#while Windy's is tension

[mintaikkcorpse]

I think this is where I peaked as an artist

[oldmenthusiast]

18+ content mdni

bookshop owner!joel miller x fem plus size reader

warnings: smut, age gap, tension, reader is in her 20s and joel in his 50s, semi public sex, reader wears glasses, not proofread

it takes many job interviews for joel to hire someone until he finds you. you're not the first young thing to apply for the job, not the most qualified either but joel likes how modest you are.

he also likes the way you avoid his gaze if he stares too long, or how you keep pushing your glasses every time they slide down your nose.

those aren't the only things he notices about you because he's become very observant due to his age; it definitely doesn't have to do with some strange infatuation over you, no.

when your hands firmly pull your sundress down if it's too windy, when you smack your own forehead if you mix up the order of the books before switching them again. joel notices that too but it doesn't necessarily mean anything.

“I’ve taken care of the online orders, mister miller.” you inform him as sweet as ever and joel’s crooked smile appears on instinct.

“thank you, sweetheart. you know how people my age are with those machines.”

you're kind enough to shake your head at his response.

“I think you're doing great,sir.” you tell him and it warms his cold heart to the core.

“go home, sugar. I'll close up soon.” he mutters with the same half smile and watches you go but not without wishing him a good day.

during peak season, the bookshop gets naturally busy but to the point where joel and you have to stay overtime.

he doesn't ask it of you but you insist.

“I can't let you do all that by yourself.” you mutter with a faint pout that he wants to kiss away.

“can’t pay you for overtime,sugar—”

“just let me do this for you,sir.” you cut him off and joel doesn't argue further.

that's how his following nights go. you sit together in the back of the store, tons of books and papers surrounding you as you work. you assist him with every single thing he needs and even if you lack knowledge in some parts, you learn it for him.

peak season ends, the bookshop is quiet and your shift ends but you somehow still sit at the back of the store instead of going home. joel sits across you while holding a bottle of beer in his hand.

“a girl your age should go out with friends and have fun, not rot in here with me.” joel tells you with a hint of amusement in his tone.

even if he's right, you do not agree.

“I like it here, it's peaceful..” you explain and as usual your gaze doesn't linger on his. you look away when joel doesn't and it makes the man smile.

“I like it too.” he mutters after a while and tips his head back to down the rest of his beer.

there's hidden intent behind his reply, or maybe just the feeling of wanting to say something more, but joel keeps quiet. whether you notice it or no, you don't say.

joel doesn't pride himself to be the best boss but at least he's a good enough one. that's what he tells himself when your most recent ex partner marches in his bookshop to cause a scene but joel sends him back with a bruised eye and some vulgar words.

it's probably the first time someone has stood up for you like that but it's more special because it comes from joel.

whether it's out of gratitude or suppressed emotions, joel thanks whatever high power has led him to the back of the store again with his body slumped on his chair and you straddling his lap.

“mister miller.” you moan as you sink down his cock, taking him inch by inch until you're fuller than ever.

his calloused hands wrap around your plush thighs and fondle the skin greedily, loving how it spills between his fingers. whatever you're not proud of, joel touches it like it's a treasure.

“I’m a man, not a boy.” he growls when you hesitate to move on him, afraid of crushing him beneath your weight. “fuck yourself on my cock, baby. come on.” one of his hands slaps your ass possessively and his words alone are good enough to give you the confidence that you lack.

once you start moving, it's over for him.

his thighs flex beneath your weight and his cock twitches within you as you ride him, taking him in so perfect.

“so good. my sweet girl. my favourite girl.” he whispers against your cheek and you melt while swaying your hips faster.

his hands clutch harder at your thighs as you bounce on his cock, buzzing with heat and need for more.

the sound of skin slapping, as well as the wet noises that emit with each slide of joel’s hardened cock inside your folds makes everything better. “so wet. you're coating my cock with it, sugar.” he says through gritted teeth as his fingers dig harder into the skin of your ass.

he slaps it once, then twice.

“mister miller!” you cry out when a particularly hard thrust is delivered straight into your sweet spot.

joel buries his face into your neck and grunts as your walls tighten around his cock, claiming his every inch. “so sensitive. bet your boyfriend didn't know how to fuck like this.” and he's probably right by the way your pussy drools and squeezes around him, sucking him in for more.

his lips find your neck and he marks it unapologetically, biting and sucking on whatever skin his mouth can reach.

when he pulls away and presses his back against the creaking chair he's graced by a sight better than any other.

joel watches you ride him, stares as your tits bounce before his face and your crooked glasses struggle to exist because of the force of his thrusts below you.

he definitely can't last long after that and he uses his strength to shove you on the table and tower over you. only then does he realize the pathetic state of your sundress, butchered up around your waist like it's a belt. he slides his cock inside you again and you whimper softly.

“knew you were made for me ever since you walked through that door.” joel growls while fondling your breasts with both hands, his mouth merely occupied with the tender skin on them.

your hands reach for him, gripping the back of his shirt as he fucks you. you're not used to being given things, only to give them yourself. and this much pleasure is overwhelming but it's good because it's joel giving it.

a particular shift of his hips helps him to slide deeper and the sensation causes you both to moan in unison.

“I won’t last, sweet girl.” he croaks between the space of your breasts while sucking one of your nipples into his mouth.

you can say the same as the stimulation brings you closer to the edge and your eyes can barely stay open at some point.

his hips follow a fast and intrusive pace, and every time joel’s hips collide against the back of your thighs it makes your skin jiggle. you feel embarrassed but not for long as joel drags his lips against yours.

“the prettiest girl. there's nothing better than you, sweetheart.” joel whispers and you kiss him before he does.

your mouths melt so perfectly, your noses brushing intimately, and if joel could bring you any closer he would.

“there.” you beg against his lips when the tip of his cock hits that perfect spot within you.

“here?” he asks teasingly and makes his thrusts purposely rougher. your legs shake around him and he does it again. and again. and again.

the bookshop is filled with your cries and begging. “i’m coming— I can't—” you mumble incoherently but joel gets it as he speeds it up.

you watch his hand disappear between your bodies and you don't question it until you feel that excellent brush of fingers against your clit, accompanied by his savage thrusts into your weeping pussy.

“joel.” his informal name falls off your lips so well and he has to remind himself to breath when you say it as you come around his cock with a cry.

it takes everything in him to not spill everything within you right there.

“where? where, baby?” he asks as he grounds his hips and hopes you'll get it.

“I'm on the pill.” you so graciously tell him while squeezing your thighs around his waist and joel nearly says thank you because of what a desperate bastard he is.

it only takes a few more thrusts for him to let go and come inside you, his hands abandoning your breasts to pull you down by your hips.

your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel every drop pour into you and fill you up. it briefly shocks you that he's still coming — he's still filling you up with his seed and groaning against you.

“there’s so much.” you mutter breathlessly as he nuzzles his face against yours. joel simply hums and uses one of his hands to caress the bare side of your hip, keeping you relaxed.

“we’re not opening tomorrow.” he tells you in his usual tone of authority.

“it’s thursday.” you tell him.

“good day to go out and eat,yeah?” joel pulls back enough to look at you and he stares at you knowingly. his words bring a smile to your lips, one that he wants to treasure forever.

you nod then, giving him your acceptance.

“yeah. it is a good day to eat out.” his hand moves from your hip to fix your crooked glasses with a fond expression. the glint in his eyes speaks louder than any sentence.

“maybe you should keep your calendar empty for this month. or year.” his words amuse you but you're aware that it's far from a joke — he isn't asking. your eyes regard him as gently as always and you smile that way just for him. “yes mister miller.”

he was glad to have hired you.

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ The ballad of the raven and the dragon ⭑

Masterlist

A/N: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!! PLEASE KIERAN BURTON ONE CHANCE JUST ONE!!!!!!!!

Pairing: Benjicot ("Davos") Blackwood x targ!princess!reader

Summary: Being the only daughter of queen Rhaenrya and the heir to the throne is not easy, after convincing your mother to let you patrol near the riverlands you come across a battle where you meet the infamous Bloody Ben.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, smut, burning brackens, making out, dry humping, oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), wine play, vaginal sex.

It was another grey and windy morning at Dragon Stone. The sea waves crashing against the cliffs, dragons roaring in the sky. War was brewing and so was the tension at Dragon Stone. Being heir to the iron throne was heavier than you thought, the meetings with the black council were getting more dreadful and your mother, the queen, more protective of you and your brothers by the day. Ever since Ser Arryks intrusion she had more guards on watch and you were rarely allowed to leave, especially because you are the queen's only daughter and heir. 

However this morning after begging her to let you patrol the lands, she finally gave in, only for a short while. So your handmaiden quickly helped you change and put your hair up for the flight. Practically running towards the cave, you could barely pace yourself to get to your dragon. She was big for her age and almost as fierce as Caraxes. After getting on her, she felt your excitement and quickly flew out. After a while of flying around Dragon Stone you decided to go a bit further, near the riverlands. 

When you were getting closer high in the sky, you spotted some people near cow fields and a mill, so to take a closer look you descended down enough so you could see them better. Just to check if you didn’t come across the greens knights. Now being lower you could hear some yelling, and then their clothes became more apparent. Around four or so in yellow and brown and the other 4 in black and red, which in the riverlands only meant one thing. Brackens and Blackwoods. However they did not seem to notice you, too caught up in the argument. You were debating on landing out of curiosity but quickly made your decision when swords were drawn and a fight broke out. 

Then you noticed that more Brackens turned up, you knew they declared for Aegon and even though your mother told you not to engage, you never turned away from a fight. You quickly descended with your dragon and she let out a shrieking roar. The faces of the men looked up but there was no time for the Brackens to run as you commanded, “Dracarys!”. Your dragon incinerated a good half of the brackens, the other now starting to run. You quickly turned the two of you around to get on their heels and burn the remaining of them. Your body filled with adrenaline and you dragon roaring with triumph and excitement herself you heard the victorious chants of the Blackwood men down below. 

So deciding to officially meet your allies you landed near them, seemingly their commander already heading towards you. As you stood on the ground you met him halfway and could barely hold in your smile at the sight of him. Never had you seen someone as fierce, unique and handsome looking as him. “My princess, thank the gods for you and your dragon. You saved us many men.” He greeted you with a grin. “It was my pleasure, any green I see I’ll turn black.” He laughed at that, took a step closer and gave you a soft bow with his head. 

“However exciting I find to burn my enemies, this was still unnecessary my lord. I don’t remember my mother giving out orders to kill Brackens.” You lectured, your tone a bit more serious now. Even though it was thrilling, your mother would surely hear of this and get upset. “I understand your grace but those cunts deserve death, anyone who stands with the usurper does.” The fearsome lord gritted out. “But I do apologise, I meant no offence to her grace the queen…or the beautiful princess.” He said that last part softer and with a smile. 

You felt like a little girl again, blushing at his words. “I know you didn't, my lord.” He smiled again and you felt your skin heat up beneath your clothes, there was just something about him...a certain mischief. “Raventree Hall is not too far your grace, I would like to offer you some wine and food for your troubles.” He petitioned. “It was no trouble my lord but I’ll take that offer. I assume you’re on horseback?” You smiled. “Yes your grace, you could ride with me if it pleases you.” He offered. “Have you ever flown on a dragon my lord?” The words left your lips before you could even think about them. The lord of house Blackwood made you say and do things you never thought you would for a man. 

“I haven’t your grace, what are you suggesting?” He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and nervousness on his face. “Fly with me, it’s faster and more fun.” Your words surprised him and he seemed to debate on whether he should. But Benjicot Blackwood was a brave man and at this moment he would do anything to please the princess, even risking his life on a dragon's back. His men cheered behind him and one of them even pushed him in your direction. “Even if I didn’t want to, it looks like I have no choice.” He chuckled. 

“Well let’s go then.” You walked over to your dragon who didn’t seem to love the idea but always did as you commanded anyway. When you were seated, you asked your dragon to lower herself a bit for Lord Blackwood “Ivestragī zirȳla va.” and she did, almost with a grunt.  He climbed on behind you in the saddle as you scootched a bit forward to make room for the tall man. “Ready?” You asked him, grabbing the reins, his men moving out of the way before you. “I think so.” He said, holding on to your waist, which totally didn’t make your heart skip a beat. “Sōvēs.” The second the word left your lips, your dragon started to move, taking some steps before rising into the sky, wings flapping. You could hear the men below you gasp and cheer and felt the lord's hands holding on tighter to your waist. 

After some time of soaring through the skies, Raventree Hall finally came into view. With a loud thump your dragon landed on the ground and you showed lord Blackwood on how to get off, after he got off as well he grinned and led you to the gates of Raventree Hall, the tall weirwood tree looming not too far away. Following Lord Blackwood through his home you were greeted by the guards and servants roaming the place, all with a polite bow or curtsy and a soft “your grace” or “princess”. When you arrived in the big dining hall, it was empty except for you two and some guards. 

Sitting opposite to each other at the table he had a servant fetch some wine, bread, cheese and fruits. “Do you have a favourite fruit or cheese princess?” He asked while removing his gloves. “I wouldn’t want your servants to go out of their way, really anything is fine.” You smiled, cautiously observing his handsome face and veiny hands. He still had some blood on his face, which somehow made him even more alluring. When the food and wine arrived he sent the few guards and servants away and poured you some wine himself. “Thank you my lord.” You said politely, hands in your lap as you watched his tall figure looming over you behind your seat, putting the goblet in front of you. Pouring himself some too he sat back down.

“My princess you needn't call me ‘my lord’, please call me Ben.” His request surprised you but you gave him a smile and nod nonetheless. “Alright... I will.” He took a sip of his wine and looked at you shamelessly. Normally you hated men looking at you like that, but him doing it- made you hot and flushed. “I know it has been a year already but I still wanted to say how sorry I was to hear of your father. I didn’t know him well but I knew he was fierce on the battlefield.” You spoke softly. “Thank you, I must admit that seeing those Brackens today triggered some grief I still had left.” He looked down as he spoke. “I’m so sorry, I know how it feels to have your father taken by the stranger. It will get better, if there is anything I can do for you.” 

He looked at you with kind eyes. “You are too kind, and quite fierce on the battlefield yourself.” He complimented you, now with his mischievous smile back on his face. “Thank you.” You glanced around the empty room before you spoke again. “Do you- have a wife?” You almost stumbled over your words, the question wasn’t disgraceful... but how it was perceived could be. “No, the war and finding my place as new lord of Raventree Hall have kept me busy. It gives me space to...explore and experience, I guess.” He said looking at you once again- did he just look at your chest? “I see. A man is lucky enough to do that, many even continue to explore and experience well into marriage.” You said with a certain jealousy behind it. You seemed to both understand the meaning behind your words, the impure meaning. 

The winds blowing through the cold Raventree Hall made the room cool your heated conversation down a bit but your want for him couldn’t be blown away. Your eyes met each other and you couldn’t help but notice a certain change in demeanour from him. “Have you had the opportunity to explore or experience much in life yet princess?” The way he said the words, low and almost raspy, made your breath catch in your throat. “No.” You said soft and meek. He paused before he dared speak his next words. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like…” His tone was still low and soft. “Yes-” You answered quickly, you wanted nothing more than his touch. 

Before you could protest he rose from his seat, walked to the hall doors and opened them. You thought you had perhaps scared him off but then you heard him speak to the guards outside the door. “The princess has a delicate matter to discuss with me, so take your leave for the night. Make sure no servants pass here.” You could hear a hushed ‘yes my lord’ and footsteps leaving as he closed the doors again. On instinct you stood up and he walked over to you. Looking at each other's eyes and lips once more he surged forward and crashed his lips against yours. His strong grip on your waist and lips moving against yours made a soft moan escape your lips. He moved you tighter against him and your arms were holding on to his back.

His veiny hands moving down to your ass and gripping it tightly caused your clothed pussy and his hardening cock to grind on each other making him groan against your lips. Pausing the kiss for a moment you begged him to do it again. “I have a better idea.” He mumbled against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss as he moved you towards the table. With your ass now touching the edge of the table his hands moved to knead your breasts before lifting you up on the table and standing between your legs. He held onto you before kissing you again, your own hands moving to his dark hair. 

Bringing you close again he started to grind his hard on right against your clothed cunt, making you moan and whine into his mouth. He left your lips to kiss along your jaw, sucking on your neck next. “Please- harder...feels so good.” You pleaded. “Fuck-” He muttered against your neck, now full on humping you like a dog, panting and cussing underneath his ragged breaths. The table was croaking and scratching the floor from the movements. Your hands held on tighter in your hair as you felt your orgasm wash over you, sudden and unknown but you never felt this amount of pleasure. As the pleasure overtook you you held your breath, his moans now becoming louder as well. “Feels good- doesn’t it pretty princess? Just wait until I fuck you on my cock.” His dirty words made you gasp and whine in response before he sadly stopped his movements. Instead he started removing your clothes, you quickly helped, once left in your undergarments and chemise he started to remove his own clothes as well, leaving him in just his breeches, the thin fabric gave you a full view of the big tent that his hard cock created. 

You couldn’t stop your hand from wanting to touch his cock, his breath hitched as your fingers touched his tip. “Does that feel good?” You asked in a seductive tone, you knew what you were doing and this newfound sinful power made you wonder what else you could do to him. “Ohh yesss.” He shuddered, “Just like that-” Your hand now fully grasped his cock moving the skin over his tip underneath the cloth. “S-stop, fuck, before you make me cum already.” Ben said with a breathy chuckle. Setting you back on the table he removed the remainder of your clothes, at the sight of your breasts he paused and couldn’t help but stare. Throwing the rest of your clothes on the floor he reached behind you and grabbed the goblet of half filled wine. “Shall we make this memorable?” He smiled mischievously. You could only nod and look at him with slight confusion, but it all became clear when he tipped the goblet over by your left breast, wine trickling down your nipple before Ben moved to lick it up and suck on the skin. You inhaled at the sensation. 

Moving to your right nipple he once again let some wine flow down your breast before he licked it up again. He kissed you once more. Then he licked your lips and sank to his knees. Your brows furrowed in confusion but you were excited for what he was about to do next. He started to kiss up your legs, kneading your thighs and hips. Your eyes rolled back at the sight before you. His head now moved between your thighs, moving the cup right above your already wet cunt he tipped it over again letting wine spill over your pussy and again he didn’t fail to lick it up. 

But this time it felt a thousand times better than your breasts. A gasp and moan left your mouth and you grabbed his head for support when he repeated the action, however this time he started to suck, lick and devour you. Putting the wine on the ground he grabbed your hips to hold you still as he went in like you were his dinner. “Gods- please- Ben!” You could never keep quiet with the way his tongue was fucking you now. And due to your sensitivity from your previous orgasm, you came undone in a matter of seconds, coating his face in your arousal. 

“Thats a good fucking girl.” He smiled leaving soft kisses on your mound before rising again. “Please, please take me. Bend me over the table and take me Ben.” You breathlessly begged. With a look of pure lust on his face he did as his princess told. Moving you off the table and turning you around he bended you over, your breasts pressing against the hard table. Hurriedly removing his breeches, he lined up his hard cock with your entrance. Using his tip to spread around your juices. “Seven hells-” He groaned as he let his tip slip inside you. You moaned and gripped the table for support as he now slowly sank into you. 

“You okay? Can I move?” He asked breathlessly. “Yes- please I’m fine- just fuck me already-” He wasted no time and grabbed your ass cheeks as he fucked into you. Gaspes, pants and moans filled the room as he pounded harder into you. He couldn’t help but slap your ass and grip it harder making you roll your eyes back in ecstasy. The table shook underneath you and now you understand why he even sent the guards outside away. 

The noises of sweaty skin slapping against each other, the moans, the cusses, the pleading, panting and creaking of the table spurred Benjicot on even more. Lifting your right leg so your knee was resting on the table as well allowed in to fuck you even deeper. His cock now fully hitting your cervix. He had to remind himself who he was fucking and that he couldn’t fill you with his cum. That became an even more difficult task as he could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him tighter making him moan your name with each pound into you. 

Moving his fingers to your clit while thrusting into you, moaning your name against your shoulder you came with a moan of his name. Benji quickly pulled out and you turned around “On your knees.” He commanded, and you did. You had a feeling of what he wanted and opened your mouth, with a smile Ben put his leaking cock in your mouth as you started sucking. His moans became louder again and he filled your mouth, cussing as he came too, swallowing his cum he caressed your cheek before helping you up. Heavy breaths filled the room and breathy laughs from you both. He pulled you closer and you held each other for a bit.

Until you had to break the silence. “No one can know Ben.” You spoke resting your chin on his chest when you looked at him. “I know.” You shared a solemn smile before you pulled away from him reaching for your chemise on the ground. “Let me keep it.” He stammered. “Why would-” He took it from you. “Because, when you leave I’ll have something of you. And when I am lonely at night...I could relive the memory of my cock deep in your cunt.” He spoke lowly. “Okay.” You smiled, giving him a light kiss before getting dressed. Anxiety filled you as your mother must be worried by now. “I do have to leave now.” You said after Ben got dressed as well. “I know.” You kissed each other one last time before you left with your dragon, soaring through the sky as your heart hurt at the thought of not being with him.

[girlfromflor]

cw: slight angst, simon riley x reader, grieve, hurt/comfort.

You get home by seven. Your nose and cheeks are freezing cold from the windy weather outside – which you couldn’t have noticed enough to grab a jacket before leaving the house in a rush – and your shoulders heavy from all the thinking you did about your fight with Simon.

As you toe off your shoes and step inside the kitchen, a part of you wishes Simon has already eaten, to spare both of you from an awkwardly silent dinner where the tension hangs too thick and the only sound heard is from the cutlery hitting the ceramic of the dishes as you eat – although, the other part of you would feel extremely disregarded if he did so.

So when you see his broad figure sitting by the table, with two plates set and his puppy-like eyes gazing up at you, you remember just how much of a softie he is and he’d never hurt you intentionally – that’s why you chose to be with him in the first place. You can’t help but feel guilty for considering he’d ever actively avoid your presence – especially after you’ve addressed it so blatantly earlier – you know he wouldn’t disregard your words in the long run, even if they took a while to pierce through his thick skull.

Letting out a sigh and gathering your mental and emotional strength, you sit down on your designated seat across from him at the table, mind racing to find the right words to say.

“Uhm– Did you wait for too long? I’m sorry I—”

“Can we not…? You don’t have to pretend it’s okay, sweet’eart.” Despite the fact that he had straight up interrupted you, you have to suppress a giggle at the way he grimaces at the nickname – too used to calling you by it, even if it’s an uncomfortable situation. “What I mean is… We fought ‘nd it’s awful, but shit happens, y’know? No need t’pretend I wasn’t an arsehole.”

Simon shrugs as he speaks, voice soft spoken and gentle, although you can tell he’s nervous by the way he over-uses his words – usually one to be very concise when conveying his thoughts.

“You want to be silent then? Or…” You trail off, mimicking his nonchalant movements as you two eat, a much normal conversation developing in comparison to what you thought would have happened.

“Nah, not silent… Jus’– We can talk about what we were talking and not fight about it… Now that we’re both calmer.” He suggests, sneaking small glances your way, trying to get your reaction without making it seem like he’s watching you – it doesn’t work, of course, you know he is.

“Okay… But I think I’ve talked a lot today, though. Don’t you want to start?” There’s no passive-aggressiveness in your tone and Simon is glad for it. He knows you’ve learned to be more careful with how you speak, because of him – even learned how to be more blunt too, which never fails to catch him by surprise, even after so much time together. He nods at your request and you eat as he thinks about his next words.

“When I asked you to not push me away then—” There’s a pause as he clears his throat, a habit you’ve picked up on a while ago – he clears his throat when he’s about to say something that makes him uncomfortable, especially if it puts him in a vulnerable position. “I meant it, y’know? No good comes from pushing each other away…” You can see as he swallows something dry – maybe his pride and ego, maybe the urge to not admit he was wrong for lashing out. What he does say, though, takes you by surprise – and you hate that it makes you want to kiss him for putting in the effort of saying it out loud. “I was just too caught up in my own feelings to notice yours and for that I am, truly, sorry.” He nods along his words, happy that he managed to properly express himself – even if it took a fight and too much of both your energy and his. “I think I got so used to you voicing your emotions whenever you needed me that I never learned how to notice them by myself…” 

“Simon… You can’t just–” Simon tilts his head as he watches you stumble over your words. You cut yourself off, mouth gaping to say something but you’re not sure what. Regardless of it, Simon knows exactly what you’ll say – to many years listening to your point of view of things to not know you by now.

“I know, and it’s not an excuse either. I just want you to truly understand what went through my mind… Even if you don’t want to put up with this anymore.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence and for the first time in a long time, Simon allows it to happen – if he’s to break down then so be it. “I’d always respect your choices, but know that that’s not what I want…”

You hold his gaze for a second too long, humming in understanding. There’s no intention of pressuring him when you ask: “What do you want then?”

There’s no hesitation in his voice, that’s when you know that wasn’t even a question to be answered – the answer is all too obvious. “You, here with me.” You can’t lie and say that you hadn’t thought of leaving, but to say you wanted to would be an even bigger lie. You let him speak instead of interrupting his train of thought. “It isn’t easy for me to cope with too much all at once…” And with the wait he takes in a shaky breath and closes his eyes, you know he’s talking about Johnny. “All I’d ask of you is to give this time, we can work through it– Talk through it… I’ll learn but only if you have patience to teach me…” You can see there’s a desperate echo to his words, each syllable being delivered wrapped on a layer of helplessness that makes your heart clench in your chest. “I’ll try and do better for myself, because I know I have to do it… But you’ll always be in the back of my mind, being the motivation I need to keep going.”

I can’t lose you too – Simon doesn’t say it, but you know he’s thinking it. And, to be honest, neither can you.

Losing Johnny was too painful by itself, that’s why you found yourself in this situation with Simon to begin with – well, maybe you were just projecting when you laid all those offences against him.

As you think about your fiance’s words, you can’t help but think of what Johnny would say if you two broke things off – and so close to the marriage too. Simon never gave you reason to worry about anything, with all the years that you’ve been together nothing was unsolvable between you both. To hold this against him seems unfair of you, condemning him to live without you – against your own wish of staying – because he did something wrong for once.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never intended to make this such a big situation…” You start simple, eyeing down your almost empty plate. “I just felt so distant from you, and consequently so lonely that I’ve just–” You sigh tiredly, mentally cursing yourself for not thinking better of your words before starting your speech. “I just wanted you to know that I am here but you wouldn’t allow me close enough to express it and that made me feel… Rejected.” You nod – much like Simon did – content that you finally expressed your emotions. “Though, I knew you’d most likely want to be alone to process your feelings better and I’ve completely disrespected it in order to seek reassurance and… I shouldn’t have done it like that, snapping at you, I’m sorry.”

To your surprise, Simon hums in agreement. “There were better ways to do it, but you wouldn’t have felt like you needed to seek my attention or– like you said, reassurance, if I had tried and showed you I was there for you… Like you did for me.”

You have to press your lips together to try and suppress a smile. You can’t deny how much you love Simon and his attempts at balancing both yours and his feelings makes your heart race in your chest – the way he's truly putting up an effort to deal with his emotions, because he’s afraid of losing you.

“Yeah…” You say, lighthearted. “I’d say we’re both accountable for it.”

“Yeah… I’d say we are.” Simon involuntarily echoes your lighthearted tone, finishing his meal just a minute before you finish yours. For the rest of the night, you don’t exchange many words – simply doing the dishes and getting ready to sleep in a silence much less awkward, although not completely pleasant yet.

As you lay in your shared bed, for the first time after Johnny’s passing, it’s Simon who hugs your body, spooning your body so you can sleep. He kisses your shoulder, taking in what you interpret as a relieved breath.

“I’m sorry I hadn’t asked this before… But how are you?” Simon whispers to you, lips brushing at your skin as he speaks.

“I miss him… I miss Johnny, Simon.” Your voice is choked, tone too light considering the depth of your heartache.

It helps that Simon shares the sentiment, so his words are actually comforting. “I… I miss him too, sweet’eart.” As to say: “it’s okay, we’re allowed to miss him – we’re allowed to grieve.”

There’s another kiss to your shoulder, this time it’s wet with his tears. You sniffle, your pillow becoming home for another night with tears – only, this time, you’re not in it alone. Simon hugs you tightly, as the both of you cry your sorrow away.

Soon after, you’re drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.

a/n: continuation of this. @lemmewritethisshizdownrq, thank for your comment on my last post... i wrote this specially for you! (although, i did not make reader leave, lol).

[fromrory]

Head Over Heels ! (literally)

POV:Second person (You) from reader’s perspective Pairing:Dick Grayson x Fem!Hero!Reader Genre:Humor, Fluff, Flirting, Romance, Tension, Friends to Lovers Word count:~2.5K words Requested by: @simpingmyassoff Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) A/N: English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy! ! ! A/N 2: This is my frist time writing for Dick. . . or for DC in general!! Hope y'all like it (don't crucify me pls) A/N 3: This is so ironic because I used to do gymnastics LOL

You were good at a lot of things.

You could disarm a bomb with a bent bobby pin, hack a GCPD comms tower in under five minutes, and hit a moving target blindfolded on a windy rooftop. But gymnastics?

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

And no one reminded you of that more frequently than Dick freaking Grayson — former circus prodigy, literal acrobat, and smug showoff who could land a triple flip in his sleep.

You should’ve known it was a trap when he’d smiled like that.

“Come on,” he said, tossing a mat onto the ground with theatrical flair. “It’s not that hard. One cartwheel. That’s all I ask.”

You scowled. “If it was easy, I’d already be doing it.”

“I’m just saying—” he smirked, arms crossed over his chest, shirt sticking to his collarbone after patrol— “if you ever want to land on your feet instead of your face, a little flexibility wouldn’t hurt.”

You flipped him off.

He grinned wider.

“Okay,” he said, standing behind you like some overenthusiastic cheer coach. “Hands up. Big stretch. Engage your core.”

“I am engaging my core.”

“You’re engaging your anxiety.”

“Same thing.”

He laughed. “Alright. Hands down, then kick over your—”

You dropped your hands.

Then your knee.

Then your pride.

“—legs,” he finished with a wince. “Oof. Okay, that was... a choice.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You hate physics.”

Dick tried everything.

He adjusted your stances. Demonstrated in slow motion. Held your legs up while you attempted a sad, crooked handstand. There was a moment where you ended up on the mat with your face in his chest and a knee in his ribs and still—he was laughing.

“You are trying, right?”

“Physically, yes. Emotionally? I checked out ten minutes ago.”

“Alright,” he grinned, voice laced with challenge, “then I dare you to get better. Prove me wrong.”

You hated that your competitive streak flared.

You hated it more when he winked and said, “I’ll even give you a prize if you can do it.”

“What kind of prize?”

He leaned in, whispering low:

“You’ll see.”

Somehow, your pride couldn’t let it go.

Between missions, stakeouts, and comms checks, you kept trying. In secret at first—late night handstand attempts against the wall, muffled curses after every failed flip. Your wrists ached. Your shins had permanent bruises.

But the first time you managed to hold a lopsided handstand for more than three seconds?

You nearly cried.

Then you heard clapping from behind you.

“Holy crap,” Dick said from the doorway, looking unreasonably proud. “Was that—was that a handstand?”

“Don’t make it a thing.”

“It’s already a thing. That was amazing.”

You tried to hide your smile. “It was three seconds.”

“Three beautiful, gravity-defying seconds.”

He walked over and bumped his shoulder into yours.

“I knew you had it in you.”

Cartwheels came next.

Sort of.

They came in... interpretive forms.

“You spun,” Dick said diplomatically. “That was almost it.”

“I tripped.”

“And then you spun.”

“I hate your optimism.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

Sometimes he’d sneak up behind you at HQ.

“Cartwheel check!” he’d announce like a total menace.

“No.”

“Please.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I brought snacks.”

“…Fine.”

(You could never resist the combo of smug and snacks.)

Somewhere between cartwheels and bruises, something shifted.

He started showing up more. Offering water bottles and resting his chin on your shoulder while reviewing footage. He started lingering after patrol.

You caught him watching you stretch one day and turned to raise a brow.

“Appreciating the effort,” he said, smug.

“You mean my dedication?”

“I meant your form—but sure, let’s go with that.”

You threw a resistance band at him. He ducked, laughing.

You didn’t expect it.

You were just practicing one afternoon on a rooftop — cool breeze, training gear on, hair tied back. Dick had been running drills on the far end of the roof, half-distracted by your grumbling and flailing.

Then—somehow—you landed it.

A real, honest-to-god cartwheel. A little wonky, slightly wide, but landed.

You froze, stunned. Then heard a gasp from behind.

Dick dropped his escrima sticks like they were nothing.

“Do it again,” he said, wide-eyed.

You did.

And again.

And again, until you were laughing, breathless.

He ran toward you, arms out like a cartoon character.

“YESSS. YOU DID IT. I’M SO PROUD OF YOU—WAIT, NO, COME HERE—”

He scooped you into a spin like you weighed nothing. You shrieked.

“Put me down!!”

“Never!” He was beaming, absolutely glowing. “You did a flip! You did a flip!”

You were flushed, heart pounding, grinning so wide it hurt. His hands were still around your waist when you locked eyes, breath mingling.

Neither of you spoke.

Not until he said, quieter, “Told you you’d get it.”

And you, blinking slowly, whispered:

“Where’s my prize?”

He didn’t answer.

He just leaned in and kissed you, soft and sure, hands framing your face like he couldn’t believe he finally got to do this. Like your lips were the reward he'd been waiting for, too.

And honestly?

Worth it.

Even if your cartwheels still sucked.

Small headcannon:

Dick becomes insufferable. Tells everyone. Posts it on the Batfam group chat. Bruce is unimpressed. Steph sends sparkles. Jason just says “LMAO ABOUT TIME.”

He insists on “spotting” you during stretches. This is just an excuse to touch you.

He won’t stop making gymnastics metaphors during missions: “Look at that landing—ten out of ten.”

You threaten to break up with him. He knows you're bluffing.

[girlgenius1111]

all of my past i tried to erase it

part 3 of family line tensions are still high between Ingrid and her sister. Mapi tries to keep the peace. Solstråle tries to pretend she's fine. Ingrid tries to pretend she isn't going insane not understanding what is going on. cw: mentions of poor mental health / panic attacks. ingrid is pretty worried about solstråle and whether or not she is safe.

-------

It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Mapi bringing her parents to the match shouldn’t have gotten to you the way it did. You didn’t really have an explanation for it, either. You saw Ingrid talking to Mapi’s mom and it felt like everything that had gotten marginally better in the last few days had miraculously disappeared. 

You were 8 again, sitting in the office at school, fielding pitying looks from the office ladies. Both of your parents were busy watching one of Ingrid’s matches; at just 16, she was playing for Rosenborg. Your mom was supposed to bring you to watch, too. She’d forgotten. 

You were 10 again, lying to the school nurse that your parents hadn’t known you’d hurt your hand. She said it looked broken, and you pretended that you hadn’t asked your mom to take you to the doctor the night before. You pretended your mom hadn’t told you to stop faking injuries when the attention wasn’t on you for one minute. 

You were 13 again, sobbing into your pillow, while everyone celebrated just down the hall. Ingrid was leaving to play in Lillestrøm. 5 hours away. She was leaving you behind. 

You were 16, having just been dumped by your first girlfriend. You’d come home in tears, and when you told your dad what was wrong, he told you it was for the best, that a girlfriend was just a distraction. He warned you not to bother your sister with this, because she was busy with much more important things in Barcelona. 

You were 17, so drunk you could barely speak, walking home on a dark road in the middle of the night because neither of your parents had answered the phone to come and get you from the horrific party you already regretted attending. It was dark, a windy road you were walking along, and if a car came, you weren’t sure your reflexes would be quick enough. You were 17, stumbling over the smooth pavement, the depression you’d been trying to drown in alcohol making a reappearance. You were 17,  thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it all ended there, just like this. 

You were 17, standing in the airport with your parents, preparing to board the plane to Spain. You leaned in towards your mother for a hug. She avoided it, pinching your cheek lightly, and reminding your father that they had a dinner reservation to get to. You watched them walk out of the airport from your place in the security line. Your vision was blurred with tears, but you still could tell that they didn’t look back at you once. You were 17, and your mom hadn’t told you she loved you before you moved across the continent. 

In a second, all of these memories that you’d fought so hard to keep locked away deep inside your head were flooding out. Tears were pricking your eyes, and you cursed yourself for being so stupid. Ingrid didn’t care. Mapi didn’t care. You weren’t worth caring about. How had you forgotten that? How had you let yourself forget that, after everything? 

Ingrid didn’t see your expression change, too busy thanking Mapi’s parents profusely for coming to see her play. Mapi did, though. She watched as you caught sight of your sister talking to her mom, and she watched as you flinched like someone had swung at you.  She watched as you slipped out of the crowd, speed walking into the building. Mapi was torn in 2 directions, Ingrid on one side, and you running off the other way. You needed Ingrid, most definitely but Mapi didn’t like the look on your face as you ran off, like all of the emotion had been sucked out of you, and all that was left was exhaustion. 

Someone else had noticed your disappearing act, though. Caro stood, staring after you, before her gaze fell to Mapi, raising an eyebrow. The defender nodded, and Caro followed after you, while Mapi turned to her girlfriend. She pulled her away from her parents with an apologetic smile, appreciating that Alexia walked over and picked up the conversation where it had left off. 

“Ingrid, vamos,” Mapi whispered urgently. Ingrid looked at her, confused and unmoving. 

“What? I was in the middle of a conversation, María,” the Norwegian scolded. 

“I know, it’s your Solstråle, though, she’s upset, come on,” Mapi insisted, pulling on Ingrid’s hand, who finally seemed to feel a sense of urgency, and let Mapi lead her into the building. 

“Upset? Why? Did something happen?” 

“She saw you with my mom and just looked really upset.” Mapi explained. A bit of understanding washed over Ingrid’s face, and now she was the one leading her girlfriend, rushing down the hall and beginning to open door after door in search of you. 

Caro, meanwhile, had found you pretty easily. You were on the floor of a room she often came to when she was overwhelmed, although that happened much less these days. You knew Caro, obviously, and she knew you, had known you since you were pretty young. She had a calming presence, and the minute she sat next to you, and extended her hand in your direction, you took it gratefully. 

“Mapi is bringing Ingrid.” She told you, but didn’t say anything else. She just sat next to your trembling form and held your hand.  It was enough for now, enough until your sister arrived. 

And when Ingrid did arrive, it was with a loud bang as she threw the door open, sighing in relief at the sight of you. Though, that relief quickly dissolved back into worry at the state you were in. She quickly took Caro’s place at your side, hesitantly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Your sister was surprised when you turned and threw your arms around her neck, crying silently into her shirt. 

“Jeg har deg, kjære. Det er greit, du er ok.” She murmured, looking worriedly at the other two women hovering in the doorway of the room. Mapi nodded at her encouragingly, and Ingrid refocused, rubbing a hand slowly up and down your back. 

“Thank you,” Mapi muttered to Caro, as they both stepped into the hall to give you some space. 

“Of course.” Caro said easily. “She having a hard time?” 

“Which one?” Mapi asked wryly. “Yes. It’s… it’s a work in progress.” 

“She’s a good kid.” Caro noted, Mapi nodding her head in agreement. “Well, Marta and I are around if either of you need anything.” 

“Thank you, Caro. Really.” Mapi said, squeezing the forward’s shoulder. Caro just shrugged like it was no big deal, and headed back out to the pitch. When Mapi reentered the room, you were tucked perfectly into Ingrid’s lap, although you seemed to have calmed down some. Ingrid was speaking to you in hushed Norwegian, and something she said had you lurching away from her and to your feet, stumbling blindly to the door. 

“Solstråle, wait,” Ingrid called, not really sure what she said to upset you, but well aware that it had been something. You fell right into Mapi’s arms, and though she looked a little startled, she easily pulled you close. 

“Okay, it’s alright. We’re all okay.” She murmured, noticing the rather heartbroken expression on her girlfriend’s face at the fact that you had fled from her right into Mapi’s arms. After a few minutes, you said something quietly that neither girl could hear. “What was that, nena?”

“Can we go ho- back to the house?” You asked, correcting yourself quickly, and pulling away from the comforting embrace Mapi had you in. Ingrid felt like you’d stabbed her, honestly, when you didn’t let yourself call it home. You were stoic again, though, your face void of emotion, wiping roughly at your cheeks to rid them of tears. 

“Kjære,” Ingrid said, hating the way you forced all evidence of your breakdown away. You’d been so upset, about something, but now you were acting as though nothing had happened. Your sister would have climbed into your brain if she could’ve, just to understand what was going on in there. 

“Let’s go home.” Mapi said easily, shooting her girlfriend a meaningful look. Ingrid wasn’t supposed to push you, she knew that. It was just getting harder and harder to not do so, especially when she could see how much pain you were in. She couldn't understand why you wouldn’t just talk to her, and you couldn’t understand why she was so concerned or why she was so desperate to hear what you were feeling. And considering it was the two of you, the situation was bound to blow up into an argument. It was just a matter of time. 

-------

Ingrid knew what was coming before her phone rang, but she still desperately wanted to avoid it. She was quite comfortable at the moment, curled up on top of Mapi in their bed, a show playing softly in the background. Mapi was scratching lightly at Ingrid’s scalp with one hand, and tracing lines over her back with the other. The movements made Ingrid’s entire body relax, which had definitely been Mapi’s goal, but it was all interrupted when her phone went off from next to her. 

She sat up off her girlfriend, glancing at the screen, her expression hardening. 

“Your mom?” Mapi guessed, pulling Ingrid back down into her when the Norwegian declined the call. 

“Yes.”

“You haven’t talked to her since Solstråle’s letter, have you?” 

“No.” Ingrid said. “I think I hate her right now.” 

Mapi was surprised, only because Ingrid didn’t hate anyone. If there was going to be a person, though, it would be someone who had hurt you. Because Ingrid didn’t like to kill spiders she found in the house, but Mapi knew she would kill a person for you without a second thought. “That’s okay. You can hate her.” 

“I miss her.” Ingrid admitted after another minute, her voice cracking. Her forehead was scrunched with sadness, and her hands gripped Mapi’s shirt tight in her hands. 

Mapi sighed, wishing she could take Ingrid’s pain away. And yours too, for that matter. “You can miss her too. You can feel whatever you need to feel.” 

“No, I can’t, not when Solstråle is so upset,” 

“How your sister feels does not limit how you feel. You can be hurt, and sad, and frustrated too. It doesn’t take away from pequeña’s feelings. Just like her feelings don’t take away from yours. You are both upset. That’s alright.” Mapi said confidently. “This isn’t just happening to your sister. It’s happening to you, too, and you can be sad, mi amor. You can cry.” 

Ingrid hadn’t even known she’d been about to cry until Mapi said that, but suddenly there were tears running down her face, and she was clutching tightly to the Spaniard underneath her, who did not seem surprised at all at the sudden emotion. 

“I know, baby.” Mapi husked, pressing kiss after kiss to the top of Ingrid’s head. She knew Ingrid needed this, and was content to let her cry it out until she heard a sharp breath from the doorway. You were standing just outside the room, frozen and horrified. 

“I’m sorry, Ing,” you mumbled, having come in to say goodnight, rather stunned to see your sister so distraught. 

Ingrid could only cry harder, now furious with herself for letting you see this, but too upset to do anything but squeeze Mapi’s hand, wordlessly begging for her to do something. 

“Ven aqui, nena, it’s alright.” Mapi said, gesturing you over to the bed. You looked skeptical, but you did so anyway, carefully sitting on the bed next to your sister. 

“I’m really sorry, Ingrid, I don’t mean to stress you out.” You whispered. You were in a guilty mood, it seemed, not an angry one, and Ingrid felt that somehow, she preferred when you were angry to this. 

“Don’t apologize, pequeña. You haven’t done anything wrong. Ingrid is upset, and you’re upset. It’s okay to be upset, and it’s okay to cry.” Sometimes, Mapi felt like she was teaching preschoolers how to identify and express their emotions when she talked to the both of you, though that might be an easier task.

“I’m not upset with you, Solstråle, I am upset with mom, and I am upset with myself. You don’t need to say sorry. Not for having a panic attack, for having a hard time, for any of it.” Ingrid managed then, taking your hand in hers. 

“I’m doing my best.” You said. “I know I’m not making it easy, but I promise I’m trying.” 

“We know you are. You’re doing so well, nena.” Mapi said enthusiastically, with so much excitement at you saying something remotely positive about yourself that you and Ingrid both cracked smiles. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ingrid asked after a minute. At that, you withdrew, pulling your hand from Ingrid’s and rising from the bed. Both your sister and her girlfriend repressed sighs at your sudden withdrawal. 

“No, I’m really tired. I came to say goodnight. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” You rushed out, before bolting out of the room at a speed that could barely be considered a walk. 

Ingrid sighed once you were out of earshot, settling back into Mapi. “She’s so difficult.”

“She’s stubborn. Like her sister. She’ll come around, just give her time.” Mapi assured her. 

Giving you time, though, was a lot harder than it seemed. 

-------

Your whole life, you had been encouraged by your parents to be smaller, to take up less space. If you were upset, you should keep it to yourself. If you were angry, you should calm down. You were taught that your needs always came second to everyone else’s. You didn’t like to be vulnerable with people, and you didn’t like to put your emotions on others. 

So when you woke up the next day, it was the feeling of intense shame swirling around inside of you. You’d ruined what was an impressive win for your sister, and a nice moment with Mapi’s parents. You’d upset Ingrid, so much so that she had cried about it. 

Too much. You were being too much. 

You resolved yourself to be happy today. If not happy, content. Mapi and Ingrid probably needed a day off from your ridiculous, all over the place, emotions. So today, you wouldn’t feel. You’d be perfect, you’d be small, and you’d cause as little trouble as possible. 

What you didn’t expect, though, was for that to be the opposite of what Mapi and Ingrid wanted from you. They didn’t care if you took up space. They just wanted you to talk. More than anything, they just wanted you to be okay, no matter how inconvenient that process was for them. 

It was a day off for both girls, due to the match the day before, and they were able to let you sleep in. Ingrid was worried you were sleeping too much, but Mapi assured her that angsty teens always needed a lot of sleep, and depressed teens going through a rough time needed even more sleep. Pair that with the intense panic attack you’d had the day before, you were bound to be exhausted. 

When noon rolled around, though, and you’d yet to make an appearance, Mapi relented, much to Ingrid’s relief, who had half a mind to check you for a pulse. Mapi made a coffee to bring up to you, opening your door quietly to find you out cold under the covers. 

With Snø clutched tightly in your arms, your nose pressed against the soft polar bear, you looked so young. 

“Pequeña, despierta,” Mapi murmured, sitting on the edge of your bed and pulling the covers away from your face a bit. 

You blinked up at her groggily, an adorably sleepy expression on your face, and Mapi couldn’t help but push some hair out of your face and smile down at you. You looked slightly suspicious, as you couldn’t remember being woken up like this in the entire time living in Spain, but Mapi just handed you your coffee, and settled on the edge of your bed. 

“Morning,” you said after a minute and a rather large sip of coffee. 

“Afternoon.” Mapi corrected, a little confused when your face turned red at the comment. “It’s 12:15.” 

“That’s weird. Normally Ingrid comes to make sure I’m breathing if I sleep past 10.” You noted. 

Mapi chuckled. “We’re working on some of your sister’s annoying habits.” 

“Don’t get rid of too many, or there won’t be anything left.” You said, your lips tugging up into a smirk. 

“Okay! I will just go through this chocolate croissant I made for you in the garbage!” Ingrid scoffed from the doorway, turning on her heel and marching back down the stairs. 

If there was any surefire way to get you out of bed, it was to present you with a breakfast pastry. 

Within 90 seconds, you had kicked Mapi out, thrown some clothes on and bounded down the stairs, in search of the promised croissant. It was sitting on a plate at the counter, waiting for you, next to your sister who was glaring at you slightly. 

“Thank you, Ing,” you said sweetly, throwing her a charming smile. She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. 

You hit Mapi’s hand playfully when she reached for your croissant, and she withdrew it with a laugh. “You’re like breakfast pastries the way Ingrid is about coffee.” 

“Reasonable? Reasonably attached to it? Is that what you mean, María?” Ingrid asked with a frown. 

“Of course, mi amor.” Mapi said with a smile, kissing Ingrid’s cheek softly. You averted your eyes, but you couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t make you happy to see your sister loved so well. 

The morning, or afternoon, was going exactly as you’d hoped. No attempts at conversation. No feelings. Of course, it couldn’t last. Once you’d finished eating, Ingrid perked up and seemed to prepare herself for what she was about to say, which instantly made you weary. 

“We should talk about last night, kjære.” Ingrid said calmly. 

You froze, slowly putting your mug back on the counter. Both other girls watched the way your whole body tense, the way every ounce of emotion was wiped off your face. 

“I’m fine. There’s nothing to talk about.” You said stiffly. 

“That is not true. Something upset you, and we should discuss it.” Ingrid argued. 

“Ingrid, it’s fine. Just leave it. We don’t need to talk about that. We don’t need to talk about anything.” You replied defensively. 

“It’s not fine!” Ingrid said, raising her voice, and shaking off Mapi’s gestures to calm down. “None of this is fine. We need to talk about last night. We need to talk about the letter you wrote. We need to get you in therapy. These are all things that need to happen, solstråle. We’ve given you time, now we need to do this.” 

“I am not going to therapy.” You declared, standing up with a scoff and crossing your arms across your chest. “Ingrid, I am fine. I don’t need to talk and I don’t need help.” 

Ingrid grew visibly more angry with you at that, throwing her arms up in the air in frustration. 

“Amor, take a breath.” Mapi said quietly, sighing to herself when Ingrid did not do so. 

“You don’t need help? That is the most untrue thing I have ever heard. You do not write the things that you wrote and then turn around and say you’re fine. You. Need. Help.” 

“Ingrid. I am not going to therapy, and I am done talking about this.” You said, your voice dangerously quiet. 

Your sister wasn’t phased, stepping closer to you with her eyes narrowed. “You will go to therapy if I say you will, and this conversation is not over until I say it is.” 

In retrospect, even Ingrid realized that this was decidedly the wrong thing to say. You didn’t take well to being told what to do. Your reaction really should have been worse; Ingrid had gotten off easy. 

“Jesus, Ingrid, do you hear yourself? You sound just like mom.” You spit back, feeling a bit of satisfaction at the hurt that flashed across your sister’s face. “I don’t want to talk about this, especially not with you.” You spun around and began stomping towards the stairs. “Don’t fucking follow me.” You warned over your shoulder, causing Ingrid’s jaw to drop. 

“Do not-” Ingrid began, starting after you. 

“Amor, leave her.” Mapi said, intervening before Ingrid got very far, and pulling her back. 

“She is the most frustrating person on the planet.” Ingrid huffed, slamming a hand down onto the counter. Mapi looked unimpressed. 

“She is probably thinking the same thing about you right now. I told you not to push her.” 

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Could you be on my side here for once?” She asked bitingly. 

Mapi very calmly shook her head, opening her mouth to explain when Ingrid’s eyebrows flew up on her forehead. “No. I am on your sister’s side, and you should be too. No one has been for a really long time.”

The Norwegian deflated at that, sinking down into one of the stools at the counter. Mapi continued speaking, pulling Ingrid’s hair gently out of the bun it was in, and running her fingers through it. “You’re looking at this wrong, mi amor. She doesn’t need you to talk her into therapy. She’ll get there on her own, you just need to give her time. That girl has a long way to go before she admits she needs help, believe me.” 

Ingrid sighed deeply. “Can you go check on her? She’s mad at me, I just need you to make sure she’s okay and she isn’t going to do anything stupid.” 

“Of course.” Mapi said, delicately kissing Ingrid’s lips. “I love you.” She reminded the Norwegian with a soft, almost shy smile. 

Ingrid wanted to cry at how sweet, how perfect, how helpful and kind and funny and beautiful her girlfriend was. “I love you, so so much.” 

Mapi headed for the stairs, and Ingrid made yet another cup of coffee, a coffee she wouldn’t drink.

Because Mapi came running back down the stairs a minute later, an apprehensive look on her face as she approached her girlfriend. 

“Mi amor, she isn’t up there.” She said carefully. 

“What do you mean she isn’t up there,” Ingrid asked, rising to her feet and feeling panic rise within her. 

Mapi just shook her head, putting her hands on Ingrid’s shoulders. “She isn’t up there. Her window is open, I think she snuck out.” 

Ingrid felt like something inside of her was collapsing, leaving behind a chasm that was quickly filling with anxiety. “Where… what? She… she’s gone? She…we have to-” 

What had you left to do? Only horrible, life shattering options of where you were and what you were doing were flying through Ingrid’s head, and she reached out, latching on to Mapi’s outstretched hands. 

“Amor, breathe. Calm down. We’ll find her. Where would she go?” 

Mapi hoped, with everything in her, that Ingrid had an answer. Because she had to be calm right now, for Ingrid, but Barcelona was a big city. And if you didn’t want to be found… Mapi didn’t know what would happen. 

Ingrid’s mind was racing, but one thought pushed to the front of everything else. “The lake, there’s a lake in Melhus she would always go to when she was upset. She’d go to water, a body of water.” 

Mapi nodded. “Okay, there are 2 beaches in walking distance, in opposite directions. We’ll go to one, and we’ll send Frido to the other.” 

Privately, Mapi hoped Frido found you first. She wasn’t quite sure that you wouldn’t bolt away from Ingrid, but you wouldn’t be expecting Frido to pop up. 

-------

A quick call to Frido later, Mapi was directing one very frazzled Norwegian into the car, and setting off for the beach. Ingrid was deep in thought, and Mapi kept her hand on her girlfriend’s leg, softly and soothingly rubbing her thumb back and forth. It was only a few minutes to the beach, and Mapi knew Ingrid would talk before they arrived. 

“Do you think she’d do something stupid?” Ingrid asked anxiously, her hand covering Mapi’s and gripping tightly. The Spaniard didn’t need her to explain what she meant; she knew this question was coming, really. 

“She said she wouldn’t.” Mapi said calmly. 

“She said she wouldn’t ‘do that to me,’ that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t do it, especially now that she’s mad at me.”

“This is a little fight. She wouldn’t… do that. Not over this.” Mapi reassured her, but Ingrid remained unconvinced. 

“I don’t know what she’s thinking, María, maybe she was lying before.” 

“Ingrid, mi amor, calm down. You have to trust her. Even when you’re scared, and even when it feels like you should take her bedroom door off the hinges and implant her with a GPS chip. You have to trust her not to hurt herself.”

“But what if she does?” Ingrid asked softly, as if saying the words loud enough would somehow will it into existence. 

“We can’t think like that. Promise me you won’t think like that, okay?” 

“Okay.” Ingrid agreed faintly. Both of them knew she was lying. It was all she’d been worrying about for days, and all she would worry about for many to come. 

--------

Frido found you first. When she drove by the beach and didn't see you there, she got another idea. There was a rock climbing place nearby; Ingrid had said you always used to go to a lake back home when you were upset. Though Frido didn’t want to say so, it had been a long time since Ingrid had lived with you, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if your habits had changed. And the Swede knew from your instagram that you spent a lot of time rock climbing. She told Mapi where she was headed, and sped over to the gym. 

Sure enough, as soon as she walked in the building, she spotted you in the middle of the hardest wall, seemingly only using the smallest holds to get yourself up. You were breathing hard, and the worker belaying you looked a bit concerned. 

Frido pulled her phone out, shooting off a quick text to Mapi.  “She’s here, she’s okay. Let me talk to her, don’t let Ingrid come in. I’ll bring her out.” 

Ingrid probably wouldn’t help the situation, if you were as angry as you seemed. The blonde spoke quickly to the front desk attendant, and headed over to where you were. 

She stood, just watching you. You were a few feet from the top now, luckily for your hands, which you clearly had not put enough chalk on, and were beginning to really hurt. With only a bit to go, you took a risk, attempting an impressive, one armed pull to get your other hand to the next hold. You just barely missed, falling away from the wall. 

“Fuck,” you cursed, swinging back towards the wall and smacking it with your hand. You were lowered down, clearly fuming, and Frido took the opportunity to step in front of you, giving the girl attached to the other end of the rope a look. 

“Again,” you requested, avoiding Frido’s gaze. 

She took your hand in hers, though, inspecting the tear in your skin, shaking her head. “No, that’s enough Solstråle.” 

“Leave me alone, Frido.” You snapped, trying to pull away from her when you felt the rope fall slack. You turned, seeing that the worker had abandoned her harness in favor of going to help someone else, no doubt at Frido’s direction. 

You rolled your eyes, quickly regretting it when the Swede raised an eyebrow at you. Ingrid could be scary sometimes, but she had nothing on Frido. 

“Are they here?” You asked, loosening the harness and stepping out of it with an exasperated sigh. 

“They’re outside. You terrified your sister.” Frido said, pulling you over to a bench and making you sit down, before handing you a bottle of water. 

You looked unimpressed. “I’m 18, I can handle myself in the city for an hour.” 

“She wasn’t worried about that, she was worried you were going to hurt yourself.” Frido said bluntly, sitting down next to you. She ignored how stiff you’d grown and how uncomfortable you seemed, reaching for your hand and looking at it critically. 

“That wasn’t on purpose.” You said defensively, wrenching your hand away once again. “And I told her I wouldn’t do that.” 

“Can you blame her for worrying, Solstråle, really? And maybe you didn’t do that on purpose, but you came here to push yourself instead of dealing with your feelings in a healthy way.” 

You really hated that she was right. Frido was always right. It was simultaneously her worst and best trait.

“Are they mad?” You asked in a small voice, suddenly looking very much your age. Frido stood and held out a hand to help you up.

“Not right now. Just worried. Ingrid’s going to give you a hug and you’re going to let her.” Frido instructed. You supposed that was fair. And really, you could use a hug. Hugs from your sister always made you feel better, even if you’d never admit it. 

As you exited the building, you instantly spotted your sister and her girlfriend by their car. Mapi was leaning calmly against the Cupra, while Ingrid was pacing frantically, speaking fast and gesturing wildly with her hands. 

“Did I do that?” You asked quietly. 

Frido laughed. “I think she was born like that.” 

As you neared the car, Ingrid turned as Mapi pointed at you, her face melting with relief at the sight of you. It really hit you, then, how worried she must have been, to still be so anxious even after Frido had likely told her you were okay. You weren’t making this easy on your sister. 

She practically knocked you over with the force of her hug. “You’re okay.” She murmured into the top of your head, leaving a kiss there. 

“I’m okay.” You reiterated, letting yourself hug her back tightly, even if it was just for a moment. She felt you tighten your arms around her almost unconsciously, and made a note to hug you more often. Even if it seemed like you weren’t very interested. After a minute she pulled back, placing both hands on your cheeks and making you look at her. 

“Next time leave through the front door? And tell me where you’re going? Please?” She asked. You appreciated that she didn’t tell you to do this, leaving it more as a request, although you knew it was a reasonable rule for her to put in place.

“Promise.” You said quietly. She nodded her head, satisfied, before pulling Frido into a hug that also looked to be too tight. Mapi was looking at you, rather unimpressed. You knew she was not happy with you for upsetting your sister so much, and though it annoyed you a bit, you knew it was deserved. And you appreciated that your sister had someone that was so protective over her. 

“In the car, nena. I want to talk to you when we get home.” Mapi instructed. You got in the car with no argument, the fight having gone out of you a bit. It had nothing to do with the hug Ingrid had given you, nothing at all. Definitely not. Instead of anger, you only felt apprehension, because Mapi looked dead serious about whatever she wanted to talk about. 

-------

You were nothing short of shocked when Mapi opened the door to the garage and gestured you inside upon arriving home. Ingrid watched on anxiously, and you pretended not to see the way Mapi whispered some reassurance to her and kissed her cheek, before pointing her towards the kitchen

You’d never been in the garage before; it was Mapi’s space. You were already invading her home, you wouldn’t invade the one place of the house that was really hers, too. You knew she worked something out there, knew there was a reason both cars parked in the driveway instead of in the garage. 

Mapi followed you into the room and sat down on a stool next to the large motorcycle in the middle of the garage. It was clearly in the process of being restored. You hadn’t known Mapi rode motorcycles. Well, you hadn’t known that your sister let Mapi ride a motorcycle. You stood awkwardly in the door as Mapi inspected 2 different wrenches, until she pointed at the stool next to her. 

“Ven aqui, nena.” She said. 

You took a seat, not really enjoying the tense silence that washed over the room. “Are you mad at me?” You asked after a minute. For all your anger, and all your bravado, you didn’t like it when people were mad at you. Especially not people you looked up to, people you admired. 

“No. Not mad, nena. Never mad. I wish you hadn’t snuck out your window, but I understand why you did. I wish sometimes you thought a bit more about how your actions affect me and your sister, but I know how hard that is to do when you’re as angry as you are.” 

“I’m not angry.” You said defensively. Mapi rolled her eyes, handing you a couple of tools and beginning to tighten something on the bike. 

“You are angry. You’re so angry that you feel like you’re going to explode sometimes. You’re so angry that sometimes you forget that you’re sad, too. You’re angry, and you’re hurt, and I cannot blame you for that. If anyone has a right to those emotions, it’s you.” You didn’t really enjoy being perceived so well, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “I know angry, nena. Do you remember when I hurt my knee?” 

You nodded. The first few weeks of Mapi's injury hadn’t been a fun time, your sister beyond stressed with dealing with Mapi’s injury and her new role in the team, and you’d tried hard to be on your best behavior. 

“I started working on this bike a year ago, when everything happened with the Spanish federation. It was Ingrid’s idea, a way for me to distract myself. When I hurt my knee, it had been a bit since I’d worked on it, but suddenly I was back in this garage until all hours of the night. It’s nice to be able to control something like this, when everything else feels out of your control. That is how climbing is for you, yes?” 

You relaxed a bit at the turn the conversation was taking, and Mapi wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t just the topic; it was the fact that she wasn’t staring at you, putting pressure on you to give her an answer she wanted to hear. You were just talking. Casually. 

“Yeah. I’m in control, and I don’t have to think about anything else. It’s relaxing.” 

“It’s good for you to have an outlet like that.” Mapi stated. “This bike was Ingrid’s idea, when we first got together. Do you know what her other idea was?” 

You were pretty sure you did, and you grimaced at the thought. “Therapy?” 

Mapi snorted, handing you the wrench she was using and taking the screwdriver from your hand. “Yes therapy. You don’t have to look at it like that, though, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“It’s not for me.” You said decisively. 

Mapi just shrugged. “I didn’t think it was for me either.” She paused, knowing your curiosity would get the better of you, and you’d ask for more information. 

“What changed your mind?” You asked after a minute. 

“Your sister did. After the euros, I had a hard time coming back to Barça and playing. Those weeks were some of the hardest of my life, trying to find my rhythm again but trying to recover from the stress I’d been under that summer. I was a mess. And Ingrid was right there with me, through all of it. I’d had a really bad day, and I asked Ingrid to come home early from a lunch she had. She came home, calmed me down, and afterwards, she asked me if I trusted her. I said I did. And she said that she really wanted me to try therapy. That I didn’t have to feel how I felt, and I deserved help. I deserved to not be miserable. She asked me to try it, for her, just give it a try.” 

“And you did.” 

“And I did. Because she’d done so much for me, I couldn’t refuse her request. Not when I knew she just wanted the best for me. I gave it a shot, and it helped, more than anything else had helped. It wasn’t a fix all, but it helped. It made me feel like I was doing something to get better.” 

Mapi abandoned her work on the bike, looking at you for the first time since you’d entered the garage. You could only see sincerity in her gaze. Not anger, but annoyance. Just sincerity. “You deserve help, Solstråle. No matter how you feel about yourself, Ingrid and I know you. And we know you deserve help. You’re a good person, and you deserve to be happy.” 

María sounded so sure. So completely convinced. You looked away from her, blinking hard. 

“You don’t have to agree to anything now. Keep an open mind about it. Think about it. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You agreed quietly, grateful that Mapi didn’t make a big deal out of it, only nodding slightly. 

“One more promise?” She asked. 

“What?” 

“Talk to us. Or just me, or just Ingrid. We’re a little lost here, nena. It feels like we were just kind of plopped down in the middle of this. We had no idea anything was going on, not really. And all of a sudden we’re reading that letter, and realizing we missed a lot. That’s on us; we should have noticed sooner. We don’t have the whole picture, though, and that makes it really hard for us to figure out how to help you. We’ll both worry a lot less if you talked to us, just a little bit.” 

That was reasonable, you had to admit. When she put it like that. You’d spent so much time being annoyed that no one had noticed, then being annoyed when they finally did notice, you hadn’t really spent a ton of time thinking about how little they knew. There was no context to your behavior, aside from what you’d put in the letter. And that just barely scratched the surface. You supposed they deserved an explanation. At least a bit of one. 

“I’ll try.” You promised. 

Mapi grinned at you this time, an infectious smile. “Bueno! Come here with that wrench. No, that one. Put it on this bolt. Twist.” 

And just like that, the conversation was over. Easily. You got the feeling that Mapi would have let it go if you’d insisted on it, but you miraculously felt better. Talking, listening had made you feel better. Mapi had made you feel better. 

-------

You both emerged from the garage around an hour and a half later, when the smell of baking cookies became too strong to resist. Ingrid had clearly been stress baking, one of your favorite of her habits. There were at least 3 different types of cookies on the counter, some done baking, some still in progress. It smelled so distinctly of home in the house, it was almost overwhelming. 

“I have something for you,” Ingrid said, drying her hands and stepping away from the counter when you walked into the room. 

“I can see that.” You said, nodding to the cookies appreciatively, but Ingrid shook her head. 

“No, something else.” Ingrid said.

“OH! I do too.” Mapi said excitedly, and they both disappeared in different directions. You stood bewildered in the kitchen, not quite sure what you were about to be given. 

They returned simultaneously, each holding what looked to be 2 frames. “Mapi’s first.” Ingrid directed. “I haven’t seen it yet.” 

You looked surprisingly at Mapi, taking the present and beginning to unwrap the wrapping paper. “What is this for?” You asked. 

“Your birthday.” Ingrid said quietly. You froze momentarily, an unreadable expression flashing across your face. “I know it seems like we forgot, but we didn’t. We got the dates messed up, but we had presents, and we had dinner reservations, just… for the 25th. Not the 15th.” 

“Oh. I thought you’d forgotten.” You said slowly, seemingly slightly emotional. 

“Nope, just bad at remembering dates. Now open your present.” Mapi said impatiently, bouncing on her feet like an overexcited child. 

You unwrapped it slowly, as if you were slightly weary of what it might be. When you pulled the frame from the wrapping paper, though, every wall you’d put up fell instantly, your jaw dropping open at the piece of art in your hands. 

It was a map. Not just a map, but a map of all the hiking trails in Barcelona. It was textured, detailed, labeled. It was intricate, all neutrals and earthy colors. It was so you. From the contents to the design, it was like it had been made just for you. 

“Mapi…” You whispered, staring, stunned, at the map. “Where did you… how did you… what?” 

“Ale’s sister Fresa  went to school with this girl that hand makes maps like this. I got her name from diablillo, and I told her what I wanted. Do you like it, do you like it?” Mapi asked excitedly. 

Mapi got her answer when you handed the frame to Ingrid, and launched yourself the few feet between you and Mapi, wrapping her in a tight hug. Mapi beamed at Ingrid, who was trying very hard not to cry. She hadn’t even given Mapi any advice on the gift. It had been all her girlfriend’s idea, she executed it all by herself, determined to get Solstråle the perfect gift. 

“It’s perfect, thank you María,” you mumbled. The ridiculous smile on Mapi’s lips didn’t falter at the use of her real name, only squeezing you tighter. 

“Te amo, Solstråle.” She said back. For once, you believed it. When you pulled away from the hug, it was to see Mapi looking smugly at your sister. “INGRID I DEFINITELY WON.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “She hasn’t even opened my present yet.”

“Still. I won.” Mapi smirked. 

Now it was Ingrid’s turn to hand you your gift. It was wrapped in the same paper, and you tore it off, almost cautiously, not quite sure what Ingrid would have gotten you. 

You were, once again, speechless at what you saw. This time, your eyes filled with tears immediately. Ingrid wasn’t as excited as Mapi had been, instead looking at you anxiously. 

It was a painting of a waterfall back home not far from your house. It was so distinct, you knew Ingrid must have paid a ridiculous amount of money to get someone to hand paint it. Each individual stroke was so precise, blending perfectly into the image it was supposed to be, but if you focused hard, you could pick out the greens and greys and blues and whites that you’d grown up with. 

It felt like home. It felt comforting. You could almost smell the trees, feel the cool sting of wind on your cheeks. It was a little piece of home just for you, and it was perfect. So beautiful and artistic that you weren’t sure you were worthy of it, but you looked at it in awe nonetheless. You wiped at your cheeks, not able to control the tidal wave of emotion washing over you. 

“Kjære? Is it okay?” Ingrid asked anxiously, her eyes searching your face, trying to figure out if these were good tears or bad tears. 

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Okay? Ingrid… it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s… perfect. Thank you.” You said, turning to her with a look of complete shock. And even though it pained Ingrid that you were so surprised to receive a nice gift for your birthday, she pushed that feeling down. Instead, she pulled you in towards her, placing the frame on the counter so she could hug you properly. You were happy with it, now, and that was all Ingrid had control over. 

After a few seconds, Ingrid moved to pull away and break the hug, but you kept your arms wrapped around her, not quite ready to let go yet. Maybe it was the homesickness, or maybe it was your sister making you feel so known, and so loved. Whatever the reason, you just wanted her near you for a minute more, holding you nice and tight and safe against her. 

“I love you,” she whispered, hearing you mumble the words back, your voice thick with emotion. When you did pull away, a minute later, it was to wipe at your face in an almost embarrassed manner. 

Seeing how desperate you were for the attention to be off your tears, Mapi spoke up, her voice light and easy. “You can put them up in your room, you don’t have anything on the walls.” 

You looked at the ground, then, almost sheepishly. “I didn’t know I could put anything up on them.” You admitted.

The room fell quiet, but even though you could tell that what you said had hurt Ingrid and Mapi, they just shook their heads softly. “It’s your room, for good, you can do whatever you want to it.” Ingrid told you. 

You were about to thank her, and try to move the conversation long when Mapi let out a dramatic gasp. Both you and Ingrid whipped your heads to look at her, confused at the mischievous grin on her face. 

“Ikea. WE CAN GO TO IKEA AND GET FURNITURE FOR SOLSTRÅLE’S ROOM.” 

“María, calm down. Maybe she doesn’t want to redo her room.” Ingrid looked at you hopefully, and you knew it had nothing to do with your room, and everything to do with her not wanting to take Mapi to ikea. 

You simply smirked back at Ingrid, who sighed and shut her eyes for a minute. 

“Okay. Ikea.” She said finally. You and Mapi cheered, comically loudly, completely ignoring the rules she was setting in favor of high fiving each other and going to get ready to leave. “María, you are not building anything. Solstråle does not need her bed to collapse under her in the middle of the night. And kjære, please, please, don’t let Mapi talk you into a loft bed, you’ll fall off of it and break your arm. Amor? Kjære? ARE EITHER OF YOU LISTENING!” Ingrid shouted after you, rolling her eyes at the chants of ikea echoing around the house. 

Mapi in Ikea was a handful. You, too, were a handful at the store. Together? She was going to lose one of you, she was sure of it. It had been a long day already. And it was only set to get longer. 

--------

fluffy engen-león family trying to put furniture together in the next part?

yes, that IS all i have to say about this chapter thank you for your time.

[delopsia]

Hi del! Wecome back! Glad to hear your 'engine's runnin again XD

If your lookin for a Rhett and/or Bob... don't know how it is where you are but it's currently dark, windy, and rainy here and the lights are a flickerin... What do you think about bein with the boys during stormy blackout conditions? ~🌧️

aaaa hello! thaank youuu ^w^ I'm sorry this took me so long, haha.

Rhett ⊹₊ ˚‧

If there is one kind of weather that Rhett is uniquely familiar with, it's storms like these. Wabang is infamous for the uniquely violent storms that are always running through it; things have progressed to the point that there's been an ongoing study about why the hell this particular town is constantly being hammered by freak storms, including that freak fire tornado last summer...🔥🌪

That being said, Rhett's a veteran when it comes to these things. The storm is still a few miles out, and you'll catch him squinting into the distance, muttering something about 'it'll be here in five or six minutes.'

Sure enough, six minutes later, it feels like the world is ending.

The power isn't even out yet, and Rhett's walking around unplugging the expensive electronics (read: The Abbott household has had its electricals fried by lightning twice, and the thought of replacing everything for a third time scares him to death).

Bored? Not for long.

Rhett Abbott is a number of things, and crafty is one of them; he's got a whole box of stuff dedicated to power outages. Board games, power banks, cards, intricate little building kits, absurdly bright flashlights, enough batteries to survive an apocalypse...

Perry has yet to realize, but Rhett's even scrounged up the old Nintendo DS consoles they played on growing up. You can't think about the storm when you're too busy fighting for your life in a game of Mario Cart ⭐

Regardless of what you choose to do with him or if you're content to do different things, Rhett's incredible at keeping busy during these things. Growing up on a remote ranch that regularly experienced week-long power outages, he's built up a whole catalog of remedies.

But if you're not feeling like playing games and just want to curl up on the couch or in bed, Rhett is perfectly content to snuggle up to you like the oversized cuddle bug that he is.

He doesn't bring it up, but a lot of his old injuries ache during these heavier, aggressive storms. His left wrist tends to be the worst offender, but the long-healed break in his right leg and all of those various fractures have been known to rear their ugly heads as well.

Your only indication that he's hurting is how slowly he tends to move like he's treading barefoot through broken glass.

If you call him out on it, he's got a real tendency to downplay how much he's hurting, but he always won't put up much of a fight if you decide to massage his sore wrist or work the tension out of his shoulder.

But again, he's perfectly content with cuddling and relaxing together :( He just wants to do something with you

Bob ⊹₊ ˚‧

👁️👁️

No really.

The power goes out, and all you see are two wide eyes staring back at you, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Is the power out?" It's the first thing he asks every time, without fail.

Very mindful of checking all of the necessary weather alerts. Are we at risk here, or should we simply proceed with caution?

Unlike how Rhett immediately springs into action, Bobby's immediate suggestion is to curl up and take a long nap together. The general idea is that the power should be back on by the time you wake up; it's the closest thing you've got to time travel.

That being said, if you say no to sleeping through it, then he won't either, no matter how much he loves his storm naps. He just can't bring himself to sleep when he knows he's left you alone to figure out what to do while the storm rages past :(

Jumps at the thunder and pretends it never happened.

You don't know what it is, but storms have a real tendency to turn your beloved partner into a 40s-something dad.

You blink, and suddenly, he's standing on the porch watching the storm. The only thing he's missing is a can of cheap beer and some cargo shorts.

"Why are you outside?" "Do you see how dark that cloud is over there?"

Rambles off some odd weather lingo that he's got no business knowing and that you can only understand if you've got a degree in the field or if you've otherwise gone out of your way to learn the science behind how storms work.

If there's something about your lovely bookworm, it's that he's going to find a way to build a little reading corner during all of this.

A couple of strategically placed battery power lights and some cozy blanks, and you're all set. The sound of the storm can make for some incredible ambiance, given you've got the right book for it.

Sometimes, you get bored with your own book or don't feel like reading at all and just wind up snuggled into his side, watching the way his eyes flicker over every line. You may think you're being sneaky about it, but Bob has long since caught onto what you're doing.

Both ⊹₊ ˚‧

"Powers out!" Bob. "Yeah, no shit." Rhett.

Their individual remedies to the power outage doesn't exactly change; it simply makes the list of solutions a lot longer than it would otherwise be. So it's really a question of which of these things will we do, rather than what to do at all.

Regardless of what is chosen, it's always a community effort.

Both of your boys are very keen on sticking close together when storms are this bad; if you try to walk off on your own, then they're almost always following like a pair of lost puppies.

Just because it's pitch black in the house does not mean these two won't rough house and tackle each other to the floor. If anything, the low visibility makes it more fun for them.

There's one occasion where you were scrolling on your phone and simply listening to the sound of them swearing and rolling around.

It requires the three of you experiencing a couple power outages for Bob to figure it out, but the water heater still works during these, and you know what that means.

Baths!

You have such a hard time saying no to it because Rhett always gets so excited at the mention of it. At the very least, you're going to wind up sitting outside of the oversized tub with them. You've said no once in the past, and the sight of Rhett's smile falling was enough to shave a year or two off of your lifespan.

If you do choose to get in with them, then you get to join in on the great debate of whether to use bubbles, bath bombs, epsom salts, or nothing at all.

While you and Rhett deal with getting the water to the right temperature and gathering up things like towels and clothes, Bob busies himself with placing battery-powered candles all over the bathroom.

It's weirdly romantic. The storm is still raging on outside, rain pelting against the windows, the screams of the wind broken apart by thunder, but you're here relaxing together and enjoying each other's company.

It's cute until the power spontaneously kicks back on, and you're blinded by the lights...

[neoplatinum]

in sickness and in health - the finale | minatozaki sana

summary: it's time to face the two demons that lurk in the shadows

pairing: heiress!sana x reader

themes: blood, murder, gore, knives, kidnapping, assassins, katanas, arranged marriage au, fluff, angst, tension, lots of elitism, conglomerate power-hungry side characters, implied sex, misamo!

wc: 7.2k

(series masterlist)

index finger tracing along the scarred name, you stare into the open garden. the sound of a bamboo fountain trickling water, light sounds of wind passing by, hitting the wind chimes in the distance. 

the warm air making your forehead sweat, there’s an unsettling feeling in your chest. a feeling you haven’t been able to put at ease for months. waking up from dreams of the abe brother’s killing your family. 

after the abe ball, you took it upon yourself to do intensive research on their family clan. the history and intertwining of the two families like twin snakes. every generation there’s been an increasing tension between the minatozakis and the abes.

sana’s mother was married into the minatozaki family, much like you. a woman with a strong vision for the family, taking the power in stride. increasing the stretch of the power across industries, a move in which made the abes unhappy. there’s always been territory boundaries, unmoving and untouched for decades, no one crosses it.

sana’s mother crossed it. 

taking over minor territories of the abe clan in japan: a means of expansion. one that the abe’s didn’t take lightly too. the abes took it upon themselves to kill momo and mina’s father. 

a clear sign of distaste for the minatozakis, nearly sparking war between the two conglomerate powers.

which was why sana was set to marry kaito abe. a negotiation of peace and a possible united front against the smaller clans who were itching to take over whichever was killed off. 

sometimes you stare at her, eyes just capturing her, wondering about the woman that you now devoted your every breath to. 

there’s a shift, ever since the ball, she’s gone out less. more need to be around haruto and hanako. even spending days with you in office. she delivered an armchair into your office, to be placed near you while you work.

“it’s getting windy, let’s head back inside.” sana taps you, you take one final look over the garden before picking up a giggling hanako. grabbing at your ears and pulling at it. 

haruto runs ahead, feet taking off ever since he found his own speed. running down bridges of the minatozaki estate.

his little feet lead him in front of sana’s mother. her eyes warm and inviting as she crouches down to pick him up. his grabby hands picking at the flower tucked in her breast pocket. 

she looks so different like this. a woman who can kill as easily as she breathes. 

but she’s so gentle with haruto and hanako, a real grandmother at times. the way she often visits, dropping everything to babysit them. 

but she also comes to talk to you. sometimes you feel like she’s been watching you, the way you now try to take in her footsteps. to take over the family name, one that you didn’t want to bear in the first place. 

that’s all this was supposed to be, a convenient enough marriage that was backed by the minatozaki power. you get to expand your business and lead your father’s, but now you stand, as a pawn. 

likely the next leader of the clan.

hushed conversations in your office, her plans for the clan, molding you into another her. a vision she has long wanted, one that she didn’t want to force upon sana. but seeing your ambitious streak with your business, she knows you have the strength.

you just wonder if you can live up to the expectations.

--

“what do you make of the abe clan?”

“kaito and kenji. vicious, brutal, psychotic, narcissistic.” “right, what else?” she continues to take light sips of her sencha. you bought her favorite kind. 

“birds, sana told me about killer birds.” and she nods. the abe’s are like crows, hiding amongst the shadows, swarming together for the kill. it’s so obvious why they chose killer crows. 

those glossy beady black eyes, always monitoring. 

like a 24/7 surveillance system.

“what about their vulnerabilities?”

you sit and think about the brothers, both so obsessed with murder and blood. hands probably holding the blood of ten of thousands of cronies. 

you learnt of the aftermath of the watanabe, being dissolved like they never existed. their territories and power being absorbed by smaller groups clans. the whole family house being burnt to the ground. 

it was a horrifying sight on the news, covered up under the guise of an electrical fire. 

“i’m not sure.” sana’s mother stares at you, an eyebrow raised.

“who’s at the top?” she asks. setting down the cup of tea.

there’s no one at the top, that seat has been vacant for years. following the sudden death of their father, both brothers have been leading the clan.

some underground bosses have speculated that the brothers killed their own father. sent him to early retirement for the top seat. 

you can’t tell if it’s true, or worse, who did it.

“it’s just the two brothers.” you comment.

“two leaders, as brothers. a clan of that size and prestige is unheard of, i think they’ll kill each other before this year ends.” she sits backwards, leaning against the cushion.

“likely, they’re both too greedy.” you also sit back, thinking about the two brothers. the horrors that happened that night, their eyes filled with pleasure at the killings. 

delight flowing through them at the attention.

that night you returned from the abe ball, you had to hold sana, her just sobbing into your chest. making you bring haruto and hanako into the bedroom. 

her hands shaking as she held haruto and hanako. giving them little kisses as she hugged them close.

you hope to never see her so distraught again.

“do you know why you were chosen, to marry sana?” sana’s mother stands up, grabbing a folder from her drawing. unraveling the string, and taking out the contents.

“no, i don't.”

“you and sana grew up around each other. i had always known your father, he used to be an associate of the minatozakis. he was too greedy and unstable, and i always assumed that he would never amount to much. but you, you were different.” 

she starts showing you photos of you by your father’s side. small and young, without a clue in the world, just anger. 

anger for something that was truly yours, one that wasn’t from your father.

“attended the same law school as sana, but you took your work seriously. devoting years to your business, i always kept tabs on you.” 

she says, showing pictures of you during law school, in the background of sana’s photos. always there in the frame, just barely noticeable. 

“all the heirs were power hungry, but they didn’t have a driving force. nothing to prove, all handed luxuries on a golden spoon.”

“you worked for your place in the world, and that i can admire. you remind me of my young self. when i married sana’s father, i acted much like you did. dismissive towards the minatozakis, until i had sana. she was the most precious thing to me, someone i had to protect.” 

she says, handing you photos of a young sana, in her pretty dress and fake tiara. you smile at the sight, you remember often seeing her dressed up as a princess.

“i knew when i chose you, that you’d be loyal to sana, you have honor and duty in you, you can’t learn that. but this family and the clan, all of that you can learn.” 

she says pointing around the room, and you think of how much you’ve changed. taking the leading stance on propelling the power of the clan.

“i understand.” you say, taking a look at all the photos laid out, you at different points of your life. a whole different you that wanted nothing to do with the minatozakis or any clan for the matter.

“when kazuki abe murdered mamoru, we assumed that they were going to kill off the rest of the minatozakis. but then we negotiated that sana would marry kaito.” she says pointing to a marriage contract. you stare at it, the wild lines of kaito’s signature.

“but then kazuki died suddenly, of a heart attack, they said. kaito was scrambling for the marriage. wanted to marry sana immediately, move up the marriage.” 

“i told them that sana was set to marry someone else, this was a chance to change her fate.” she says, thinking back to when you were delivered a marriage contract.

“they lost their minds, swearing up and down that they were going to kill us for breaking the negotiations. but they had no leader, their father was dead, and they didn’t know how to wield the abe power. foolish little boys in dressed up suits.” 

you nod.

“but now, i see kazuki in them both, ruthless and killer minded. that’s all they care about, killing those that stand in their way. i don’t even think kaito cared about marrying sana, was more concerned that she defied the negotiation.” 

of course that’s where their priorities lied.

“do you understand now?”

“yes, mrs. minatozaki.”

“none of that, call me mom, you’re as much of my child as sana is.” she says, standing up, grabbing her cup of tea with her. you stand up as well.

“oh also, sana chose you because she thought you were captivating. her words, not mine.” and then she leaves with a grin.

-- 

“go go go!” little haruto points at the kite in your hand, the wind blowing your hair back. he jumps and claps as you run around the field, letting the koinobori kite fly into the sky. 

the orange and red fish flying in the sky. 

his laughs filling the air as the fish continues to weave through the sky. moving across the field as more string unravels from your kite.

“you having fun?” sana shouts as she walks up to you, hanako in her arms as she reaches out towards you. pulling your daughter into your arms.

“mhm, haruto is really happy.” he continues to run across the field, chasing the kite closely.

“she’s getting bigger.” you comment, bouncing hanako on your hip. handing the kite to sana. the fish flying up high. she stares at the fish in amazement, whining to reach out for it, trying to get out of your arms.

“isn't she? she might have my eyes.” sana comments, moving the kite to the other side, haruto cheering as he runs towards the other end of the field. you think they look like sana's too. ones that you used to look at as kids.

“what did you and my mom talk about.”

“talking about the abes. i learned why she chose me to marry you.” you say, trying your best to keep hanako in your arms. “didn’t know you had the hots for me even then.” you smirk.

“oh you wish!” she says, a light pink dusting on her cheeks.

“i think you said i was ‘captivating’ or am i wrong?” you laugh as sana refuses to look at you. too busy trying to wipe the smile off her face.

“you’ve gotten so cheeky lately.” you just smile at her, giving her a kiss. and you’re back to watching haruto running across the field.

--

you continue to sink into the water, letting the water move you around a bit. taking deep breaths as you dump more water across your arms. the large stones forming a barrier from the outside. lately you’ve been finding yourself more lost in your thoughts, thinking about how to best move forward.

what is your purpose now as a minatozaki?

without a doubt, you want to raise haruto and hanako properly, not letting them see the dark side of this family. they deserved a healthy childhood, one in which you and sana will foster their future. no matter what they decide.

but what about the other threats, smaller clans all itching to get a piece of the empire. you think about sana’s mother, how strong willed that woman is. wielding the entire empire in her hands, and expanding it to what it is now. 

“what are you thinking about?” sana walks across the wooden boards, just to the edge of the spring. holding out her hand, you hold yours up as she takes a dip, her feet hitting the water and sitting next to you. you give her hand a kiss, before sitting closer to her.

“how lucky i am to marry you.” you say earnestly. days of the past before sana were filled with work and sleep. you rarely enjoyed yourself then. head down in paperwork after paperwork. now you get to experience life with the most beautiful woman in your life, along with two lovely kids.

“i feel the same.” she says, grabbing your hand again, tracing along the knuckles. she stills for a second before continuing, “you know how i was supposed to marry kaito?”

you nod, feeling a sharp distaste just at the name. 

“i never loved him, and i knew i couldn’t be his wife. he would have killed me at some point, i think after mother dies.” his willingness to usurp the minatozakis is obvious, he would’ve killed the entire family if it meant being able to absorb the power that the minatozakis had.

“so i’m glad that you agreed to marry me.” she says, leaving feather-light touches across your palm. you kiss her forehead. letting her lean across your shoulder.

“me too darling.” 

she gets up, pulling her hair off to the side. exposing her back. a long winding gorgeous blue and gold dragon across it. the tail winding down her spine and the tail ending near her tailbone. a full back piece, coloring her back in vibrancy. red clouds surrounding the dragon, wrapping in the curve of her back.

you trail your finger down the body of the dragon, feeling her shudder at the sensation. it’s a beautiful piece, adorning her back. with her gorgeous figure, you can’t help but admire her. everything that sana is and will be, you love every aspect.

“you’ve always liked this piece so much.” she comments, as you lift your finger. she turns around, pulling herself onto your lap. legs laid against yours. 

“because you are gorgeous sana.” grabbing her lightly by the neck and pulling her in for a kiss. naturally, she lays her arms on your shoulder. “my gorgeous gorgeous girl.”

“yours.”

- -

“repeat that for me.” you stand up, watching sana’s mother continue to sit at her desk. pacing a bit as she continues to read down from the reports.

“the abe’s are trying to stage a coup.” she comments, reading the written report. “sent assassins to kill momo and mina, ‘finishing what they started’ they said.” you begin to bite your nail, they’re making moves now. “sent over a hundred of their foot soldiers to their sleeping quarters. momo and mina tore them all apart, but they’re recovering now, heavy injuries.”

you look at the pictures, bruised ribs, cuts along their arms and torsos. momo looks more bandaged from the sight of the photos. both of them sleeping in the minatozaki private hospital.

“you think they’ll come for us next?” you take a step away from the desk, thinking about sana. this is the last thing she needs, bad dreams of the abe brothers plaguing both your minds. now this threat is far more present, they intend to finish off killing off momo and mina, after the abe’s killed their father: mamoru minatozaki.

“yes.” she says, continuing to examine the report, reading down the lines. attacks made dead in the night, but momo and mina’s alert senses pulled them out of their sleep early enough for them to grab weapons to defend themselves. “likely soon.”

you let out a sigh, it seems the darkness is looming closer. some days when you’re outside you spot crows along tree branches, those same beady eyes from the abe manor. all ready to dive and kill at a moments notice. perhaps the abe’s have been monitoring your behavior as well.

“be prepared, the next line of minatozakis all depends on you.” sana’s mother stands up, eyes a little harder than usual as she exits her office. you look back at the photos of momo’s injuries. the bruises, the black eye, the gash along her forehead. mina got off a little easier, she’s more evasive than momo, but she looks pretty beat up too, leg in a cast.

--

“you look like shit momo.” you stare at her body, the bruising has faded a bit, leaving a yellow-ish green color along her ribs. the low sound of the machines running in the background. mina gave you a weak wave as she continues to read her book.

“i still look better than you, dipshit.” you grin, momo having enough energy to still insult you means she’s still herself. and for that you are grateful. you place the fruit basket onto her bedside table. 

“you still doing the exercises i taught you?” she says, pushing herself up with some difficulty. you pull the pillow up to support her back as she leans against the wall. 

you nod, that’s all you’ve been doing lately. training for hours, that you completely lose track of time. sometimes sana scolds you for not picking up her calls, walking into the weight room herself to take off your headphones. training for what, you aren’t even sure. maybe the looming threat of the abe’s has made you paranoid.

“momo, i came to ask you about the abe’s.” mina puts her book down gently, tabbing it before closing it. and momo crosses her arms. both of them staring at you.

“what do you want to know?”

“what happened that night? i want to know from the source.” you explain.

momo lets out a sigh while mina stares outside the window.

“they sent assassins, it was an open-contract just for that night, whoever takes blood gets the pool of money. meaning any assassin could take on the job, they wanted us both dead. didn’t matter how. so roughly 100 assassins or so, all swarming our house, they all came.” she explains.

“many of these assassin we both know personally, i think the abe’s weren’t serious about wanting us dead. i think this was just a warning to sana’s mother. that they’re coming for her.” momo says, and mina nods lightly. 

“the abe’s are killers, they would never send assassins as proxies if they actually wanted us dead.” mina explains. the abe brothers are known for keeping a public record of every person they have killed, a competition to see which brother has a higher kill count.

“doesn’t mean that this was any easier though.” momo says as she tries to rotate her shoulders. you nod, the abe’s are psychotic killers and calculating while at it.

“the abe’s only kill with their knives, it’s like an extension for their bodies. it’s how they were trained, one blade for the rest of their lives. all the abe’s have to use that same knife to take their own life, or else their death is considered shameful. they won’t get an abe burial if they let anything else kill them.” mina says with finality.

--

sana has been pacing like crazy the past few days, her uneasiness continuing to spread through to you. she’s been so anxious since momo and mina nearly got killed. 

some days she’ll stay in the nursery for hours, just spending time with haruto and hanako. or if they’re asleep, she’ll visit momo and mina in the private hospital. you can see how she’s losing sleep over this, eyes wide as she explains how scared she is that everyone will die in front of her eyes. much like what happened to the watanabes.

you don’t even know how to console her at times, just letting her tears continue to stain your clothes as she cries. often coming back from the hospital with hollow eyes.

you’ve stepped up security, placing more security measures around the manor, cameras, guards, even sensors. anything that’ll give you the upperhand against these vicious brothers.

but there’s been radio-silence, nothing to report.

and that makes you antsy, you feel like they’re plotting their next attack against your family but like a lost detective, there’s no conclusive evidence. forced to feel like this threat is a phantom, that it doesn’t actually exist at all.

sana’s mother has taken it upon herself to visit often for her grandkids, a second set of eyes that’ll be ready to jump at the scene. there’s still this trained calmness in her, one that won’t act rashly when provoked. she’s been through hell and back for this clan, and she won’t let these brothers provoke her.

--

“so they stopped sending you sunflowers?” sana asks as you stare at yesterday’s flowers. it’s a bit strange, for the past month, the flowers always arrive exactly at noon, no earlier, and no later. 

it’s also a strange flower to gift. 

“yeah, just today.” there’s never a post card or anything, but with how work has been booming you’re sure it’s just a pleased shareholder expressing their happiness. sana continues to examine the flowers, eyeing them closely, checking the vase for anything special.

“do you even like sunflowers?” she asks.

“no, not really, which is why i’m confused.” you explain, also examining the flower. the yellow petals bloomed around the disk florets. you’ve been asking shoko to figure out who the sender is, but the flower delivery is always anonymous.

sana nods, as she sits down near you, pulling out a magazine. you continue to thumb through the financial report you’ve been sent. great projections for the third quarter.

then shoko runs into the room.

“emi just called, they took haruto and hanako.” shoko shoves the phone forward, you take it out of your hand, putting it against your ear.

“emi, emi, can you hear me?” you shout into the phone, your blood pressure rising.

“they took them!” emi’s anxious voice squeaks through the speakers, her frantic voice as you hear footsteps all in the back. sana’s by your side, staring at the phone as her eyes go dark.

“who’s they?” you ask, grabbing your stuff, as shoko keeps the door open. you and sana take off, running down the hallway towards the elevator. background noise continuing to playthrough the speakerphone. you and sana keep sharing looks of panic, you can feel her shaking. 

“the abe’s, the abe’s took them. both the brothers are here.” emi continues to speak, her voice getting quieter and quieter. you grab sana’s hand as you both race down the stairwell. rushing into the parking lot, handing sana the phone as you both take off. 

“emi, do you know where they took them?” sana’s voice is on the verge of sobbing, tears flowing down her face. she continues to shake in the passenger seat, you offer your hand, as you speed out of the garage, and take the shortest road towards the manor.

“i-i don’t know miss sana.” emi’s voice cuts off and then you hear a scream, nearly stopping the car. your ears listening to the scream of emi, and then it goes silent. sana’s gripping on your hand the tightest she ever has.

then there’s a crackle before a voice comes through.

“hello darling, missed me?” the voice of kaito abe, directly reverberating around the car. sana squeezes your hand. you focus on driving as fast as you can, weaving through cars and traffic, all aimed at reaching towards your kids.

“kaito, you took my kids!” she shouts into the phone.

“oh don’t be like that darling, you know i would never actually kill them. such precious little things.” his laughter ringing out, him placing the phone directly at your kids’ mouths. their wails and cries coming through the phone.

“now, let’s get to the fun part!” his laughter coming back, you’re nearing the house. “come to us! we’ll be waiting.”

sana’s crying, her tears rolling off the phone screen, and you stop hearing anything, the ringing sound in your ears. your blood running through you like a waterfall. the thumping of your chest clambering out of your body, a desperate need to calm down. 

the adrenaline that rushes through you, you press the gas pedal harder, the thought of losing your kids killing any other thought that dares to sprout within your mind.

“before i forget! i left little gifts for you! sunflowers, very fitting, since hanako means flower child and haruto means sun. i thought you would figure it out!” his voice comes back, the ringing continuing to play with his voice.

that fucker is getting what’s coming to him.

then the line hangs up. 

you speed into the manor. outside in the lawns are lifeless bodies, all their blood staining the grass red. a massacre of minatozaki mercenaries taken out by the hands of the abes. tire marks against the ground. 

you hastily put the car in park, throwing the door open as you race to the door, it’s all ransacked. the house, nearly flipped over. deep gashes on the family portrait hung on the wall. both your and sana’s face cut from the painting. sana chases after you, her body still shaking as she examines the room around her. running straight for the nursery. 

you stop when you get inside, it’s not flipped over like the rest of the house, but both children are missing. where haruto usually sits to draw, his chair is flipped over. and hanako who likes to stand in her crib is nowhere to be seen. sana hasn’t noticed, but emi’s been murdered. her blood staining the carpet. you cover her eyes, as you lead her outside.

the absolute anger and venom coursing through your body, you reach the door. 

you get a ring from your phone. 

his voice through your ears, “if you’d like your kids back, come to the abe house alone, let’s talk.” it’s oddly normal, not his usual humored voice. almost like a friend calling. you shudder at how quick he can change himself.

“deal.”

you speed away from the manor.

--

you roll your car into the abe mansion, seeing the same red walls and dark red crest across the main entrance. a sigh leaving your lips. you weren’t really thinking when he called, and now you’re here, at the doorsteps of the abes. they could kill you right here and that would be it for you.

but your conviction to save your kids is stronger, the need to kill kaito and kenji for messing with your kids. 

parking your car in the garage, there’s no guards around. it’s too quiet, almost like something’s wrong here. you can even hear the garden running in the background.

you step into the same tunnel where you once walked through with sana. there’s no line of birds up top, also strange. like a chill up your spine, and soon you arrive inside the main hall. the same hall that was the death place of the watanabes. it’s completely empty, the decorations are still around. but without the guests, it’s just a giant room filled with war artifacts/

you keep walking through the hallways, until you reach a smaller room, much smaller. with it’s door open. and inside you can hear some light music playing. the sight of kaito and kenji abe sitting in two chairs, no guards around either. 

just them two and behind them your kids. little haruto and hanako hugging each other in the corner. haruto’s fearful eyes as he sees you, running towards you with tears in his eyes.

you rush to pick him up, while the two brothers eye you. unmoving as you grab hanako as well. placing them behind you. staring at them two. their hands spinning their twin tantos in their hands. you don’t say anything, rubbing hanako’s hair lightly as you set her down behind you. 

“take a seat.” you sit down across from the brothers. both of them adorning their family crest, kaito’s lips are curled into a smile, while kenji has a bored look on his face.

“why did you take my kids?” you ask, continuing to keep hanako in your arms. rocking her slightly, while haruto peers from behind the chair. still scared out of his mind.

“just for fun!” kaito says as he offers a lollipop to hanako, you push it away. watching the way he laughs out in amusement.

“you minatozakis are always so stuck up.” he says, placing the lollipop down on his desk. kenji continues to flip the tanto in his hand. you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. it’s still too quiet, where is everyone.

“i wanted to meet my replacement in person.” kaito explains. “needed to see sana’s plaything in person.”

kenji rolls his eyes. you continue to let your eyes drift to and from the two brothers, attune to each subtle movement. “well i’m here now, what do you want from me?”

“i want you to beg, beg for your life.” he says, knife pointed at your head. you look around you, any sign of escape. the door’s still open for some reason. you stare at him, body unmoving in the chair. hands cupped around hanako’s ears. she sinks her head into your chest, completely unmoving.

“beg?” you ask.

“yes, beg for your life! you minatozakis always just take what you want. took away from my father’s empire, that silly old lady. so my father killed one of yours.” he says, pointing to a plaque. 

engraved towards the middle is ‘mamoru minatozaki’, a list on names stretching down the plaque. all of them kills by the abes, when and who.

it’s sickening to see.

“so beg, beg for forgiveness, beg for salvation, beg for escape. because you just walked into the abe mansion like a fool.” kaito stands up, his knife back towards you, you place hanako into haruto’s arms. 

his eyes filled with tears as he begs for you to hold him. you give them both forehead kisses as he cries with his sister in his arms. 

you beg that they don’t see what you do.

you stand back up, slipping the tanto from your waistband. unsheathing it and rolling it in your hands. taking off the blazer you had on, and rolling your sleeves up.

“oh a branded one too!” kaito laughs out pointing at your forearm, you pay him no mind as he continues to laugh. “you’ve got some fight in you?”

you just nod, getting into a defensive stance, keeping your left fist leveled. as he advances forward. kenji’s still sat playing with the knife in his hand. marveling the sharp edge, while kaito’s got bloodlust painted all over his face.

he advances forward, faking a stab at your left side, the feint doesn’t bother you one bit, using the leverage to stab at his left side as well. letting your power move with your body, nearly cutting into his jacket. to which he claps at the sight, a strange man he is.

“keep going, keep going!” he exclaims, clearly getting excitement from the taunts that you are exhibiting. you begin circling him, clearly he’s excited, letting the stabs continue. you continue to flip the dagger in your hand, he lands a slash against your cheek and against your shoulder. 

kenji hasn’t even moved an inch, his finger still grazing along the edge. you feel your blood pump faster, clenching your jaw as you grip the blade harder. letting a charged attack aiming for his neck, and at the last second letting the blade slice down his body.

he cheers unexpectedly, clapping with his hands. you continue to let your eyes move from him and his brother. confused with the lack of action from kenji.

“you know how to fight! i like when my prey fight back, it’s more fun that way.” he says, changing his smile from amusement to pleasure-filled. his stance getting lower, you feel yourself getting nervous. you don’t know what he’s trained in before.

he nearly lunges at you, an unexpected speed, you dodge the attack with your arms, his knife digging into your skin. and then he pulls it back out. eyes ablaze as he continues to try and aim for your head. you narrowly dodge each attack, and with each attack, he gets faster and faster. 

you let him stab his knife into your shoulder, as you stab the knife deep into his stomach. staring at him centimeters away. the way his eyes roll at the pain, he’s a masochist. entertained by his own pain, and others. you let the knife continue to sink into him being pulling it back out. 

the blood pooling from his shirt, dripping onto the ground. his knife stuck into your shoulder. he grabs a longer blade off a shelf, you stumble backwards a bit. the pain of the shoulder making you hold onto his blade. better to keep it in, than to let it bleed out. 

his eyes gleaming with joy as he wields a katana now in hand, you stare at it, watching the way he moves his grip, adjusting it. all the while kenji steps near him, eyes squinted as he watches his brother wield a katana.

you heave a bit, your left shoulder feeling weak from the knife lodged within. you back up a bit as they both share a look, both their eyes wild, but for different reason.

you put your right arm up, readying yourself for an attack from them both, 

but then it turns into a bloodfest.

kenji, in a quick rotating turn, grabs the katana straight from kaito’s hands and stabs the long katana into his brother. cutting through him in the chest. his brother’s eyes go wide. 

“you, you, you!” kaito’s hands fly towards the katana trying to pull it out, kenji only stabs it into his body further.

“any last words brother?” kenji lets out a little smile, as kaito falls backward his hand outreached towards kenji, blood gurgling in his mouth. his body going limp on the floor.

kenji then he turns to you. 

“thank you for that, let’s let the real fun begin.” he says, pulling the katana out of his brother’s now lifeless body. all the while you’re trying to make sure that none of your kids are seeing this brutal scene, you can hear their small cries.

he crosses the room in a few steps, trying with all his force to slam the katana over your head, you hold with everything in you against it, fighting it with ever muscle fibers in your body. being brought abruptly with the downwards force of his slash. 

knees nearly buckling under the force. he continues to drive the katana deeper, you barely hold on, begging for something to hold.

letting the sweat continue to bead across your forehead, calves and thighs straining in pressure, and at last he lets go. a short knife sent straight at his heart. his eyes nearly bulging out as he grasps onto his shirt, his heart bleeding out. and you collapse onto the ground. 

the adrenaline pumping through your body, and all the pain of the fight coming back to feeling. you stare at the ceiling as people start piling in. you roll your head over, the sight of the minatozaki crest upon the back of the people. 

one in particular sticks out, sana’s mother. taking the knife from his heart and stabbing into it once more. “i pity you abe boys, killing one of your own.” she says before taking the knife out once more.

“take the kids away.” you put your hand up, and immediately the guards back up. you roll your head the other way, beckoning the kids forward. haruto wailing as he falls atop your body, and little hanako staring straight at you, before joining her brother.

you smile at them both, caressing their faces, giving them kisses as tears fall down your face. they’re okay, they’re safe.

you can feel the exhaustion finally seeping in, continuing to brush their hair out their face. as your eyes roll back, and then you’re out.

--

your eyes open to the bright light of the hospital room, one that you previously were in for momo and mina. the windows are open, a slight wind blowing against the curtains. a bunch of fruit baskets laying at the table near your feet. clearly you’ve had some visitors.

mouth drier than a desert as you try and grab a glass of water nearby. your whole body hurts, every part of it hurts. you grunt a bit reaching the full glass, getting some needed hydration.

and this searing headache that you can feel isn’t making it any better. you try your best to look around, vision still a bit blurry. then they refocus on a figure in the chair near you.

sana’s here.

you blink a few more times, eyes getting sharper, until you can see her features clearly. it’s a gorgeous sight after nearly being killed. although she looks mad at you, her eyes in fury. the same fury you saw when she found out you had her tailed.

she stares at you, getting up when she notices you’re awake, towering over you.

“you idiot!” she shouts at you. tears in her eyes already, you try your best to move but everything hurts so much.

“sana. please.” you raise your hand, outreached towards her. she storms out of the room, the door slamming open as she rushes outside. 

then sana’s mother enters the room. a limping momo trailing behind her. both women rounding the side of the bed that sana was in seconds ago. sana’s mother doesn’t display much emotion, but momo seems rather amused.

“sana’s furious, swore she would kill you if you died to the brothers.” she explains, her hands folded behind her as she stares at your patient monitor, a small smile on her hand. “you did well kid.”

“doesn’t seem like it.” you say, feeling the pain of your left shoulder still burning. a searing pain even as you try and relax. she shakes her head no, momo’s staring at your bandaged body. your injuries much like hers, minus the bruised ribs. to which you have to be thankful for. you think back to the room, how dark it was in their study. the sight of your kids cowering in fear deep in the back corner of the room, their small eyes staring at you in relief when they saw you enter.

you hope they never remember this event, and most of all that they didn’t see anything.

you know that you’ll forever live with this memory, the scars, the bloodshed, the pain. all of it will live through you and hopefully only you. a reason that you went straight for the abe brothers, without giving sana a chance to even follow. you don’t want her to deal with the repercussions of the deaths that were bound to happen. to put ease into her mind, you would shoulder the world for her.

a true testimony of your devotion to sana.

“you did it for sana, didn’t you?” 

momo’s words bring you out of your thoughts, and you nod, because it’s true. sana is everything and more, someone that you find yourself leaning on when things get rough. you want her to never experience the sights of the killings. those night terrors were enough to snap you awake, you feel protective of her. wanting her peace to remain for however long she lives.

“she called me and mina up, begging us with her snotty voice to save you.” momo says, a little too serious for your taste. “she begged, sana is not one to beg. she loves you as much as you love her.” 

“i know.” 

momo rolls her eyes.

“what i’m trying to say is, despite how mad she may be at you, she loves you, even this part of you that wants to shoulder all her burdens.” momo explains. and you listen intently. 

“when she told me that you were going to marry her, i always wondered why. but now i know, you mean every word you say. there’s no games with you. in this world, all there is are games, everyone has their motives, their greed, their lust. but you speak from the heart, and that’s all sana wants, someone genuine. their love as obvious as their words.”

you nearly choke up at the words, it’s a feeling that you’ve been thinking about lately. ever since sana’s mother explained why she chose you (sana as well). 

“thank you momo.” and with a small nod she leaves the hospital room.

you feel like you haven’t deserved the love that sana gives you, as much as you want to. just not understanding why, but it’s clear, even in this dark and cruel world that you’ve been married into.

you sob openly, just letting the tears of everything that’s been building up in you fall like flowing feelings. all the pain and suffering of being married into this family, the strange stares from outsiders. enduring the rigorous training from momo and mina all in order to become someone strong enough for this family, all those nights you had to hold a crying sana.

--

“you are an absolute idiot.” you get wheeled outside, sitting in your hospital gown as you get placed next to sana’s bench. there’s tears still in her eyes, and she refuses to look at you.

“i know, i’m sorry.” you respond.

“what if you died? what if they killed you and the kids? what am i supposed to do then?” she exclaims, tears gushing from her eyes. tissues in her hands as she stares at them.

“i, i don’t know. i didn’t think that far. i just knew i had to save them.” you explain, trying your best to not pick at the IV needle. 

“i should kill you myself, sending yourself on a suicide mission.” she bites out, an anger you haven’t heard in months. you just nod letting her continue to talk. “i stayed outside, momo holding me back. and then i saw haruto running towards me, tears in his eyes.”

you nod, feeling a deep shame running through your body, hoping that he didn’t see anything.

“he just kept saying you saved him and hanako, i thought you died in there. but you didn’t. you didn’t die in there, and you saved them too.”

“i did what i needed to do.” sana continues to speak over you.

“and i’m frustrated, because it should’ve been us saving them together, but you shouldered all my burdens once again. you took on this marriage which saved me from marrying kaito, and you continue to shoulder my burdens even now.”

“because i love you sana.” you declare. “it isn’t a burden to me because i love you. and i always will sana, until death do us part, i promised to love you forevermore, and i choose you as my partner.” you pull yourself in front of her. 

“i want everything with you, even in sickness and in health, all these vows i said during our wedding, i didn’t know it then, but i know it now. i mean every single word!” you cry out.

you stare at her, and her eyes lift up at yours, you wipe the tears off her face. a small smile on her face as she kisses you, even with salty tears rolling down.

--

a/n: the series is finished! hehehee, i left an easter egg!! message me if u figure it out :P, also thank you to the lovely @d3viant0n3 for helping me move this series forward, forever thankful <3 as well as my moots for listening to my troubles w this fic (forgot to mention!! dragon back tattoo is @cry4mina's idea) LOL and as always, stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

[deadhands69]

By a Thread part 3

Tomura Shigaraki x Witch Reader

fluff inspired by the prompt: "listening to the other's heartbeat" thanks for sending it anon, sorry this one took a while to update! I usually try to keep things relatively blank/fill in your own info for a lot of x reader but at some point that becomes really boring or difficult to write. in this case, the dog didn't have a name initially but after editing this, she does now because this part is pretty dog heavy and there are only so many times of saying "the dog" before it sounds less like an included character and more like some rando dog that you barely know and don't care about. so anyways, her name is Hazel like witch hazel! (both for the name + Tomura finds her soothing)

[previous] [series masterlist]

Spring has fully taken off, which means you've been here for weeks now.

The transition to moving in with Tomura went smoother than expected. Not only do you have your own bedroom with a door and everything, you now have fancier furniture than you know what to do with. 

Sure, you had a bed in your cottage but it was hard and rustically made, to put it nicely. It’s all you ever knew before this though, so you were used to it. This one is wool that you sink softly into. The sheets are soft and smooth against your skin. Every night, you’ve had dreams about sleeping in a cloud – which makes sense, you basically are.

Even Tomura’s chairs are nicer, plushy where yours weren't. It's taken you some time to get used to the luxuries, but Hazel has adapted fast – not wasting any time before cozying into her own small bed placed in your room. 

Of course, there is still so much you miss about your cottage. 

Your belongings. Your garden. The warmth of your small space. Particularly on windy nights like tonight when the old house holds a draft that can't be easily quelled. The window sashes shake against the force of the salty air coming off the ocean.

You’re happy to have somewhere safe to be though, in spite of it all. 

Living with another person has been less jarring than you expected as well. Neither of you are particularly intrusive – he mostly keeps to himself, leaving for solid days without warning, holing up in the study, and spending hours in his room doing...something. If you’re being honest, you’ve barely seen him since the two of you arrived here. 

Tonight you hear him. The sound of him scraping at something in his room turns to footsteps creaking on the old stairs. You peek your head out to make sure he’s okay. 

Tomura stands at the window, staring out. Absentmindedly, he pets the dog’s head when she rubs against his leg.

Things have felt different since you’ve arrived. Maybe it was always like this. You did only know him for one night before moving in and of that night, you spent most of it asleep. Still, there’s a certain tension in the air that you don’t recall from before. His gaze never quite meets your eyes but you catch him stealing glances when he doesn’t think you’re looking. It’s probably normal, all part of adjusting to having another person in your space.

“Night,” he mumbles before continuing up the stairs to his room. You go back to yours, staring out the window for a while. There's something else out there after sundown. It doesn't permeate into his yard, but you can feel it all around. There's a distinctly different, dark energy on everything. 

It almost feels like it’s getting stronger.

By the time you wake up, the wind has died into a gentle breeze – it’s time to get to work, you have a long day ahead of you. 

Even with the on and off rains, you’ve been busy rebuilding something close to a temporary replacement for your garden. While you don’t intend to stay here forever, you have no immediate plans for where you’ll go yet. Thus, it made sense to have a small patch here – at least for this year. Tomura was happy to let you use whatever space you’d like to and, while he never actually said it, his eyes lit up at the prospect of fresh fruits and vegetables. You wonder the last time he made himself an actual meal. From what you’ve seen, there’s been nothing but quick to heat grains in the house until you arrived. Even now, there’s not much more you can make with what limited supplies you have.

There’s a windowed area built onto the side of the house that makes the perfect greenhouse. It’s a bit overgrown and, like everything else here, in some state of disrepair, but you don’t mind. It’s still spring so there’s a bit of time left to get most seeds going. Beets, peas, and sunflower shoots are all spilling over the edges of their pots. Some have been transplanted already, you’re slowly moving what you can into the plots you dug up. Hazel came out and helped, but it’s unclear how much she understands of the situation and you think she may have just wanted an excuse to play in the dirt.

What you’ve been able to grow will have to do for now, considering that they’re the only seeds you had stuck drying between the pages of your grimoire. Soon you’ll also need to go into town for more seeds, you’re not sure when that will be safe though. Tomura knows you need the seeds, in addition to other necessities, and said he has an idea. That was the second day you were here. Neither of you have brought it up since then.

In the meantime, you’ll have to go back into the forest to forage. It’s the least you can do to repay him for allowing you to stay.

You’re not really sure what Tomura is doing this morning, but you’d like to take advantage of the nicer weather. The breeze is warmer than the past few days and the clouds look unassuming. While your magic has never been perfectly in tune with the weather, you have no concerns. It’s as good of a day as any for a walk. 

After feeding yourself and Hazel then tending to the new plants, you’re ready to go. In the few weeks you’ve spent in this house, you haven't seen a basket anywhere so you bring an extra piece of cloth to wrap what you gather for the return trip.

When you walked here before, you were exhausted. Sure, you remember some of your surroundings, but you didn’t get a close look at them.

Tomura’s house is the only one remaining in what used to be a small town by the looks of it. Outlines of the houses still remain. Neither you nor your dog move closer to investigate. You can see well enough from the road. Their blackened foundations are etched into the landscape by a powerful dark magic. It feels similar to what you saw Tomura use the night your cottage burned down, but more concentrated. Part of you wants to ask him about it, but given that he’s the only person you’ve seen out here, you could probably guess. It’s hard to wrap your head around it, this was done by the same person who so easily took you in when you were in need. He’s not someone you’d describe as warm or friendly, but the juxtaposition of his doings still feels incomprehensible. You can see why they call him the symbol of fear.

The darkness appears to stretch over the entire peninsula. By the time you’ve reached the end, you’ve almost gotten used to the vacant lots. The rolling grass hills feel out of nowhere. 

Up you go, following a faint path to the top of the ridgeline. Rather than going back out towards the town, you continue straight into the forest. The trees become less windswept, growing closer together. Soon you’re back in your element.

Recent rains, followed by the warmer weather brought up a huge crop of mushrooms. The faint orange clusters stand out against the detritus. You cut off what you can carry, stuffing them in your makeshift bag. A few bunches of fiddlehead ferns catch your eyes as well. You take some of the tender shoots that have yet to unfurl. The cloth wrapped around your shoulder fills easily as you collect. With any luck, this should last you a few days.

Following Hazel further into the forest, you come across a stream. The two of you stop for water before continuing further up the hill. Light shines brighter through the trees and the sound of water grows louder. In a few more turns, the stream widens beneath a waterfall. It’s not massive by any means, but still just as pretty. Water trickles down boulders between vivid green moss. Hazel jumps in immediately. You watch as she plays in the water, taking off your boots to do the same. 

There’s something about beautiful spaces that makes you forget time. Hours slip by faster and before you know it the sun is settling behind the trees much sooner than you expected. Warm light illuminates the stream as you follow it back down the hill towards the peninsula. It looks like a golden snake slithering its way down to the ocean. You turn as soon as the trees begin to thin, in search of the faint trail that led you here. 

The sunset fades to pink, then darkens quickly.

Too quickly. 

A sense of foreboding overwhelms you as you rush down the grass covered hill towards the house. Once more, you curse yourself for not knowing more protective spells. Summoning some small amount of energy from the surrounding plants, you cast a thin shield over yourself and Hazel. It’s not much but it will be better than nothing. You hope the feeling is all in your head.

By the time you reach the road, darkness surrounds you. It’s as if the air you breathe is closing in around you. Everything goes cold, you’re shivering as you rush as fast as you can. But fast isn’t fast enough. It feels like a dream when you’re trying to run and being held back. You feel the spell you cast being pulled off of you. Then, warm hands on your shoulders. 

Startled, you turn to find yourself face to face with Tomura. 

“Take Hazel and run,” he growls. 

“What about you?” he doesn’t respond, shoving past you.

Through the haze, you manage to follow your dog towards the house. Your legs move easier now, but you still feel yourself in the grasp of an entity you can’t quite place. Focusing on throwing one foot in front of the other, you make it to the end of the peninsula.

As soon as you stumble through the gate, the world expands. Goosebumps disappear from your skin as the temperature rises back to normal. Hazel stands nearby, panting while watching something outside the fence. She seems to have fared better than you in all of this, whatever it is didn’t seem to hold onto her the same as it did to you.

Just as you start to get worried, Tomura stumbles through the gate, slamming it shut behind him. You jump up to help him, noticing a slew of new cuts over his face and hands. The two of you make it a few steps with you supporting his weight before falling onto the grass.

His arms hang limply over you, holding you to his chest. His breathing is slow, shallow. You listen for his heartbeat. It beats wildly, calming over time as the two of you catch your breath. He begins to stir, allowing you to roll onto your back.

“What was that?” you gasp.

“Nothing you need to deal with,” he grumbles, “why did you leave here without me?”

Hazel has settled in on his other side, head resting on his shoulder.

“To find dinner,” you say, pulling the nearly forgotten bundle of food from your shoulder.

“Next time come find me, I’ll go with you. No one should go into that forest alone at night, especially not you.”

“Why me?” you ask, “I notice whatever it is didn’t go for Hazel in the same way.”

“You have magic.” He sighs, sleepily. “And as of now, you’re also tied to me. So he wants you more than before.”

“So, having a connection to you makes him more interested in me?” 

“Forget I said anything,” Tomura mumbles.

There are so many questions you have that would take days to answer, but you know you won’t get anything out of him tonight. Instead, you lay here staring up at the stars. Eventually, he breaks the silence.

“Do you think all of this would have happened anyways, without the potion?”

“Maybe,” you say. “I mean, it’s quite the coincidence that you just so happened to be passing by my cottage at the times you were. If it wasn’t the potion, something brought us together.”

“Like fate?” he asks.

“If you believe in that sort of thing.” All of your conversations with Tomura up to this point have led you to believe he's too practical to buy into such things.  

“The fact that we can have our destinies tied together by a potion implies that fate is real. And if fate is real, wasn’t I always destined to end up on your doorstep somehow?” He’s moved closer, pressing up onto his elbow to face you. Of course he would have some sensible reasoning but it's a surprise to you how much he seems to have thought into your intertwined lives. Initially, he shrugged it off like he didn't care. Maybe he feels more than he lets on. Suddenly, you're aware of the closeness between the two of you. 

“Hmm,” you say slowly, giving yourself time to think. You wish you had more experience with conversations like this. “I never thought of it that way.” 

“No? How do you see it then?” he presses. Not in a demanding way, more like he's insatiably curious. It's an interesting feeling, it's not that you've never spoken with people, you have, but no one has ever wanted your opinion on something. Not like this. 

“I don’t know, the future feels like some nebulous cloud of possibility. This just solidified a direction.”

“So you do believe in fate?” His eyes scream 'I'm right' but his smile remains playful. Something in you melts against your will, making it hard to find the right words. 

“In some way,” you contemplate, “I think there are still some choices within it. But I guess so. This was always an outcome.”

“Does that matter to you?” he asks, leaning in closer. You can feel him a short breath away. 

“Does fate matter?” you ask. 

“No, does it matter if it was a potion or not? You're the first person I've ever been close with and I'm assuming it's the same for you. Does it bother you that this is all from something you created?” a flash of genuine concern crosses his face before you open your mouth to answer. 

“No.” You state it definitively, bringing the curiosity back into his features. “No, it doesn't bother me. If we're going through our lives like this regardless, I'd rather not let anything cheapen it. This is how it is and we'll never know otherwise. Besides, we create everything in our lives. Some of us just have other means of making things happen.”

His eyes narrow at you as he smirks, “is that not what got you into this mess? If you weren't making love potions for half the town–” he drops it, realizing the last half of his sentence is less fun than he intended. “Uhm, speaking of the town,” he continues, more seriously. “I am still working on that.”

“How's that going? Unless you can transform us, I don't see how we won't stand out immediately in that crowd.”

“Don't worry,” he assures you, “I have it all figured out.”

[series masterlist] [bnha masterlist]

i picked the prompt for the next part (i saw it and really wanted to write it for this!), but still accepting prompts from the lists on the masterlist or any i've shared to continue the story after that

taglist: @kitkat13001 @kennys-partner @amira-44820 @its-evee16 @thesecond2demonking

@shigarakislaughter @dance-with-me-in-hell @minniessskii @vaval3ntin @ykyouluvme 

@dummi666 @lotus-flower420 @nonominchan @softnfuzzy @mysticalhills 

@reireitaka @crwavee @baby-pink-flowers @drlucichen @frieren-imposter

 @lou-the-naga-queen @multifandomidk @love-for-yoosung-kim  @xytraxpy @venom-barf 

@shiiigaraki @thetinas21 @spam-1

[fob4ever]

i was at a bookstore yesterday that had a copy of the kerrang: living loud book that featured the FOB watergun fight article i've never seen transcribed anywhere so i made a transcript of it for archival purposes. enjoy! from kerrang, may 2005.

For a man staring down the barrel of a loaded gun while wearing just underpants, Fall Out Boy bassist Peter Wentz looks remarkably chipper. Especially when you consider the person about to unload in his face is guitarist and vocalist Patrick Stump, grinning madly despite the fact that fellow six-stringer Joe Trohman has a pistol to his temple. He in turn is firmly in the firing line of drummer Andy Hurley, cackling loudly with his finger hovering over the trigger.

Passers-by stop and stare, waiting for the inevitable, messy climax of this "Reservoir Dogs" scenario. The tension mounts, onlookers brace themselves, the band get ready to open fire. Suddenly it happens.

"Argh!" screams Wentz as several litres of icy water soak him. "That's fucking cold!"

No, Fall Out Boy aren't about to blow each other away, They're having a water fight for K!'s benefit in a car park at the Chicago stop on travelling punk circus Warped Tour, where they're knocking out their "softcore" wares ("We're basically a hardcore band that couldn't cut it as a hardcore band," laughs Wentz) on the main stage alongside big hitters like The Offspring, Avenged Sevenfold and My Chemical Romance. The Windy City is more than just another stop for them; Chicago is Fall Out Boy's hometown, the place where they formed out of the ashes of their old hardcore bands, and where they still live with their parents- who are here for today's show - during the few weeks of the year they're not on tour.

It all started for Fall Out Boy here in 2001 when the members wanted a break from playing in their various bands. Long time friends Wentz and Hurley got together with hardcore associate Joe Trohman to do something a bit less heavy. Following a conversation about avant-metallers Neurosis in a bookstore, Trohman introduced Stump to the rest of the band. When their other bands folded, they took on Fall Out Boy full time.

"We wanted to do things before we were ready," chuckles Peter Wentz fondly of the early days of DIY tours for the benefit of the one or two people who would show up. "We'd plan two-week tours, just to see the world. Nobody would book us, so we had to do it all on our own."

"A lot of bands have scenes to go into and surround themselves with those people," says Stump. "We had no scene, so we would just play anywhere, with whoever."

FOB have come a long way from their humble roots. Right now they're America's fastest rising band. Radio smash 'Sugar, We're Goin' Down' has placed them squarely in the mainstream, having spent three weeks as the Number One song on MTV's 'TRL', a prime-time show usually devoted to pop acts like Maroon 5 and Ashlee Simpson. So dizzying their Stateside assent has been, they had to cancel their recent European tour in order to play the MTV Music Video Awards, where they are also nominated for 'Sugar...'. Thankfully, FOB haven't let the screaming adoration turn them into big-headed twats.

"A piece of shit with legs on it could walk onto 'TRL' and people would still go crazy," laughs Wentz. "That stuff just goes straight by me. With the fast turnover in the music industry, how can anyone have an ego"

Andy Hurley chips in. "You can be today's main stage and tomorrow's trash."

That's to find out tomorrow, though. Today among the madness of trying to plan anything on the Warped Tour - stage times are decided daily by lottery - Fall Out Boy have to try and find time for hanging out with family and friends.

"Three weeks on Warped is like three months on a normal tour," says Peter Wentz.

"Home becomes like Atlantis on tour, you wonder if it actually exists after a while," adds Patrick Stump.

Now FOB are big stars, a lot of old 'friends' have been coming out of the woodwork. Joe Trohman and Peter Wentz have polarised views on those who didn't give a toss back in the day suddenly becoming your pal once you've made it.

"The way I look at it is if someone's a dick to you and you don't know them, so what?" says Trohman. "Just care about who did support you, keep those important people close, not the people who five years ago called you a loser."

"I work the opposite way!" Wentz counters, before adding darkly, "The people I think about most are enemies. My brain works on revenge!"

Though a tight knit group of close friends, Peter Wentz is clearly Fall Out Boy's spokesman. He does most of the talking during the interview and writes the lyrics, and seems like the most driven one of the lot. As well as doing Fall Out Boy, Wentz has also written a book with tattoo artist Joe Tesaure, 'The Boy With The Thorn In His Side'. It's a dark, twisted tale that could have come straight from the brain of Tim Burton.

"I've always been into Roahl Dahl and people like that, and I was friends with a tattoo artist at the time and we came up with this idea to do a book together," he explains. "It wasn't something I felt fitted in with what Fall Out Boy is, I hate when bands do something that's not 'them'. The book is what it is, and Fall Out Boy is what we are."

Despite all thise talk of nightmares and revenge, FOB are upbeat individuals, enjoying their newfound success, while refusing to allow success to go to their heads. They'll tell you they don't like the shallowness of groupies or industry parties, and that the trappings of rock stardom hold no appeal.

"I don't feel like I deserve it," says Wentz in closing. "It's not like, 'this amount of time and this amount of shows = this kind of bus'. I appreciate what we've got. We've toured in a tiny van and it was cool, but now we're having new adventures living like this. I don't feel we deserve it more than any other bands do."

He surveys the sumptuosly appointed tour bus for a moment before chuckling heartily.

"Actually, that's a lie, we totally deserve it more than anyone else! Ha ha!"

[noxwrath]

❛❛ 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓. ．﹐ ♰

┃ CHAPTER ONE

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀— 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏.

JOHAN LIEBERT × FEM!OC

╰ ⠀﹒ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 𓏴

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 𓈀 a quiet moment in the rain leads to an unexpected silence between two people who never quite learned how to reach each other. Back inside, small gestures speak louder than words, and something fragile lingers in the stillness.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𓈀 implied past trauma, low self-worth, mental exhaustion, loveless marriage, semi/implied nudity(?).

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 𓈀 post-canon, slowburn(?), tension, introspective, repressed tenderness, unspoken feelings, hurt/comfort, domestic setting, quiet intimacy, rain symbolism, melancholic atmosphere, etc.

There’s a certain kind of silence that only belongs to old European countryside manors—thick and velvety. The kind that sinks its teeth into you without warning and never quite lets go. Aiza had been living in that silence for six months now, wrapped in the quiet like a borrowed veil.

A manor near the German borders, cold and medieval-like, where she now lived as someone's wife. Married. At twenty. It should have felt like a fever dream. But sometimes dreams rot when they stay too long in the dark.

She doesn’t remember how she got here, not really. The engagement, the wedding, the moments in between. Her mind traces them like smudged fingerprints on a mirror—there, then gone. But did that really matter? She wasn’t so sure. He was kind, at least. Gentle hands, a calm voice, eyes that never looked at her for too long or too little.

A man who protected, not controlled. Or so it seemed. But the walls knew better, and so did the house did too.

Aiza spent most days watching the rainclouds roll in from the east, watching them settle as now her world was small—but bigger on the inside, maybe, like the many rooms of this manor that all echoed back a little too much. Which she hadn’t left in half a year. Not even once.

But today it rained, a little unexpectedly so.

From the uppermost library window, Johan sat across, watching. A book resting in his hands, but his eyes lingered elsewhere—on the young woman below, dancing like something feral in the courtyard, barefoot and soaked. She had slipped out before the rain hit the stone, and now the sky was spilling silver all over her.

She wasn’t laughing yet her eyes were smiling. Hair clinging to her back like shadow-stained silk. A white dress wrapped around her like a ghost of something long forgotten. No shoes. No undergarments. Just skin, rain, and a kind of madness. It startled him—this softness. This sudden joy in a girl who so often curled in on herself like a dying petal.

Johan didn’t move for a while. His book slipped from his lap onto the floor. Eventually, he stood, his lean frame folding over like paper as he descended the grand staircase without a word. He didn’t like her out in the cold. She’d get sick. Her body wasn’t built for weather like this, since she was fragile, sickly, already beaten down by sleepless nights and the weight of hating herself.

As he walked, his polished shoes clicked against the marble floors, he opened the back door to the courtyard through the kitchen, a composed rumble leaving his throat, “It's getting windy, why don't you come in Aiza?”

“Just a minute!” she called out, voice bright but cracking at the edges. Before she knew, it had already been over five minutes alone. And Johan was aware this was going to happen.

She moved like someone trying to remember how to feel—how to live. Her dark hair stuck to her cheeks, soaked through and gleaming.

Everything about her screamed flawed in the mirror’s cruel whisper. Her back hunched slightly when she sat, as if trying to become smaller. Hiding from the eyes that never really looked at her. She hated her body like it had betrayed her.

Like it was someone else’s filth, and she was simply trapped inside.

And yet, here she was—spinning. Rain-stung and unashamed for once. Dancing in a dress that clung to her every insecurity like a second skin.

She looked like a prayer forgotten mid-sentence.

The storm built around her, thunder speaking low across the hills like some god warning her to go back inside. But she didn’t. Not yet. She was too busy remembering what it felt like to be free.

And Johan—he just stood at the doorway, eyes tracing the strange figure in the garden; Aiza, arms stretched out, twirling in the heavy rain as if it could rinse away something deeper than just the day’s heat. The rain soaked her thoroughly, but she didn’t seem to care. Maybe that was the point.

He watched her with an unreadable expression, arms folded across his chest like a habit, not a decision. The rain had reached him too, soft droplets kissing his pale skin, but he barely blinked. Something stirred in his chest, just faintly, ghost of a feeling. It slipped away before it took shape. He couldn“t name it even if he tried.

Aiza’s white dress clung to her body, every roll, every curve unapologetically on display. The kind of sight she usually spent hours trying to conceal beneath oversized clothes and crossed arms. Johan’s gaze swept over her observantly. Thick thighs, soft belly, arms holding strength she didn’t recognize in herself. Stretch marks curved along her hips like lightning scars. Her skin bore patches of darker tones, joints browned by pigment she tried to scrub away. During winter though, she looks slightly different. It's because of the fact that she naturally tans during summer, and is mostly like that throughout the year.

Her neck folds are visible, chin doubling when she tilted her head down to laugh at the ground beneath her feet, which for once wasn’t swallowing her whole. And her breasts — full, heavy, swaying slightly beneath the thin, wet fabric. No bra. No modesty today. Not because she had suddenly learned to love herself, but because something inside her had snapped or softened maybe both.

Johan is aware of these feelings to a certain extinct, how she hated her body. He had heard the muttered insults she aimed at herself in mirrors, the defeated sighs after every meal. But to him, Aiza was just... Aiza. Neither beautiful nor ugly. Neither a goddess nor grotesque. Just his wife. A constant, like weather or routine. He had never quite shown himself to respond to her spirals of self-hate. He never saw the point in changing anything that simply was. Or perhaps there is more to it than her insecurities.

“Aiza,” he said, his voice low and even, “come inside. You'll catch a cold.”

Johan reached out a hand, one step forward into the drizzle. His light blue eyes, always so distant like they belonged to a man who lived underwater, now softened with something close to concern. Not panic. Not love. Maybe responsibility. The kind of concern that said; I don’t want to deal with a sick partner right now.

Aiza spun around to face him, soaked and glowing with rain and something else, something almost wild. Her hands caught his wrist. “No! Come with me,” she called, and her voice... her voice had life. Not the usual low, flat tones. Not the mechanical words forced out of obligation. This was something else. A spark. A flicker. She looked alive—not pretty, not perfect—but full of something raw and rare.

She pulled him into the rain with her, still singing and dancing. Just holding his wrist, not his hand. As if she wasn't sure he'd stay if she really held on. And it was jarring, seeing her like this. Vulnerable in a way that wasn't sadness. Exposed; body, spirit, everything and yet not hiding. That was new. She always hid. Always wrapped herself in fabric and silence. But now, with the dress clinging to her like a second skin, hair flat and dripping down her back—she didn't flinch. She didn't pull away. She danced.

It wasn’t about seduction. It wasn’t even about him. It felt like watching someone stand barefoot at the edge of something they’ve feared their whole life and daring it to swallow them.And for once, Johan didn't know what to say, perhaps he didn't need to. So he let her hold his wrist. He let the rain fall as he watched. Maybe for the first time—really watched.

Johan stumbled, just barely, as Aiza tugged him into the rain. The downpour greeted him like a slap; cold, immediate, unforgiving. His shirt clung to his skin within seconds, heavy with water. The chill reached his bones, though his expression didn’t change. Not much ever did. His pale blonde hair, always so precisely parted, now matted against his forehead and cheekbones. The blue of his eyes dulled slightly under the gray sky, but there was a flicker of something quiet and alive when he looked at her.

Aiza was spinning again, barefoot on the soaked grass, arms stretched wide like she wanted to embrace the sky itself. The rain didn’t just fall, it poured, like the heavens had decided to wash away the unknown, something yet to be spoken of. And Aiza danced right in the middle of it. Her white dress clung to every inch of her, soft curves outlined by wet fabric, every so-called flaw now impossible to hide. The very things she hid from mirrors and judgment, now illuminated by rain and soft sunlight.

And Johan saw all of it. He always had. But today, he saw it differently. With presence. With clarity.

There was something achingly raw in it. Not seductive. Not performative. Just… real. Unfiltered. As if, for once, she’d stepped out of her body and simply let her soul move.He didn’t budge as much. Just stood there, allowing her to pull him along — a man made of marble, held in the hands of a woman who had forgotten, for a moment, that she was made of softness and shame. Her hand in his was warm despite the cold. Firm. Not asking. Telling. Guiding.

Her laughter startled him, not because it was loud — but because it was real. And because he’d forgotten what she sounded like when she wasn’t apologizing for taking up space.He watched her face more than anything else. The way her dark hair clung to her cheeks, water running down her chin like tears she didn’t have to cry. For that moment, her usual weariness was gone — no bitterness, no sighing exhaustion, just... life. A wild sort of aliveness he hadn’t realized he missed until it showed up in front of him.

He had never understood her shame. Not because he thought she was beautiful — that word didn’t live in his vocabulary much. But because to him, she was constant. Unchanging. A presence. Not someone to evaluate, just someone who was. That had always been.

And still — there it was again. That faint shift in his chest. Like a flicker of warmth behind a cold wall. Not quite affection, but maybe something adjacent. A quiet recognition of something fleeting and precious.

His arms stayed at his sides until her hands grabbed them, dragged them up, pressed them to her waist — wide, plush, real. The part of her she always covered, always guarded. He could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the wet fabric, the roundness of her hips where his palms now rested. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t apologize for existing. And there was no hesitation in her grip. As if she were letting him touch the very part of her she hated, asking him not to love it, but to witness it. And he did. Quietly. Without praise, without judgment. Just... held her there, rested his palms on her waist, his fingers tentative, almost reverent. She didn’t flinch. Didn't pull away.

“Dance with me,” she said, breathless, soaking, and it wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a plea. It was something else entirely. A declaration, maybe. A dare.And so he did. Not well. Not joyfully. But he moved with her. Step by step. Breath by breath. Like she had wound a key in his chest and reminded him he had a body, too.

The rain blurred the edges of everything — the trees, the house, the path they'd come from. The world around them softened, leaving only this moment sharp in its clarity.She was not beautiful. He was not loving. This was not romance. But it was something else. Something quieter, solemn, and more humane.

And in that silence, in that storm, in the press of his palms against her body she had always tried to make smaller, Johan felt something like grace. Not emotion. Not warmth.

Just a fleeting understanding.

And it was enough.

Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, their bodies moved together under the falling sky — not in rhythm but in something far more honest. It was a bit clumsy and unsure, but somehow it fit them. Neither of them had been taught how to hold another person without bracing for impact.

Then, mid-step, Aiza faltered.It was subtle — a small wince, a sharp inhale through clenched teeth, but Johan felt it instantly. The tension in her fingers, the way her body suddenly held itself with caution. He paused. Didn’t ask right away. Just observed. The rain pooled at his collarbone, trailing rivulets down his chest and dripping from the ends of his lashes. His eyes, pale and blue, locked onto hers, to read what words couldn’t say.

“Are you alright?” he asked, he just needed to voice the fact that he noticed.

But Aiza looked away, one arm crossing over her chest as if she’d suddenly remembered her body existed. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the friction. Maybe it was just one of those small, human discomforts that sneak up on you when you’re too busy pretending to feel free.

Johan didn’t stare, didn’t follow the motion with his gaze. He looked at her face. Only her face.

Something about her expression made him think—not of her pain, but of her exhaustion. The kind that wasn’t just physical. The kind that lived in the bones.

“Let’s go inside,” he said after a beat. Not an order. Not even a suggestion. Just... a bridge. An out.He touched her back lightly, as if one might touch a painting in a museum they shouldn’t be near. Careful. Respectful. Aware of how easily something could be ruined.

She didn’t thank him. He didn’t need her to. That wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. Their language was made of silences and half-formed thoughts, gestures that didn’t demand recognition.

And maybe that was the strange thing — in a world where love came in loud declarations and scripted affection, there was something almost sacred about the way they moved around each other. Like two shadows crossing paths. No fireworks. No climax. Just awareness.

They walked back in, dripping shadows crossing polished marble.

Neither said a word. The house, usually too large, too cold suddenly felt like it was holding its breath.

Aiza moved ahead of him, her steps sluggish, the ends of her soaked dress trailing like wilted petals. The towel sat on her head awkwardly, hastily placed, like most of the things in her life. Her hair clung to her neck, still heavy with rain. She hadn’t showered yet. Should’ve. She always warned herself about getting sick, but now she just sat. Stool by the kitchen counter. Arms limp at her sides. Chin tilted low.

She stared at the floor like it might offer her something — a distraction, an answer, maybe just permission to stop thinking. Her eyes were dark, impenetrable, they didn’t flicker. If you looked too long, you’d forget what color they really were.

Sometimes golden brown, if the sun caught them right. But most days, they were just the abyss. A quiet grief one couldn’t name.Johan lingered by the doorway. Water pooled beneath him, running down his arms, soaking into the cuffs of his pants. He didn’t care. Couldn’t bring himself to move yet. There was something about Aiza’s stillness that made movement feel like a violation.But still, he took a few steps closer.

Not out of obligation or because he knew what to say. But because something in her silence was louder than words.

“You should shower,” he said finally. It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t anything, really. Just a line offered gently, a hand that didn’t expect to be held.

Aiza didn’t respond, not right away. She shifted slightly, her body adjusting like someone trying to ignore a persistent ache. Her discomfort wasn’t dramatic; just a subtle kind of unease, the kind one would only notice when they were close enough to care.

Johan hesitated, then reached out. His fingers brushed her shoulder — light, almost apologetic. As if touching her meant waking something he had no right to disturb.She didn’t flinch. But she didn’t lean into it either.

So he left it at that.

He stood beside her in silence, both of them soaked, the rain now a memory clinging to their skin. There was something cruel about how quickly joy disappears. How easily it slips through your fingers, leaving only wet footprints and silence.But still, he stayed.

Not to fix her. But to let her know she wasn’t sitting alone in the storm.

Johan picked up the towel from her head again, gently this time. His hands worked through her damp hair with slow, unhurried movements.And Aiza didn’t stop him. She barely reacted at all, half-lidded eyes drifting downward, too tired to question his sudden kindness. But she should’ve asked why. Why now? But that would require energy — and care. Both of which she was running low on.

The towel pressed softly into her scalp, then slid down over her ends. Her hair was a mess of wet, heavy strands clinging to her back, and Johan was trying his best to be careful. Almost absurdly careful, like he might bruise her if he moved too fast. He wasn’t used to touching her like this, she wasn't used to him touching at all. There was a kind of unfamiliarity to it which wasn't awkward, but unsure. Quietly hesitant. He didn’t understand where the instinct had come from, but he didn’t want to stop. Not yet.

And she didn’t flinch, didn’t lean in, either. But her shoulders began to soften, the ridges of her tension dulling. Her breathing slowed.

She was exhausted. That kind of deep, unshakeable tiredness that sits behind the eyes and makes the world blur at the edges. Johan could see it clearly now, the eye bags, the weight in her expression, the way her lips barely held shape anymore.

He had known about the insomnia. Of course he had. But he had never asked why. Never once asked what haunted her. That had never been part of their dynamic. He had kept his distance. She had never asked him to come closer.

But here they were.

He kept drying her hair. Fingers combing through the strands with a rhythm so soft it barely qualified as a touch. It surprised him—the gentleness of his own hands. The instinct to care for. He didn’t think he had it in him.

And then, without a word, her body shifted.

Aiza leaned forward slowly, like a flower bowing under too much rain, and before he could even register the moment, her head was pressed against his stomach. Her face tucked against him, breath warming the soaked fabric of his shirt. Her body still slouched on the stool, but her weight had fallen into him.

Johan froze.

He could feel every curve of her face—the line of her nose, the edge of her jaw, the soft part of her lips pressed into him like a quiet confession. Then her arms; slow and uncertain, slipped around his waist.She clung to him. Not tightly. Not desperately. Just enough.

Then came the whisper. So faint he thought he imagined it. “Please… don’t go..” Her voice was buried, slurred by sleep. But it was there.

Johan didn’t speak for a long moment, he simply stood there, his hand still caught mid-movement in her hair. Something twisted in his chest. Not pain, neither guilt. Just.. unfamiliarity. A forgotten feeling brushing against an old scar. He looked down at her. Her eyes were closed now. Her face, for once, unguarded. She looked like a version of herself he didn’t know — vulnerable, small, breakable.

Slowly, Johan wrapped one arm around her shoulders, hesitantly at first, then a little tighter. His other hand stayed cradled against her head, fingers buried in the warmth of her drying hair. And for once, his body didn’t feel like a prison.It felt like shelter.He closed his eyes. Breathing the scent of rain and something he couldn’t name.

“I won’t go,” he murmured.

It wasn’t anything big—just a quiet decision. Right now, he wouldn’t leave. And for this one quiet evening that would be enough.

𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 ／ the first night.

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗥 ／ do not spread any hate or negativity, refrain from copying my works as it is plagiarism. links will be added in the future. also — it's my first work on tumblr, so please go easy on me.

[exhaled-spirals]

« In the highland valley that spread above the underground lake stillness sets in, and although it is never windy here, now there is no sense of the faintest puff, as though the world were holding its breath.

Late insects are perching on stems, a starling turns to stone, staring at a long-gone movement among the clumps of parsley in the garden. A spiderweb stretched between the blackberry bushes stops quivering and goes taut, straining to hear the waves coming from the cosmos, and water makes itself at home in the moss thallus, as if it were to stay there forever, as if it were to forget about its most integral feature—that it flows.

For the earthworm, the world’s tension is a sign to seek shelter for the winter. Now it is planning to push down into the ground, perhaps hoping to find the deeply hidden ruins of paradise. The cows that chew the yellowing grass also come to a standstill, putting their internal factories of life on hold. A squirrel looks at the miracle of a nut and knows that it is pure, condensed time, that it is also its future, dressed in this strange form.

And in this brief moment everything defines itself anew, marking out its limits and aims afresh; just for a short while, blurred shapes cluster together again.

It is a very brief moment of equilibrium between light and darkness, almost imperceptible, a single instant in which the whole pattern is filled, the promise of great order is fulfilled, but only in the blink of an eye. In this scrap of time everything returns to a state of perfection that existed before the sky was separated from the earth. »

— Olga Tokarczuk, The Empusium: A Health Resort Horror Story

[whiteeyes-is-a-mad-scientist]

Honorary Members

Azazel, our water flight correspondent and figure head, has written back some exciting news from his recent trip back into the ocean waters.

"In light of the recent chaos with the cryptic message from Tidelord, many of the fathoms have begun to settle down! Truely a rare and even slightly worrying sight. tensions are high and worry over the still missing deity has made daily life in these waters rather awkward."

in the corner of the page a small drawing of Azazel in his pond bed showed his homesickness. You cant help but miss the lively water snapper. He continues on the back.

"Now speaking of the fathoms I will admit I have never seen them more than a drawing on a scroll. While exploring the colder waters under the twisting crescendo, a pair swam past. They are HUGE! Ive havent seen such large dragons in a long time! Hammerhand and Rainwater are the two I spoke too. A lovely couple whom settled due to their 3 eggs, they thought travelling to deeper waters with the current news would be too dangerous. I explained how our clan was just above the waters, though a tad more inland, and they were quick to accept my invite."

Another drawing, this one of the giant dragons. You wonder how theyd fit in this clan. You move to the next page.

"But sadly we realized that they are better living within the waters than to try and fit into our windy field camp. So instead of living with the rest of the clan I decided an honorary member status was the better choice. I also plan to move my water school into the western waters, at least for a little I know the cold will be a complaint."

Sadly the rest of the letter was torn and soggy, but you could faintly see another drawing.

[noisyspots]

Gut Feelings 85cm x 200cm x 21cm Fabric, thread, yarn, beads, faux pear, chenille sticks and fibre fill

"Gut Feelings" is an attempt to be more candid about personal emotions and trust my gut, despite my sometimes hypochondriac tendencies. The term “hypochondria” was born of a medieval term for an area of the abdomen, and has evolved to be more widely accepted as an anxiety disorder today.

In China there is a saying that those who can tolerate spice wears the pants, so from a young age my mother would feed me lots of chilli. This inevitably gave me a stomach ulcer and chronic stomach ache, and almost twenty years later, I would learn that spiciness is not a taste but a form of pain. Unsurprisingly it facilitates the expectation that women are supposed to digest their feelings and suffering alone, especially since the capacity to endure hardship is considered a virtue in Chinese culture. And when women do speak up about those experiences, their accounts are usually dismissed.

In the 1600s, Robert Burton, the author of "The Anatomy of Melancholy", essentially saw hypochondria as “windy melancholy”, and gave an extensive list of gassy symptoms. Centuries later, modern scientific studies would demonstrate that gut health does indeed affect mental health. Thus "Gut Feelings" employs scatological humour to ease the tension of the messy, chaotic moments of existence, while also addressing the not-so-funny gendered connotations historically associated with hypochondria.

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/174728661

They had been flying tirelessly for six hours. Solana was impressed by Azriel’s relentless flying—without rest, his arms never faltering around her, his eyes and wings easily finding the best currents to follow along the windy route.

Solana insisted they stop a few times, saying she needed to stretch her legs���which wasn’t a complete lie—but she also wanted Azriel to rest, drink water, relax the arms that carried her so strongly for so many consecutive hours.

Finally, they stopped for good when the sun began to set on the horizon, painting the sky with mesmerizing shades of orange, pink, and lilac. Azriel had admitted that he wouldn’t be able to fly with her in his arms for the entire twelve hours, so they landed in a dense pine forest, still in Night Court territory, but now to the south, closer to the border with the Day Court.

In addition to carrying her, Azriel also had a rucksack strapped to his back, between his wings, while Solana carried another in her arms, containing supplies for the night and the results of their research. Soon they were setting up camp—Solana pitched a magical tent that unfolded when she tossed it into the air, while Azriel searched the surroundings for kindling and pieces of wood to light a bonfire.

When he returned, he systematically stacked the wood but hesitated in front of his work, his jaw clenched.

Solana approached. “I can light it,” she said softly, noticing the way Azriel kept his distance, his gaze lingering on the wood with contained rigidity.

“You know how to do it?” he asked, crossing his arms, trying to appear indifferent. But she noticed—of course she noticed—the way he shoved his gloved hands into his pockets, as if instinctively protecting them.

“I learned from fishermen on the south coast,” Solana replied, smiling gently. “Not everyone in my court uses magic to solve everything with a snap of their fingers.”

She pulled a flint stone and a short, broad-bladed knife from a small leather pouch. The two objects seemed simple, common—but they carried an air of ritual, of practice. Solana pushed a handful of dry moss and thin twigs into the center of the fire pit and began striking the blade against the stone.

Sparks danced in the air. The metallic sound echoed low, rhythmic.

Azriel crouched on the other side of the stone circle, watching. The breeze brought the scent of burning moss and dried twigs. Solana persisted, striking the stone again. Sparks, an ember, a spiral of smoke. She leaned in, blew carefully until the fire finally took shape. The warmth rose, soft, casting flickering light on Azriel’s face.

She looked up, and for a moment, saw him watching the fire with a contained stiffness—not of vigilance, but of discomfort. And then she noticed the detail: the almost automatic way he adjusted his gloves, hiding his hands deeper in his sleeves.

“You don’t need to hide from me, you know,” she said, without taking her eyes off the fire.

Azriel blinked. “What?”

She looked at him, her eyes serious now. “Your hands. The fire.”

He stiffened but didn’t reply. The silence between them stretched for a few beats — until the first timid flame rose from the wood. Solana blew gently, encouraging it, until the fire came to life.

The warm, orange light illuminated the contours of Azriel’s face, revealing the tension in his jawline, the contained gleam in his brownish-gold eyes. His shadows crept away from the bonfire, as if they feared it too.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” Solana repeated, now softer. “Your scars... they don’t scare me. Nor do they make you less than you are.”

Azriel looked away. For an instant, it seemed he wouldn’t reply. But then he carefully removed one of his gloves and extended his hand towards the fire — not too close, just enough for the light to reveal the uneven skin, the ancient marks, deep and pale like old memories.

For an instant, the fire crackled, as if marking an invisible boundary between them. Azriel kept his gaze on the flames, his harsh expression softening only for a moment — a brief, but real instant. Solana settled on the other side of the fire, hugging her knees to her chest, listening to the crackle of the wood, a gentle silence settling between them.

Azriel’s shadows kept their distance from the fire, coiling around the trunk of a nearby pine tree, some hiding beneath the blanket of pinecones and needles on the forest floor.

“Do they always hide like that when you light a bonfire?” Solana asked, breaking the silence.

His eyes moved from the flame, now taking on a reddish-gold color, natural shadows licking his angular face. “I never light bonfires,” he answered simply.

Solana sighed and nodded her head. Azriel preferred to freeze in coniferous forests than warm himself by a fire.

“We’ve already talked about when they appeared,” Solana began, unsure, afraid of pushing him away. Azriel continued to stare at her, intently, as if he already knew what she was going to ask. “But you never told me how they appeared...”

Azriel inhaled deeply, still not taking his eyes off her, his shoulders tensing slightly. “It was a little after... my brothers burned me,” he said in a whisper, looking away toward the forest behind Solana. She almost regretted asking when an intense anguish contoured his features. “The loneliness and darkness were driving me mad. I prayed every day that someone would appear to rescue me, or that simply someone would show to talk to me.” He let out a humorless laugh. “One day, when my father brought food to me in the dungeon, I started seeing shadows dancing on the walls. They were there every time someone opened the door and let a little light in. Then I started hearing whispers and thought I was going insane.”

Azriel returned his gaze to hers. Solana realized she had unconsciously moved closer to him, her knees dragging on the soil until they were only a few centimeters apart.

“Little by little, they began to approach. I could feel them on my skin, coiling around my wrists, my ankles. They started warning me when my stepmother or my brothers were coming, preparing me. They weren’t mine yet, not like they are today. After a particularly heavy beating I took from my father, I thought I was going to die. I had at least fifteen broken bones in my body.”

Solana touched Azriel’s hand, intertwining her fingers with his. His gaze seemed drawn to the sight of their joined hands like a magnet.

“I had never cried so much in my life. I thought that was it for me. And then... they simply merged with me. They covered my body completely, and it was like being bandaged by icy silk wraps,” Azriel let a small smile play at the corner of his lips, his eyes still fixed on their connected fingers. “They’ve been with me ever since.”

Solana also smiled, tightening her grip on his hand. “I’m grateful they found you.”

There was something profoundly intimate in the way she spoke about the shadows—not as separate entities, but as an essential part of who he was. Her voice carried an almost sacred reverence, as if she understood that those shadowy entities were both guardians and companions.

Solana felt it when Azriel squeezed her hand back, noticing how his hazel eyes caught the light of the flames dancing around them. There was a rare defenselessness in his expression that made her heart hasten, as if her words had touched something deeply buried in his chest.

“You’re one of the only people they seem to like,” Azriel’s voice came out low, almost incredulous, and Solana realized he was still processing this impossible reality.

“You can’t be serious,” Solana joked, narrowing her eyes and seeing the shadows approach, cautious because of the flames, but resolute in reaching them.

“They’ve never touched anyone else but you,” Azriel replied in a whisper.

As if to confirm the truth behind their master’s words, the shadows crept up Solana’s legs with surprising delicacy. They were cool against her warm skin, but not unpleasantly so – it was like being touched by liquid satin. When they intertwined with her fingers, she felt an almost childlike curiosity in them, exploring the texture of her skin, the different temperature, the energy that pulsed through her. It was... sweet, in a way she never imagined shadows could be.

Solana couldn’t contain the giggle that rose in her throat, bubbling like champagne. It was impossible not to be overcome with an almost naive joy seeing the shadows swirl between her fingers like rings of black smoke. They were playful, almost timid, testing the limits of her acceptance, and she found herself wanting to embrace this experience completely.

When she looked at Azriel, her heart almost stopped. He was smiling – not the contained, careful smile she usually saw, but a genuine, wide one that completely transformed his face.

It was as if the sun had broken through stormy clouds.

His golden eyes shone with a mixture of astonishment and pure satisfaction, and Solana realized there was something almost sacred in the way he watched her, as if witnessing a miracle. Seeing Azriel like this – so open, so genuinely joyful – made something stir in her chest.

Solana felt the shadows become more playful and confident, seemingly stimulated by her melodic laughter. They entwined in her curly hair like curious fingers, exploring the silky texture of the strands. Some ventured onto her neck, soft tickles that elicited loud, spontaneous chuckles from her.

Solana closed her eyes, surrendering completely to the experience. Her hands moved to squeeze her ribs, which began to ache from so much laughter, but the pain was welcome – it was proof that this moment was real. Through her merriment, she could still hear the laughter that escaped Azriel – a rare and precious sound, deep and rich, that reverberated in her chest like a promise of something she couldn’t yet name.

The shadows seemed to feed on her joy, becoming bolder. Some played with the tips of her hair, others traced delicate patterns on her arms, and some simply contented themselves with wrapping around her wrists like living bracelets.

For Solana, there was a strange effortlessness in how she accepted Azriel’s shadows. She felt no fear or hesitation – there was something familiar in them, as if she recognized gentle souls beneath the dark appearance. They were not monsters or tools – they were companions, they were family. And the fact that they accepted her, that they chose to touch her when they had never touched anyone else, made something expand in her chest.

Observing Azriel watch the interaction with an expression of astonishment mixed with something dangerously close to hope, Solana felt that something had irreversibly changed between them. There was an intimacy in that moment that went beyond physical touch – it was as if she was being accepted not only by him, but by all the dark, hidden parts of his soul.

When the shadows settled around her wrists and forearms, her laughter faded like the last flames of a fire, but a smile still contoured both their lips.

“What are they whispering to you?” Solana dared to ask, her voice nothing more than a breath laden with curiosity and an openness she could barely hide. There was something mesmerizing in the way the shadows seemed to converse with Azriel, sharing secrets only the two of them understood.

Azriel seemed to hesitate, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to find the right words to translate what the shadows sang. His golden eyes filled with deep pain, and Solana realized he was fighting something much larger than simple words. “That you haven’t laughed like that in a long time. Not since the night we... when I...”

The words died on his lips like flowers wilting before blooming, and Solana felt her smile waver, the joy of the previous moment dissipating like smoke. The air between them became dense, electrified with painful memories and regrets that hung like ghosts.

“They speak the truth,” she admitted. “I think something inside me broke that night and I... was never the same.”

The weight of that truth hung over them, dense, suffocating.

“Since peace found Prythian, after Amarantha and Hybern, the Summer Court has returned to celebrating the Solar Bloom Festival,” Solana continued, turning her eyes to the bonfire burning beside them. “I was never able to celebrate again. I spent the festivities in the Azure Archivists’ library, or on Two Brothers Beach.”

Solana turned her eyes back to Azriel and what she found was a culpability that overflowed from his pupils like unshed tears. And an equally great guilt filled her, heavy and viscous.

When Azriel left after that night, she tried to understand the reason he abandoned her, why he begged her to let him go. But she had never understood, not like that very day, when she observed Azriel’s scars so closely. When she could almost feel the self-deprecation, the self-loathing that corroded him, seeping out of his pores like sweat.

“I'm sorry for what I said that day, after I woke up in your apartment,” Solana began, hesitantly. “I know you didn’t run away. That you were doing what you thought was best for me.”

Her fingers tingled to reach his face, so contorted with guilt and shame that it seemed like a mask of suffering. She settled for touching his wrist, feeling the accelerated rhythm of his heart beneath the scarred skin.

“I know you have deep demons that hunt you,” Solana continued, firmly, looking him deep in the eyes as if she could see through all the layers of protection Azriel had built. “And that as long as they continue to control you, you will never be free to be with someone.”

The words might sound cruel, but they were truths Solana wanted him to hear. For she wanted Azriel to be free. Not to be with her—Solana wouldn’t allow herself to think that—but to be truly happy. Finally.

“Then I guess I’ll die alone,” Azriel whispered, turning his palm up and taking Solana’s with a delicacy that contrasted with the hopelessness in his words. His fingers, along with the shadows, explored the lines that cut across her palm, massaging the skin between her thumb and forefinger as if memorizing every detail. “Because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to master those demons.”

There was a broken resignation in his voice that made Solana’s heart contract painfully. It was as if he were accepting a death sentence, and she could feel the weight of centuries of loneliness and self-destruction in every word.

Solana swallowed hard, the next words scratching her throat. She didn’t want to ask that question, didn’t want to hear the answer, but something inside her needed to know. “What about when you find your mate? You are going to run away?”

Azriel’s eyes returned to hers, so intense that her hand trembled while still engulfed in his. There was something fierce and absolute in his gaze, as if he were about to reveal the most fundamental truth of his existence. “I don’t have a mate.”

Solana’s heart pounded so hard in her chest that she knew he had heard. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and she felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down at something that could destroy her or save her. She asked, in a whisper that barely escaped her lips: “Why do you say that?”

“Because if the Cauldron didn’t make you my mate,” Azriel sighed, his eyes slowly dropping to her lips. “Then there is no one else for me.”

The words fell between them like a confession and a condemnation at the same time. Solana’s chest now rose and fell with shameful speed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she struggled to process what she had just heard. She wanted to release his hand, for hers had begun to sweat, shamelessly betraying her nervousness, but at the same time, she couldn’t pull away from the warmth of his touch.

“Things wouldn’t work out between us anyway,” Solana tried to deflect, her voice coming out louder than intended, almost desperate. “We are too loyal to our courts. I would never be able to leave Adriata, and your whole life and family are in Velaris.”

Even as she spoke, Solana knew she was clinging to practical obstacles to avoid confronting the emotional truth that hung between them like a storm about to explode.

Solana raised her gaze, gathering courage to face him again. She wished she hadn’t. For what she found in Azriel’s eyes... was a calm, unwavering determination that said yes, he would have left Velaris for her. He would leave everything for her. There was a certainty in his gaze that turned her world upside down.

Azriel said nothing, neither agreeing nor denying, just looked at her with that intensity that seemed to burn through all her fortifications. The silence stretched between them, laden with unspoken possibilities and promises neither of them dared to vocalize.

Solana couldn’t bear the intensity of that moment any longer. Every second under that gaze seemed to expose another layer of her soul, and she felt completely vulnerable and exposed. So, she released Azriel’s hand as if it burned her and stood up abruptly, brushing twigs from her pants with nervous and deliberately busy movements.

“It’s late. I think I’ll go to sleep,” Solana said, still not looking at the male sitting on a large fallen tree trunk. Her voice sounded forcedly casual, as if she were trying to convince herself that this had just been another normal conversation.

Without a word, Azriel merely nodded, but Solana knew he was watching her. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her back like a physical caress and had to fight the urge to turn and run into his arms. Instead, she walked away with measured steps, each one a struggle against her own heart.

Solana had taken only five steps when Azriel’s voice cut through the night’s silence like a razor.

“Solana.”

She stopped but didn’t turn. She couldn’t. Not when his voice sounded like that—low, hoarse, loaded with a pain that seemed to echo through centuries.

“I know you felt it,” he continued, and Solana could hear the creak of the wood as he stood up. “That night. When we... when we were together. I know you felt it.”

Solana’s heart completely stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut, her nails digging into her palms until the physical pain could compete with the emotional anguish tearing through her chest.

“That connection. That recognition. Like something deep inside us finally remembered where it belonged,” Azriel pressed, and now she could hear his footsteps approaching.

“Stop.” The word came out as a broken plea from Solana’s mouth.

But Azriel didn’t stop. She could feel his warmth behind her now, so close that his breath touched her neck. “I ran because I felt it too. Because I knew, deep down, that what happened between us was greater than anything I had ever experienced. And that terrified me.”

Solana turned so abruptly that she almost stumbled, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“There’s no point talking about it now,” she said, but her voice trembled, betraying every word.

Azriel took another step closer, and Solana retreated until her back met the rough trunk of a pine tree. He followed her, placing a hand on each side of her head, trapping her not with force, but with the force of his presence.

“Then tell me,” Azriel whispered, his brown eyes burning into hers. “Tell me at once that it’s all in the past. That I mean nothing to you.”

Solana opened her mouth to lie, to say the words that would protect them from an impossible future. But when she looked into Azriel’s eyes, when she saw all the raw helplessness he was offering, the words died in her throat.

“That’s what I thought,” Azriel murmured, his eyes dropping to her mouth.

The air between them became electrically charged, every breath a struggle. Solana could feel his warmth radiating against her skin, could see the intensity in his eyes as he studied her as if she were something precious and broken at the same time.

Azriel leaned forward, so close that she could feel his warm breath against her lips. Solana involuntarily closed her eyes, her entire body trembling with anticipation.

“Solana,” Azriel whispered her name like a prayer, like a curse.

For an infinite moment, they remained like that—suspended between what was and what could be, the space between their lips measuring no more than a breath.

And then, as if someone had poured ice water over her, the image of Tarquin suddenly appeared in her mind. His kind blue-green eyes, always so patient, always so understanding. The way he smiled at her in the mornings, as if she were the first beautiful thing he saw upon waking.

Guilt hit her like a dagger through her chest, cutting through the fog of longing that enveloped her and left her breathless. The contrast was brutal—there was Azriel, intense and consuming, making her feel as if she were on fire inside, while Tarquin was safety and tenderness, a safe harbor she was betraying just by being there.

“Please, Azriel,” Solana pleaded, her hands trembling as they rested against his chest. She could feel his heart beating erratically beneath her palms, an echo of her own. “I can’t.”

Azriel stopped immediately. His golden eyes opened to meet hers, and Solana saw the exact moment reality hit him. The pain that crossed his features was so raw, so intense, that she had to fight the urge to reach out and take back her words.

For a moment, she saw everything there—the frustration, the pain, the reluctant understanding, and beneath it all, a resignation that seemed to have been built over years of disappointments.

“I know,” Azriel whispered, his voice hoarse with contained emotion. He moved further away, his hands sliding along the rough bark of the tree until he no longer touched her, as if he needed that physical separation to be able to breathe.

The cold night air filled the space between them like a third presence, and Solana felt the loss of his warmth as a physical pain that spread throughout her body. They stood there for a moment that seemed like an eternity, looking at each other across the distance that had formed again—she leaning against the tree with tears threatening to fall, he a few steps away with clenched fists and a controlled expression.

“I should go,” Solana finally said, her voice breaking on the last word. She pushed away from the tree, each movement a struggle against her own will.

Azriel simply nodded, putting his hands in his pockets as if he didn't trust himself not to reach for her again. “Of course.”

But neither of them moved further. It was as if they both knew that once she left, something between them would be irretrievably changed.

“Azriel...” Solana began, not quite knowing what she wanted to say, but needing to say something. Perhaps to explain that it wasn’t about not wanting him, but about not being able to want him. Not like this.

“I understand, Solana,” he interrupted her gently, and there was a devastating tenderness in his voice that made her want to run into his arms and run away from him at the same time. “You don’t need to explain. You are... you are loyal. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

The way Azriel said it—as if he were congratulating her on a virtue that was separating them—made something inside her shatter. Solana nodded, not trusting her own voice, silent tears breaking from her eyes.

Finally, with staggering effort, she pulled away from the tree. Each step seemed to weigh tons, as if she were walking against a storm. This time, when she turned to leave, Azriel didn’t call her back. But she could feel his eyes on her back with every step she took—not possessive or demanding, but sad and understanding in a way that made everything even more painful.

Solana walked slowly, part of her hoping Azriel would call her, part of her praying he wouldn’t. Only when she could no longer hear her own footsteps due to the pounding of her heart in her ears, only when the darkness of the forest swallowed her completely, did she hear his voice, low, carried by the wind:

“Good night, Solana.”

It was a whisper so subtle she almost thought she’d imagined it, but it carried so much affection and so much pain that she had to stop and lean her hand on a tree to keep from completely falling apart.

The night wind carried his words, mingling them with the whisper of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets, as if even nature knew that some things were too sacred to be heard by immortal ears. And Solana kept walking, each step taking her further from Azriel, each step breaking her heart a little more.

[skyward-floored]

The cat’s out of the bag chapter 3

Surprise, I finished it! It’s a pi day miracle lol. Yet more adventures of Wind as a cat.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52017334/chapters/137983660

Chapter 2 | Next

————————————————————

The last bits of light were gone from the sky, revealing stars speckled all across the dark expanse it had become. The moon had risen as well, a thin claw of white partially obscured by the branches of the forest, and Twilight glanced at it once, before looking back at the heroes who were gathered around him.

“So...”

Warriors’ voice seemed loud in the quiet that had fallen over the group, and the captain crossed his arms, giving Twilight an intense look that felt like it burned straight through him.

“Wind touched an item of yours he shouldn’t have, it turned him into a cat, and the only sure-fire way to fix him is with the Master Sword. Am I correct?” he asked in a surprisingly level voice, and Twilight nodded.

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

Warriors raised an eyebrow, but nodded and didn’t push for any further information, to Twilight’s surprise.

...and relief.

He’d just finished his explanation of how Wind had become a feline, and Warriors had seemed... extremely skeptical of the tale. It was true Twilight had tiptoed around the fact that he was Wolfie, and the item that had turned Wind was what he used to do it, but he hadn’t lied at all in his story.

...sidestepped the truth a little, but hadn’t lied.

Time had given Twilight several looks during his explanation of events, as had Wild, but neither of them interjected, and nobody else who knew about Wolfie had said anything either.

And maybe it would have been better just to explain everything, since Warriors and Hyrule were the only two heroes beside Sky who weren’t aware of his wolf-form. But truth be told, Twilight just wasn’t in the mood to face the whole ‘by the way I’m Wolfie’ conversation. He’d already had to explain it all to Wind today, the others could wait a bit longer.

Though, with the faces Warriors was making... it probably wouldn’t be long before he figured it out.

If he hadn’t already.

“So it’s a magic item then,” Hyrule said thoughtfully, then frowned a little. “One that isn’t easy to control... I thought you didn’t like magic, Rancher?”

Twilight shrugged. “I have a few artifacts. That one is just...” He hesitated. “...tricky.”

“That’s one word for it,” Legend snorted under his breath.

“Is the Master Sword really the only way to restore him?” Warriors asked again, and Twilight nodded.

“The only one available to us. Another source of strong, pure light magic might be able to fix him, like the light spirits in my Hyrule, but I’m certain these aren’t my lands. The sword is our best bet.”

“Well that’s unfortunate with Sky missing,” Four frowned. He looked at Wind, and the thoughtfulness in his eyes quickly turned soft. “...Is he asleep already?”

Twilight paused at Four’s hushed question, and looked down at the ball of fluff curled up on his lap, little breathy noises coming from within. Wind’s tail was tucked over his nose, leaving only the top of his face visible, and his eyes were closed, the tension his body had been holding all afternoon finally relaxed.

“I think so,” Twilight whispered back, and Time sighed from next to him.

“Good. He needs the rest. He was barely standing,” he said softly, and Twilight nodded, resisting the urge to cuddle Wind up to his chest.

He would never admit it while the sailor was awake, but he was cute, soft creamy fur with faint windy swirls of a darker pattern on his feet, face, and tail, and big blue-green eyes with a little pink nose. He wasn’t even a completely full-grown cat yet, which only made him more adorable, but Twilight was sure he’d get a bite on the hand if he voiced it.

But... he really was cute.

And exhausted because of you, his brain hissed, and the guilt constricted in Twilight’s middle again. You should have warned him sooner about touching the crystal.

“Poor kid. He’s totally exhausted, huh?” Legend asked, and Twilight checked back into the discussion, nodding.

“The transformation wore him out. It’s a lot of magic all at once, and he wasn’t expecting it at all,” Twilight said quietly, running a gentle hand over Wind’s fur.

“But he’ll be okay, right?” Wild asked, fiddling with his tunic as he looked at the sailor, and Twilight nodded.

“Yeah. The first time is always the worst.”

Warriors narrowed his eyes at that, and Hyrule had a suspicious look on his face as he glanced between Wind and Twilight. Twilight swallowed, and averted his gaze from the two, trying not to fidget.

Okay, maybe I should just come out with it already, this is a bit ridiculous.

Twilight couldn’t quite get his mouth to open, though.

He shifted a little awkwardly on his seat, and Wind suddenly raised his head with a soft mrrp?, looking around sleepily. Everyone immediately quieted down, and they all looked at Wind, who barely seemed awake.

“Sorry Wind, it’s okay. You can go back to sleep,” the rancher whispered, and Wind flicked an ear, then closed his eyes, tucking his paws back underneath him. He let out a breathy little sigh as he curled back up, and was asleep within moments.

Twilight heard a soft click, and looked over to see Wild taking a picture on his slate, a grin on his face.

“It’s for posterity,” he defended when Twilight raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t want future generations to miss out on this cuteness, would you Twi? Or his sister? She’ll be so sad if she hears that this happened and she didn’t get to see.”

Twilight waved a hand in defeat. “I take no responsibility for this if Wind asks.”

“He might not appreciate pictures,” Time mentioned with an eyebrow raised similar to Twilight’s, but Wild just took another picture.

“If it happened to me he would be taking pictures too. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” he said cheerily.

Twilight shrugged. He knew Wind had at least one picture of Wild his protégé wouldn’t want getting out. This was just evening the score.

“So... what are we going to do about Sky?” Four asked, trying to get back on track, and Warriors hummed.

“Going out and looking for him now wouldn’t be very productive, it’s too dark,” he said with a look up at the sky. “My suggestion would be that we leave someone up to watch for Sky, do an occasional loop around camp, maybe call now and then. If he hasn’t come around by tomorrow, we can look for him in earnest.”

He glanced at Twilight, and Twilight met his gaze with a level look.

“That sounds fine,” Time said before either of them could say anything, and placed a hand on Twilight’s shoulder. “But now we should all get some rest, you especially rancher.”

Twilight turned towards his ancestor with a confused look. “I’m fine old man, that red potion did the trick.”

“Those don’t fix blood loss though,” Hyrule pointed out helpfully. “At least not all the way. And you still look pale.”

“Our Traveler is correct. Get some sleep, Rancher,” Time said firmly, and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll be able to help Wind better if you’re well rested.”

Twilight hesitated, then let out a sigh. “Fine.”

He had wanted to stay up for at least one shift of keeping an eye out for Sky, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. Not with everyone watching me like I’m going to suddenly collapse.

Though to be fair, he did still feel a tad dizzy.

Twilight slouched more against the log he was sitting against, unwilling to further disturb Wind from his peaceful slumber by properly lying down, and closed his eyes, beyond tired from the day’s events.

He just hoped they would find Sky quickly.

(...)

Wind stretched himself out with a big yawn, extending his toes and claws into the sunshine, and raising his back up in the air.

He shook himself once he’d finished, and watched the rest of the heroes finish packing up camp. Wind had slept straight through the night and woken up early, but had been sorely disappointed to discover that Sky hadn’t joined them in the middle of the night.

Waking up and remembering he was a cat also wasn’t so fun, but at least he was starting to get used to it.

A spot on his head itched, and Wind huffed, sitting down and attempting to scratch at it with one of his paws. He didn’t have any luck though, merely bonking it once and nearly falling over, and Wind growled in frustration. Oh come on!

“Try your back leg.”

Wind lowered his front paw, and looked over at Wild, who had obviously been watching him.

“Your back leg,” Wild repeated, and pointed to one. “Raise it up and tilt your head, you’ll be able to reach any itches on your head or neck.”

That sounds fake, but okay, Wind thought, then tried to do what Wild said. To his surprise, his foot went right where he wanted it to, and he was able to relieve the itching with barely a thought. Well whaddya know?

Wind gave Wild a grateful look, and the cook shot him a grin.

“No problem, Sailor. I’ve spent enough time around Wolfie and stable dogs to know a few of their tricks,” he said, and Legend snorted from nearby, standing up as he strapped his sword on.

“You’re wild enough without needing to take tips from dogs and wolves, Champ.”

“Hey now, the stable dogs are very civilized,” Wild said, and earned a flick on the ear from Twilight as he walked by. “Hey!”

Wind let out a little mewl of laughter at Wild’s offended look, and Twilight kneeled down next to him, extending an arm. Wind blinked at him, then realized Twilight must want him to climb up and sit on his shoulder again while they walked.

“I know, I would rather walk if it were me too,” Twilight apologized when Wind let out a grumpy little huff. “But we need to figure out what happened to Sky, and we’ll make better ground if I carry you.”

Wind lashed his tail and stood up, walking around in a little circle and concentrating on where he placed every paw. He managed to make it all the way around Twilight without falling over, and gave him a hopeful look.

“See? I’ll be fine!” Wind meowed pointedly, blinking up at Twilight.

Twilight sighed. “Sailor...”

“I think he could walk with us for at least a little while,” Four piped up from nearby, looking down at Wind. “He seems a lot stronger than he did yesterday.”

“Yeah, and he can always just hitch a ride if he gets tired,��� Wild added, and Twilight looked between him and Four, then back at Wind.

“You’re sure you can handle walking?” he asked seriously, and Wind nodded, his tail sticking up. Twilight studied him a moment, then sighed, giving him a nod. “...Then I’m okay with it. As long as you let us know the minute you need a break, and let someone carry you.”

Wind scrunched his face up at the addition, but meowed in agreement, willing to put up with it so long as he got to walk by himself.

He felt plenty rested from sleeping, and had practiced walking around a bit while everyone else had woken up and packed up their things. Wind felt much more confident in his paws, even if he was still tripping regularly, and he was eager to walk around more.

Besides, I bet we’ll find Sky really quickly and I won’t even need to walk that long.

“So which way should we go?”

Wind looked up at who’d spoken, Four gesturing to the woods around them. Everyone was packed and ready to go, and they stood ready to begin walking.

...As soon as they figured out where to go.

“...huh. Good question,” Twilight said, looking around the trees as well. “What’s the mostly likely direction for Sky to have ended up in?”

“Well, if we came out over there, and you guys came out over there, then it stands to reason that Sky probably came out in a different direction,” Wild said, studying the woods and pointing in a seemingly random direction. The birch trees he was gesturing to made the forest seem strangely bright, and Wind had to squint a little. “So we should try over here.”

“Why there specifically?” Warriors asked.

Wild shrugged. “The ground slopes up, it’ll probably lead to a good vantage point if nothing else. If Sky isn’t there, we might be able to at least see where he actually is.”

“But what if Sky came out the other direction?” Hyrule asked. “Then we’ll be going away from each other.”

“That might be a risk we have to take,” Time said thoughtfully.

“We might waste a lot of time though,” Warriors cut in, “Sky might need our help, and if he really did come out a different direction...”

They all began to argue about where to go, and Wind rolled his eyes and stopped listening, looking around a minute, then trotting towards a rock nearby that was covered in moss. It smelled pretty interesting, much more interesting then a discussion he couldn’t contribute to, and Wind gave it a curious sniff as he walked around to the other side, out of view of the arguing Links.

The moss looked soft too, and Wind raised a paw, pressing against it and letting out a little purr when he realized he’d been right. It was really soft!

Wind nuzzled up to it, rubbing his face along the moss, then pulled back when a bug nearly crawled on his nose. He sniffed at it, poking it with a paw, then flattened his ears and backed away as a smell hit him, thick and unpleasant. That must be one of those stink bugs Hyrule was talking about.

Wind shook his head in disgust and sniffed around some more, trying to get the bad smell out of his nose by smelling other things. He wandered into the woods a little, smelling pine needles and sunshine, and sat down on a small stone, curling his tail around him as he took in the forest.

As annoying as being stuck as a cat was, it really was kinda cool how heightened his senses were. He could smell all sorts of things about the woods, flowers and animals, and faint traces of the ocean somewhere. He could smell the other heroes from behind him too, each with their own unique scents. Wind could even hear them talking if he swiveled his ears around, though not the exact words.

He could tell they were still arguing though.

Wind shook his head in exasperation, and stood up again, trotting a little deeper into the woods. If they were going to just stand around and argue, he’d look around for Sky himself. He could smell things so well right now, he’d be one of the most likely to find him, right?

Easy-peasy.

A chirp interrupted his thoughts, and Wind looked over to see a little white bird land on a log nearby.

It chirped and hopped along the wood, and Wind couldn’t help staring at it, his tail twitching. Something about it was almost mesmerizing, drawing his focus, and he crept a bit closer, staying low to the ground so the bird wouldn’t see him. It chirped on, oblivious to his presence, and Wind hid behind a stump, poking his head out and watching the bird.

I wonder what would happen if I pounced on it? he thought as it chirped again, then blinked. ...I wonder where that thought came from.

Wind watched the bird again, pecking at the wood below it and trying to get some bugs to eat. His tail gave a big twitch, and Wind began to creep out from the cover of the stump, zeroing in on the bird.

I’ll just jump on it to see if I can, he thought to himself, sneaking closer. Aryll would kill me if she knew I hurt a bird, so I’ll just pounce on it and let it go—

“Wind!”

The bird squawked and flew away, and Wind felt a hand scoop him up by the scruff, startling a mrreow out of him.

“Don’t wander off!” Twilight’s voice scolded, and turned Wind around so he could look at his face. Wind let out a cross hiss at him. “Oh don’t give me that, you’ve been gone ten minutes, we thought you’d gotten lost or something!”

Just because I’m a cat doesn’t mean I suddenly can’t handle myself! Wind thought with an growl, and he and Twilight glared at each other a minute before Twilight sighed, and set him down.

Wind sat down and crossly licked his shoulder, ears flat with annoyance.

“Look, Wind... you’re vulnerable at the moment,” Twilight said, his face creased. “I know it might not feel that way to you, but the truth of it is you are. You’re not used to this form, and you can’t easily defend yourself. You need to be careful.”

“I was being careful!” Wind meowed back, wishing he could actually speak his mind. “I was listening and smelling for danger! And I was looking for Sky! Unlike you all who were just arguing!”

Twilight sighed. “I don’t have any idea what you said, Sailor, I’m sorry. But we figured out where we’re going, so come on back so we can get a move on.”

Wind let out a muttered growl of agreement, and walked along at Twilight’s heels when he turned back towards the others, Wind’s ears still flat.

Great. We’d finally started to get past treating me as a useless kid, and now we’re back to square one! Being a cat doesn’t not make me a hero!

Wind kicked at some pine needles, and tripped, just barely catching himself. Twilight gave him a look, but Wind ignored it, righting himself and looking grumpily at the paws he kept stumbling over.

Sky... please be somewhere close by.

I miss being me.