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skyward-floored · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 31: Emptiness, (“I thought that I was getting better”)

Last one finally! ...a day late, but hey, at least I’m close, right..? This may be a bit rambly and headcanony, but it’s something. It’s done. I finished it.

Thank you everyone for supporting me this year! I appreciate you all more then words can say <3

Read on ao3

Warnings: pretty light, discussion of death and grief, mild mention of blood.

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Rusl was familiar to Wind.

Well, okay not exactly, he wasn’t one of those people that popped up no matter what era they were in or anything (like Beedle, seriously what was up with that?), but he was familiar in a different way.

One that made Wind’s chest feel weird whenever he looked at him.

The sailor swallowed, and looked down at his full plate of food, the others chattering loudly around him.

They’d finally ended up at Twilight’s home village, and the rancher was ecstatic, showing the Links all around Ordon, and introducing them to his family. It was late in the day when they’d arrived, and after showing them all around, Rusl and Uli had invited them all for dinner, insisting despite the large number of them.

They’d all piled in their house, the space a bit tight with eight extra people, but they managed, and set out a big meal for everyone.

It was chaos, everyone talking, passing food, holding Twilight’s baby sister, but despite everything going on, Wind found his gaze drawn continually towards Rusl, and Twilight and Colin as well. They were all sitting next to each other, and kept smiling, and laughing, and despite the delicious-smelling food in front of him, Wind had lost his appetite.

Twilight said something Wind didn’t catch over the din, but Rusl laughed at whatever it was he’d said, squeezing Twilight’s shoulder with a fond look on his face.

Wind felt the weird pit in his stomach suddenly grow, and he quietly slid off his seat, slipping out the door without barely a sound. Nobody seemed to notice him leave, and he stepped out into the night, closing the door and blocking most of the noise from inside. Cool air met him, and he breathed in deeply, shaking himself as he lingered on the doorstep.

The image of Rusl and Twilight together flashed suddenly in his mind, and Wind crossed his arms, kicking at a pebble on the ground.

Why was he feeling so weird about this? Twilight was finally home and able to visit his family, Wind should be feeling happy for him, right? He got to be with his whole village, and his little brother, and baby sister, and his parents...

Something stung in his chest again, and Wind swallowed.

Was that really what it was?

This... that was stupid, he wasn’t jealous of Twilight’s family! He had Grandma and Aryll! That was more than most of the other heroes had at all, some of them didn’t have any family, so why—

Why did seeing Rusl ruffle Twilight and Colin’s hair make a pit open in his stomach?

Happy laughter came from inside, and Wind felt the pit get deeper, something cold rising in his chest.

He suddenly couldn’t stand the idea of going back inside. Wind turned from the house and stalked away through the village, the moon shining too calmly for his mood. He circled the village a few times, then eventually found a secluded spot behind a house by the stream, throwing off his shoes and dunking his feet in.

The water was a little cold, chilly from the coming autumn, but Wind didn’t care, swishing his feet around.

A distant trill of music floated on the wind, and Wind hunched over himself as the tune changed to a different one in his head. He remembered his parents dancing to songs like that, and eavesdropping from his bed at night so he could hear them sing.

There was less music after Aryll was born, but it could still be found, and Wind still remembered his father quietly singing up at the lookout tower, Aryll asleep in his arms as Wind tried to fill in the missing harmony.

And even after that, Wind and Aryll still sang, to the seagulls outside, and with their grandmother when they helped her make soup. Sometimes Wind still sang Aryll to sleep when he was home, and they’d curl up together and he’d hum lullabies he’d learned on his travels.

“...Wind?”

Wind startled, and turned to see that Sky had walked up behind him without him noticing.

“We were wondering where you’d slipped off to, Uli was about to serve dessert,” he said warmly. Then his smile dimmed a little as he looked at Wind’s face, and he hesitated. “...is everything okay?”

Wind swallowed, then turned back to the water, not sure what to say.

Was everything fine? He’d thought it was, but the empty hole in his stomach spoke otherwise. He should probably tell Sky to just go back and eat dessert with everyone else, but for some reason those words didn’t come out.

“...Do you remember your parents?” Wind asked shakily, and Sky let out a quiet oh, moving to sit down next to him.

He looked out at the water for a moment, then took off his boots as well, dipping his toes in next to Wind’s.

“I do somewhat,” Sky replied, his voice soft. “My father and mother were both knights, though my father took it much more seriously. He was always patrolling, and practiced with the sword whenever he could, he helped train people to use it actually. My mother was more laidback like me, and mostly preferred just flying with her loftwing though. Apparently she was the best rider Skyloft had seen in a long time, she saved a lot of people.”

His smile dipped, and he breathed out.

“They both died when I was about seven.”

“I’m sorry,” Wind said quietly, and Sky gave him a small smile.

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. I still miss them of course, but... in more of a good way, if that makes any sense.”

Wind crinkled his eyebrows, but he didn’t really have time to think that through, since Sky then gave him a searching look. Wind squirmed a little under the scrutiny, and looked back out at the water.

“Do you remember yours?” Sky asked softly, and Wind swallowed.

“Kind of,” he whispered, his mind falling back to one of his earliest memories. “My... mom died when Aryll was born. I don’t remember a lot about her, but I remember that night. There... there was a lot of blood.”

He paused and glanced at Sky, seeing that the Skyloftian was watching him with a gently sympathetic look on his face.

“My dad didn’t die until Aryll was three,” Wind continued, clearing his throat. “I remember more about him, he... he loved the ocean. Loved the waves and wind, and sailing. He went out on his boat a lot, but he’d never be gone too long, and he’d always throw me up in the air and catch me when he got back,” he finished with a smile, old laughs ringing in his ears.

Then they faded, and he felt his smile slip away.

“Sailing is hazardous, though. A storm blew up after he left to trade at Windfall once, and... nobody’s seen him since.”

Sky set his hand on his shoulder, and Wind swallowed again.

“I’m sorry Wind,” Sky said gently, and Wind gave him a small shrug.

“At least I have some memories of them. Aryll doesn’t remember Mom at all, and she barely remembers Dad. A-and at least I know who they were, I mean Wild doesn’t know anything about his family, and Four barely remembers his mother, and I don’t even know if Legend ever had parents and—”

“Sailor,” Sky interrupted carefully, and Wind looked at him, his throat tight. “...Where’s all of this coming from?”

“I...”

Wind clenched his fists, feeling that huge empty feeling in his stomach again.

“How come Twilight has a whole family?!” he burst out, feeling his lip tremble. “He’s got two whole siblings and parents that love him and are still alive and he gets to be around them and love them and I’m happy for him, I am but how come he’s the only one of us? Why doesn’t Time get to have parents? Or Warriors? Why did b-both of our parents have to die, it’s not fair Sky!”

Sky pulled an arm around Wind’s shoulder, and to his horror he realized he was crying, tears dripping into the water they were still dipping their feet in.

“I-it’s not fair,” he choked out, and Sky didn’t reply, gently rubbing his shoulder.

Wind let out a thick sniffle, mopping his sleeve over his face, and Sky held him a little tighter, a sigh escaping his lips.

“...I wish I had a good answer for you Wind,” he said finally, voice quiet. “Other then me just agreeing with you that you’re right, life isn’t fair. I... I don’t know why most of us lost our families. Maybe it’s due to us being heroes, maybe it’s just a big coincidence, I truly don’t know.”

Something deeply grieved flickered over Sky’s face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared.

“...I know it hurts, Sailor. It’ll probably hurt the rest of our lives,” Sky said as he closed his eyes, the moonlight somehow softening his features. “And we can’t bring our parents back, no matter how badly we’d like to. But... for me at least... I’ve had so many people in my life who’ve filled that role in their absence.”

Wind looked at him again, and Sky gave him a small, grieved smile.

“Zelda’s father, all the teachers at the knight academy... everyone on Skyloft, really. They’ve cared for me like my parents did, and while they’ll never replace them, they’re also my family. It’s a lot like that for Twilight too.”

“What do you mean?” Wind asked, and Sky looked at the water again.

“I guess you hadn’t joined us yet when we had that conversation... Rusl and Uli adopted Twilight, they’re not his birth parents,” Sky explained, and Wind’s eyes widened. “All of Ordon helped raise him, like Skyloft did for me, but he says he just ended up here one day. He has no idea what happened to his birth parents.”

“...Really?” Wind asked, and Sky nodded.

“Really.”

The weird hole in Wind’s stomach shifted again, and he felt even more miserable, staring down at his feet. For some reason the information only made him feel worse, and he felt Sky’s arm give him a little squeeze.

“Wind... you lost your parents a lot more recently then I did,” Sky said after a moment’s silence, and ran a gentle hand through Wind’s hair. “It’s okay to miss them.”

Wind swallowed back the sudden lump in his throat.

“I... I guess I thought I’d gotten over it,” Wind said thickly, voice shaking. “And then I saw R-Rusl and I just...”

A loud hiccup escaped him, and Sky gave him a squeeze.

“Even with Grandma, and Aryll, and L-Linebeck and Tetra and everyone I just... I miss them,” he finished in an embarrassing squeak. “And Rusl j-just... he looks like my dad.”

Sky didn’t say anything, just let him cry into his shoulder, and Wind shut his eyes and leaned against him a little more.

He didn’t know how long Sky sat with him, holding him while he cried, but it was long enough that his feet had started to feel numb in the water they were dipped in.

Wind shivered a little as his tears had finally slowed, the pit in his stomach feeling a little less empty as he wiped his face again. Then he looked up at Sky, the Skyloftian’s eyes looking a little red themselves.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and Sky let out a wet chuckle, wiping his own eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright. You ready to head back?” he asked gently, and Wind hesitated a moment, then nodded, pulling his feet out of the water.

“Yeah, I... I think I’m... okay,” he said, and was a little surprised to find that he meant it. “Thanks Sky. Sorry for all the...”

Sky gave his shoulder a squeeze before he could continue.

“No problem, Sailor,” he smiled. “A good cry never hurt anyone. Now... let’s go see if somehow the others didn’t devour all the pie.”

Wind grinned. “Well if they did, I bet we can guilt Wild into making us more. I could sniffle and everything.”

Sky laughed, and Wind joined him as the two headed back across the village, the moon gently lighting their path.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wind #lu sky #linked universe fanfic #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #day 31 #emptiness #I thought that I was getting better #writing from the floor #WHEW #we're finally done lads!!!#oof this year was rough #though it turns out i wrote over 80k soooo that might be why #nanowrimo has nothing on me #...but yeah I'm definitely burnt out now heh #time for a writing break

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staytiny-dreams · 4 months

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beneath the christmas lights (c.sb x reader)

pairing: choi soobin x gn! reader

genre: non!idol au, freshly established relationship, seasonal fluff

warnings: zero, reader has a broken home, but it's not detailed, choi soobin being cute, angst if you squint (barely), sooo fluffy

wc: 1.8k

note: i don't like christmas fics, but we visited christmas lights at sunset while i was in my soobin feels so this was born. sorry if the formatting is weird this is the first time i've done this on my laptop. stay safe these holidays everyone

christmas time is confusing. for some, it is a joyous time of year filled with love and presents, decorations, family and friends. for others it is just a reminder of what they’re missing, whether it be family, friends or even money.

for you, christmas serves as a reminder of what you once had, and of what you’ve lost.

yelling echoes through the bottom story of your house, your step mother’s shrieks piercing any peace you might’ve had as your father picks another fight.

sighing, you grip your headphones tight around your ears, knuckles tense with the force of your grip and with a flick of your thumb, the volume of the music surrounding you is bumped up.

you almost don’t hear it, but the vibrations of your phone against your thigh drags your attention down to your lap.

bin: (y/n)

before you can even type out a response another message comes through.

bin: i’m outside

you frown down at your screen, brows scrunching together. rather than sending through the question marks you’re tempted to, you pull your headphones off and place them gently on the keyboard of your laptop.

with your headphones gone you feel an immediate wave of cold wash over you. standing alone in your bedroom, you can once again hear the persisting argument occurring one floor down. despite the blue light from your laptop, the warm light from the fairy lights strung up around the room and the barely setting sun, you feel shrouded in darkness.

with familiar ease, you round your bed and approach the window, sheer curtains already having been pulled back.

sitting on your verge, two wheels on the curb and lights shining, is soobin’s car. through the tint on his windows you can faintly make out soobin, smiling up at you, giving you a shy wave.

y/n: ???

you replay your last few conversations with him in your head, trying to remember if you’d made any plans with him you may have forgotten about, but nothing comes to mind.

it’s christmas eve, shouldn’t he be with his family?

another vibration and a small chime sounds, effectively bringing your focus back to your messages with the boy in your front yard.

bin: just come down

with a huff loud enough to hide your smile, you slide on your sneakers, slip out of your bedroom and down the stairs.

while your parents are wrapped up in picking each other apart, it’s easy to pass by them, no questions asked, grabbing your house keys from the hook in the kitchen and quietly exiting through the front door.

“what are you doing here?” you ask as soon as the car door has been closed behind you.

“do you trust me?” is all he says and you let out a snort, something somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“absolutely not.”

he mumbles an offended ‘okay’ that you can only just catch while he is turned away from you, rummaging around in the backseat. you roll your eyes affectionately at his response and simply face forward.

the sun has properly begun its descent now, yellow and pink clouds are scattered across the darkening sky. you find your chest tightening at the pretty sight and with a start you realise the feeling bubbling inside you at the view is akin to the feeling that bubbles up when you look at soobin.

a long groan startles you back to reality as soobin sits back in his seat, a small white and green bag with oil stains spreading across the bottom edge is clutched in his right hand. he stretches his arm out to you, the bag dangling between the two of you as you stare sceptically at it.

“what is this?” you ask yet reach out for the bag without waiting for his answer.

unfolding the bag, you peek inside and gasp at what lay in there.

“soobin what…” you begin to ask again, but you are silenced when you meet his eyes. his gaze rests on you with an emotion swimming through his irises that you can’t quite understand.

instead of once again questioning his actions, you reach for the donut, from your favourite local bakery he had brought and pull on it with both hands.

the soft dough comes apart easily and you smile at soobin, holding one half of the donut out to him. he beams back at you, his dimples igniting a warmth in your heart that soobin seems to carry with him.

“no (y/n) i bought it for you, it’s your favourite dessert.” you shrug at him and push the half donut even closer, the cinnamon brushing against his lips.

“and you’re my favourite person, you’ll go well together.” you state as if it is a well known fact. at this, soobin blushes a bright red and turns away, finally turning the engine back on.

the soft guitar that had been playing since you entered the car pauses as his radio restarts with the engine, then promptly continues its soothing tune.

“hmph.” you let a small, huffy laugh slip past your lips. while soobin focuses his attention on driving off the curb of your front yard, he still finds it in him to question your laughter.

“nothing. i was just listening to this song inside is all.” you admit, your cheeks warm. it feels silly to be flustered by such a small thing, but everything about soobin causes your body to run hot and your heart to pound.

soobin doesn’t respond, instead opting to focus on the road as he exits the cul-de-sac your house sits at the back of as a means to ignore the warmth in his own cheeks.

“soobin! what are you- where are you taking me?” you yelp at him as your own house shrinks away in the mirror. when you look down from the mirror, back at soobin, you find him already staring at you. his eyes are dark, bar the same unknown emotion swirling through them, mouth set in a straight line and you know to take his next words seriously.

“do you trust me?” he asks and you swallow, your throat tight under the intensity of his gaze.

“absolutely.” at this, you are rewarded with his dimples as he smiles to himself, eyes back on the road as he finally turns off of your street and onto the main road.

settling into your seat, your arm rests on the centre console, palm facing upwards. your head lolls to the side, watching through the window that soobin must have wound down before your entrance.

the breeze sweeps over you and within minutes, as you had hoped, soobin’s arm joins yours on the centre console, his large hand tentatively reaching for your own. you open your hand more, allowing him to intertwine his fingers with your own, matching smiles spreading across both of your lips at the gesture.

“the beach?” you turn your head away from the window to look back at soobin upon recognising the route he was driving. his sweet smile morphs into something cheekier and he squeezes your hand with his own.

“i thought you trusted me, hm?” you huff for the nth time tonight at his cryptic response yet your smile doesn’t waver.

then, a split second before the lights come into view, it clicks. a childlike excitement you thought you had left behind awakens in you, your heart sitting in your throat and you aren’t sure if it’s because of the christmas light displays, or the boy who drove you to see them.

soobin slows the car right down as he drives up the strip of beach houses whose owners had gone all out.

the two of you are lit up by reds, greens and blues as you crawl down the beautifully lit street. you feel as if your eyes couldn’t get any wider, taking in every possible detail you can from each and every display.

a santa here, a merry christmas there, a snowflake or two, glowing snowmen, lines of candy canes and for a second you felt twelve years old again. your mum on one side of you, your dad on the other looking up at your own christmas display just a few short years before everything fell apart.

tears well in your eyes as you think of your home now, cold and dark despite the sun only just setting and the warmth that christmas was supposed to bring.

as soobin reaches the end of the street, he simply pulls over. a hand on your cheek brings you back to the present, your head whipping over to face soobin as a few tears spill over.

“baby…” soobin pouts at your tearful expression and your heart clenches in return, not before skipping a beat at the term of endearment.

with one of his hands wrapped around your own, the other covering your cheek and his eyes boring into your own, you find yourself drowning in that nostalgic warmth you used to associate with christmas. you squeezed his hand lightly and his pout shifted into a smile as quickly as your tears had fallen.

soobin’s smile felt like the sun itself was shining down on you, half of his face was lit by the christmas lights behind you and the other half by the setting sun.

“thankyou, bin.” you manage to get out and his smile widens.

“don’t thank me, sweetheart.” he strokes your cheek as he speaks, brushing away any residual moisture from your tears.

“don’t tell me what to do.” you try to snap, but it comes out weak as a couple more tears slip down your cheeks, only to be caught by soobin’s waiting hand.

“there you are!” he teases, landing a poke to your cheek as he chuckles at your attempt at your usual stern tone.

“i’m serious, dumbass. i…” soobin’s breath catches as your heart rises up your throat at the words that have been fighting to get out.

“i love you,” soobin rushes out before you can work up the nerve.

“what?” you ask, thrown off by his abrupt interruption.

“sorry, i didn’t take you out here to tell you this. i just wanted to help you… i know, christmas can be hard for you sometimes and i- but i do. i love you (y/n).” you watch with a fond smile as he rambles, seemingly letting his nerves get the best of him.

“i love you too, dummy.” a pout takes over his face and he leans in close, breath fanning over your face. you lean in to press your lips to his, but in a flash, the hand the was on your cheek is now covering your lips. your eyes cross ever so slightly as you stare his hand down indignantly.

“uh uh, try that again, dummy.” he says, unable to keep the smile off his face despite his firm tone.

with a roll of your eyes, you grab his hand and move it back to your cheek for him.

“i love you too, bin.” you offer and with an excited nod of confirmation, soobin leans back in, obtrusions long gone and finally presses his lips to your own.

#choi soobin x reader #soobin x reader #soobin fluff #txt #kpop #kpop fanfic #txt x reader #tomorrow x together x reader #txt fluff #tomorrow x together #choi soobin #soobin #soobin fic #dedicated to my 21 followers #i love you my 21 followers <33 #oh yeah im moa now lmao #i listened to farewell neverland and the letter (ateez) while writing this if anyone cares #anyway happy holidays #lets be safe and happy in the new year

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spooksier · 4 months

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getting back into doctor who makes me jump for joy this show sucks so bad <3333

#text!#dw #it's getting dire i need to write fanfic NOW #sidenote: every actor that plays the doctor is insane and so so talented bruh #like i rewatched one ep from each doctor and i love that theyre all different characters but so clearly the same person #like the mannerisms carry over or the speech patterns and youre like 'yeah thats the doctor alright'#i need to watch the christmas special and see how 15 gets down with it......ily the doctor <3<3 #they've been one of my favorite characters since i was 11 :pensive:

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barrel-crow-n · 4 months

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"I hate kid fics, I hate fanfiction where the characters are parents now it just feels weird, especially with Kanej-"

Dad!Kaz fics where he finds a baby on the street and takes it in because he's not that much of a monster to leave a baby in the cold, wet streets and he begrudgingly raises it saying stuff like "I should throw you out the window" when it annoys him (he never does), and "You'll be a good investment when you grow up" or "Maybe you'll be good at demo. Or you'll be a spider":

Me: 💳💥💳💥💥💥💳💥💥

#bonus points if as the child grows up kaz gifts them stuff like knives or brass knuckles for their birthday #i'll probably write this one day #yeah honestly i will #i read ONE fanfic with this trope and now i need it on a spiritual level #this is the only exception though #i absolutely despise children #kaz brekker #grishaverse #six of crows #six of crows duology #soc #six of crows fanfic #kaz dad au #NEW TAG

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amethystina · 11 days

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Each Touch (Brings Us One Step Closer)

Fandom/Pairing: The Devil Judge - Gahan

Length: 1 chapter + 1 bonus chapter (~ 26 000 words)

Rating/Warnings: M / Slight Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Themes, Angst, Suicide Ideation, Grief, Pining, Biting, Rough Sex, Barebacking, Dom/sub Undertones, Praise Kink

Additional Tags: Happy Ending, Fluff, Touching, First Kiss

Summary: Ga On has always been known for being impulsive to the point of recklessness. But even he can admit that there are certain lines that should never be crossed, since doing so would be both impolite and disrespectful.

Excessively and inappropriately touching your boss is definitely one of those.

And yet, despite knowing that — despite being well aware of how dangerous it is to keep recklessly touching a man like Kang Yo Han — Ga On finds it difficult to stop. He knows he should, if not out of deference to his superior, then for his own sake. He can feel his self-control crumble a little more with each new touch and, in its stead, rises a confusing, breathtaking yearning he's not sure if he's ready to face — much less knows how to handle.

It feels like it's only a matter of time before his resolve shatters entirely.

GO HERE TO READ

#The Devil Judge #Kim Ga On #Kang Yo Han #Gahan #The Devil Judge Fanfics #Each Touch #Each Touch (Brings Us One Step Closer)#My Fanfics #Amethystina Writes #I am finally kicking this one out the door #Before I change my mind #I haven't finished editing the sex scene yet #But I'll post that as soon as I'm able #But yeah #I hope you'll enjoy it?#I should definitely be sleeping right now x'D

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easton-creations · 4 months

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I have never been into jegulus

then I got on tumblr…

let’s just say this ship is a crucial point in the Wolfstar fic I’m currently writing.

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httpsclarye · 5 months

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zosan!au but they’re formula 1 drivers.

just imagined, zoro was a gifted child in kart, his talent made money not seen to be the problem, since his career was sponsored by an old man from the same country who helped him take racing to international levels, winning formula 2 and ending up in the toro rosso in the main championship: formula 1.

but sanji? he seems like the typical monegasque guy, with private schools in switzerland and yachts in the summer. he never really loved racing, he had another hidden passion, but pressure from his father made him start karting and when he found himself winning his first european junior competition, he knew there would be no turning back from being a professional driver.

they know each other since they were children, in international competitions, and despite having mutual friends during their pre-teens and adolescence: they don't like each other. zoro entered f1 very early by standards, always very focused, very serious. toro rosso seemed like the perfect place for someone like him, until two years later, after winning the formula regional european championship, sanji was announced as the second driver for the same team.

sanji is charming, sanji is friendly and handsome. It wasn't a surprise to anyone when his popularity went beyond the formula circle and he began to form partnerships with major haute couture brands. and zoro? he hated it, he hated how Sanji treated the sport of his life, he hated how everyone fell for him, and most of all, he hated how he had also fallen for the blond charms.

so after two years of being in the same team, and after a drunken celebration he finally has the courage to take action, the two end up hooking up in a bathroom at some random millionaire's party.

and zoro feels like he's on a cloud for the next 8 months, never really having a conversation about what the two of them were doing but he's happy, that's what mattered.

until the day he wakes up to the news that sanji vinsmoke was signing with mercedes for the next season. he feels betrayed, even though he can't say anything because after all, they don't have anything serious, right? he also feels angry because at the same moment he was considering spending another year at toro rosso just to continue with this thing that he has (or had) with the blonde

#this is really long #it is cliche the mercedes and the (prob zoro will gonna sign) red bull thing?#if you know you know #im just really high rn #I have this idea for ages by now #yeah sanji is monegasque not french idc #im really thinking of writing a long fanfic like this #yeah it’s tororosso not alpha tauri ou whatever #zosan #sanji #zoro #zosan fanfic #sanji fanfic #zoro fanfic #zoro x sanji

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happyk44 · 8 months

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The air was quiet for once. No monsters, no boulders hurtling their way. No vicious winds. Nothing. Smooth sailing.

Frank knew it wouldn't last but he drank it in as much as he could. The temperature this high was was low, not yet freezing, but like the fresh burst of cold signalling the end of fall and the onslaught of winter. Everyone had taken to wearing jackets when they were on deck, especially at night, when the sun wasn't there to give them some faint reprieve of warmth.

Well, everyone except Frank. And Jason.

Nobody bothered them about it. But sometimes, when they moved higher up, where the air waa too thin and freezing, they would side-eye him. Hazel's look was always curious behind her scarf. The others though... they looked confused, concerned. Staring like something was wrong with him.

He tried to shrug it off the way Jason did. But Jason didn't get that look as much as Frank did. Jason was a child for the sky. Of course, thin breathless air wouldn't bother him as much. Of course, freezing winds did nothing to him. He could probably survive at the edge of the atmosphere, where sky and space meet. Floating there like an untethered astronaut, yet happy nonetheless. Perfectly fine.

It didn't work on Frank the same way. Mars was orderly bloodlust and head-on battles. Sturdy feet pounding sturdier ground.

What wars were fought in the air back in the ancient days? Even now, fighter pilots wore oxygen masks to beat the thinness, had shielding to keep them safe from the enemy and the cold. Nico even wore an old leather jacket - the same one they wore in their jets back in the day. Because who wanted to emergency eject into the frozen clouds without one?

Frank was still made of war. But he also had the lungs of a bird, and the heated blood of grizzly. He didn't freeze. And he breathed easy.

It was a bittersweet thing. He hadn't even considered it until Hazel came out on deck one night with a jacket for him to wear and he had realized he wasn't cold. When her voice had gone heavy with the effort to speak and he realized he wasn't struggling with the altitude the way he was supposed to.

His abilities just kicked in naturally. The same way they did when he went to sleep and woke up curled into a wolfish ball.

Some days he dreamed about walking with Hazel in a meadow of flowers and horses and he'd look up at her, paws muddy, drool escaping down his teeth and she'd teasingly chastise him for wanting to chase the horses around. Some days he dreamed about blood dripping from his maw and down his claws. And he'd wake up, animal in form, and worry about why he was losing his humanity in his dreams.

Because you're losing it in reality, he thought.

He tightens his fists and hopes for a fight to come soon. He couldn't be here alone in silence with his thoughts, with the knowledge that he was becoming something other. He wasn't unfamiliar with being othered by the world - Chinese to the white kids in school, Canadian to the Americans at Camp Jupiter. Fatherless. Raised by his grandmother. Fat, awkward, shy. He didn't have ADHD or dyslexia - not like every other demigod. He was othered a lot through pure existence.

That didn't mean he wanted to add inhuman to the list.

"Don't let it get to you."

Frank startled.

Jason sat on the railing, staring up at the stars. His legs swung off into the dark. He was wearing a black tank top, and cargo shorts, without socks or shoes. He relaxed, soaking in the frozen air. It puffed white with every exhale.

"What are you talking about?" Frank asked with an instinctual cock of his head. Like a dog. He righted his head up and straight, gritting his teeth. His nails cut into his palm.

Jason snorted and swung around. There was a strange delicacy in Jason when he was in the air. Leo called him Superman, but that wasn't it. Yeah, he was bulky like the hero, and flew like the hero. But any delicacy in Superman came from Clark Kent. Not from his powers.

Jason was like a dancer. Weightless, and gentle. Even harsh and forceful movements looked graceful on him. It was when he was on the ground he became a pounding unnatural force. Like a tank.

In the air, he was a ballerina, swift and full of motion, captivating. On the ground, he was a war machine, destructive and explosive.

It made sense in a way. Lightning cut the air with nothing more than a burning sizzle. But it exploded the earth when it hits. Shattered trees and destroyed houses. A storm was nothing when it bustled around in the empty air. Speeding wind and flooding rains. They meant nothing to the sky. But when it hit the ocean, hit the earth - everything broke.

Jason hopped off the railing. He landed without sound. "I see you, Frank. Sometimes you look at yourself in the mirror or the glass of a window, and you look confused. Like you don't know what you're looking at."

He approached, slow. Like a human nearing a stray cat. Frank felt almost feral. It was under his skin, prickling. Raw. He didn't like that Jason could see him.

But he didn't like that he thought human and not person. That he was comparing himself to the feral cats he used to help capture with the SPCA for the volunteer hours.

That Jason was right.

It scared him. He couldn't see his face. He knew it was his. Nothing had changed. But when he looked in the mirror, he felt like he was looking at a stranger.

He knew what it is. Once, when his mother came home from deployment, he caught her staring empty at her reflection. When she spotted him, she'd asked him, offhand but knowing, what he saw when he looked at her.

My mom, he said.

She'd grinned, just a bit too small. So I still look like myself then?

Of course, he'd said with a frown. Why wouldn't you?

She explained it to him later, gently, over cookies and tea. Depersonalization. A subsect of dissociation. She had explained it away, like it was just the result of seeing herself covered in mud so much she couldn't remember what she looked like clean. Acting like it wasn't the result of trauma, depression, PTSD.

It doesn't hurt, she'd assured him. And I know it's still me. I just can't tell.

You should go to a doctor, Frank has said, tucked under her arm even though he was too big for that anymore.

She had laughed and kissed the top of his head. I will, she promised. When I'm finished with this one.

And then she left, again, and then she died.

It wasn't until now that he wondered if it was really the trauma of war that made her unable to see herself in the mirror. Or if it was a combination of that and her own shapeshifting ability. Did she turn a lot? To save her fellow soldiers? To protect herself?

He knew she did it in her final moments. That she was brave. But did she do it a lot before then? Did she lose herself the way he was?

He didn't look in the mirror and wonder why his eyes were brown or his teeth were flat. Didn't look at his hands and wonder why his nails weren't claws or why his skin was so hairless. Didn't think he needed to be on all fours, or find speech difficult. But he did feel that otherness in his reflection. A sense of that isn't me when he stared back at himself.

He knew it was. That his brain was lying to him.

But he still couldn't see himself.

Sometimes his skin felt wrong. The world seemed a little warped. Like he was looking at it from the wrong angle. But no matter how much he moved around, it wouldn't go back to normal.

He felt satiated by Hazel's presence. The sensation of "everything is wrong" fell mostly to the background with her.

But he couldn't cling to her like a koala with separation anxiety. That wasn't fair to her. She wasn't required to fix his problems. And she was already holding onto his lifeline, keeping it safe, just for him.

He couldn't ask more of her. To help him reangle a world that had never changed.

Jason crossed his arms. His smile looked like Frank's mom's that night - just a bit too small. Then he glanced away. "I can't see myself either."

Breath caught in Frank's throat.

"I don't think it's a fixable thing for me," Jason went on. "And it might not be for you either. I was raised by wolves. I don't..." He laughed quietly and ducked his head. "I don't think of myself as human. Not consciously anyway. My mother was a wolf, my siblings were wolves. I feel more like a puppy plucked out of the bin and handed off than a human person."

Frank exhaled shakily. "So what do you do about it?"

Jason was quiet. His eyes were focused on the ground, brows furrowed. Then, "Nothing." He looked up to Frank. Blue eyes bore back at him. "There's nothing I can do. I am a wild child." He shrugged. "You can't scrub it out of me."

"So... I'm just gonna be stuck like this?" His nails bore deeper into his skin. Conscious effort rang out to keep them from becoming claws. "Feeling like the world is wrong because my brain can't decide if I'm a human or an animal?"

"I don't know what I am either," Jason said. "Even with the wolves, I knew I wasn't one of them. Not really. I didn't have fur. I didn't have claws or full rows of fangs. I knew how to be a wolf, but no one is ever going to look and think I'm one." His arms dropped to sides. He drew in closer. "But I just don't let it get to me."

He leaned against one of the mast poles and tilted his head up to the stars.

"That's kind of the nice thing about being part-animal." He grinned ruefully. "Well, animal animal, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

Jason looked back at Frank, for just a second before his eyes scanted away. He'd never noticed it before. He didn't get to Camp Jupiter until after Jason disappeared and they hadn't hung out enough once he camp back until just now. But Jason never really met someone's eyes. Only in battle, when the goal was dominance.

He looked all over, but eyes were a fraction of a second. Never landing purposely.

"Animals don't really care what you are. Wolves will adopt a human child and raise him. Ducks adopt chicks. Cats will take in kittens from another litter." He closed his eyes. "Because it doesn't matter in the end. We live, we hunt, we eat, we die. Who cares if your child is hairless and stands on two legs? Do they follow you? Do they represent what it means to be a wolf? To be a duck, or a cat, or a monkey? Do they accept your nature as much as their own?" He gestured upwards to the sky. "Do they understand nature as it is?"

Frank tilted his head back to stare up at the stars. They glistened and glittered in the black. It was a cloudless night. Everything was so clear. He felt almost as though he could reach out and touch one.

"People say there's no evolutionary benefit to animal adoption. Adopting a newborn, especially when you haven't lost any of your own, expends more energy." Jason sank down to a sit. His eyes were still closed. "Adopting a newborn outside your species doesn't carry on your genes. Doesn't keep your species running."

Frank thought of his bird lungs and grizzly blood. Sitting down next to Jason, he said, "It's symbiotic."

"Sometimes," Jason agreed. "Sometimes it's beneficial on both ends. Sometimes mothers are just nurturing. And sometimes it's just help." He spread his legs. "I brought the elder wolves their food when they could no longer hunt. My sister nursed our nieces because her mother died. Lupa brought me and they cared because I needed it. Can you help? Would it hurt you or the pack to help? Sometimes those are the only questions that matter."

He gestured loosely. "Animals aren't perfect. Brood parasitism for one thing. Fish and insects and rabbits eat their young. Some animals attack others for fun. But humans aren't perfect either, so what does it matter why animals adopt?"

A gentle breeze slid through their hair. Jason looked utterly at ease. Frank felt... Not serene. No. But. Calmer, almost. It sank inside him like a heavy fog. Foreign and strange, but ultimately fine. The fog wasn't too dense. Visibility was decent. Right now, it was okay.

He looked down to his hairless clawless hands. "No one ever asks why humans adopt."

Jason grinned, flashed all his teeth. "No. They don't." He looked away. "No one ever says so, but when I came to camp..." He shook his head. "People think the wolves took care of me because of Juno and my father. But they took care of me because I was their pup. If I wasn't, I would've been trained like everyone else. Not immersed in what it means to be a wolf." He gave a soft smile. "I used to call Lupa 'Mom'. She made me stop a couple months before I had to leave, but.."

His smile dipped and he looked up to the stars. His bright blue eyes seemed to glow.

"The wolves were my family. I didn't know anything else."

Frank pressed a hand to his chest. "I'm not like you. You're... mixed." He snorted. "Human-passing, but raised in an all wolf household. That's your... culture. Your world. Even if people don't believe it when you say so. But I'm..."

"The opposite." He nodded. Jason nudged him with his shoulder. "That doesn't mean you can't learn. Wolf. Bird. Bear. You can find what it means to be them."

The wind whistled. Far below the deck, he could hear the faint sounds of snoring. He rubbed at his ear, wishing away whatever animal hearing chose to ignite itself. "What if I forget how to be human?"

Jason sighed. "Frank. The only way you could stay fully human is to give up being an animal. You'd have to stop shapeshifting."

Stop being himself.

Frank never considered himself a mixed child. He didn't even know what his father looked like until recently. And that was ambiguous at best. Gods could look however they chose. Who was to say he didn't look Chinese when he met his mom?

But the parallels remained. He knew other kids who were mixed. Kids who were out of touch with their Chinese side. Kids who were jealous he could speak Cantonese, even if limited, because their family wouldn't teach them. Or their Chinese parent didn't know it at all.

His grandmother was strict about maintaining their culture even so far away from where they came from. But he knew other immigrants weren't the same way. That they did away with it all to assimilate. Not just Chinese families, but all kinds of ethnicities and cultures. Even some white families. Dropping away their heritage so they could mask in with the Canadians. So they could pick up the new customs and social order faster. So their kids wouldn't get bullied. So life could be easier.

And now, in the modern hustle and bustle of cultural appreciation, there were people who knew nothing about the place their families came from. They could walk into those countries and blend in physically, but never verbally, never emotionally, never culturally.

Did Frank want that for himself? To match with the other birds on the branch but never have a clue about how to act other than to fly and tweet? To blend in with the wolves, but know that Jason, with his furless skin and flat teeth, was more wolf than him?

Did it matter? He wasn't really part-animal. Not like Jason. Shapeshifting was a power. But it wasn't separate from him. When he held too long in a form, he could feel himself start to sink in. He was still Frank, but more Frank the bear, angered that someone threatened his cub, than Frank the human, angered that someone threatened Hazel.

And shapeshifting...

It was culture, wasn't it? His mom used it. His grandmother used it. All the great, great, greats used it if they had it. It was part of his family. Like a tradition passed down.

So if he stopped, wouldn't he be abandoning part of his culture?

Animals believed in survival - for their species or one they plucked from the whorls of loneliness. They nurtured the young, cared for the old, visited graves. Died and let their descendants consume the grass they grew. They fought to protect, to live.

His grizzly blood quickened in veins. Hotter. Warmer, against the cold. Shapeshifting was Frank's survival, as bitter lightning was Jason's, as deadly gold was Hazel's, and a sudden hurricane was Percy's.

He couldn't throw it away.

"I'm never going to recognize myself in the mirror, am I?"

Jason sighed. It was a quiet sad thing and it made Frank's bird lungs stutter.

"No," Jason said. "You won't. You won't feel wholly human either. Or wholly like an animal. Whichever one you choose. Bear, bird, wolf. Or everything, all of them." He turned and caught Frank's eyes. "But you'll know who you are." He looked away. "I've found that's the thing that really matters."

They weren't mixed kids. Finding solace in both worlds - human and animal - was never going to put the world right again. And Frank doubted that every child of an immigrant and every mixed kid who discovered and immersed themselves in forgotten traditions and customs would suddenly feel 100% in place either.

But they would know who they were. Who all the people who came before them were. How life was lived before migration.

Maybe he wasn't part animal, the way Jason was, or the way other feral children were, raised by wolves and monkeys and bears. Any animal that came across a miserable child and decided to help.

But grizzly bear warmth coursed through his skin and kept him hot despite the cold. Bird lungs kept him breathing easy in the thin air. Wolf teeth protected his friends. Ram horns shoved back monsters. Goldfish gills and scales kept him alive in the water. Dragonfly wings let him buzz quickly through the air.

His mother fed stray cats and dogs. She encouraged Frank to be kind to animals that passed by. His grandmother put out bird feed and spoke loudly to them when they came to eat. Cats brought birds to their owners. Crows came back with shiny things for people who helped them.

No, he wasn't part-animal. But animals kept him alive. Who was he to not show respect to the ones that helped him? Even if it made him unrecognizable to himself.

Was that why his grandmother was so strict about their culture? Did she lose her humanity too? Unable to see herself in the mirror and deciding she wasn't going to lose her ancestry along with it?

"Nice teeth," Jason murmured.

Frank ran his tongue along sharp fangs. Even his tongue felt different - wider, longer. His mouth hadn't changed, not externally anyway. But he could feel his tongue start farther in his throat to accommodate the new length. His uvula wasn't where it should've been. Of course it wasn't. It was probably further down, somewhere in throat. Or just gone. If it stayed where it was in a normal human, the thickness of his tongue and its new starting place would've immediately gagged him.

"It just happens sometimes," Frank said, focusing mentally on flat teeth, a human tongue, his uvula at the top of his mouth. "I don't know why."

"Let it." Jason stretched his arms up over his head. "Animals don't deny their instincts, why should you? We have them for a reason."

Frank considered that. Thought of his grandmother, sick, frail, and a bird flying out of the house before it came crumbling down. Thought of her speaking loudly to the birds that came to eat. How similar the two looked.

He let his wolven fangs rest where they formed, but kept his human tongue. The other felt too strange to have in a human head.

Jason reached out and traced his nail over one. Then pulled back and turned back to the stars. "I can teach you what it means to be a wolf, if you want," he said.

Frank traced his fangs once more. Then smiled. "I'd like that."

#this was supposed to be about depersonalization and i accidentally turned it into a mixed kid metaphor 😑#am i mad about it? no. but am i kinda annoyed it deviated from the intended plan? yeah #frank zhang #wolf!jason #jason grace #my writing #my fanfic #happy talks pjo #anyway idc if this doesn't make sense i havent eaten all day so im gonna go do that now okay bye 👍

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quinn-pop · 7 months

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to be apart

#ghghh i guess i write fanfic now??? i'm not really proud of anything so far so i wasn't gonna post abt it but i really wanted to draw this #kirbyposting #my art or something #magolor #kirby #to be apart #i dont really know how to tag this it may as well be a shitpost #kris where the fuck are we #oh yeah i haven’t drawn much in the past month because well. my number one priority is sewing #but i finally realized what i wanted this fic to be like and then the hyper focus kicked in #we’ll see how it goes i guess #i can’t say it’s particularly good but it’s a lot of fun to do and it feels really really good to be writing again so that’s enough for me

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jattendschaton · 1 year

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You ever read the way someone writes a character and think 'oh yeah, you definitely wrote for x fandom before this' and then one step further do you ever go back and get reinvested in a previous hyperfixation and realize you are writing your current blorbos in a distinctly fandom x-ish way?? Do I even have new blorbos or all they all just slight variations of the same bitch

#bean talks #directly inspired by rereading a previous hyperfixation from middle school #that i didnt even write fanfic for but i reread that first book well enough to recite it #and now i'm like. oh wow. i am writing adrien agreste in such a distinctly previous fixation way...#i didnt even remember this old blorbo was so similar to him ???#and now i'm like. do other people read my writing and think 'oh yeah you were definitely influenced by internet craze of 2009'#because appARENTLY they'd be right and i didnt even realize it #i kinda love that though. our previous interests all bring us to where we are today. even if it was cringe or whatever i dont care #our creativity is all wrapped up in everything we've ever loved and hated and experienced and thought about #and i like that even if it catches me off guard. nothing ever really leaves you because it's shaped the way you think about the world

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rhythmic-idealist · 4 months

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Chase Trinaeste POV Shepherds of Haven fic? Yeah………….. Chase x MC fic? Yeah.......

And another friend’s OC is also mentioned in here? …..Yeah…………… dw about it..........

Listen though. L-listen:

---

You gotta learn to braid.

Thinking about it, your head is immediately gifted with images of him irritatedly brushing it out in the morning and chewing you out for bad technique. Better yet, he wears it to breakfast, thinks it’s good, and then chews you out only after Trouble makes some no-brained comment and he looks in a mirror for the first time. After all, you’ve got nimble fingers, makes sense to assume you were trustable.

Rock’s head is in your lap.

And his hair is going everywhere, and he’s always clearly taken his time with it (at your best guess he uses five different products at least), so that’s why you’re thinking about it. Don’t people with long hair sleep with braids, sometimes? Lavinet would probably teach you, and do you the favor of not announcing that you’re about to use your skills for evil.

He’s been like this since about five in the morning. You’re a light sleeper. As needs be, you rise either with the sunset or with the sun. Or elsewise, if you’ve got to— you have what some might call an uncanny sense for a well-timed catnap.

So you’re up again, working out the couple little kinks in your back from dozing upright like that. It’s another of the perks of the job: learn to sleep anywhere. You have a lot of little resume filler skills like that, just a tragic lack of resume to put it on. Idly, you wonder over the nonsensical notion of putting one together for the Order once your writing gets good enough to, and you’re kind of attached to the idea now. Blade wouldn’t read it, especially considering you’re already in, but there’s some small giddy joy you get out of the idea of putting it in his possession anyway. Maybe Trouble would read it. Maybe Shery would think it’s juicy enough that she can’t keep her hands off it, and then roll in the guilt about it for a few weeks after. ...No, you can’t do that to her. Funny as that is, she could read with permission. You might be cruel, but she’s a horrible choice of target.

Anyway— So you’ve been watching him be like this since about five in the morning, and thus have evidence of him being like this since about five in the morning. You remember falling asleep late last night, though. Waiting for him to drift first. It was probably one, two AM.

When six-thirty rolls around, you’ll have to wake him, you have a bright and early morning dose of espionage on the schedule today (it’s why the two of you are all the way out here, plus Lavinet and Ottilie graciously hosted in another wing) and you can’t have a grouchy Hero of Haven who hasn’t had a good hour or more awake to put his silver tongue back on.

Something something joke about that tongue’s many talents.

Head in lap is a surprise at all. It’s one of those things— Rock has done this thing to you where all your defenses are the ones that keep coming down first.

It feels a little like getting grifted. When you’ve caught onto a grift, though, and you’re playing along to see what or whom or where they take you to, you don’t feel like you’re in danger, because you’re good. You’re in as much danger as you want to be, or more like: when there are unpredictable variables, you know more or less where they’re going. Rock makes you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something you don’t fucking play with, and it doesn’t help that he likes to open his mouth sometimes just to remind you you’re rolling off a cliff.

Anyway. Then you get this, and you wanna be a charming shit about it, as usual (and you intend to), you just also wonder how much he’s falling off a cliff.

He gets bad nightmares. You know that because of the trip to the Reach. You do also know it because of the tightness in Blade’s lip when you mentioned it offhand later— there’s history there; they’ve been worse than that. You also know it because you picked the brains of a couple recruits who were standing around griping after Trouble sent them for something like twenty laps around the compound (not a real intuitive head for numbers on that man): apparently, it was Captain Nomura they’d been gossiping about, and Trouble was a hardass about it.

It’s the one thing that makes you feel borderline… even. If not even, then at least okay with it.

That’s a lie, you’d probably feel okay with it anyway, you got down to being okay with whatever he’s doing to you the minute you realized you were this invested. It’s just something you use to put things in perspective. There are things you didn’t exactly expect to peel open for him, about you. But there are also things he’s not asking to broadcast publicly to every hard-luck-fleer who wanders onto the Shepherds compound to recruit. Rumors about the head of the Thieves Guild abound, but the unflattering ones are usually less true, and the untrue ones abound so plentifully that no one knows heads or tails of that, anyway.

Feels fair he should have secrets from someone. You’re still gonna fucking dig your way into them before they bury him alive, it’s just. Yeah, you haven’t had your brain pulled open onto a projection screen.

So he has nightmares. You’re not actually sure how often. Technically, you don’t have proof they haven’t gotten better since you last heard. But since you’re not bound to the same evidence requirements as a court of law, and since it’s become a roulette game of how grouchy Rock’s gonna be minute-to-minute, he was dodgy about the prospect of rooming with you or anyone on this mission at all, and he’s recently had a god or demon or trick of the light try to tell him (plus all of the rest of you) that he’s less Mage and more something else’s torn out rib, you can look at two plus two plus two and say probably.

You’ve learned how not to dream. It’s basically the same as learning how to wake up when you want to. When you did dream, you dreamt of mutiny, imaginary holes you left and getting torn down through them. You were always yourself in your dreams—some people are characters, tropes, or other people they know, apparently; you wouldn’t know. Now you keep that in the waking world, and you keep ten paces ahead of it.

That’s the thing you’re deadly sure about in him. That he’s keeping ten paces ahead of something. You—your whole tether to his side—account for anything from like one to like eight of them, as far as you can tell. That’s all you know.

…Well that’s the quick way to tell it. He’s keeping ten paces ahead of something inside the Shepherds. Could be Blade, but you’re not sure why. Could be the Autarchy, but that’s too simple for you. Doesn’t feel like it. Could be Ottilie’s God-given plans for a pretty obvious heathen, but your nose also says it’s not that easy.

He looks dead asleep right now. Comfy, you’d kind of go so far as to hope. And anyway you look at his face, still waters, and you’re a little afraid to even brush his hair out of it.

You don’t even know if he meant to lay his head down on you at all, if that’s a cliff he made his shaky peace with (or if it’s a cliff at all, if means anything to him, Hael if you know) or if he was just miserable.

You don’t know if it’s you, like the stillness might be the effect of having another body in the room that he’s willing to lay his head against— …or if maybe he just doesn’t get them every night. Or if there is one under there. But you hope he’s not dreaming.

You try to bask in it, for now. Try to pose like a king with a sweet little kitten in his lap, like a guy painted on the front of a romance novel with the sweet, innocent angel he’s seduced to lay over him, nightgown slipping down her shoulder. You spend an hour with only walls to watch, dutifully still so he can finish sleeping, and it’s only a small handful of times that you have to stop and breathe through a creep of bile up your throat.

Six-thirty hits.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

“Mmf. What.” Rock spits a strand of hair out of his face. Yeah, you probably could have done him a favor on that instead of leaving it there for him to wake up to. But it’s funny, so, you know. Win-win.

“The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, Ottilie’s slaughtering her morning chicken—” (she is not).

Rock seems to parse the reality of where he is, and peels himself up from you, sitting facing away from you— and then he glances at you over his shoulder, for a moment, and everything about it is horribly, disressingly raw.

He looks at you a little too long. The thing about Rock is his rules are a lot like yours, and you are not supposed to say anything about it, but he’s looking at you, like he’s asking you to, and it lasts a long time.

Then he goes to brush his teeth.

#shepherds of haven #chase trinaeste #chase trinaeste x mc #shepherds of haven fanfic #yeah sorry this one doesnt. resolve. thats it thats the oneshot!#i have more drafted from later on this little made-up mission im sending them on #but it's more like a second chapter #one day I'm gonna write the fic about how deeply fucking tragic everything going on w Blade and Rock is bc it's not clear here but #listen. listen. Blade is one of his most important people.#I have constructed a guy who loves Blade so much. and who then proceeded to convince himself that one day Blade will kill him #I mean not necessarily Blade. just the Shepherds. but it would hurt worst if it's Blade. so now it'll definitely be Blade. see. logic #Blade is going to feel. so extremely ill when he discovers this has been going on #so there's the... FLAVOR of the Blade mention in here

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