by an embossed representation of the royal crest:

BY DECREE OF THE ROYAL FAMILY ARAMOS OF VIVEN

This document hereby grants its bearer full rightful passage throughout the Free City of Lorien. All interested parties please direct queries to:

Tedrin Aramos

The name had been added with a flourishing script in midnight blue ink. Calliope's eyebrows raised - legitimate passage papers granting anything more than the weakest degree of travel within the city were hard to come by for the common folk. She brought the paper closer to her face, squinting her eyes to inspect the printing quality. “Is this real? I've never seen one quite this detailed.”

Tedrin chuckled. “Of course it's real. Though I have some quite good forgeries as well.”

Calliope considered the statement, finally ripping her eyes away from the passage paper. “If it's not forged, this had to have been personally reviewed by Brentiss - who did you tell him it was for?”

“You ask a lot of questions, don't you?” The noble's arms had crossed, but his tone seemed playful enough. “I suppose I can say. While I doubt you'll come into contact with many inquisitive folk, the answer I've settled on is that you’re a mistress of mine. It's expected, gives enough gossip for those wanting to wag their tongues, and is secretive enough that none will press further upon hearing it.”

Calliope's eyes narrowed. “Will I be expected to make any appearances with you under this guise?” Tedrin wouldn't be the first to concoct an elaborate scheme for a chance at a Lover, but he would be the boldest - none of the others ever had direct dealings with Eves.

“No! Absolutely not. It's only so everyone hears the same story, Miss Calliope.” His eyes had widened considerably. For now, Calliope allowed herself to believe him, in the way he seemed so surprised at her assumption. She quickly placed the document in her hand back onto the table and scanned the rest - nothing too exciting, mostly stacks of various currencies and maps of a few of the city's districts. By all accounts it seemed like a legitimate array of documents for a legally questionable job.

“Well, then,” Tedrin clasped his palms together, “take a look around the home at your leisure. Anything you see here is at your disposal, and should you need anything please be in contact. I'm not sure if you had a glimpse of the royal guard positioned outside, but rest assured they're only accompanying me today. You'll be largely alone here, though Eves mentioned you prefer that.”

Calliope nodded. “Thank you, Tedrin.” He began to walk towards the front door, but stopped to rest his back against it.

“On one of those maps there's a location circled with red ink and another with black. Should I need to contact you I'll leave a note for you at the red location - please check it every day sometime in the afternoon. You may do the same with me at the black location, and should I have any urgent business I'll come straight here. Does that sound sufficient for you?”

“That's perfect.” The more time she had to herself, the better, and as little interaction as possible with her client was always preferable.

At that, Tedrin cast a quick wave and departed with a smile. Calliope locked the door behind him, crossed her arms, and surveyed what had become her temporary home. The doors and windows, which were plentiful, all boasted a robust series of locks, which gave Calliope hope that Tedrin would not be yet another miserable client of hers to deal with. Satisfied with the assessment, she ascended to the bedroom, wondering if this new chapter might just wipe away the stain that Lorien held across her heart.

***

“Passage documents.”

Calliope handed the gruff man the letter she kept under close guard. This would mark her eighth daily pilgrimage to the northeastern district, to the muggy alleyway Tedrin had marked on the map that lay on her dining room table. She'd already grown tired of the bureaucratic song and dance and hoped that after enough time passed both sets of guards she'd encountered would know her by sight. Eves had trained her well - after not even two weeks Calliope had already mentally cataloged the shift changes at every major passing point in the city.

Eight days in Lorien, eight bridges she crossed on the journey there and back, eight already-failed opportunities to gather intel on them, if they even still existed.

Calliope huffed a breath, a reprimand for even entertaining the thought. No, they were out there somewhere - she was sure of it.

“Next!” The paper found its home back in Calliope's breast pocket.

The northern district was nearly the most affluent of the five Lorien was comprised, second only to its crown jewel in the east. Calliope was one of a select few able to traverse the boundary into the district of the royal court, thanks to Tedrin's connections. It still intrigued her that he'd pulled the strings to grant her full passage - would she be expected to spy on the royals themselves at some point in the future? If Greylin truly had sunk his claws into Brentiss there was no possibility Eves would allow her scent anywhere near his brutish minions.

Nothing to worry about now, at least.

Calliope strutted through the northern district, feeling a wad of bills burning a hole in the thigh pocket they'd been stuffed into. The shops here were quite tantalizing, and truth be told Calliope had never felt this rich before. What she'd thought was a monthly payment had actually turned out to be a weekly one - it was quite the welcome surprise when the envelope of money had appeared in her mailbox yesterday.

Still, Calliope walked on. The stores could wait until after she'd tended to whatever Tedrin had decided to ask of her today. He'd thankfully been rather light on duties in the past week, clearly giving her some time and space to catch her bearings. Though he hadn't explicitly described the heist as such, Calliope knew she'd passed her introductory exam with flying colors, though it hadn't been particularly difficult. If all Tedrin wanted her to do was tail drunk nobles and see what ruffians they paid in the darkness, well, she wouldn't complain. It gave her plenty of time and resources to begin building an interconnected web of eyes and ears in the city.

Calliope hooked a finger around the corner of a brick with barely any mortar surrounding it. A fresh piece of parchment lay hidden inside, making her purse her lips. She'd been hoping, selfishly, for another free day - just the night prior Calliope had chanced upon the trail of what looked like a prominent trafficker in the city. It churned her insides to think that anyone with such a profession would have information she'd need, but missing people often found themselves being exchanged under dirty hands.

The note was surprisingly short, written in Tedrin's signature blue ink.

Nothing today, but big news tomorrow. Take time to prepare as you usually would.

Calliope made a pleased hum as the note burned to ashes in her hands. Preparations were simple, and a particularly beautiful weapon had already been beckoning for her on the way here. Perhaps she could alleviate the burden of the cash in her pocket after all.

***

Calliope lounged on a midnight-blue couch in her living room, scribbling notes onto a fresh map of Lorien she'd picked up that evening. Her search for the trafficker had been largely a bust, but that was to be expected. There were far too many people bustling about on a warm weekend night for her to be able to zero in on a criminal's scent. Anything further would have to wait until later in the week.

The sound of the clock on the wall striking two nearly made her jump out of her skin.

“Tsch.” Calliope rolled her eyes. Now was probably a good time to call it a night. She stood, folding up the map and blowing out the candle on the side table.

Two thuds against her front door froze Calliope in her tracks. She waited, unsure if it was just a drunken passerby banging on random doors as they stumbled home. Although, it didn't quite sound like it, considering said drunken fools were typically loud, and this person was otherwise quiet.

Another bang on the door. Shadows worked their way up Calliope's body. She walked towards the nearest stash of weapons in the living room, her eyes never leaving the door.

Of course it couldn't be this simple.

Thirty seconds passed in silence, only interrupted by the distant hum of the last wave of bar patrons traveling home. Calliope backed up the stairs, armed with a blade and a few throwing knives. Hopefully she wouldn't have to soil the nice floorboards with some idiot's blood - either way, she'd make Tedrin deal with it in the morning considering this home was his idea.

The door opened forcefully, swinging the full semicircle trajectory its hinges allowed. Calliope flattened herself against the wall, sinking deeper into the shadows and waiting for a moment to strike. At least, until the intruder took two steps inside and the moonlight illuminated him from behind.

Calliope's shadows melted from her figure, the dagger already stowed away.

“Tedrin? What are you doing here?”

She'd already started treating the place as hers, she realized, as she trotted down the steps and snapped her fingers to light a few candles. It felt comforting that she felt the need to make the place presentable for her guest.

Tedrin closed the door behind him, smiling sheepishly at Calliope.

“Ah, hello. I knocked.”

“...Right. Although it seems like you have a key.”

We'll have to chat about that tomorrow.

“I figured I'd knock first, not just barge in on you.” He hadn't moved since closing the door, his feet planted in place next to one another. It could have been the dim lighting, but to Calliope it seemed almost as if his eyes were somewhat glazed over. Tedrin also looked somewhat older than he had when she'd first arrived - her eyes were drawn to the beginnings of fine lines around the corners of his eyes and mouth.

Every passing moment in silence made Calliope itch to draw her weapon again. Against her better instincts she refrained from doing so.

Tedrin finally cleared his throat. “I was around. Wanted to check in on you, see how you're doing.” He took a step forward.

Calliope was not naïve, but she also could not afford to offend her temporary employer in the event her instincts had veered off course. She raised her eyebrows, giving a quick toothless grin, and headed for the stairs. “Things are great, thanks for asking. I was actually about to head to bed.” She turned to face him again, now halfway up the steps. “We can talk more tomorrow-”

“Hold on a moment, please. Come back down.”

Calliope slowly descended the steps after a moment of pause. Tedrin approached, and it was only then that she caught the faintest scent of liquor on his breath. Something strong, maybe even a bit medicinal.

“What is it?”

Don't mess this up. Maybe he just doesn't know boundaries...?

“I've been thinking, is all.”

Another step.

“How often does Eves come around?”

Calliope took the opportunity to make some distance. She feigned thought, pacing around to the other side of the room and leaning against the wall. “It depends on how busy they are. Do you need me to call out to them? They can always hear me.” She hoped it didn't sound too much like the threat she meant it to be.

Tedrin seemed to consider this, but his eyes narrowed. Once again he took it upon himself to invade her personal space.

“Do you and Eves really...?”

Calliope allowed herself to glare at him. “That's an inappropriate question. May I get some rest? We can discuss whatever you want in the morning.” She moved once more for the stairs, but a hand lightly grasped her elbow.

“Calliope,” Tedrin crooned, “I can't say I know too much of Eves, but regardless of what your arrangement is, I wonder if we couldn't come to one ourselves.”

“Excuse me?” Her hand found its way to her dagger's hilt.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me. It’s strictly professional for you, isn’t it?” Tedrin moved his hand to Calliope's shoulder, leering over her, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll compensate you, if that’s how you operate.”

Any other person, any other situation, and Calliope would have incapacitated him long before it had escalated to this point. But she froze, her hand still around her dagger's hilt. This was wrong, and something that Eves would never allow or approve of. But...

We no longer have eyes in the court - the king now conspires with Greylin.

Eves needed her - they trusted her to help them against their gravest enemy. And that tiny, selfish part buried within her wondered if this opportunity was the one desperate shot she needed right now.

No. Absolutely not. Eves will kill him, and then probably kill me.

Calliope was not a prostitute.

“Get off of me,” she nearly growled, drawing her dagger and brandishing it.

Tedrin tutted - not the response she'd expected. He wrapped his free hand around hers, forcing the dagger downwards.

“If you stop me, I'll have Brentiss send Greylin for Eves.”

Calliope paused, her rage swiftly replaced with fear. A wicked smirk grew on Tedrin's face.

“I know for a fact he'd take any reason to harm them, and it looks like you know it too.”

Please stop. Please go away and leave me alone. I'll forget about this, I swear. I need to show Eves I can do this.

Please, I can’t let them down.

“This doesn't have to be a fight. I wager you'll enjoy-”

The candles snuffed out, cloaking the room in near-complete darkness. Tedrin's words hung on his lips as he turned to inspect them, his hands still clutching tightly to Calliope. She noticed his breath leave his nose in an icy cloud and nearly cried with relief.

A raging, ghostly cloud of shadows flashed in front of Calliope, grabbing tightly onto Tedrin. Eves' body materialized as they slammed him against the nearest wall, one cruel hand wrapped tightly around his neck, the other splayed across his stomach.

“Putrid, vile mortal,” they hissed, withdrawing his choking body from the wall only to slam it once more, “You dare disrespect me?” Blood had splattered onto their arms and the flowing, white buttoned shirt they wore tucked into black pants.

Tedrin gasped for air, his words practically a squeak.

“Brentiss will...”

Eves' wicked laughter filled the room. Calliope had not yet moved, fearful of this side of her deity.

“You believe Greylin to be his dog. How mistaken you are to think you have the privilege to take that which is mine.” Tedrin sputtered as the hand around his neck tightened.

“You,” he feebly gripped Eves' arm, “Can't-”

Eves tutted. They roughly threw his half-limp body onto the stairs, leaning over him with an elbow pressed on their bent knee. Tedrin twitched and moaned, too fearful to move, his eyes that of a wounded animal.

“Shall I cut out your blasphemous tongue? Render you impotent?”

Tedrin said nothing, though Calliope would have been surprised if he’d been able to speak. Eves glared at his broken figure through narrowed eyes.

“No, I suppose not. Your pitiful life is not worth the headache.”

They leaned their face down to Tedrin’s, so close that Calliope nearly worried they might kiss him. A savage hand, the nails practically claws, tightly gripped a fistful of black hair. Golden eyes traveled the length of Tedrin’s face, coming to rest on his mouth.

“Even now,” they murmured, “I feel your desire for me.” The god chuckled - an angry, smug sound.

Their mouth moved towards his ear. Tedrin’s entire body trembled, and Calliope struggled to hear Eves’ words. The hand gripping his hair tensed, snapping some of the strands.

“I can feel your desire for her.”

Calliope’s breath left her mouth in small, quick clouds. She fought against the constant tremors in her hands. Eves had become deathly still.

“Squeal to your uncle if you wish, pig, but do you really trust that Greylin will save you? I have spent thousands of years inhabiting this plane with him, yet you expect your word will fell me?” They barked out a laugh, grinning.

Two beats passed. With a scoff, Eves stood, discarding a tuft of hair from their spotless hands with disgust. Their shirt was once again a bright, clean white.

They appeared in front of Calliope, their face half-faded into the room's shadow. Sharp, black lines of makeup ran along their upper eyelids, extending a few centimeters beyond the bounds of their lash line.

“Darling.” Hands caressed her face. Thumbs lightly stroked her bottom lip. “Are you all right?”

It was all Calliope could do not to sigh with relief that they hadn't misinterpreted the situation. She buried her face into their chest, her arms pressing tightly around their torso.

“I’m okay,” she spoke into their clothing before freeing her face to look at them, “Thank you. Gods, I love you, Eves.”

A knowing smile bloomed on Eves' face. “I will always heed your calls, my love. Now tell me,” their tone turned sour, “Did he dare lay a finger on you?”

“No.” None of it mattered anymore, and she didn't really care to see Eves murder Tedrin. All Calliope wanted was to get out of this godsdamned city and never set foot inside its grounds again.

“Good.” They turned their head, making sure Tedrin had not moved. He seemed to still be alive, but judging by the rise and fall of his chest Calliope guessed he’d passed out. Eves slowly, lovingly, brought their lips to hers, and she sunk into their grasp. She savored the feel of them for the few brief moments before they pulled away, leaving a palpable emptiness in their absence.

They didn't bother asking before whisking her away. They'd saved her once again from that dreadful hell of a city.

She would repay them. She would fight for Eves until her dying breath.

It was all a desperate Lover could do.

—

if you got this far (and even if you didn’t!) ty for reading!!

tag list-

@hallwriteblr @kourumi @space-writes @at-thezenith @careful-fear @liv-is @eldritch-flower @kingkendrick7 @theunboundwriter

#this was fun to write #also would love to check out any longer excerpts like this y’all may have! #blackflame #writes #writeblr

[trinketchick]

screamin and cryin and throwin up that our client doesn't use autocad standards when it comes to layers, so OF COURSE the interior elevations look confusing once drafted. you want all existing to be fuckin 101 seafoam green AND you want the elevation to show the front counter and back wall. i'm dyin squirtle