#“I…I can hear so many voices from the sea… Do you think they’re all lonely?” // Pronoun Flag

[seasurfacefullofclouds1]

Hey Sea

Now that Louis is in a fairly good position professionally I badly want him to date someone it must be nice having a partner and also it would shut those delusional fans for once and for all.. I acknowledge that professionally he has a lot to do yet.

Not wanting to speculate about his sexuality but deep down how much I try to convince myself with that "in fact straight" tweet I somehow feel Louis isn't - I know it is wrong and not good of me to think that. I just want him to be happy keep making music and get some industry help his music deserves awards!! Do you anytime feel the same - thay he gave away too much of his self, love and affection when has was young and maybe it hurt him, now he is too cautious about it, I don't mind him getting back with Eleanor also because she seemed to always be there for him during tough times and she has seen his ups and downs (although I never felt any chemistry in between them ) I just want to Louis to have someone in his life who deserves HIM. Music industry is itself a tough one to navigate having a partner and having a shoulder to rely on can make it much easier. What do you reckon?

Hi,

I think that Louis is able to have a bird’s eye view of his experiences, and make a longterm plan for the future. Every professional accomplishment we see now is that outcome of decisions from back in 2018 or so. Louis has been able to come to these decisions mostly on his own; his team is there to facilitate the plan.

This is why Louis is able to answer eloquently about his choices, unlike others who stumble through talking points made by their manager or label.

Louis’ choices are obviously his, as Matt Vines, his tour team, and many others have corroborated. Louis talks about songwriting himself; there is never a proxy appointed to speak on his behalf, to give interviews in lieu of Louis himself. Louis’ voice has stayed consistent throughout his discography, through many collaborators, because he writes the lyrics himself. Louis still keeps his childhood friends close to him. Louis gave a free festival for 10,000 fans. Louis doesn’t charge for meet & greet or VIP. Louis keeps his tickets affordable even though he can sell them for 10x the price. Louis has championed the same artists through the years, has lifted up women and POC artists, and his support has been consistent. And now he’s touring with friends— the DMAs— whom he’s known for years. All of these are choices.

Louis has never— will never— objectify women in his music. He will never sexualize the people who make up the majority of his fanbase as sexual body parts, or see us as wallets, or write songs about how we are hard candy dripping on him, or how sex with women is better when you “pay for it,” or how his fanbase are mostly girls who want to be treated as pop tarts for a sugar daddy. Louis will always encourage community (“you can’t do it by yourself/ whatever tears you apart/ don’t let it break your heart,” “you won’t be the first or be the last to bleed/ You're not the only one, no/ In a strange way, we're all in this together”) and he will sing about both the darkness (“all the lonely shadow dances from the cradle to the grave”) and the light.

Fans who are unable or unwilling to see this characteristic about Louis— his fierce self-determination and really, a generosity of spirit to do good in the world— but instead concentrate on winning fandom wars (bad takes on his smoking / drinking, stupid theories on why never spending time with another person means they’re still together, conflating swearing and flashing middle fingers with intellectual incoherence) are the myopic ones, the ones who will never catch up with Louis. He’s already years ahead.

As for a romantic partner, I think this is an interesting issue, because it’s the one thing in life that maybe one can’t intellectualize with an executive plan. Through his discography, we can hear that Louis has had turmoil in his romantic life, and that romance has played a pivotal role in the highs and lows of his career, in so many ways. Yes, I do think Louis has regrets, he’s made mistakes, and he feels guilty for some of it. Yes, I do think Louis feels he has revealed too much of his life. I think he doesn’t lack for partners, but he’s wary of anyone connected to the industry. I am also 1000% sure that he will never be back with Eleanor.

[thatndginger]

I had a bit of an epiphany regarding the slowly-fermenting Spooky Western story - specifically in regard to location. See, I grew up on the Great Plains. It’s a vast, lonely place. I know of places that I could go where I might be the only human for 50 miles in any direction and all I’d be able to see was a sea of grass until the curve of the earth stole my sight. My sister likes to say that from our hometown, you could watch you dog run away for a week because of how flat it is. 

Here, the true horror isn’t what might be there, but what *isn’t*. On a clear day - or a clear night - you can see all the way to the horizon, and know that there is absolutely nothing but grass between you and that thin line between land and sky. Even for someone born and raised in that flat emptiness, it can be disconcerting.  I’m imagining just how many types of horror you could get out of it - especially if we skip back just a hundred and fifty years.

You’re the only soul for a hundred miles - maybe two hundred. How long can you last before you start talking to yourself to hear something other than the wind? How long before you forget what it means to talk at all? If you meet another person out here, how will you know if they’re real? If you die out here, will anyone ever find your bones? Eventually, will the wildlife - the antelope and the coyotes and the prairie dogs and hawks - stop thinking of you as human but one of their own instead? Will *you* stop thinking of yourself as human?

Eventually you see a town rolling up over the horizon. It’s difficult to tell it apart from the heat haze. You’re still half-convinced it’s a mirage when you meet the road into town, cutting through the grass like a dusty snake. You’re not sure how the road got there, since you still haven’t seen another person yet. You look over your shoulder, where the road disappears over the edge of the earth. Maybe the rest of the earth disappears too, and it’s just you and your hallucinations. 

What happens when you finally reach the town? Does it feel real? Do you feel claustrophobic standing between wind-blasted buildings that block your view of the plains? How did the town even find trees for wood to build? There’s nothing but grass and dirt out there. Do human faces seem odd now? Uncanny and disconcerting with their myriad expressions? Do their voices grate at you after so long only hearing the gentle wind? Do you remember how to talk with your cracked, cobwebbed voice? Do the people look at you like you’re a wild animal of sorts? Well, aren’t you?

At what point does the unknown become familiar, the familiar become the unknown?

[mogai-infirmary]

haz/ard pronoun flag

with symbol // without

☁️ requested by @gl1tchxr

[starlightrows]

2 — The Bounty Hunter

The Queen of Tatooine Masterlist

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Pairing: Boba Fett x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Brief description of injury

Summary: A change in the weather brings back a familiar face

Warm summer nights fade into crisp autumn days. You spend your days tending the garden behind your inn, working to make sure you have enough dried and canned goods for the coming winter, providing room and board for whoever happens to pass through and can pay for it, the shadow cat that likes to hang around your property has a litter of kittens. And you continue to think about Boba Fett, the supposedly fearsome bounty hunter with a kind smile.

You often find yourself wondering if he will come back. Perhaps he would come in later in the season, when the snows have fallen and clung to the trees, when a good fire in the hearth and a bowl of hot stew is all a person craves in the world. You could provide those things. You would be happy with those eyes again, glinting in the fire light while he speaks of far off places and grand adventures.

You have to snap yourself out of these thoughts, focusing your attention back on wet stone sharpening your kitchen knives. Most who pass through your door do not return. Either bounties who are caught are brought to their justice or travelers choose not to venture out so far again. Occasionally you get bounty hunters who return to catch new bounties trying to disappear into the mountains or large game hunters returning each autumn- just passing through on their way further up into the mountains where the herds of black ram and lone bears roam freely.

You do not actually expect to see Boba Fett again, and when you do it is nothing like you’d imagined in your head. A storm is brewing, not yet cold enough to bring snow, but rain, freezing rain that will flood the streets and drown out your remaining autumn plants before the first frost comes. That’s when there is a pounding on the front door in the middle of the night. No one is staying at the inn tonight… perhaps a traveler has gotten in much later than they intended… you get up and throw on a house coat… making sure to have your old hunting blaster in hand, just in case.

When you unbolt the door the howling winds try to slam it back shut, a dark figure slumps against the frame. Not a comforting sight.

“Who are you? What do you want?” you call out to the figure, trying with all your might to keep the door from whipping open all the way. The figure does not answer or perhaps they can’t hear you against the wind whistling through the trees.

Whoever they are, they’re taking too long and you’re freezing. With one hand you reach out and tug on their cloak, dragging them inside and slamming the door shut behind them. They slump back against the door, and you can hear their ragged breathing.

“There aren’t many I turn away from my inn, even when there isn’t a storm raging” I say “But if you intend to stay you’ll need to remove your hood and show some credits”

“I have credits on my ship” comes the deep rolling voice… you know that voice. Without thinking you reach out and pull back their hood. Revealing the same hard lines in his face, and those kind dark eyes. Boba Fett.

“It’s you!” You gasp “You came back”

“Wanted to see you again… and… I need your help” he grits out, wincing in pain.

“What happened?” You guide him by the arm to sit at one of the dining room tables

“Blaster bolt to the side” he groans “It’s mostly fine, just need somewhere safe to lay low for a day or two”

“Will they be coming after you?” You ask bringing him a pitcher of water

“Can’t, they’re dead” he answers, accepting the water and gulping it down thirstily. Well at least you won’t have to worry about others trying to break down the door coming after him.

“Let me take a look at that” you say indicating his wound

“Suppose someone needs to” he grunts getting up from the table. He winces when he steps, and you fall in to catch him before he lists over to the side.

“Come on, there aren’t too many stairs” you manage to get out, as you help him towards the old wooden staircase.

It’s a struggle to get him up the stairs and into the first guest room. He’s a lot weaker than he’s letting on, a good chance he’s more injured as well. You get him to lay back on the bed, and he groans.

You sit beside him and reach for the hem of his tunic and give it a gentle pull “May I?” He nods. Removing the tunic is less difficult than you imagined it would be, it’s shredded from the blaster bolt.

The wound is ugly… and you shudder just looking at it. But it’s not as bad as you were afraid it might be.

“I’m going to wash it out and wrap it with a bacta salve. A few days rest and a hot meal and you’ll be alright” You go to get up and start getting the items you’ll need together to clear out the wound, but before you can turn away he catches your wrist in a gentle hold

“Thank you” he says softly. You smile, and gently pull away.

It takes some time to actually clean out the wound, it’s painful for him and he strains to not howl with the wind as you work to clean it out. Finally you get him bandaged up, and wipe your hands on a dry cloth.

“That should do it” you say wiping your brow with the back of your hand “Please rest, and call out if you need anything”

In the morning you bring up a tray laden with tea, toast, and warm oatmeal with dried fruit and honey. To your surprise he’s up and out of bed, looking at his injury in the small mirror on the wall.

“Good morning” you say, setting the tray down on the bed… which you’re even more surprised to see is fully made. “I don’t normally do room service, but for the injured I make an exception… though you could fool me right now”

He turns to look at you “Wouldn’t even consider myself injured anymore” he says, showing you the scar left by the blaster bolt. He sits on the bed and invites you to join him. You hesitate for a moment… there’s a lot you need to get done today, and you don’t make a habit of spending time alone with your patrons. But he’s been kind thus far, and to be honest you could use the company. So you sit next to him and pour him a cup of tea.

“So tell me, what happened that you landed up on my doorstep last night?”

“I’ve been tracking down something that once belonged to me. Something that is very dear to me” he explains

“Am I allowed to ask what it is?” You smile accepting the second cup of tea he’s poured you.

“My armor” he states

“Your armor?” You’re a bit confused “How did you lose it?”

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” He sets down his cup. You shake your head.

“No offense… but you’re just another bounty hunter to pass through my door” you admit “Well, that’s not entirely true. You’re the only bounty hunter I’ve ever undressed and stitched up”

He studies your face, and sees that you are genuine… you’re confident and self assured but there is an innocence about you. He can’t help feeling drawn to you.

“About 5 years ago, I was thrown into a sarlacc pit on Tatooine and left to die” he explains carefully “I can’t explain why I am alive today. Fate let me live. But I lost my armor, and my former position”

You nod, and listen carefully… Sarlacc’s are native to Tatooine. His… position… “You worked for the Hutt’s” you say

His heart drops, he’s disappointed you. But he won’t lie. He nods “Does that scare you?”

“That depends” you say scooting back from him. Not to get away but so you can square your shoulders and look him in the eye “Do you still condone the use of slaves?”

“No” he says quickly “I never did. It was always my intention to get close to Jabba and his most trusted advisors and usurp him. End the use of slaves. Clean up his drug trafficking. And rule over the great dune sea”

He takes your hand and squeezes it. “That is still my intention” he says “but I need my armor to do it”

“I hear Bib Fortuna rules the great dune sea now” you say “a weakling and a coward… I have no doubt you will make a better leader”

“I’ll miss your little corner of the galaxy” he says “if I asked you to visit, would you consider it?”

“Maybe. I don’t own a ship. Don’t even have a speeder. Might take me a long time to get the credits to make the trip all the way out to Tatooine” you say “but then again, if you are king of Tatooine, I can hardly refuse an invitation”

He smirks at that, “I will come back for you, Princess. I want you to visit me on Tatooine”

You shake your head, if he does successfully overthrow Fortuna, he will have his hands full ruling and dismantling the institutions he already described. He will likely forget about you, and your inn at the edge of the galaxy.

“Find your armor Boba Fett, and claim your empire” you smile “Then com me someday so I can proudly say I served tea for Boba Fett before he was king”

“You have my word Princess” he chuckles

He leaves that afternoon, with a bag you prepared for him containing home baked bread and cured meat. He promises you again that he will come back for you, and while you appreciate the thought, you won’t hold it against him if you never see him again.

Tag List: @cannedsoupsucks @otterly-fey

[astaroth1357]

Leviathan's Odyssey 9 (End):

Isolation

*Lucifer is in the Student Council room collecting paperwork when he hears his phone go off… It seems like Barbatos is messaging him yet again... For the third time this week. Though he dreads whatever news it brings, Lucifer checks his messenger and lets out a long sigh when he gets his confirmation*

*Levi was sent home early… again. He hasn’t been present for a full day of classes in nearly a week and Barbatos is beginning to get on Lucifer’s case about it… Diavolo placed a lot of trust in the eldest to bring his brother under control, but it hasn’t exactly been very successful and his butler sees no problem with applying the pressure in his lord’s stead. Though he wouldn’t call this latest message a threat of expulsion, he can sense they’re getting dangerously close…* 

*normally, Lucifer would wait for the day to finish himself before returning to the House and giving Levi a lecture, but that approach hasn’t been faring well… Though he loathes to be absent, who knows what trouble his brothers could get in, he sends his response to Barbs and goes to collect his things. He has been thinking up a few solutions to the “Leviathan Problem” and it’s about time he started enacting some, but first he needs to do some shopping*

*it isn’t hard for Lucifer to find what he was looking for in the shopping district and he makes it back to the House about an hour before classes would officially end. He already knows where Levi would be, he’s been nothing is not predictable since he first came home with them... In many ways, he still has the mindset of a combat survivalist. He quickly grew territorial of the room they gave him, he tries to grab as much food as possible at meals, and every new person or situation is treated with hostile skepticism... Their brother may be home, but he certainly isn’t “back." Not yet anyway...*

*when Lucifer ascends the steps to go to Leviathan’s room, he tries knocking on the door first. Levi had taken to making ridiculous entry passwords again, an encouraging sign, but that was mostly because Lucifer forbade him from issuing trial by combat to newcomers… Unfortunately, today there wasn’t any voice on the other side… Lifting the lock on the door is child’s play with just a little magic, so after giving his brother ample time to say something, Lucifer opens the door himself*

Lucifer: Leviathan? *he pokes his head in with a bit of caution, Levi could still be quick to lash out if caught off guard*

*Lucifer’s eyes scan the dimly lit room, with only the soft blue glow of the water tank behind a glass wall offering him any light. They discovered quickly that Levi’s skin would dry out at an alarming rate without some access to water. Their first fix was to give his room a bathtub that he could soak in, but due to its narrow size Lucifer eventually had an aquarium installed for him instead. He could climb in and out from a gap near the ceiling and it had more room for him to move around freely. That seemed to resolve the issue, but Levi still remained fond enough of the bathtub to keep it around*

*he half expected to find his brother in said tub, back to the doorway and trying to ignore him, but instead he sees a black figure curled up at the bottom of the water tank. He recognizes Levi, even in his newest form - or at least the form that they taught to him once he was on dry land. While in the ocean, Levi never needed to be rid of his gills or scales, they were practical for swimming but not so much for daily life. His new form kept his tail, horns, and patch of scales here and there, but it mostly allows him to pass as an average demon. He can maintain an even milder appearance without any of the extras, but he doesn’t seem to like it as much… He always complains of feeling “too small” without his tail*

*Lucifer steps into the room and closes the door behind him. Under all of that water, Levi probably didn’t hear him knock… Or maybe he did and didn’t feel like answering. He found it hard to pinpoint just what his brother could or couldn’t do anymore… When he gets into the room, he sets a white grocery bag he had been carrying on a nearby table. He’ll have to bring up its contents at the right time… He needs to speak to Levi first.* 

*Lucifer goes to the glass wall and gently knocks his knuckles against it. The black bundle in the water stirs and Lucifer watches as Levi's tail slowly begins to unravel from his body... Soon enough, he’s looking his brother in the face but he doesn’t look very happy to see him… He rarely looks happy to see anyone frankly…*

*Lucifer points up to the edge of the tank and gestures to his ear, signaling that they need to talk. He’s almost surprised at how easily Levi obliges this time, pushing off of the aquarium floor and swimming up until he’s above the surface. After taking a gulp of air, he leans over the edge of the glass - seemingly unbothered by the droplets of water that cascade to the floor.*

Levi: What do you want, Lucifer?

*Lucifer tries his best to look stern, but not overly angry. Though Levi is far less dangerous inland than he was by the ocean’s shore, he’s no less irritable... If this conversation is going to happen, he’s going to need to keep his composure for a while longer*

Lucifer: Barbatos informed me of what happened today… 

Levi: And?

Lucifer: Annnd, we’ve already been over this, Levi… You can’t keep stabbing your fellow students with forks. 

Levi: If you gave me my trident back, then I wouldn’t need to use them.

*Lucifer groans a bit and fights the urge to rub the bridge of his nose… Of course he’s in a mood again…*

Lucifer: Don’t play games with me, Levi… You know what the real problem is here.

Levi: Yeah, it’s the stupid school! I hate going there...

Lucifer: Levi, Lord Diavolo was very gracious to offer you a place in his academy and a seat on the student council, no less. And being one of his military officers now also puts you in a position of great importance... Your actions reflect on him and his kingdom as whole-

Levi: I know all that already, I heard you the first time! *Levi leans his chin against the edge of the glass, but still doesn’t look any happier. To his credit, he has been trying to yell at his brothers less... So it’s not too surprising to hear his voice suddenly drop down to solemn whisper*

Levi: … You know what everybody calls me there? The “Fish Freak...” They say I smell like a beached whale… *Lucifer blinks at the revelation, because this is news to him*

Lucifer: Is that so…?

Levi: Everyday. And you know what else? They trip me in the hallway or throw my things in the fountain. Somebody even left a dead squid on my desk! *a familiar look comes into his eyes now, one burning of hatred - but this time not directed at brothers...*

Levi: They’re lucky I only have forks right now...

*a part of Lucifer wants to be fine with Levi sticking up for himself… The Demon World is a cruel and harsh place where intimidation is often the best answer. He and his brothers had to learn that the hard way… But Diavolo’s goals are peace and unity - the academy was even founded with that in mind… His students should be shying away from such barbaric tactics and the council has an example to set… As much as it pains him to say it, Levi’s actions are unacceptable…*

Lucifer: Tell me the students’ names and I’ll have them punished. I guarantee you that... *takes a deep breath to prepare for what he must say next…*

Lucifer: … But you can’t keep causing trouble like this, Leviathan. Lord Diavolo has a strict code of-

*Lucifer watches as Levi groans and lifts his head off the glass, though this time he looks more frustrated than enraged*

Levi: There you go again! Diavolo this and Diavolo that!! Don’t you ever think of anything else??

Lucifer: That’s Lord Diavolo to you, and of course I do. But this isn’t the Celestial Realm anymore, Levi, and we need to adapt to his rules. *Levi’s eyes narrow at him, seeing an opportunity to dig in the knife…*

Levi: There’s adapting and then there’s ass-kissing... Which are you doing, Lucifer?

*and like that, for just a moment, Lucifer wants to abandon the whole project. He wants to leave Levi to wallow in his tank and go back to more important matters... He wants to throw his gifts into the garbage and just forget he ever bought them! His anger must have been plain to see, because Levi looks almost regretful for a second as he pushes back from the glass*

Levi: … Yeah. I didn’t think so.

*with that, Lucifer watches his brother sink back underwater and return to the floor of his aquarium. He honestly has half a mind to just turn and walk away, at least until he sees Levi curl up on his side against the store bought sand. He draws legs into the fetal position and faces his back the glass wall, letting his tail once again curl around his body as he goes back to laying in the water… alone…*

*the lonely image is enough to bring Lucifer back to some sense… Had he really forgotten why he was there so easy? With a steadier mind, he gently places a gloved hand against the surface of the glass, watching Levi from behind the wall between them…*

*his brother fell from Heaven then had to survive on his own… when he came back, he not only found out that his family had been living like royalty, but they hadn’t even been out looking for him in a long time… Now he’s been ripped from the home he’d grown accustomed to and thrust into a culture he barely understood…*

*Was it any wonder he was struggling? Was it any better for him in the Devildom than it was beneath the sea? Would it have been better to just let him stay where he was comfortable…? These thoughts have plagued Lucifer for some time, but he wouldn’t dare break up his family now…* 

*Maybe... Hopefully… Levi just needs an outlet to help him cope...*

*Lucifer knocks on the glass a second time, but it’s not an angry pounding or anything. Levi must not have expected that, because he actually looks back at him in mild surprise. Lucifer signals once more for him to get out of the water before stepping aside to grab the grocery bag from before. Intrigued, but cautious, Levi swims back up to the surface and pulls himself up to the edge*

Levi: … What’s that?

Lucifer: Something I bought for you. *Lucifer picks up the bag and goes back to the tank. Levi’s eyes widen slightly with shock*

Levi: You bought something… for me?? Why?

Lucifer: It’s something that I think you’ll like… I’m told it’s very entertaining and hopefully it has all the… violence that you’ve grown accustomed to... 

*he digs into the bag and pulls out two things, a DVD box-set of something called “My Life as a Demonic Pirate Defeating the Seven Lords of Hell” and a paperback book with a cute looking mermaid on the cover under the same title*

Lucifer: Levi. Have you ever heard of something called anime?

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

[bottledemotion]

Our Twisted Faith (Soulmate AU Headcanons w/ Scenarios)

- Reverse soulmate au where the words written to ur skin is ur last words to them.

- Pairing: Zhongli X g.n reader,

- 3.9k+ words; Rated T

- warning/s: angst, character death

- A.N: This was supposed to be a full on oneshot fic but I can't fully write most of my ideas rn so I decided to list all of those (hcs or not) instead and write certain scenarios I thought off. Ngl, I have a hard time writing them in character, most of all when they're still not much accustomed to their emotions/feelings, so forgive me if they might come out OOC to you.

- For as long as he can remember, soulmates exist before the Gods.

- Before the ashes rise and form their body. Before the letters mold to create their name and have been spoken in unfamiliar languages. Before their feet take a step forward to their world, the concept of soulmate is already there. Watching, guiding and toying everyone's faith like a marionette doll.

- Which is why they also have a soulmate waiting for them.

- You could say that this is the 'only' similarity between the humans and gods hold. But unlike humans, the Archon's soulmate existence is different from the humans. Some of the Archon's other half doesn't exist even after many eras have passed.

- And one of them is Morax.

- Morax sees this concept as another form of contract. A contract that unified both individuals that both parties will benefit happiness, be it through the present and beyond. Yes he's aware that there's no 'consent' nor knowledge to both parties about this. But they can talk more about this once they meet.

- And maybe, just maybe, the contract will be fully formed.

- For an Archon who is known for being an emotionless, merciless god who slaughtered countless innocents in order to fulfil the contract. He also craves the feeling of happiness, everyone does, no matter how many times you deny it.

- he won't admit that this is also one of the similarities that human and gods hold. For human are way cruel than Archons above, cruel in their own way.

- So he waited for them. He studied the concept and terminologies about soulmates. To learn more about the contract so he can come prepared when the time comes for them to meet.

- He found out that there are many ways to find your soulmate. Be it through a time limit or name written on their skin, eyes that can only see the color of their other half eyes and many more.

- He found out that soulmates don't have to be romantic, it can become platonic and enemies as well.

- At first, the possibility of his soulmate being his enemies for life might happen. He's so used to betrayal and the blood that stained his hands, be it in or out of contract. But whenever his amber eyes gaze at the words written on his right wrist, be it through his dragon or human form, he can't help but be at ease and that everything will be fine.

- But those thoughts shattered when he found something through his learning. Something deep and brutal that he can't help ask why life has to be this cruel than it already was.

- Reverse soulmate. Sweet but deadly, bittersweet if they may. Yes you have and met your soulmate, but your faith with them is not beautiful to watch it bloom. This is a very rare occurrence for someone to have.

- And one of them is had to be him

- Because there, on his skin, he found out that the words written will be the last thing his soulmate will say to him before dying. Written in (F/c) with warm yellow star dust that glows in the dark sprinkled on the words. The words it said directed to him when his lover slowly disappear on the world is

- "I love you."

- He can't help but ask if this is a divine punishment given to him for all of the things he had done.

- He faced many enemies. Many betrayals. Spilled blood that became the exact same colour of his scales, be it through his claws or hands. Known as the God of wars, God of contracts to many. Yet he can't face this future that might will ruin him.

- But a contract is a contract, no matter if it's fully formed or not, it is still a contract. And as a God of Contract.

- He must fulfill his part and duty.

- From dusk till dawn, he waited for his soulmates to step foot on the world. Even after many eras had passed. Even after a war broke out. A nation had fallen. Blood had spilled and stained even the glaze lilies he adored watching so much with someone. Many bodies, comrade or not, loved ones or not, had been fallen along the betrayal and salt on the ground and buried deep down on the grounds. He continued waiting.

- And during his wait, he met someone along the way.

- A traveler who stumbled themselves on his nation. A traveler whose heart is weak but eyes shine, full of energy. A traveler who's spending their remaining time traveling around the world instead of looking for a cure to their condition.

- And a traveler who the very first time, just sat next to his statue.

- At first, Morax grew curious. It's not everyday to see a mortal walking to his nation without looking or asking for something for him to gain despite the obvious need from it.

- maybe that's what get his full attention when his amber eyes first landed to the traveler

- So he watched them from the statue on where they accompanied him. Silently accompanying them on their last remaining days on the land. He watched the travelers' bright (e/c) eyes watch the clouds part ways on the sky until it slowly turn to a sea of stars at each seconds passed by.

- Each day has passed. Watching them from the distance that are so close yet so far away, he noticed little things about them.

- He noticed how quiet yet soft their voice is when they hum under their breath. How the light of the sun and moon compliments their (s/c) skin. How tempting to run his fingers to their (h/l) (h/c) hair that dances with the air every time the Mondstadt Archon, Barbatos, caresses it with the wind, silently accompanying them from time to time like what he's doing.

- It's quiet yet peaceful. It's a sudden change that's somehow refreshing and comfortable. He didn't expect to feel this light feeling again after everything that had happened in the past. It's perfect but at the same time scary. Change never last, it always continue to change no matter how many time it occurred.

- And he was right when one day the traveler finally spoke to him.

- And it is a question he never expected to hear from a mere mortal

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

"Are you tired?"

'Tired from what?', is what he wanted to reply but immediately remembered that the traveler didn't know that he's there beside them, listening and accompanying them on every tick of the time.

"Bound by the contracts you agreed on. Chained to your duties, responsibilities and even guilt that you hold on your shoulder. Never taking a break from it and instead keep moving forward no matter how heavy those burdens you carry it all alone despite the people who worship and swore to protect you and the city are all around you."

He heard them take a deep breath and continued.

"You've already finished your duties to your land, did you ever think or ask yourself to call it a day and take a rest?"

Morax breath hitched at the words. And a memory immediately played on his mind.

He remembered he was strolling along the harbor when he heard a merchant tell one of his workers, "You've finished your duties, go ahead and call it a day."

He remembered he stood motionless among the sea of crowds as soon as he heard those. From there, he asked himself, "Have I already finished my duties?"

From there, no one answered his question

"Bearing it all alone...Aren't you tired and lonely from it?"

Even though the traveler never expected a response from him, he can't help but whisper his answer and hope-

"Yes."

-for the wind to let them hear his loneliness.

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

"I guess I can say I relate to you. Being tired I mean."

Morax slowly opens his eyes and turns his way to you. It's one of the days where you suddenly talk again after days of being quiet and just be in peace which he didn't mind one bit.

He didn't know how it happened. The peacefulness in this place and between you is another sudden change that he didn't mind one bit. It became his sanctuary. Free from the titles he holds, free from duties, free from responsibilities.

Or maybe just being by your side is a sanctuary to him.

He slowly shakes his head and turns his attention back as soon as your timid voice reaches his ears.

"From my entire life, all I feel is pity and hesitance to be closer to me from others. I can't blame even them. Who would want to be friends to someone whose death is waiting on their doorstep?" You said with a humorless laugh

'I would.' he wanted to say but remain silent instead.

He saw you hug your propped up knees and draw them closer to your face, hiding your beautiful face from his eyes and to the world.

"I accepted my faith that I won't last from this world. I'm so tired of being treated like a fragile glass that will be broken at any second. All I want is to live my best from it and maybe have someone to share those experiences with me till my last dying breath."

He saw your grip tightened to both of your knees

"I wonder....what it feels like....to have someone treat you like a human than a fragile doll...."

He noticed your voice getting dimmer and dimmer at each word you spoke.

"Do you ever wonder what it feels like...to be not alone anymore?.."

No words came out from you after that. Only the wind and your silent cries comfort both of you after the one-sided talk.

He didn't know what to do. How to fully remove the pain and burdens on your shoulder and heart when he didn't know how to ease his in the first place? Despite many people's proclamation that a God can perform a miracle without limits, not all God can do those. Not everyone is known as a God of Miracle.

Not Barbatos, not him.

In the end, they're a God with limitations.

But the one thing he knows is that he can't help but want to feel it too. To have someone by his side again. So why not both of you experience it together?

If he can't destroy the burdens you both hold, both can help ease each other's burden instead.

This will be the first time he did something out of will and no contracts involved

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

- So after that, he starts walking around in Liyue in his human form. The one he used a long time ago that was now carved into one of the Seven Statues but with little changes.

- Everything about his appearance remains, even the tattoos on his arms and the amber tips from his long dark brown hair that glows whenever he uses his Geo powers remains there. The only difference is the way he dresses. Instead of his typical white robe with a hood and long wide pants, he now wore a long dark brown coat with silver shoulder pads, tassels, and a diamond symbol on the back. He also wears gloves to hide his arms with a silver ring on his right thumb. He also wore a formal dark gray shirt underneath his coat, black pants and leather shoes and a tassel earring on his left ear.

- Meeting the traveler again with his human form was easy. He also didn't take that long for them to befriend them. The only problem to the befriending part, is the name he'll use to this era.

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

He did not think this through.

He can feel his human hands from his side start to sweat under the gloves. His amber eyes refuse to stare back to your bright ones as soon as you ask him a question that he forgot to think through."

"What's your name?" Is what you asked from him.

A simple question that can be easily answered, but if you asked that question to a God, it's one of the hardest questions they ever heard. Stepping fort to his nation in a new era after years already passed, he must think of a name that'll be different to the one's he used to own in order to avoid confusion and misunderstanding. Who knows, he might encounter people who are still aware of the old names he used.

For an immortal Archon who can mold themself to different forms, humans or not, make money itself from his own hands and submit mortal beings, thinking up names is not his forte.

He can feel your stare burning from his entire being, waiting to answer with a smile.

And he almost did not surpass the shiver that wants to crawl itself out from his body.

He slowly turns his eyes back to you and immediately regret it. Your bright (e/c) eyes greet his amber ones, eyes full of anticipation, and happiness to probably making a new friend.

He can't help but cleared his throat to have a reason to turn his eyes away to you

"It's...." He started and darted his eyes around them for something, anything to use of a name to this era.

"Try our new food from the Wangmin Restaurant!"

"Chop Suey!!'

"Try betting your luck on jades?"

"Why don't you try checking out the Chungli store stand near Wangshu Inn?"

His eyes lit up to one name, it's-

"Chungli." He said with a straight face

He watched you turn your head to a side "Chungli? Isn't that a store at Wangshu Inn?"

He mentally facepalmed. Of course you're aware about that because you're a traveler. But it's normal to name your child in your store right? He decided that he'll use that name, for now.

He opened his mouth. The confirmation is on the tip of his tongue but it got cut off when you immediately gasped loudly, making him step away from you with mouth still hanging a bit open and amber eyes widened and staring back at yours who's also wide but not from shock, but from....realization?

"You meant Zhongli right?!"

He immediately closed his mouth. Zhongli. Huh, the name is not bad, better than the one he was about to use.

Having decided, he nodded his head to you and raised his hand in front of you.

"Yes. I'm Zhongli." He confirmed, voice deep with a hidden feeling of pride that bloomed when he said the name you made for him.

He never took notice or thought about why he felt so proud of the name you gave to him. But as time went by, he finally knew why.

You smiled at him, a smile that's so contagious he can't help but smile back to you.

You grab his hand. Despite the gloves he wore, he can still feel the warmth along the roughness of your (s/c) hand caressing his.

"I'm [Name]. It's nice to meet you!" You said and shook his hand.

With a shake from your intertwined hands. Both of your faith has been sealed.

After that, he'll regret not telling you that meeting you with his human form was a nice change. He'll regret not telling you that finally talking to you after the years of silently being by your side is one of the happiest memories he treasured about you despite it's challenge. He'll regret not telling you that your eyes are so beautiful up close. He'll regret not telling you that hearing you say that name you basically created for him , is also not bad. He'll regret that he never admitted to you that he wouldn't mind hearing you saying that name to him everyday, as long as time let you stay breathing next to him. He'll feel all of this when you're laying on a bed, looking at him with your bright yet dull eyes, wheezing out your last breath next to him.

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

- After he introduced himself in his human form but with different name, Morax- now know as Zhongli -accompanied you to your on Liyue.

- At first, it's awkward. You both walk around in Liyue, side by side but rarely talk to one another. Though you both began to warm up to one another when you both approached certain areas that you became curious off that brings certain memories of him that he can't help but say it.

- As soon as he noticed you taking great interest in the stories he spoke. He decided to continue telling stories about the area's you both go through, even the histories and what you need to know and become aware of. In short, he basically became your walking encyclopedia traveling buddy.

- As time continues to pass by, your relationship to one another grows closer. Every day is another day to spend time with you. Traveling with you, he starts to enjoy walking in his nation again.

- One of the favourite part of his day with you is sitting with you on Qingce Village while watching the meadow full of glaze lilies bloom as the sun goes down on the horizon. It's beautiful to watch glaze lilies bloom while the fireflies surrounds them. It became one of his fondest memory he'll never forget.

- He'll never forget how your (e/c) eyes became so at awe at the glaze lilies. He'll never forget how your (s/c) hand caresses one of its petals until it caresses his hand next to yours. He'll never forget how your hand fits so perfectly to his. He'll never forget the weight of your head from his shoulder, your breath and (h/c) caressing his neck and shoulder, and the kiss he placed on top of your head. He'll never forget those, even as the meadow full of glaze lilies are gone and rarely bloom and your presence missing next to his.

- If there's one thing that he has forgotten, it's the soulmark that's written to both of your wrists. Too busy on what's in front of you, too busy to indulge your presence until your borrowed time slowly comes to its end. Forgetting the words written in (f/c) became one of his biggest mistakes as he slowly wallows in regret as soon as he remembers it too late, right on the time where it's time for you to go.

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

"I forgot to say thanks to you."

Zhongli heard what you said despite your voice being quiet, too quiet for his liking. He didn't turn to face your way, afraid that if he did, it'll be hard for him to turn away anymore, afraid that tears will come out of his eyes, afraid that it'll be hard for him to let go of your hand that slowly loosen its strength. 

But he's listening. He's always listening to you, even if you're not talking anymore he still listens to you.

"For as long as I can remember, I accepted my faith that I won't last from this world. The people around me all look at me in pity. It's suffocating, it's tiring to see the same sad look plastered on their faces every time I came near them. All my life, I always wanted to have someone by my side to share my journey in this world but no one wants to. I'm used to it, I even thought that no one would really bother to turn their way to me."

Zhongli felt the bed shift, and (e/c) stare boring to his hidden face.

"But you did."

He heard you sniffle "You turn your attention to me. You walk your way to me. You talk to me. You gave me friendship that no one dared. You gave me experience, happiness on my journey and I'm so, so glad I met you and will be with you on my journey."

He heard you hiccup "but at the same time....Sad because you have to bear the grief and loneliness alone once I'm gone."

He tightened his hold to your hand.

"I'm sorry yet at the same time not, that I met you. Is it bad of me to feel happy that there's someone here who will miss me once I'm gone?"

You laughed. It came out force like your wheezing the breath left from you.

"All in my life, I felt so alone. So when you came in my life, it's like the Geo Archon listens to my prayers even though they don't have to."

Zhongli noticed your breath starts to get slower and slower. He noticed your hold to his hand getting weaker and weaker. He noticed your voice getting quiet and slow. He always noticed those yet he can't do anything to prevent those from anything. What only he can do is accompany you, to ease your burdens so you can leave peacefully from this world.

But he can't help but release a shaky breath. He can't help but hold your hand tighter to the point it's crushing your hand, yet you didn't voice out your pain. His hand that's holding yours starts to shake but neither of you point it out. 

He knows you're leaving today. Time is ticking, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

As soon as he felt your hold loosen completely, he knew the time was up.

But before you left, you said the words he never expected you to say.

"I love you."

You wheezed before closing your dull (e/c) eyes and hid it for the world to never see again.

You left him sitting next to you. Now looking his way to you with wide, foggy amber eyes. Not even Guizong, his first lover despite both having a different soulmate, didn't say those to him in her dying breath.

From his dilemma, everything clicks into place. 

You were his soulmate. And he realized those too late.

And the only he can do is cry. For the person who's gone. For the words he never gets to say to you. For the things he never got to do and express to you. 

For the love he never gets to reciprocate.

Now he knows as to why you don't have any soulmark like his when you told him you both have the same way to find your soulmate despite the lack of soulmark to your (s/c) wrist.

Because he can't die to begin with.

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

"The glaze lilies look so beautiful tonight. Don't you think?"

Zhongli whispers while his stare still focuses on the flower blooming next to his statue. The flower really looks so beautiful at night, reminding him of the meadow where he used to hang out with someone from his side. 

He unconsciously rubs his thumb to his right wrist, where the words used to be in (F/c), now turn into a dull black ink.

"Zhongli!"

Zhongli placed his hand back to his side and slowly turned his attention to the people who called for him.

He watches them wave their hand to him. "Zhongli! The Lantern Rite will start soon! Let's go back!" Their companion, a mysterious fairy who called herself as 'Paimon' called.

He nodded his head in their way. With a one last longing stare at the glaze lily, he walked away to the place where he first met you.

If you ask him again what he regrets, is that never gets to say the words he always wanted to say to you. He never gets to say how being with you made his dull life full of new experiences and adventure that made his life more fun to bear with. He never gets to say how he relates to you when he first met you. He never gets to say how beautiful you up close.

He regretted saying "I love you" to you too late

-I ACCIDENTALLY UPLOADED THIS WITHOUT EDITING IT! So for the people who saw this early (the unedited version one) and expect Xiao in it, I'm so sorry!! .·´¯`(>▂<)´¯`·. I'll write his version soon! (since he came home on my main and second acc lol) After I'm done writing the part 2 of the Venti X Female Bard reader,,

- I used all of my remaining braincell and got tired writing this on the ending, so you'll notice the ending is a bit bland?? Again, I'm sorry for that. I hope you still enjoy reading this though! (╥﹏╥)

[pseudofaux]

hi! i really love your lucien fics <3 can i request lucien x mc with overstimulation and him coming inside her? any plot will be fine hehe thank you!

Hello, thank you! I would love to write this. :} Him overstimulating her is liiiiiiiike... yes. THE EXACT YUMMIEST YUM for me. I hope you will enjoy this! He’s well into Professor Dom mode here and the overstimulation may read as sadistic to readers who are sensitive to that. He loves her (...in a Lucien way) and doesn’t want to hurt her for hurting’s sake, but this is explicitly not gentle, hand-holdy overstim, so if that’s something that doesn’t sound fun to you please protect yourself and skip this one. Otherwise, please enjoy!

(Requests are closed, readers, but there are a lot to be filled in May and likely June, too! Feel free to follow along or just check in and enjoy as many as you like. A masterlist will go up when they are all completed.)

He reads a staggering number of research findings every month. If a single writer on a publication team has any flair at all, it is immediately apparent in the sea of dry reporting and gray charts that come across his desk. The university only has him oversee a handful of students and they are all acceptably bright, but as so many other things... he endures their work, he does not enjoy it.

Reading bullet vibrator reviews has proven a truly singular pleasure. And they were so helpful that he plans to write his own after he gets to use his purchases on her. Lucien hopes he won’t forget to include any useful details. He enjoys her so much she distracts him, sometimes. He’ll have to be careful and make notes in the times he plans to give her to quiver and catch her breath.

“Luciennnnnnnnnnn,” she groans. He’s taken her past pretty sounds (though all her sounds are lovely to him) and into the territory where the shaking of her body makes every syllable a mess of vibrato. An opera just for him. He’s so, so pleased with her, and very pleased with the vibrator. He bought two of the same kind so he could play with her for longer than a single charge but they’re still on the first and she’s already damp-faced and keening for him in that warbling, fucked-out voice.

And he hasn’t even fucked her yet, really. Just played with her and made her take all his playing.

He shuts off the little ergonomic, silicone-covered vibrator with his thumb. He used the travel lock to set both of the devices to the “3 pulses” setting, so she gets a buzz-buzz-buzz in a looping sequence. He messes with her by pushing and pulling it away against the rhythm, so her sweet, needy body chases the little vibe and can’t find its bearings.

That’s exactly what he wants. Her, adrift on his bed, at his tenderest (but not his kindest) mercy, taken past all her silly limits. He hasn’t made a single note and he knows now that he’s not going to. She’ll have his undivided attention. He will have to write his review from memory, or do this again another time.

Thoroughness is his method.

He knows in his soul that whatever comes out of her, he’s going to be delighted by every bit of it. Her cries. Her tears. Her sweat. Her cum. Other fluids. Anything. The whole point is that he wants to push her beauty into an ugly, shaky place, because he knows he’ll only find her more beautiful there. If it is ugly and messy, she will be as luminous as a pearl sliding down seagrass. As creamy and bumpy as...

“Yes?” he finally says.

“I ca-a-an’t,” she sobs. “No more.”

But thoroughness is his method, so he smiles at the intense trembling of her lower lip and presses his thumb onto the silicone again. Buzz-buzzzzz-buzzbuzz.

She shrieks and when he closes his eyes it is truly like being at an opera. The rug he kneels on bedside the bed is as wine-red as the carpet of a theater, she’s the one who helped him pick it out. Without seeing the walls he can ignore them completely and imagine that the two of them are in some cavernous place together. Wouldn’t it be nice to take her somewhere like that? There must be research islands with caves that he can access. Ones with stalactites so all her echoes can shake the dripping water down onto them in a magnificent spray.

Lucien can wait a very, very long time, but when he is done tonight he’s going to cum all over her in a magnificent spray. He wants to see a little puddle of it disturbed by the way she’ll be twitching by then. Maybe a series of little puddles, or a thick streak across her belly. There’s a thought.

When he touches the tip of the vibrator lightly to her clit she squirms away, and he doesn’t think she can hear his tsk but it doesn’t much matter since he puts his other hand on her thigh and reminds her plainly that he told her not to try to get away. This is not a normal night and she’ll be uncomfortable, but he will make her happy. He knows she believes it, and that makes him smile. He hides it beyond the edge of the mattress where she can’t see.

He does move the vibe onto the bed and covers it with his hands, muffling the sound. “If you want, you can put your hand on top of mine,” he tells her graciously. “But I won’t move away, so don’t waste your energy trying to pull me. You’re going to feel it all.” It’s just what he told her earlier, and the reminder seems to settle her.

So he slips his leg off her thigh-- stroking her with his fingers, trying to make the touch like an anenome’s waving-- and fishes the other vibrator out of his back pocket. He pushes the first between the lips of her weeping, beautiful pussy, loving the way her slickness makes the silicone glide against her, and he tucks it there against her slit. Buzz-buzzzzz-buzzbuzz.

He turns on the other with his thumb and puts it to her clit less gently. She sucks in air like it will help her when her ribs and belly go up into the air as though someone just kicked her up and off the mattress. Not that he would ever let them. He’s the only one who gets to make her move like that.

She comes again, fairly quickly. After her first she’s always so sensitive that with the right pressure and timing he can get her into multiple orgasms and, eventually, deepest sleep.

He won’t let her get to sleep like that anytime soon. This is not a normal night. He’ll keep her up until she is stupid with exhaustion, weak in delirium, and then he’ll have her sing while he fucks her until he’s ready to pull out and spurt all over her sweat-slicked belly. Only then will he curl into bed beside her and relish every jerk of her muscles as he finally lets her succumb to sleep as she leaks him and smells so thoroughly of sex it is as though her perfume has been strangled out of existence. Only he can live on her skin.

Thoroughness is his method.

Lucien would not use the word sloppy to describe her at this point, but after her orgasms and all his teasing she is definitely very, very wet. He’s certain he could fist her fairly easily. Her pussy is so sodden and flexible, all slippery and lonely-looking.

“I’ll fill you up soon,” he promises. “I just need you to come for me two more times, I know you can do that.”

She shakes her head and mumbles little no, nos like they’re going to make a bit of difference. Adorable. He lets her go on until she whines a pathetic please, and then he says “Of course,” and presses the button on the toy resting on her mons.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz buzz buzz. Perhaps he is Beelzebub or Mephistopheles or some worse devil, but he really is enjoying himself. He can see so much of the whites of her eyes for a second, and the sound that comes out of her is shrill and then it somehow slides into her throat and comes out so much lower.

“Of course,” he says again when she quiets down. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you, sweetheart.” She is crying out as he pushes the tip of the other vibrator inside to really fuck with that first extra-sensitive centimeter of her and then squeezes the mode button until it is on the strongest sustained buzz.

It will fall out of her if he doesn’t hold it in place, and he can’t have that. He said he would help her. He presses against the other end, fucking her with it with gentle movements that make the strength of the vibrations travel up into his wrist. He expects they register more strongly inside her. He hopes so.

Lucien puts the other vibrator on the same mode and pulls it down to the stiffness of her overworked clit. He taps it against her, matching the microthrusts he is giving her. As he expected, she’s so relieved to be able to access a rhythm at last-- he truly has been fucking with her and making the most of the modes on each of the vibrators, what a delight-- that she actually makes a half-cry, half-coo, a sound of query.

“It’s alright,” he tells her warmly. “This is exactly what I want from you. It’s safe. You need me to press a little harder?”

He thinks she is trying to speak and can’t quite manage to remember the words, but whether it is that or her body is trembling so tightly her shaking limits what words she could say, he’s happy.

“Go ahead and make a mess,” he says sweetly as her body makes its own thrusts to meet his. She’s not so tired, after all, silly girl. “The mattress is protected and I want you to ruin these sheets. Come all over them, come all over me.”

She wails something that sounds like wuh-uhn and does as he says.

“Good girl,” he praises slowly. “Can you still squeeze for me?”

The vibrator partially inside her pushes back against his finger as she tries to expel it. He quickly removes it, turns it off, and throws it away. “That’s perfect,” he tells her. “You’re so strong and lovely.”

Her eyes are closed and she’s sagged against the mattress like limp rag, but her mouth is curved.

“Just one more now,” he tells her, and the curve inverts into a spectacular trembling pout. He wants to bite it, but for now he’s busy slipping two of his fingers inside her (it is, in fact, so easy) and dragging them along her top wall until they find the space that’s just made to be pressed.

So he presses it as he presses the other vibrator down. He can feel the motor’s work in both hands at once. Her body must be tired, but not so tired it doesn’t respond to his stimulation.

She’s panting Lu, lu, lu, so he tells her “It’s Lucien, sweetheart,” and presses his fingers toward each other until one of her lus becomes as guttural and tight as this last orgasm he’s wringing out of her. He rubs his fingers back and forth on her g-spot until she clamps on him and her legs shake without bending, so hard they bounce on the bed, so tense he suspects she will give herself a cramp.

That’s when he pulls his fingers out and puts his cock in, and he uses the flared head of his cock to unerringly rub that same spot, back and forth in concentrated, minute movements. If he were a smaller man she might dislodge him, but she can’t.

She can’t do much at all but take it right now, which is what he tells her to do as he fucks halfway into her body until she nearly loses consciousness. So quickly, his own orgasm is imminent, and he tips the vibrator down so he can pin it with his body when he slides home. The feel of her, heavy and swollen and flexible and fucked up around him is enough to make him spurt into her like he’s been edged this whole time.

In a way, he has. A very pleasant way.

He lets her drift off as he relaxes into the comfort of his own release. After the first gushes it is as sluggish as her breathing.

Lucien murmurs her name to check on her and gets only a tired sound of acknowledgement. He pulls out slowly, watching the way he drags her open and smears his cum backwards and out of her. Her thighs twitch as he goes, so he puts a hand on each of them to catch that glorious feedback. He does not want to take his eyes off the cream oozing out of her.

“Should I leave it on?” he asks.

“No,” she moans. “Please no.”

He presses the buzzzzzzzzzzz against her anyway, but does take it away after that. “Oh, alright,” he tells her. He’s winded but he does not think she will recognize his vulnerability when her own is so terribly overwhelming.

He tells her she can relax but not fall asleep, and he takes himself in hand to work up to painting her belly. There’s so much of her beauty to take in it feels like barely any time at all before he’s breathing harder through his nose and feeling the inevitability at the base of his shaft, the point of no return reached and run past.

“Beautiful,” he breathes before the first spatter even lands. She looks down at her body in a daze as his cum glazes her lowest ribs and pools in her navel.

He allows himself to imagine absolutely covering her one day... it is important to him to be thorough, after all. But for now this will do. His little puddles and the charming stream he painted over her are trembling like she is seismic just underneath. To him, she is.

[obiwanobi]

okay but,, I can't get this idea out of my head of an au where anakin falls early, maybe halfway through the war– but instead of joining sidious or dooku he runs, terrified of himself, and stays somewhere he can't tear the galaxy apart like the darkest part of himself keeps goading him to. and he's there for a handful of months, and he's lonely and scared– until obi-wan comes to find him. and this man who anakin has loved for so long never stopped searching, razed a path through the galaxy (1/2)

I TOLD you all to stop sending me perfect prompts, god, here’s 3k that could be resumed by ‘it’s rotten work’ ‘not to me, not if it’s you’  because I have no self control:

"Anakin."

It's the first time in seven months that Obi-Wan pronounces his name with hope.

The back of the hooded figure visibly tenses in front of him. Obi-Wan can see his hand clenching around his glass, and his head starts turning in his direction but stops before Obi-Wan can see his eyes. Instead, it's in the Force that Anakin looks for him. It's a small, tentative tendril that crosses the space between them, ridiculously shy in comparison to the enthusiastic maelstrom that usually greets him when Obi-Wan extends his mind to Anakin.

But it's him. Too warm and barely controlled, the familiar flame of a burning pyre that Obi-Wan has never learned how to turn his eyes from.

 Headache-inducing and almost unbearable, have been some words used to describe Anakin's presence in the Force.  The most comforting of infernos, Obi-Wan has always thought.

Anakin feels surprised, and something close to joy colours the Force around him for a fleeting moment. Obi-Wan can feel the corners of his mouth turning up as he sighs affectionately.

"De—"

Then it all turns to panic.

He doesn't even have the time to realise that Anakin has retracted his signature behind durasteel shields the second it touched Obi-Wan's, because the man in front of him is already jumping to his feet, pushing the Twi'lek waiter away, and running for the exit of the cantina.

It leaves Obi-Wan stunned, arm still raised toward an empty chair.

Surprisingly, it's not panic that filled him, or even the persistent fear that if he loses Anakin now, after months of roaming the galaxy looking for him, then how long will it take before catching the smallest clue of his location again? No, this time, the worry and dread that has been his faithful companions for so long, now make way for something only Anakin knows how to infuse into him in the most inappropriate of times: exasperation.

"Anakin!" he yells, making the Rodian next to him jump in his seat. 

Rushing outside, his eyes scan the street, trying to find a tall figure in a brown robe at the same time he stretches his senses through the Force to guide him toward his infuriating former padawan. Not used to the brightness of the twin suns and the constant particles of sand and dust floating around, Obi-Wan is almost sure that the glimpse of Anakin's presence he felt for half a second is only due to his inattention and not Obi-Wan's skills. For once, Obi-Wan isn't going to complain about Anakin's lack of focus: he starts running right away.

Anakin goes through three sharp turns, two attempts at climbing a roof and even one force-jump through the window of a shop, but Obi-Wan is determined to follow him wherever he goes. Even if he has to apologise to every irritated person he pushes out of the way.

"This is ridiculous," he says loudly, when he catches the dark brown robe trying to zigzag between stands, "I don't even know why you're running away from me!"

He thinks he can see Anakin throwing him a look, but with the hood over his face and one of the suns starting to set in front of him, can't be certain. It's only when Anakin seems to miss a turn and finds himself a few seconds later out of the streets, at the edge of a cliff overlooking the desert and its endless dunes, that he realises his mistake.

They're out of town now. There's nothing but the background noise of civilisation left behind, a warm wind sweeping the sand between them, and the twin suns bathing Anakin's silhouette in a glowing light.

"An—" Obi-Wan says, trying to get his breath under control. He's not used to such heat, and all the running, Force-jumping and the sweating really didn't help. Still, he takes a step toward him.

"Don't."

Even if it's just a simple word, hearing the sound of his voice soothes a deep ache that has plagued most of Obi-Wan's nights for the past few months.

Anakin is facing the canyon, the dune sea and the suns, a dark form with a double shadow, only showing his back to Obi-Wan. Even if he doesn't show his face, feelings bleed through his shields, as if he's still a padawan trying to get an awkward hold on the Force. There are confusion and anger, most of it directed at himself, Obi-Wan notes, and an all-encompassing veil of shame. Fear is here too, blending the edges of the mess produced by the cacophony of so many emotions clattering against each other. Obi-Wan can feel Anakin realising the flaws in his mental defences, and the spark of mortification before he hastily tries to rein it all in.

For a second, Obi-Wan thinks he's going to jump down the canyon just to avoid the embarrassment of inadvertently broadcasting his emotions.

"I won't stop chasing you now that I've found you," Obi-Wan warns, before the idea comes to Anakin's mind. The jump wouldn't kill him, but Obi-Wan really doesn't feel like tracking him through rocky canyons, tusken traps and krayt dragons. "I won't stop before you tell me why you're running away from me."

Anakin lowers his head without replying, shoulders sagging. Obi-Wan's feet move slowly. His mind reaches once again toward Anakin's, brushing against him in a wordless question. All irritation gone by now, he adds quietly:

"...And why you didn't come home."

Anakin's shields shudder. "You shouldn't have come."

"Anakin, the Separatists had you as their prisoner for almost a month. Rex told me he saw Grievous dragging your body to his ship himself. The Council waited for their terms of release, and when it didn't come, we thought you were dead."

"The Council," he snarls darkly, "they probably were happy to finally get rid of me."

"You know it's not true."

"No, I don't."

"Do you think I was happy, then?" Obi-Wan retorts, trying to stop the need to grab his robe and shake some senses into him. "Do you think Rex and I enjoyed having to plead with the Republic War Council to give us more time to look for you?"

The dark robe in front of him shuffles a bit. "You took the 501st to look for me?"

"Of course we looked for you! We went through every report of Grievous' flagship presence and got every intel we could gather about your possible location. There was no clue in any Separatist outposts we raided," he adds, focusing on his words to stay composed, and not the memory of becoming desperate enough after another fruitless day to check black markets for familiar mechno-arm's parts. "And we were starting to believe that you were truly dead then, until... Until we found an abandoned facility. With a lot of battle droids destroyed, and Grievous and Dooku dead. Force-choked to death."

Anakin stays silent again.

In the horizon, one of the suns has settled low enough to brush against the dune sea. The light has turned to a deep orange around his silhouette.

Obi-Wan takes a step.

"There was a holorecording."

The only answer he gets is the sound of a sharp intake of air, and an intensity in the Force that always saturates the air when Anakin tries, in vain, to calm his mind.

Another step.

"I saw you taking a starfighter. I saw you leaving the facility, free."

Another step.

"Why didn't you come back to the Temple?"

"There was nothing for me there anymore."

The word stops Obi-Wan in his tracks.  Somehow, one sentence is harder to swallow than months of worry. He's always known that he failed to make Anakin feel at home at the Temple, or make him realise that there might not be parents or siblings in names there, but the feeling of kinship remains the same. But to hear him say that the sum of all these years spent there together boils down to nothing to him, still manages to crack Obi-Wan's composure.

The burn in his throat makes his next words difficult to pronounce.

"Why didn't you come back to me, Anakin?"

"BECAUSE I'VE FAILED YOU!" Anakin snaps, throwing his arms up and his shields down, and finally turns toward Obi-Wan in a dramatic movement of his robe.

The hood falls from his head, and even if the sunset at his back prevents Obi-Wan from seeing his expression, hidden in the shadow, he can't miss his golden hair forming an incandescent halo around his face. The Force has erupted in a bonfire within Anakin, crackling around him in warning to anyone who would approach it, white-heat fever and boundless darkness at the same time.

It tastes like ash on Obi-Wan's tongue.

He pulls his own shields a bit tighter around him.

"Why do you keep asking this question when you know what I've done? Why are you even here? Are you here to kill me? Because I failed you, Obi-Wan! I killed them and I felt nothing but satisfaction! I accepted the dark side, I welcomed it even, it burned through me and it's still burning right now, and I'm incapable of controlling anything, not even my own shields, so no, I couldn't come back and pretend I could still be a Jedi. And now you saw it, you saw everything, so I can't even prete— I can't..."

The swirling of emotions comes crashing down around Anakin so violently that Obi-Wan physically flinches, and it looks like the Force is suddenly cutting down the strings holding him upright. He crumples to the ground in a cloud of sand and dust, close, too close to the edge of the cliff.

There's only the sound of Anakin panting for a moment, long enough for Obi-Wan to gather his thoughts, and take another step.

Only he would be foolish enough to want to touch glowing embers.

"It doesn't change my question," he says calmly, like he's always done after one of his padawan's tantrum. "Why didn't you come back to me, Anakin?"

He thinks he can see Anakin opening his mouth to answer, but only a short derisive laugh leaves his lips before he drags his feet in the dust and turns away from him again.

Finally, —finally—, Obi-Wan is close enough. Stopping just a few centimetres from Anakin's back, his hand instinctively reaches for his shoulder but hovers right before touching it. And then settles there and squeezes. It belongs there, he thinks as Anakin makes a small noise at the back of his throat.

He expects Anakin to shrug off his hand, refuse his touch, just like he's refusing to look directly at him.

But he doesn't.

"I couldn't see you," he admits after a pause, eyes closed. "I don't care about the Council, or the Republic, or anyone else, but I couldn't... I couldn't bear the disappointment in your eyes. I didn't want you to leave me, so I left first."

"Oh, Anakin," Obi-Wan sighs, trying to swallow the affection in his voice. He pauses for a second, relishing the feel of Anakin letting him rub his thumb on his shoulder. "I am saddened and upset, yes. When I watched all that anger unleashed and how you succumbed to it, how you crushed Grievous and Dooku so easily that I could almost feel the dark side through the holo, I felt... I felt heartbroken."

The indignation he expected, or any sort of accusations to shift the blame on something or someone else, doesn't come. Instead, Anakin bends his head and pulls his legs closer to him, like he has just been hit.

"I'm sorry Master," he manages to whisper, face hidden behind his arms and hair, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"Listen, listen," Obi-Wan begs rapidly, kneeling next to him. His hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his neck, trying to soothe him. "I was heartbroken for you. You were alone, in a terrible situation, being taunted, electrocuted, tortured. It doesn't excuse what you did, but, Anakin, you disappeared for months after that. You ran away without a word, without an explanation, and I couldn't— I couldn't believe you would voluntarily turn your back on us. I couldn't let the thought that you didn't trust us enough to help you go. And then... you called for me."

"No, I didn't." The muffled, petulant tone makes Obi-Wan smiles a bit. His hand moves up along his nape to Anakin's curls, stroking gently, pushing unruly locks behind his ears.

"You did. Unconsciously, probably, but you did. For so long, I couldn't reach you through the Force, but I kept trying every time I meditated, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, anything to make sure you were still alive somewhere. And one day, I heard you. Far, far away, barely loud enough to recognise, but I heard you. Wishing I was with you."

Anakin's hand clenches in a fist at the words. Obi-Wan ignores it, fingers still running through his hair in a rhythmic movement.

"That's why I've spent seven months looking for you, searching the galaxy for you. Because I wished I was with you too."

Obi-Wan didn't expect the wounded noise that escaped Anakin's mouth, and even less that his admission would cause Anakin to throw himself at him in a fierce embrace. Caught off-guard, Obi-Wan topples and falls on his back in a cloud of dust. In the Force, Anakin's shields come crashing down again, but this time, Obi-Wan doesn't draw back from it. Their bond suddenly bursts open, emotions spilling in all directions and showering him with a chaotic jumble of relief-longing-hope, eventually blending together to only leave lovelovelove.

"Anakin," he sighs, with his usual falsely annoyed and secretly fond tone that seems to be the only way he knows how to pronounce his name. Anakin, heavy on top of him now, doesn't respond, too busy nuzzling Obi-Wan neck. "The cliff is right there, we could have died."

"Don't care," he replies, squeezing his arms impossibly tighter around Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan chuckles, and he can feel more than hear him hums in appreciation at the sound, face hidden under his chin.

After months of extending his mind through millions of Force-sensitive beings scattered around the galaxy and still finding it empty, there is nothing more reassuring than being smothered by Anakin's presence in the Force. He tugs on their bond a bit, just to feel it, and when Anakin instantly tugs back, Obi-Wan's hand on his waist pulls him closer.

"Would you look at me, Anakin? Just for a second. I have yet to really see you."

There is a short pause and then a long breath against his neck before Anakin puts one elbow on the ground next to Obi-Wan's face, raises his head, and finally, truly looks at Obi-Wan.

"Hello, there," Obi-Wan whispers, as familiar blue eyes blink at him.

Embarrassment tinges the Force and his cheeks pink, and Anakin seems to promptly remember that his shields are non-existent right now and that he's lying flat on Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan watches, amused, as he awkwardly starts to untangle his legs from him and shifts his weight to get to his knees.

"Now, shall we—"

"Watch the sunset with me," Anakin blurts out, then realises what he just said and starts babbling. "I mean, we're already here and it's almost over now, but it's the only beautiful thing on this Force-forsaken planet."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that," Obi-Wan grins as Anakin's eyes widen. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it and closes it, looking at anything but Obi-Wan. Taking pity on him, Obi-Wan holds his hand toward him to help him get up. "Also, Anakin, the next time you want to punish yourself, please choose to do it on another planet than Tatooine. I don't think I can handle one more day of the suns trying to roast me like an Endorian chicken."

"Yes Master, your fair skin will be my first consideration the next time I turn to the dark side."

"I'm sure it will," he teases, squeezing Anakin's hand as he pulls him into a sitting position.

Anakin rolls his eyes, but quickly ducks his head to hide his reddened cheeks.

And then it hits him.

Right at this moment, seated next to his former padawan, their feet dangling above the desert, easy banter and the quiet tune of their signatures melting into each other again, Obi-Wan is happy. Even if Anakin is still dangerously close to the dark side, even if the war isn't completely over yet, even if he's not going to get away with deliberately ignoring the Council's messages for the past few months, Obi-Wan feels at peace. Content.

Eyes closed, he whispers his thanks to the Force for not taking another one of the most important people in his life away from him.

He doesn't need to look at Anakin to know he's wondering what he's doing, and his smile only grows before taking his hand in his own. Anakin makes a surprised noise, raising his head to look at him. His expression turns almost alarmed when Obi-Wan cups his face, thumb rubbing lightly against his cheek.

"We'll figure it out, Anakin. I won't leave you."

He's framing his face with both hands now, and can’t resist pressing his lips to his forehead. Anakin's signature turns impossibly brighter at the touch, and between the new uproar of feelings tangled together, Obi-Wan notices a tinge of desire and want, that will definitely be analysed later and probably used to tease him a bit more. This shade of red does look lovely on his cheeks, he notices, pleased.

But he will have time to embarrass him further later. Now, Obi-Wan just wants to enjoy the moment with him.

"...Also because I can't. The starship I borrowed has been making a worrying rattling noise since I left the Mid Rim. It's a miracle I arrived on Tatooine in one piece, and there is no way I'm putting another foot in it before you can assure me that it won't explode the moment I activate the hyperdrive regulator."

Anakin bursts into laughter. "Borrowed? Who did you steal it from this time?"

"I would never—" Obi-Wan scoffs, falsely indignant at the accusation.

"Don't lie, Master, it's unbecoming of you."

"I left a very apologetic note behind, if you must know."

Anakin laughs again, and it warms Obi-Wan's heart like nothing has managed to for the past seven months. He leans on his side to rest his head against Obi-Wan's, bumping his shoulder with his. There isn't any space left between them.

"What would you do without me, Master?"

"Crash and burn, probably." 

Basking in the golden light of the sunset, Obi-Wan tries not to burst with how warm he feels with Anakin messy locks tickling his face and Anakin's breath near his ear and Anakin's hand in his.

The last of Tatooine’s suns goes down in front of them. 

The most comforting of infernos, Obi-Wan thinks as the scorching heat of Anakin's signature clings to him too tightly.

He doesn't mind burning at all.

[thanekrios]

A desert of his own

Summary: Shepard dreams of a dead planet. Irikah tells Kolyat a myth of creation. And Thane sees a desert.

Note: I wrote this many years ago. Posted it here when I was galifreyas, so the original post is lost. This is still up @ my much abandoned AO3.

Let us start with a planet that has been dead for centuries. Let us tell some fictions and some realities about it. It is up to you to believe which ones are true.

What about a woman who dreams of the deserts of Rakhana? Deserts carpeted with purple weeds that are inhabited by silvery lizards she has named the afa’el. In her dreams, the afa’el sing – no, that’s not what they do, the old melodies once sung by burning stars echo in them. Sometimes it sounds like they are humming and others, they appear to be reproducing three songs at once. She watches the ira, cactus-like succulents, glowing in announcement of the dawn of a new season as the cavernous voices of an ancient creature or a sinking sun make their way across the planet, from afa’el to afa’el and finally they reach her. She hears and understands their wordless mellow stories.

They tell her of the Endu, the biggest flower to ever exist in any world, which according to legend had bloomed in an unforgiving desert and was encountered by a group of nomads who sought it as a symbol of Arashu and built the biggest civilization around it.

She learns of how Rakhana came to be. How it was once a frozen egg, drifting away in the Sea of Stars, and how a maiden made of gold nourished it back to life.

The woman, whose name is Shepard, visits the great desert of Alasere religiously. She enjoys standing there, sinking her feet in a golden ocean, listening to the afa’el murmur words in Rakhani long forgotten.

She learns of fihanda, which roughly translates to the guilt a child feels when they recognize dishonesty in their parents or in an older authority figure. There is amuefto, the gift of finding beauty in a person and seeing it reflected in their faces, regardless of their looks. Taverena, an expression of gratitude only used when someone has made a true impact one’s life, making it out of the ordinary. And then, tah-sehe.

“I will miss you, Shepard. Tah-sehe,” had been the last thing she heard from Thane’s lips before he left the Normandy. For a while, she whispered tah-sehe to herself while embracing the mundane. It would fill the room in the form of a silly melody muttered while she watched the rain pour; or as a gurgling sound while she took a shower. It was imprinted on her mind. It isn’t until the afa’el sing morosely about the last chapter in their planet’s history, that she discovers tah-sehe is not a word to be said lightly.

She comes to understand why Thane, who turns the simplest of sentences into splendid verses, had felt it necessary to utter that word – because I will miss you was but a fragment of what he wished to convey. Tah-sehe meant more than to miss someone; it was a profound emotional state of infinite yearning, of not being able to experience life to the fullest, of having lost the most significant part of oneself. The concept originated during the great exodus of the 1980s, as the first generations of drell settled in Kahje carried the name of the tah’sehen, the ones who dwell in what’s lost.

It didn’t matter whether those were dreams weaved by longing. Tah’sehe migrated from her head to her heart.

During the days, as the Vancouver rain attempts to wash away her dreams, she convinces herself that if she can capture at least a fraction of the beauty of the deserts she wanders in and if she can translate it into a form, any form, the dormant planet of Rakhana will be awaken.

For a while, Shepard considers writing about every beast, plant and insect she has come across in her journeys but she has never been one to confuse her desires with her abilities. Writing, just like dancing, does not come naturally to her. And while she is a gifted saxophone player, she was never much of a composer. Yet, she tries.

Thane had caught her once practicing one of her unpolished pieces, one she referred to as “if calluses were a song, this would be it.” He had asked her to play it for him. She knew he’d listen, he’d truly listen, and not just that…he’d remember.

“Ugliness is abundant in this galaxy. Let’s not add up to it.” She said, putting down her sax.

“When you play, I hear a reminder of beauty and laughter and life. What you do is extraordinary, siha. To transform the dreadful slices of the universe, its eruptions and its vast darkness into a stream of ecstatic sounds, a blast of playful rhythms. You create things when there is but destruction around you. There is value in that. I hope you see it someday.”

Encouraged by his words, she composes a few songs that don’t come to even faintly remind her of the fierce and dry winds scattered across the planet. She can’t feel its vibrant colors in her slow and melancholic tunes, as they are permeated by the city she sees through her window and a sky that won’t stop weeping.

That is when she starts making terrariums resembling the deserts she visits. She thinks, if she is ever lucky enough to see Thane again, she’ll hand him a desert of his own. She can still hear him:

“I would much like to see a desert.”

* * *

After Kolyat leaves Huerta Memorial, so does Thane. He sees him walk away in a pristine white hallway and at the same time, a young Kolyat attempts to step on his father’s footprints. He can smell salt and iron and antiseptics and detergent, and hear machines beeping and waves crashing. Kolyat is saying something, he wants to be heard, but what might have been the most important words ever spoken are drowned by the roaring of the sea. He just stares at him and waits for his father to react and after a pause, disappointment is written all over his face. Thane asks him to hurry up and a young Kolyat walks reluctantly towards him, this time ignoring the trail of footprints left by his father.

He wishes his recollections were malleable, he often hears of humans enriching their past with fictions; or of conflicts among them springing from a poor recollection of events. But a drell’s memories are unforgiving –they can, on occasion, overlap with reality–but never be rewritten.

His mind takes him to that same evening, after Kolyat asked him to dance with him but he refused, as he was getting ready to go to work. He doesn’t see blighted hope but despondency in his child. Kolyat still wishes him a pleasant journey, as he always does, and runs to his room. He should have kissed his forehead. He should have made him feel like he was the brightest sun in the Zahel Sea cluster, the most vital spring of energy in his life.

As he is lacing up his shoes, he hears Irikah’s voice. Whenever she puts Kolyat to bed, her voice is soft and gentle. Like most nights, she is telling him a story. Irikah was always the better storyteller. Irikah was always the better everything.

“Now as everybody knows, the Land of Whistling Dunes was the child of a maiden made of gold, whose heart’s one desire was to drink from the Sea of Stars” says Irikah.

“The Milky Way” Kolyat mouths the words as his mother speaks them.

Irikah nods gently before continuing her story:

“The maiden, who shoned in silence in the skies, knew her womb was barren for a blazing flame lived inside of her. She watched the ages pass and her younger sisters descend to the Sea and drink from its starry tides; and one by one, they all bore and gave birth to the Sea’s children. And as eons passed, the children danced around their mothers; and the mothers swayed gently in the Sea.

The maiden, lonely and scorching, continued to long for the Sea’s kiss, until the day all eyes turned to the death of her older sister, whose cries of pain were carried by the waves, scattering them across the galaxy. And with her passing, her children came to perish too. It was then the maiden dove into the Sea of Stars and gulped its darkness greedily, for she desired children of her own.

The waves whipped her mercilessly as punishment for her insolence, tearing her flesh open. But the maiden didn’t yield; she drank until no more fire dripped from her mouth, she drank until the tides had dragged her sisters and nieces and she had swallowed them whole, she drank until the radiant sea was almost pitch-black.”

Irikah pauses. Something is happening.

Thane hears a gasp that doesn’t fit in their house, it doesn’t belong in the past. A horrified gasp. He recognizes the padding of shoe soles brushing against the floor and the sharp rhythmic piercing sounds of heels. There are many of them. Nurses, patients, visitors, doctors. They’re gathering near him. A man raises his voice, demanding everyone to be quiet. Another voice protests, only to be followed by Doctor Michel shushing the crowd and asking someone to turn down their hand terminal’s sound, so everyone can listen to the same thing.

Then, Irikah’s narration comes to him in long, heavy echoes.

He wants to be home as much as he wants to discover what is happening around his body. He can feel reality piercing its way through, the white pristine light of Huerta Memorial filtering through a crack in the wall he always meant to fix. Another voice slides in, distant and resonant, and he can’t make out what it says. He ignores it. He needs to hear the end of Irikah’s tale. That memory must remain unspoiled, uninterrupted. It’s the last story he ever hears her tell.

He hangs onto it; everything else must wait just a little longer.

“The Sea, heartbroken after witnessing the death of so many of his kin, felt conflicted as he desired retribution but didn’t wish to feel emptiness any further. He then presented the maiden with a choice: he would spare her life if she looked after an egg that had lost its guardian centuries ago; and if she was able to give life to a daughter who existed suspended in a shell of ice and yearned to see the light, her crimes would be forgiven. As the maiden accepted his offer, the pale egg rose up out of the sea. She held it tight, keeping it warm until the day it hatched and came to love it. And so, a winged silvery lizard was born. Her name was Rakhana.”

“Reports are coming in from the cities of London, Seoul and Vancouv—“

She is almost done. Let her finish.

“It’s said that Rakhana’s mother could not stand her daughter flying far away from her, for she was terrified that her only companion would abandon her. So Rakhana, who very much loved her mother and wished to make her proud, danced near her despite the sultriness she felt around her. Eventually, her entire body blushed with red desert flowers and her skin blistered and turned hot and dry. The lizard curled up and fell into a deep slumber as her skin turned to soil; and her breath became wind; and from her backbone a mountain range was born; and while she gave life to many, she failed to save them from the maiden’s fire. And so, Rakhana’s body continued dancing around her mother and her mother swayed gen...”

He sees a large group of people gathered a few feet away from where he is sitting. It takes him a moment to put together the pieces of the situation, of what it is being broadcasted through every terminal, of why Doctor Michel is shaking while she buries her face in her hands.

A myth of creation is replaced by news of destruction.

* * *

Thane always enjoyed looking at her fish. Once more, he sees them travel with glee from one side of the tank to the other. He used to feed them whenever she forgot, which was more often than she would care to admit. Half a lifetime ago.

He presses one of his fingertips against the fish tank’s glass and draws small invisible circles. A Thessian Sunfish follows his finger, even when he begins to trace unpredictable shapes. Shepard can’t see his face but she likes to think he’s grinning, greeting his old friends.

From all the stories and words that spun inside her head, tah-sehe is the only one she has felt pounding violently inside her. She wonders, even if she doesn’t know its true meaning, if perhaps there’s a word that encases an opposite feeling, the sensation of her chest being cluttered with emotions; and the impulse she is struggling to oppress, of talking about everything at once, the things she has seen and done and felt. And on the same time, she doesn’t want to talk at all, she wants to reach out and touch and caress and experience.

So, she asks.

“Is there a word in Rakhani for…this? Say…what you feel when you are reunited with someone? Like you with the fish right now.”

Thane turns around slowly; his hands are behind his back. The hint of a smile turns the corners of his mouth.

“I believe the closest word is sehifa. Even though I wouldn’t use it to describe my reunion with the fish. Is there a similar word in human language?”

“I don’t know if there’s a word for it in one of the human languages, but there isn’t one in English. At least the translator didn’t find an equivalent.”

“Ah. I see. Sehifa is a hard concept to condense into a single word. Perhaps it can be defined as the dusk of missing someone. Although it means more than that. It also refers to what you feel and what you do when you are reunited. The emotional closeness that is rekindled. Perhaps even physical intimacy. The warmth you feel in your chest. And what is exchanged. A memento or a present perhaps. Even the stories that your loved one wished to tell you for a long time, when they are finally said out loud and heard by the person who was meant to hear them. How each action or touch is meaningful.”

The dusk of missing someone. That’s it. That’s what it is.

Her cheeks feel warm and her heart full. She smiles the brightest of smiles and starts to laugh. It is a deep, explosive burst of laughter. The sort that seems to pour out like liquid gold to illuminate an entire room.

When Shepard runs out of laughter, she holds his gaze:

“I have something for you. A memento or a present or something of sorts.” She disappears for a couple of seconds and emerges from the bathroom holding something round made of crystal, around the same size as a fishbowl. “Remember what you told me? About creating? It’s funny. All this time I believed all I could ever make were bad songs. But in truth, there were worlds I could create. I can’t really share them with you, not with words at least, so I made a thing. It’s not really finished and it’s not as pretty as what it looked in my dreams but reality rarely pairs up with your expectations, right? I wanted to work on it for a while longer but, after what you just said, I just can’t wait anymore. Here.”

She shakes her head and hands it to him.

Thane holds it up.

It’s a terrarium.

She had created a harmonic ecosystem, filled with lively-colored succulents and cacti, each of them she handpicked herself to resemble the desert of Alasere. She knows that Rakhana will remain arid and dormant; and the worlds that live inside of her aren’t supposed to be more than just dreams. Yet, somehow, Thane is holding a slice of one of them between his hands. One of the things he wished he could see with his own eyes has come to him. In a way, a dream they dreamt of together became real.

He puts the terrarium down with care, next to her terminal, and he reaches over and cups her cheeks with both hands. He calls her by her first name, as he rarely does. He leans down and presses his forehead against hers. He smiles a very rare smile. He is somehow doing it with his entire face. His eyes are deep pools of bliss and warmth and tenderness.

“A desert” he says. She can even hear the smile in his voice.

She nods calmly. He knows Shepard is good at locking her nostalgia away behind more curtains than just her eyelids, but right then, her voice breaks.

“I really wanted you to see that desert, Thane.”

He utters a word in Rakhani used to convey a specific form of gratitude. And while taverena escapes from his lips, Shepard hears him say:

“Thank you for giving me the extraordinary.”

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Diary found in K---D--- : Part 2

So, here's the next little part of this :D

Imagine by @lathalea is indented!

Enjoy <3

Taglist: @shrimpsthings, @mulasawala (so you see where I'm going with this lol)

(Yes, there will be MORE artwork coming, stay posted...)

Fandom: Hobbit

Characters: Ori x OC

Rating & Warning: Fluff and silliness

His name was Ori and he was a scribe in Erebor. It turned out he visited the forest often to sketch the animals and plants. You spent the rest of the day together. In the evening, you exchanged campfire stories, sharing a meal. At one point, he shyly asked about where you came from. Blushing, he admitted, almost whispering, he never saw a person with such beautiful hair before.

You told him that you came from another world, from a region called East Asia, where many people looked similarly to you. He was very curious about your homeland, your culture and your world. You spent hours telling him everything about it and he listened to you in awe.

“Ori.” He replied, his lips quirking a tiny bit as if he was not used to speaking his own name. “I’m a scribe. In Erebor. The Mountain.” He pointed to a tree beyond the clearing.

Thankfully, I was familiar with the Lonely Mountain and did not think that he didn’t know the difference between a living organism and a pile of minerals.

“I have never seen you, neither here nor in that Mountain.” I replied, for I went into the halls sometimes to translate for travellers, but for the most part, I let the king be his grumpy, glorious self.

“I come here often, to sketch, but I seem to have lost my way.” He admitted with a tiny frown. Ah, a real dwarf. They only knew up and down seemingly and if there was no way into a hill, they’d stubbornly trek up until they tumbled off the other side again.

As if to prove to me that he was not lying – dear reader, he had a face that was utterly devoid of malice or dissimulation – he showed me rather good sketches of the fauna and flora of the dense forest surrounding us. “That is really good, Ori, the scribe, from under the Mountain.” I commented which made him blush with a fierce and, apparently, unexpected pleasure.

In an expression of indescribable cuteness, he literally wiped his face with his sleeve as if he could clean away the rosy hue like a stubborn ink stain from under his skin.

“What are you here for?” He then asked, pushing out his chest heroically. As a reminder, he was the one who had lost his way, but apparently, he wanted to defend either the forest from me or the other way around.

“I am here to think…in silence.” I replied; he retreated a few steps. “Oh? I’ll leave you to it then, I guess. It was great to make your acquaintance…”

I gave him my name, after all, he had given me his, and he chewed on it for a few moments before his face split into a smile that was like the sunlight breaking through the cloudy afternoon sky: tentative, warm, and strikingly beautiful.

“Stay. I like your face.” I heard myself saying. Maybe, it was my teasing, mischievous streak acting up, but I had liked his embarrassment so much that I couldn’t help wanting to coax more of these blushes out of him.

“My…face?” In that weird dance he had been engaged in for the last few minutes, Ori stepped closer again, shuffling his feet in the heavy boots dwarrows insisted on wearing.

No, your ass, I thought, but bit my tongue; Ori the dwarf looked like someone who would die on the spot if I said anything even remotely inappropriate…as I was wont to do when nervous.

My sarcastic thought spurred my own interest though and I examined him a little closer: he was indeed swaddled like a babe, beads of sweat pearling down his temples on account of the steep climb and the stubborn blush powdering his nose and cheeks with pink blotches.

“Sit down, you’ll get a heat stroke.” I invited him and pointed to a patch of moss beside me while rummaging in my pack for the flask of ale I had brought.

“Thank you ever so much.” He plopped down in a cascade of earthen-coloured wool and awkward limbs. He did smell warm, I noticed, a blend of cinnamon and comfort.

Also, he had one of those faces that only became better when seen up-close, I admit freely; there were golden stars dancing in the depth of his dark eyes and he had the most adorable freckles as if some outlandish fairy had sprinkled gold dust over that heart-wrenchingly handsome face.

“Are you thirsty, Mistress?” He asked, nodding at the flask in my hand.

Handing it to him rather abruptly, I realised that I had spent the last moments intently staring at his face as if I had never seen a male dwarf before in my life.

“I have work to do.” I snapped, feeling immediately guilty for taking my own embarrassment out on him, but he merely nodded and pulled his sketching supplies into his lap.

Strangely enough, Ori did not disturb me. If anything, the silence felt fuller, richer, deeper with him by my side. As I translated a letter, as a spinster I had to support my family and my insufferable sisters as best as I could, I felt like the chirping of the birds and the vibrancy of the colours around me were even more enjoyable now that I shared them with someone else.

…

The sun crept along its never-changing arc slowly and yet, much too fast.

As I looked up, I wished I was a better painter myself, for this dwarrow was made for sunsets.

The way the last golden hurrah of a perfect day exploded in a halo of warmth around his figure, the way all the greys and the blues seemed to bleed out of the world to leave nothing but warm tones behind, and the way his smile was the perfect expression of this mellow, unhurried mood…it struck me deeper and more violently than a thunderstorm in all its booming rage would have.

“Will you join me for dinner, Ori?” I asked gently, “I shall escort you back down.”

“It would be my honour.” He nodded, tearing out a page of his notebook and handing it over.

“It was an invitation; I do not demand payment.” I said seriously, for the sketch of the doe was so good, it might have been worth actual money. “Oh…” His nose crinkled at little at that.

“I wanted you to…have something beautiful. I have seen you work very hard.”

Of course, he was a scribe as well, he would consider the scribbling work, I thought and gave him a thankful smile. “You’re beauty enough for one day.” I shrugged.

He gasped, bringing his notebook up to his face as if to shield himself from my words.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? Dori has warned me that girls do that sometimes.” He sounded utterly dejected. “I am not having you on. Has nobody ever told you that you’re handsome?” It was my turn to be wide-eyed with shock.

“And who is Dori?” I followed-up when he didn’t really reply to my question even though I thought I had seen his braids move like strings of pearls in a draft. The minutest of shakes of the head, a quiet admission of inadequacy that sunk ugly, ragged claws into my soft heart.

“He’s my brother. I have two of them. Dori…and Nori. They’re…” – “Older than you.” I completed. “Protective.” He supplied.

He was still holding his drawing out to me, and, after a moment, I took it gingerly and put it between the pages of my own writing supplies. I would hang it in my room and look at it daily.

Nowadays, there were but very few gifts for me; all the money went to my two younger sisters who were still nubile and would, if Mahal willed it so, be able to make a good match.

Busying my hands with making a fire, I asked him to tell me about his brothers.

“Oh, Nori is…agile. He’s…funny and brave and resourceful.” Ori started, his voice warm with affection and admiration. He sounded like a proper rogue to me, and as it turned out, he was, but he also deserved every single ounce of the deep-felt care Ori held for him.

“Dori is…fussy. He’s polite, he’s very caring, and he’s exceedingly proper.” Ori went on as I waved a hand for him not to stop. I enjoyed hearing about the life of other families than my own.

“So, is he the one who raised you to be this…warmly clad and gentle?” I asked, turning to place the foodstuffs I had brought up and stored in the cool lake water on spits to roast over the fire.

“Warm? Oh yes…I was a sickly pebble and he’s been worried ever since. I hope I have behaved in a way that would not make him disappointed in me.” Again, he worried his lip.

“Let’s see, you’ve startled a bird and an unsuspecting dwarrowdam.” I listed with a wicked gleam in my eyes; his face fell, and he looked properly guilty.

“Then, you’ve kept me company, and the best company I’ve ever had, it has been, on my grandmother’s grave, I swear.” I went on and that treacherous blush was back with a vengeance.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He then said in a low voice. “Great beauty is always startling.”

“I am hardly Thorin Oakenshield.” He laughed. Readers, you cannot imagine that sound just by reading my words. If flowers blossoming had melody, if the sun setting on the eternal sea had a song, if autumn leaves dancing on a gale had a tune, they would have sounded like nails on scree, like cats having their tails trampled, and like kettles going unheeded compared to Ori’s laughter.

“There’s beauty in the doe as much as in the wolf.” I replied gently.

“May I…can I ask where you’re from? I don’t seek to be rude, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you; your hair looks like those fabrics the Elves weave. It…seems so soft, so liquid, so smooth.” He blushed a darker shade yet.

This might well have been the first time that someone had asked me about my origins without making it sound like an accusation; there was honest fascination in his demeanour.

“My family and I have come from the Far East. I have travelled a lot, Ori, I have seen landscapes entirely made up of rock and sand, I have walked forests so stiflingly hot and moist it felt like being underwater, and now, I am here in the land of tall trees and taller mountains.”

I said, surprised by my own frankness.

“That sounds amazing.” He took the food I offered readily enough, and I told him about the people I’ve left behind to be stranded at the other end of the world.

“This is good, is that a recipe of your homeland?” He asked, looking down on the piece of meat I had seasoned with herbs I had grown myself in our small backyard.

“It actually is. I’m glad you like it. I had not planned to have company, otherwise I’d have brought something more palatable to the local tongue.” I apologised quickly.

“No, I like it. You should definitely trade some recipes with Dori…and Bombur…oh, and if any of your delicious herbs are medicinal, Óin.” He laughed again when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

“I make a good honeycake, if I can interest you in that? Maybe…” He fell back into silence.

…

A look at the sky told me that it was too late to go down in the inky darkness.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night.” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the night with a dwarrow who had not lost a single word about a wife.

“Are you married, Mistress? Will that endanger your wedlock?” He asked shyly.

“No, I am not and I have no name to lose…It’s a long story.” I didn’t feel like blurting out my disgrace, lest it give him strange ideas after all, especially as he would easily have been able to overpower me if he so chose.

“Neither am I. I don’t know about my name…Doesn’t look like I’m going to be married either. There’s not enough dwarrowdams as it is, and I think the royal line has a prerogative there.” There was no resentment in his tone; he seemed to accept this as a fact.

How could someone that sweet not be married, I wondered. He was courteous, he was cute, and he would have made the fortune and happiness of someone.

“Well, in that case, I think we can risk our reputation rather than our necks.” I grinned, rolling out a blanket I kept tied to my pack for emergencies and stretched out next to the fire on the moss.

“Erm, yes…Good night…” He mumbled, fidgeting around with his different layers of clothing. Apparently, he was deciding which one he needed least on his body to use it as a bedroll or blanket.

I eyed the proceedings with interest and a good deal of amusement.

“I can offer you my cloak to lie upon…the ground will grow very cold and wet soon.” He said in a low voice, not sure if I had already fallen asleep or not.

“Alright, I can offer you a spot under the blanket then?” I extended my own graciousness.

“With you?” No, with the red bird, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.

“Yes, Ori the scribe, with me. I will not eat you, as you have witnessed, I have had dinner.” Not that he did not look good enough to devour, standing there with his cloak in his hands and his face all crunched up in embarrassment.

“Hmmm…I guess.” He muttered doubtfully, spreading out the cloak and sitting down on it carefully. Impatiently, I scooted over and spread my lousy blanket over the both of us with a flourish.

“Sleep!” I commanded as I turned around only to find him staring wide-eyed at the spot where the back of my head had been only a second ago. Now that he was presented with my face, only inches away from his, his eyes grew even rounder and bigger in wordless distress.

“Friend…Have you never lain with a woman? And I literally mean, lying next to one?” I laughed for there had been friends and cousins aplenty in my own life and the feeling of having another body so close to mine was not a new experience for me.

“Well, I fell down on the battlefield once, next to a foe…I’m pretty sure that was a Lady-Orc. She was dead. There was a…” He gestured, indicating a spear or a lance sticking out of his chest and brushing against my own with the back of his hand. Dear reader, he flinched back as if I was a tiny Durin��s bane wreathed in flames.

“A Lady-Orc, indeed…” I mused; no doubt, he could hear the smile I hid in my voice for his face crunched up in embarrassment.

“I am sorry.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and thinking – there was not a shadow of a doubt about that much – of his brothers who would have mocked him mercilessly for his stammering.

“There’s no need to be sorry” I tried to reassure him, but I admit now that there were things that I did not tell him right away then. We had only just met, and he was blessedly unaware of my shameful past.

How could I have made him understand – without hurting his feelings – how much I enjoyed that air of purity about him that I had squandered myself on an undeserving fiend? As a daughter amongst others, I had been used to dwarrows coming to court or to seduce, their eyes ablaze with greed and their hands wandering.

He would not have comprehended how much the absence of that voracious hunger that had plagued my youth and had ended up destroying my promising future meant to me.

“Sleep.” I repeated, unable to put into words how miraculous and precious the things he seemed to be most ashamed of were to me.

“Good night, Mistress.” He breathed with a soft smile that was nowhere near the wolfish baring of fangs I was used to and so, it was easy to return it.

You who may or may not have stumbled upon this ludicrous account of the most important story in an otherwise unimportant life, you shall hear another confession I did not make at the time.

I was fiercely aware that – had I but leant forward a little – I might have pressed my lips upon his; I was young still at that time and, despite what had happened, parts of me, that should have withered and died in the aftermath of my botched engagement, were much alive.

He smelled like our dinner and warmth, and the gentle reticence of the curve of his smile was more inviting than any flashing grin I had ever seen before.

Yes, in that very moment, on this very first evening, I had already been conscious of the shrewd attraction this self-effacing dwarrow held for me…and it scared me half to death.

…

Part 3

[hyunsracha]

4419 — seo changbin

word count: 1.7k

summary: you couldn’t help but notice the intimidating boy at your bus stop.

a/n: this is.....bad. but happy birthday changbin ! i love u king

You saw him every day. He sat on the same spot on the bench every day, earbuds shoved in his ears. The music he played was loud enough to hear, but not loud enough to understand. It sounded pretty intense, though.

Everything about him seemed pretty intense. His dark hair that brushed over his eyes. Nearly black eyes that stared at the pavement blankly. A tightly set mouth that looked like it would spit curses at you if you said the wrong thing. The boy was overall very intimidating, and as much as he intrigued you, you were too afraid to speak to him. 

So everyday you would watch him from your post next to the bench, one of your earbuds playing the newest TWICE album, trying desperately to rid yourself of your fear. You didn’t know why you wanted to talk to him so badly; to befriend him. He didn’t look lonely...but maybe you did. Maybe you thought he would be able to see right through your colorful socks and My Melody lunch box and see just how lonely you were. The puffiness surrounding your eyes from nights of crying over your nearly empty contact list.

And every day, you were snapped out of these thoughts by the sound of the bus pulling up to your spot. Bus 4419, the one the both of you took every day. You took it to school, obvious by the uniform you wore. The boy didn’t go to school, or at least you didn’t think he did. He didn’t wear a school uniform. He liked to wear black, you noticed. 

The boy always sat in the back of the bus, in the last row with the extra seats. And he always took the window seat. Maybe he liked to look out the window and pretend he was in a movie, you thought. You always took the window seat, too. You especially liked the window seat on rainy days, when you were able to watch the drops slide down the window. 

On one of those rainy days, you started thinking. Does the boy in the back of the bus ever think about you the way you think about him? Does he notice the cheerful tunes blasting from your earbuds? Does he notice that you only wear yellow socks on Mondays because Mondays are difficult and you appreciate the pop of sunshine covering your ankles? Part of you wished that he did. The part of you that was lonely, searching for someone that could understand you. And something told you that he would understand. 

You got your answer the very next week. You were sitting on the bench, back hunched as you scribbled down chemistry answers from a picture on your phone.

“Rough weekend?” You heard the voice, but you assumed it was a pair of friends seeing each other after the weekend, so you didn’t react until a black shoe reached out to gently kick at your white tennis shoes. You jolted, lifting your head so fast your earbud fell out. The boy was staring at you blankly, not bothering to repeat himself.

“Oh, m-me? What makes you think that?”

“Well,” he started, “you’re doing homework at the bus stop before you go to school. And your socks are green today.”

“What-” you looked down at your feet, a little gasp escaping your lips at the sight of neon green socks, “I was running late today...I guess I forgot to put my yellow socks on.” You looked up at him again, starting to blush at the realization that he knew. But you decided not to bring it up, instead you cleared your throat and began to speak, “Where does the 4419 take you? I assume you don’t go to school…”

He startled a bit, seemingly thrown off by your question, “I go to the JYP building. I’m a trainee there…” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding making eye contact with you.

“Oh! That’s really cool! Judging by the music you listen to, you’re a super hardcore rapper, right?”

“Y...You pay attention to the music I listen to?”

Without even thinking, you responded, “I pay attention to everything you do.”

And that was the start of your relationship with Changbin. You learned his name at the back of the bus that day, having followed him back there in the middle of your conversation about what being a trainee was like. He shared his earbuds with you, seemingly in an attempt to make you go deaf with how loud the music played. You would snatch his phone and play a song from your playlist in return, having to cover your mouth to stifle your laughter when he started doing the choreography to Cheer Up. You would let him sleep on your shoulder during rough mornings, when he had stayed up too late practicing and only slept for 2 hours. And he would help you study for tests, flipping over flashcards you had made the week before. 

Your friendship worked so well because you both noticed the little things. When you approached him at the bus stop, standing in front of him with your toes touching, he knew you got a good test score that you wanted to boast about. And when he waited for you impatiently, his eyes looking everywhere except for the pavement in front of him, you knew that he wanted to talk about his latest evaluation. It’s like the two of you didn’t even need words to communicate. 

Which is why you knew exactly when he started to develop feelings for you. You had already embraced the love for Changbin you held in your heart, and you would admit to it if he asked. But he never did. 

It was a simple thing, really. The two of you stepped onto the bus, quickly walking down the aisle. You were in front of him, and you went to take the second seat from the window like you always did. But that day, he shook his head, “You can take the window seat. It’s raining.” You stared up at him, noticing the difference in the way his eyes looked. Usually, when the two of you made eye contact, he would keep his steely gaze or smile broadly at you. But this time, his eyes were soft, like he was cooing over a video of a puppy greeting their owner after a long day. 

You shifted over one seat, not taking your eyes off of Changbin as he took the seat next to you. You inhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. At this point, it was obvious that he liked you, and you were sure he knew of your feelings. All that was left was...to make a move. And maybe letting you have the window seat was Changbin’s idea of a first move, but that wasn’t direct enough for you. You turned your head to gaze out the window, admiring the grey sky and the sea of umbrellas on the sidewalk below. Your hand raised from your lap to fall onto Changbin’s hand, lacing your fingers together without any signs of timidness. You heard the quiet, “Oh,” that he whispered before squeezing your hand.

Your relationship worked so well because you didn’t need words to speak to each other. There were no official dates and nobody asked the other to be their partner. It just came naturally to the two of you. You both understood what the other wanted, and gave it to them without asking questions. 

One rainy Thursday, you approached the bus stop, locking eyes with a pacing Changbin. Once he saw you, he rushed over, pulling you under the awning and handing you his phone. Looking down at the screen, you noticed it was open to the music app. A song called Hellevator was loaded up, and there was no cover art.

“What is this?”

“I’ve got a group now, (Name). That’s our song.” 

Your eyes widened as you looked from Changbin to the phone, then back to him. He had never said anything about a group. Sure, you’ve heard about all of his friends in the company, but he never said how close he was to debuting. You put in one of the earbuds, but didn’t press play.

“I never said anything before because I didn’t know if the project was going to fall through or not. But look, it’s real! It’s here! Listen to it.” 

So you did. Of course Changbin was good. You had listened to many a 3RACHA song during bus rides. But this was something else. It was more polished than anything 3RACHA had done before, and there were more people, more voices.

During the bridge, you made eye contact with Changbin again, and you could see just how badly he wanted you to like the song; there was a sort of desperation in his gaze. You couldn’t help but to nearly launch yourself at him, arms looping around his center as you squealed praises into his chest. You could feel in the way he held onto you that he was relieved; that your opinion was something he had worried about.

When you finally let go, you spoke again, “I can’t wait for you to be a hotshot K-pop star. Promise you’ll buy me tickets to all of your concerts?”

He chuckled, an arm around your shoulders, “I’ll make sure they’re front row seats, so I can always look down and see my pop of sunshine.”

Your relationship with Changbin somehow managed to work after his debut. You didn’t need to see each other all the time to stay happy. Whenever the two of you would meet up, you’d be able to see it in his eyes that he still loved you. That was good enough for you.

And you would show up to all of his concerts and fan meetings, a pop of yellow in a sea of fans. He would always see you; how could he miss you? The ray of sunshine in his life standing in the front row, waving a slogan around and staring up at him with adoring eyes. That was good enough for him.

[mogai-infirmary]

fizz/fizz’s/fizzself pronoun flag

with symbol // without

☁️ requested by ?_? anon

[the-spinning-jenny]

hiraeth

For @a-kind-of-merry-war who wished for whump and hurt/comfort, angsty with a happy ending, and creature!Jaskier. Hope you like it! @thewitchersecretsanta  

---

Jaskier is not knowledgeable about many mythical creatures, but he knows the following to be true.

Sirens search for humans to eat them. Mermaids search for humans to drown them. Selkies, though, selkies search for humans to find someone they can call home. They search for someone to give their coat to hold and cherish them. 

Jaskier knows these things for certain. After all, he is a selkie too. 

---

Jaskier knows Geralt of Rivia is a great and good man. He saves lives when no one appreciates it. He kills monsters even when people cannot afford to pay for it.

The two of them are sitting around a campfire some weeks still traveling together after the edge of the world events. 

“Despite what you may say, my witcher friend, you are a good man,” Jaskier says as he looks into the fire and plays some chords on his new lute.

He hears Geralt scoff. 

“Bard,” Geralt says. “We are not friends and you do not know me.”

“I know enough. I could know more,” Jaskier smiles. 

Geralt grunts. He throws more wood into the fire and the campsite is silent for some while except for Jaskier’s lute. “What happened with Filavandrel is me at my best, bard. Everything else will be worse. I don’t want you to know me better and neither will you want to,” Geralt says at last. 

Ah, but Jaskier knows in sea bones that he does want to. Jaskier sees the man across the campfire from him, he sees the good man for who he is, and he knows that he wants to make Geralt his home. 

He’s followed Geralt to the edge of the world and he will follow him anywhere, land or sea. 

---

Life onshore can be difficult, Jaskier had been warned by other selkies, but none of them know how hard life onshore with a witcher can be.

Witchers are feared and hated everywhere from what Jaskier can tell. They get underpaid, they get turned away at inns, and in general, people just aren’t very nice to them. It’s annoying, Jaskier decides. It’s definitely inconvenient for Geralt, and being the stubborn selkie Jaskier is, he decides that if he wants a happy home, then he must get others to treat his home better. And although he’s not sure if Geralt is ever really happy, it can’t hurt if Geralt can at least get a decent night’s rest in an inn room instead of on the dirt all the time. 

Jaskier unleashes as many songs about the White Wolf and witchers’ heroics as he can think of. They’re catchy and it takes years, but he knows they’re working. He’s accidentally even made himself a bit of a famous bard too while he’s at it. 

He gets better at helping secure inn rooms for Geralt. He even helps barter with aldermen and nobles who hire Geralt in order to make sure Geralt gets paid fairly. 

He’d think after all those years of devotion that Geralt would at least call him a friend. He thinks Geralt has to know that Jaskier cares. Maybe he doesn’t know the depth of how much Jaskier cares, but Geralt should know at least that Jaskier cares by now. Jaskier does not even ask for much; he knows he can’t compete with beautiful, powerful Yennefer and Jaskier just wants Geralt to be his home even if it’s as friends. He’d been ready to give his coat to Geralt after the whole djinn incident if he didn’t find Geralt with Yennefer afterwards. 

Jaskier has said time and time again that Geralt is his very best friend in the whole wide world. This time, they’re in the dragon hunt on the mountain and Jaskier sees that Geralt and Yennefer aren’t agreeing with each other again. He thinks, maybe, and he asks too if Geralt wants to go to the coast with him. Because Jaskier isn’t Yennefer, but he hopes that the coast could bring Geralt some peace and joy as much as it brings Jaskier. 

He hopes so much. 

---

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands," yells Geralt, rage seething from his face, voice raised and so very angry, mouth curled into a snarl and, well, Jaskier does go to the coast in the end. 

He just happens to go alone.

---

It’s been a few quiet months. Jaskier mostly goes from one little coastal town to another and finds taverns to perform in just fine. He makes good money, but it has been a while since he’s sung about the White Wolf. Jaskier is doing fine, he supposes. He’s sitting at the bar in a tavern one bleary, rainy afternoon when the front door slams open and a local fisherman runs in to sit beside him. He looks over to the tavern keeper across the bar.  

“Melitele, you would not believe what I saw on the beaches just now!” the fisherman exclaims to the tavern keeper. “I think there’s a stand off between some Nilfgaardians, a white haired fella, and a child. Passed by them while docking at the pier. You’d best warn everyone to keep clear of the beaches right now. It could get messy.” 

The tavern keeper grimaces. “Nilfgaard is always looking for trouble, those no gooders,” he remarks. 

Jaskier’s blood runs cold and he shakily asks, “Where was this?”

The fisherman scoffs, “Bard, this is no battle you want to witness for a song. Best look the other way for these sorts of things.”

Jaskier insists again, pries out directions, gets called a stupid fool, and runs towards the beach. 

---

When Jaskier gets to the stormy beach, he sees a distressed blonde girl, Geralt fighting with another soldier in the water, and what he presumes are a couple dead Nilfgaardian soldiers lying around on the sand between the girl and Geralt. 

The girl, which Jaskier assumes is Geralt’s child surprise, turns around at Jaskier’s fast approaching footsteps and he hopes that he looks every bit of the completely approachable bard lugging a lute and an inconspicuous bag with his selkie coat. She frantically says, “Please! Sir, I-I screamed a-and the soldiers chasing us are dead but my guardian and one of the soldiers got blown into the waters and please, you’ve got to get help!” 

The girl clutches at one of Jaskier’s arms pleadingly. Jaskier looks over to see Geralt, losing to the last soldier trying to drown him. He sees the soldier shove Geralt under the water and the girl gasps in horror. 

“We don’t have time to get help. Geralt needs help now,” Jaskier says and the girl’s eyes widened.

“Wait, how do you know Geralt-” 

Jaskier shakes the child surprise’s arm off him, drops his lute, and takes out his coat. He runs into the ocean, puts on his coat, and swims as fast as he can to Geralt. 

In the waters, Jaskier sees Geralt and the soldier battling it out, but Geralt is quickly losing. They turn to see Jaskier in selkie form approaching and the soldier desperately tries to swim away, but it’s too late. 

The soldier's neck doesn’t stand a chance against a selkie’s teeth. 

It’s relatively easy and fast for Jaskier to take a barely conscious Geralt to shore. Jaskier prays to the gods he had arrived in time. He doesn’t know how long Geralt has been in the water. Once he brings Geralt onto the sand, he sees Geralt coughing out water and making a move to sit up.

“What the fuck?” Geralt sputters out between coughs. 

“Geralt!” the child surprise exclaims in tears as she runs towards Geralt with Jaskier’s lute hanging on her back using the lute straps. She’s dragging one of Geralt’s swords with her behind her. 

She drops the sword besides him. “You’re okay,” she sobs into his arms. 

“Ciri, I’m alright. Why do you have Jaskier’s lute?” Geralt asks. 

The child surprise, Ciri, looks up and says, “Who’s Jaskier? I asked a man on the shore for help and he dropped this and he dove into the waters to help after he turned- he turned into…” 

Ciri trails off and looks at the selkie. Geralt does the same. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, looking at him. 

Jaskier takes off his coat and throws it to the side. He’s back in human form and holds his hands up. “Geralt, it’s me,” Jaskier says.

Geralt’s eyes grow big. He shoves Ciri behind him protectively and reaches for his sword. “What the fuck are you?” Geralt says as he raises his sword at Jaskier. 

There are a thousand ways Jaskier has imagined Geralt finally finding out that Jaskier is a selkie.There are a thousand ways Jaskier has imagined his reunion with Geralt since that cold, cold day on the mountain. A stormy day on the beach with dead soldiers lying around everywhere, one lone soldier’s body floating in the waters that Jaskier freshly murdered, and with Geralt’s silver sword pointed at him - this is not a scenario Jaskier had imagined for things to go down at all.

“I’m a selkie. I’ve always been a selkie,” Jaskier miserably replies. 

 “Are you playing some sort of sick selkie game with us now? Are you the real Jaskier?” Geralt accuses. The sword pointed at him does not lower. 

“Geralt, what?! No, it’s me!” Jaskier exclaims, but he sees the view around him. Dead men surrounding them, the rain pouring hard still on everyone, Geralt’s immense glower and Ciri’s confused face. 

Jaskier’s heart breaks even more and a sinking, terrible feeling forms in the pit of stomach. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say. 

So, Jaskier runs. He thinks he hears his name being shouted, but he knows Geralt’s too tired to chase him. 

Jaskier closes his watery eyes and runs faster.

---

Jaskier lies on his bed in his room at the inn. 

His clothes are drenched in sea water and rain, but he doesn’t care. He curls into a ball on his side and shivers. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying down but Jaskier thinks if he stays in bed, he finds breathing a little bit easier even if things are a mess right now. 

He knows it’s only a matter of time before Geralt finds him. There is no point in changing into new clothes. Jaskier curses himself and realizes he ran off without his coat and lute. His most prized possessions are left back at the beach. If there is an award for being the worst selkie ever, Jaskier is winning it. 

Someone knocks at his door. 

Jaskier breathes in shakily. “Door’s unlocked,” Jaskier says. “If you’re going to kill me, perhaps re-consider waiting until the rain’s let up and we could do this outside. Beheading stains very badly on bed sheets.”

Jaskier hears the door open wide and there’s light feet moving fast towards him. He opens his eyes and looks up to see Ciri standing beside the bed. She sticks out her arms holding his coat, which has carefully folded, and places the coat in front Jaskier. 

“Thank you for saving Geralt,” she says. Her face has stubborn determination. 

“You’re not scary to me. I won’t let Geralt kill you,” she continues. 

Jaskier weakly smiles. “Good to know,” he says. He looks behind her. 

“Where is your guardian, anyways?” Jaskier begins to ask, but he sees Geralt run in the hallway outside his room and then notices the two of them. 

Geralt steps into the room with Jaskier’s lute in one of his hands. “Ciri, go to our room. I’ve...things to discuss with Jaskier,” he says hesitantly.

Ciri nods and whispers to Jaskier, “It’s okay. I think I knocked some sense into him and you’re okay, I promise,” she says before leaving the room.

Once the door shuts behind her, Jaskier sighs. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He shakily says, “I can leave once the rain lets up, Geralt. We- you- we don’t have to talk about this.”

Jaskier looks down at his coat. “This monster’s going to take himself off your hands as soon as he can, alright?” Jaskier says quietly. 

He hears Geralt walk over to him and sees the lute being set down on the floor beside him. 

He looks up to see Geralt kneel in front of him. One of Geralt’s hands slowly reaches for Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier tries not to flinch away, but something on Jaskier’s face still gives it away because Geralt grimaces.

“You’re really a selkie, then,” Geralt says at last. 

“Surprise?” Jaskier says weakly. 

There’s a moment of silence. Then, Geralt starts again, “Witchers don’t normally deal with selkies. To my knowledge, they’re usually harmless and their only interaction with humans is if they have lovers to-”

“Give their coats to,” Jaskier finishes. 

Geralt nods. “Have you? In all our travels, I never saw you do that,” he says. 

Jaskier’s eyes start to sting and he gives a strained smile. “Ah, I’ve awful timing, it would seem. And there was never a good time to give it to you,” Jaskier replies. 

Geralt looks shocked. The moment the words leave Jaskier, he feels freer. What a terrifying and freeing thing to lay it all out, he thinks. 

“It’s alright,” Jaskier continues. “I tried, you know? But it would appear all I’ve ever done is make things worse and I wasn’t going to fight against Yennefer. I know, alright, there is no competition there-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries to interrupt, but Jaskier keeps on talking.

“No, it’s okay, Geralt,” Jaskier says even though he’s trying to keep back tears unsuccessfully. “You don’t like all the songs I’ve sung. I talk too much, I’m in the way, and all I’ve done is make things worse for you. You’re right, I’m just shoveling shit and I’m sorry, Geralt. I’m so, so sorry. I’m not a very good selkie-”

Geralt pulls Jaskier into a hug and Jaskier freezes. 

“Forgive me, bard,” Geralt says.

Geralt pulls back from the hug to look at Jaskier. His hands still hold Jaskier’s sides. 

“You’re- you’re a good selkie,” Geralt tries to say and Jaskier sobs. It’s all he’s ever wanted to hear and Jaskier can hardly believe it.

“Jaskier!” Geralt says with alarm, but Jaskier shakes his head. 

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that,” Jaskier says and Geralt has never looked more sorrowful. 

“I should not have yelled at you on that day on top of the mountain. My anger with Yennefer, it should not have been aimed at you,” Geralt says and then continues, “Forgive me, bard. You were my only friend who was good to me for all these years, and I should have said that I want you in my life, not out of it.” 

Geralt looks over to the folded coat, lets go of Jaskier, and picks up the coat. “Here,” he says. “Ciri and I - we wanted to give this back to you. I know selkie coats are important. Take your coat. Forgive me, and if you wish, come with me and Ciri to Kaer Morhen. I won’t take you for granted again.”

“You mean that?” he asks.

Geralt nods. “You’ve always been good to me, bard, and I’d like to do the same.”

Jaskier weighs his options. “And if I want more?” he says. “If I wanted to give you my coat, would you hold onto it?”

Geralt’s expression softens, but Jaskier panics. 

“Nevermind,” Jaskier frets and looks down. “It- I shouldn’t have asked. It’s a lot and I don’t know where you stand on this, but Geralt, you have to know what it means when I said before I wanted to give you my coat, I -” 

“Jaskier, look at me.”

Jaskier does so and Geralt’s soft look is still there. 

“There has not been a day that has gone by since that day on the mountain where I have not missed you,” Geralt says. He holds Jaskier’s coat carefully and nods. 

“I accept your coat. If you wish for more than friendship, I will gladly give you more,” Geralt says.

Jaskier smiles so wide. He’s so happy he doesn’t think twice before he surges forward to kiss Geralt. It’s brief bliss and then Jaskier jerks back when he realizes what he’s done. 

“I, um,perhaps a bit premature of me,” Jaskier stutters. 

Geralt hums with amusement. Then, he leans in and asks again, “Jaskier, come home with me to Kaer Morhen?”

---

Jaskier nods and whispers a yes. When Geralt closes the gap between them and kisses him, Jaskier has never felt more at home than he does right now and he is of the firm belief that it could only get better at Kaer Morhen.

[the-last-cuddlebender]

I’m Here

The airbenders had a secret, beautiful-sounding, wordless-word language, and Aang is a lonely lil bird after he becomes the last airbender. ...so the Gaang improvises. 

**********************************************

A/N: A lil Gaang-love hurt/comfort/FLUFF one-shot because Aang needs a hug, and the Gaang will start taking people out at the knees to give him one. 

Rating: G (H for hugs)

Words: 3,491

ArchiveOfOurOwn

**********************************************

When Aang was a boy in the Southern Air Temple, he talked with his friends in whistle-speak all the time. 

They sang challenges over gales when they surfed around with their gliders, they stitched banter out of wind when they raced their bison, and they bled joyful congratulations and soft comforts into the air when words failed—when babies were born or when elders died.

He and his friends often used it to sneak around the temple. They channeled winds so high-pitched that the elders, sleeping or not, couldn’t hear them. Two tunes were a gusted high-five, and eight lifts and two pauses were a jest and a smack on the back. It was even their calling card on hot days when they were too lazy to move from their sunning spots or their bison’s backs to find each other to play. The passing breeze carried their conversations and their laughs, and it curled warmly around them with memories of good times. 

But, sometimes, when he was without a partner in the woods, Aang whistled a whirlwind that echoed across the canyon.

/I’m here./

And then he waited. And someone, somewhere, would always call back. Sometimes it was to chastise him for wandering too far, and sometimes it was to make fun of him for being so scared. He didn’t care, though. Their winds wound around him and comforted him all the same.

He hated silence. Mostly because he was so used to hearing his friends and Gyatso speaking or whistle-speaking all the time that, when it was quiet, it felt like he was alone in the world. Like something was missing.

Like he had been forgotten.

He wasn’t the only one, though. All airbenders didn't like to be alone, to an extent. Nomads migrated together. 

...But then the storm happened. And the Fire Nation. And now he was fighting a war he was a hundred years late for.

But even now he finds himself doing it on instinct. Sometimes it’s when they’re lounging as they set up camp, and other times it’s when he goes off on his own to collect kindling. Usually, it’s when he lounges on Appa’s head with his eyes on the sky, and the wordless words burning at the back of his mind spill out in braided winds.

His friends don’t notice the pain pinching his face whenever he catches himself doing it. And they couldn’t possibly feel his heart cringing—frozen—before convincing itself to keep beating. His family adores his whistle-speak, though he doesn’t tell them what it really is. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Whistle-speak was never about talking.

They say it sounds beautiful, like the wind itself was singing. They ask him on occasion—many, many occasions—to do it, just because it was pretty. 

It gets harder to hide how sad it makes him. But he would have preferred the sad feeling to what came when sadness became easy to bear.

He starts to feel nothing for the wind that carries his words without words. 

Just thinking about it made his eyes sting.

Aang loves his friends, his new family. He loves the smiles his whistle-speak puts on their faces—even Zuko’s face, once he joins them. He loves the relaxed atmosphere brought on like a spell as the winds wind around them, too.  

But he hates the pit each lyric digs deeper into his chest. The emptiness consumes him in pieces, and it only grows deeper with each note he sings. Because although he loves what they sow on his new family, his heart always bleeds into his winds those questions that never get answers—and that never will.

/I’m here. Where are you? I’m here. Are you there? I’m right here./

Aang doesn’t stop doing it, even though the silence yawns wider and wider every time. He does it without thinking when he’s alone, on instinct when it feels like his back is facing the void. 

/I’m here./

His shoulders curl to his ears, and he waits for minutes at a time. It’s only when he starts worrying why faces from a lifetime ago aren’t answering him that he remembers. He grips his staff tighter and shuffles away. He kicks the dead leaves even though their crunching screech raked across his ears. Even they are better than silence. He whistles softly between each step.

Sometimes he whistles things that Gyatso often did. Whistle-speak wasn’t as individual as a person’s voice, and if he bent the air just right, he could almost pretend it was his old master’s. He did it just to hear it. Just a familiar security. 

/Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you, Soft. I thought I might find you here. Are you alright?/

He keeps doing it even after it loses its ability to make him cry.

The Gaang eventually catches on, but not until after the war. Not until after Appa starts calling for other bison and looking sad, one day leaving them for several weeks and coming home with two other bison. His family had all guessed what Appa’s calls were for, so they weren’t surprised when he came home with friends. 

But Aang had always felt not as alone since Appa was alone with him. And after his buddy comes home with other bison and he hears them ‘talking’ softly to one another late at night when all else is quiet and he is alone in his bed, Aang finds himself whistling a broken tune. Even Momo finds more of his own after searching hard enough.

Now, he was truly alone. And the silence is deafening.

That’s when his new family notices something isn’t right. It gets eerily quiet, and they can’t find him one day. They split and search for him. 

It’s Sokka who finds him. 

He finds Aang sitting on a branch high up in a large, ancient tree. The young Avatar is hugging one of his knees while the other leg dangles, and he is whistling. The whistle is soft and soothing on Sokka’s ears even though the sound somehow carries for miles. 

After a few seconds of whistle-music, Aang stops, waiting expectantly. He swings his dangling leg to tic off the seconds.

Sokka waits to see what the airbender paused for. After a near minute, a bird somewhere deeper in the forest chirps and tweets, not holding a candle to the melodic sounds Aang can make, and after a few seconds, it stops, waiting.

And then Aang whistles again. And then he waits. 

And then the bird sings again. And then it waits.

The back and forth goes on for a while, and Sokka thinks Aang’s gone crazy. 

But then, when next the bird sings and Aang prepares to answer, another bird cuts him off. 

Aang flinches like the newcomer had smacked him in the face. Sokka winces along with him, and Aang hugs his leg a little tighter, hiding the lower half of his face behind his knee. His shoulders curl to his ears. His leg stops swinging. 

The two birds call to each other, singing together, without him. They harmonize like it was the most natural thing in the world, knowing the lyric and rhyme of their shared song so well that they don’t need to take pauses in their duet. They fly further and further away, taking their songs with them, now that they’ve found each other. 

Their chirps fade and die somewhere beyond the mountain, though their last notes echo like footprints left in their wake.

And then it’s quiet. It’s quiet for a while. It’s almost creepily quiet without the birds or Aang making any music. Sokka could’ve sworn he heard his heart beating. Even the wind died, and the trees were all still.

And then, like a beaten animal approaching its master, Aang whistles again, just a few notes. Hardly a song. More like a call. A plea.

His whistle carries loud and far, but just like the birds, it disappears into the mountains.

And then he waits. 

And he waits. 

And he waits.

He waits so long that Sokka starts to shift and sweat. Gravity itself was growing heavier in the quiet.

Aang waits some more.

Sokka’s lungs suddenly feel three sizes too small, and his heart falls somewhere by his stomach. That moment is when he realizes that Aang’s whistles are more than just the melodies of pretty songs. They’re the lyrics as well. 

He knows this because, when next Aang whistles, the sound is wet and choppy as his shoulders shake and he hugs both of his knees to his chest. His lyrics are so raw and broken and desperate that it makes Sokka’s chest cave-in like they were strikes from a metal pole to his sternum. Aang’s whistle was a universal sound, as unmistakable as a smile was for happiness or tears for sadness—a wolf’s howl after being separated from its pack.

/I’m here./

Sokka doesn’t know how Aang wants to mourn since he went out of his way to be alone, so he leaves him to get back to the others. 

And as he leaves, more whistles and long pauses follow behind him, like the mournful wails from the creatures in the sad stories told by tribesmen who’ve been at sea for too long. 

...The group discusses this finding, and Zuko, who studied air nomads in his quest to capture the Avatar, pieces everything together. They are all heartbroken and think back on every time Aang had whistled and how much they liked the sound and how they even sometimes asked him to do it. They all feel horrible. 

But Katara has a plan, and Sokka has the brainpower to make it work. 

So over the next few weeks, Katara and Toph follow close behind Aang whenever he wanders off. They study his songs, and Toph, having the best ears of all of them, can pinpoint almost every note that he makes. When they rejoin the others, Katara makes little ice vases and bends water atop them to emulate the whistles, and Toph is the gauge by which the pitch is corrected. They do this as well as they can for as many notes as they can (also trying to write down Aang’s songs like sheet music, but it is very difficult). 

Once they have enough data, Sokka spends several weeks, as often as he can with Zuko’s assistance whenever the Firelord has time, whittling the sizes, diameters, and depths of the correct notes into a type of ocarina. He makes one for each of them. Every ocarina is about the size of their palm and is given a little personalized flair that Sokka is quite proud of. 

They spend weeks and weeks practicing Aang’s songs. They dodge him and collaborate their schedules like they were planning to invade the Fire Nation while undercover all over again.

And then, one day, they master a few of his songs. They’re not nearly as flowing or clear or beautiful as Aang’s whistle-speak (Zuko said that’s what it was called)—and the sounds don’t carry nearly as far—but they were as good as they could get. It was, after all, impossible to capture the songs of the wind unless you were born of them.

...And not too long after comes the day to surprise him. 

Aang is up in his tree again, singing and waiting, when, from out of nowhere, there comes a response. 

He damn near breaks his face as he falls from his branch to the ground. He slips on the dead leaves and falls three more times as he scrambles to stand. 

Aang’s pulse pounds so loud in his ears that each thump feels like an earthbender somewhere is lifting and dropping a mountain. He has no idea what the whistle-speak said, so he asks, on impulse, one of the same questions he had been singing since he woke up in the South Pole. 

/Are you here?/ 

And he gets four responses.

/I miss you./ 

/I’m here./ 

/Where are you?/ 

/I’m here./ 

And Aang’s heart throws itself so hard and so fast against the cage of his chest that it felt like it might burst out of his torso. 

He chases their sounds, whistle-speaking like he was talking a million miles an hour—

He skids to a stop when he sees them. 

He stares, and they stare back. 

He is still high on adrenaline and frozen in place when he notices the small blanket they were sitting on. And the tea and small fire pit. And the few bits of burning incense—incense that he hadn’t smelled since a lifetime ago.

His confusion is nearing critical mass, but then Katara plays her ocarina. 

And Aang freezes, his breath leaving him like he had just been thrust under icy water.

There’s an awkward pause as he doesn’t respond, but then Sokka plays the same notes that Katara had.

And then Toph.

And then Zuko.

And each lyric plucks Aang’s heart in his chest.

/I’m here./ they all say.

Aang only makes it three steps towards them, his shaking legs not letting him run over and hug them before his first sob breaks him into a kneel. The next brings him to his knees, and he is surrounded by warmth and kind voices just as he learns to breathe again.

And he weeps.

He weeps so hard that even the presence of his past lives at the edge of his mind is somber and sad.

But his family holds him closer, holds him tighter, and they each tell him that he is theirs and that they will never let him go. They won’t let him drown in the silence anymore.

They eventually break apart, and Zuko places something in his hand as Aang chases away the last of his tears. It’s an ocarina. The wood is smooth and the whittling is sloppy, but the focus put into each cut is clear and shakily sanded as carefully as one could. 

It has a messy, squiggled air nomad crest carved onto its front, and on the underside, protected under a thick coating of lacquer, are the names of his family in four sets of handwriting that he recognized. And there’s a message, right beneath, in Sokka’s nearly illegible but very carefully carved font. 

/We’re here./

Aang vaults himself into his big brother’s arms. 

Sokka pats his back and tries to hide from the others how tightly he returns his hug.

There’s tea and more talk, and Toph asks Aang to teach them the ‘whistle-speak’ like she was asking him to share the code to unlock some large safe. Aang just smiles and asks them to teach him since he didn’t know how to work this thing.

He doesn’t need to learn, but he wants to. He wants to learn and have them share as much with him as he with them. He wants them to learn together in that moment.

And so, Aang teaches his family the language of the wind, the whistle-speak of his people.

The silence becomes a passing thought like a fading bad dream. 

And when next Aang is by himself and feels that inky blackness winding around him like chains and sinking into his racing heart like claws, he swallows dryly, scared like he was about to jump from a cliff without his glider, and he whistles.

His lyrics are weak and timid in the night air, but they carry far because they came from an airbender’s lungs. 

/I’m here./

There’s a long beat of silence, but then, in the distance, there comes an answer. It’s incredibly high and scratchy because whoever was making it was blowing their lungs out trying to make the sound travel as far as possible, but it was a response, nonetheless. 

Then there is another, a little further to the left. And then another. And then another, close by. 

/Oh, there you are./ 

/I’m here./ 

/Where are you?/ 

/Looking for you./

Something blossoms in his chest. It’s warm like he’s never felt before. It makes him feel all fuzzy inside. 

Aang whistles again.

/I love you./

He gets four immediate responses—one now much closer than before.

And there are no pauses in their group duet. 

/I love you./ 

/Are okay?/ 

/You okay, Soft./ 

/Find you here./

He is laughing and crying when Katara—the closest whistle—appears at his side, looking concerned. She doesn’t get more than three doting questions in before Aang is hugging her and drowning his jumbles of tearful laughs into her dress. 

The others whistle more—high, fluttering sounds concerned with the lack of Aang’s response. Katara one-handed whistles back a choppy response. 

/I’m here. Soft okay./ 

She hugs him tighter and rubs his back. Aang melts into her until even his legs give. Katara kneels with him on the ground, and she pulls him deeper into the protective circle of her arms, guiding his head to her shoulder and rocking them as she fills his ears with gentle words and soft coos. He is laughing and crying so hard that he can’t speak, and his grip becomes desperate like he thought she would be ripped away from him.

Katara holds him closer. She fists handfuls of his robes like she was silently promising to never let him go. She kisses the dip of his neck and shoulder, and, for the first time, whistles without her ocarina.

/I’m here./

Aang cries harder and for a while before he stops, not because he wanted to or because he had emptied all that he was feeling but because his body had nothing left to give. But by that time, his family had whistled demanding their location, and Katara had vaguely answered one-handedly. Everyone is there as he chokes down his final sobs. He just smiles, now, utterly exhausted. 

They sit on their knees and hug him until their legs tingle numbly. Aang is too exhausted to walk when they get up, so Zuko crouches and makes a ‘come on’ motion with his hands behind his back. 

/I’m here, Soft./

Aang’s smile is tired but blinding as he crawls onto his Sifu Hotman’s back and latches on like a koalapanda. He doesn’t have the strength to form words. When he tries, it’s a gargled hum. 

He whistles. 

/You’re here./

Zuko laughs and pats his leg.

And Aang gets four responses. 

/I love you./ they all say.

Aang closes his eyes and hangs his arms over Zuko’s chest. Katara and Toph hold his fingers in a gentle grip to remind him that they were there. Sokka walks behind him with his hands on Aang’s shoulders—patting and rubbing his back intermittently—, and when Aang teeters dangerously on unconsciousness, Sokka is half-keeping him pushed up on Zuko’s back. 

And on the way back to camp, his family practices a little whistle-speak conversation without their ocarinas. Aang didn’t know they had been practicing such a skill, and he doesn’t question the choppiness in their winds (the sounds are almost scratchy because they were blowing and not bending the air, but he could not give any less of a damn. They curled around him just the same).

Aang gently, tiredly, chimes into their conversation, forcing himself awake, even though he couldn’t even force his eyes open, so he doesn’t miss a single lyric. 

...They keep the whistle-speak their little secret for the longest time—years and years—, but when their kids all learn it with their own ocarinas, their offspring exploit it as much as they can. 

And their collective parents are driven crazy by the antics they accomplish with it. 

Except for Aang.

The once boy now man lets them get away with anything short of a felony. He even plays dumb when Katara demands that he at least try to stop Bumi the next time the toddler tries to raise hell with his sister and little Lin. 

Aang nods his head but crosses his fingers, and he couldn’t care less about that little guilt as he sits on the roof and listens to the whistle-speak of their little ones’ conspiring. Their plotting reminds him so much of him and his friends when he was a boy—the time gray and faded in his mind like a past life—that it nearly pains him from how happy it makes him. 

And then, one night, little Tenzin is awake. And he is alone. 

/I’m here./

His shaky whistle is wet and high-pitched like a choked whimper. 

/I’m here. I’m here./

And Aang is at his side in an instant. He hushes and coos him, easing away his little tears and rocking him in the protective circle of his arms. Small hands curl chubby fingers into his robes like his son thought his father would be ripped away from him. 

Aang smiles and soothes him to the tune of a whistled lullaby, gentle winds curling around them.

/I’m here./

**********************************************

I think imma make a part II because everyone ALWAYS needs more hugs

Bonus Point about whistle-speak

PREVIEW OF PART II: “Are You There?”

PART II: Are You There?

[cloudenthusiast2]

You meet a HQ volleyball team on your vacation #1

Length: 1500 words

Genre: a little fluff & slice of life

#1: Karasuno (beach)

You look up to the deep-blue sky, shadowing your eyes while searching for a cloud, but no matter how hard you tried, you can’t find any. No wonder why, it is the hottest day you’ve seen that summer. The air is heavy from the heat and your throat feels really dry even though you’ve drank from your bottle just a couple of seconds ago.

The beach is crowded as usual which makes you feel a little lonely. You try and not think about that as force your way through the people, fixing your eyes on the sea.

The aquamarine water in front of you seems so fresh, so inviting. You just can’t wait to get into it. You just can’t wait to sink into the infinite water and forget all about your worries and struggles, and actually enjoy your summer break.

You quickly throw your towel to an empty spot on the ground covered in sand, then stripped out of your clothes. Apply some sunscreen in a hurry, put your hair up in a ponytail then you start rushing towards the water.

As you get closer, it keeps getting bigger and now it’s the only thing you see. You instantly forget about everything, your grades that didn’t end up being good enough, your friends who didn’t even care to accompany you to the beach, your parents who have to work all day leaving you all alone at home…

And you’re ready to take the last step to jump into the water…

And your senses are blinded by the beautiful, luring water, so much that you don’t hear the alarming yell.

You only feel something, an unknown power harshly hitting your head. Then you lose your balance and everything goes black.

The first thing that reaches you in the blank darkness are the many different voices.

You’re hovering in the infinite black for a few seconds until their meaning finally gets to you. And suddenly, everything comes back.

You’re conscious now but – despite that your body immediately wants to move – you stay still, and continue to listen to those sounds.

– Bakageyama! Your toss was too low, I told you to bring it higher! – An excited voice claims loudly. – Now look at what you’ve done!

– It was your fault! – Retorts someone. – You can’t even handle my easiest tosses, idiot!

– Someone strangle these imbeciles – joins the dialogue a low voice who doesn’t sound like excited at all, almost like its owner was bored to death.

– Hinata! Kageyama! Calm down! – orders someone, while other sound like they’re holding back their laughter in the background.

– Is she gonna be okay, Suga? – asks someone in a worried, or rather scared tone.

– Stop shaking, Asahi, she’s fine. – The voice comes from directly above you, so suddenly that your heart skips a beat.

You open your eyes slightly so you can catch a glimpse of the guys around you.

The last words came from the boy kneeling next to you. He has silver hair and eyes – you state as you examine him through your eyelashes.

– Are you sure? Shouldn’t we take her to the infirmary?

– She’s gonna wake up in a minute, I’m sure – replies the silver-haired boy, Suga, then he turns at you.

You’re caught. It’s too late to close your eyes, so you just open them wide and look up to him. His whole face brightens up as he smiles at you.

– Good morning! Are you alright?

The whole group goes silent and everyone looks at you. You avert your eyes in fluster, then slowly nod. Although the back of your head does feel a little heavy where you got hit, it was bearable.

– Ah, good – sighs Suga but the tall, bearded man next to him looks even more relieved. – You scared us a little with your faint. Hinata, you should apologise for hitting her so badly!

– I’m really sorry! – An orange-headed little guy jumps in front of you and although he was arguing with his friend a few moments ago, he seems regretful now. – It was the low set, my hand slipped, I wasn’t aiming at you, I promise!

– I’m glad – you mutter, touching the back of your head. You feel really embarrassed as so many people are looking at you, but when you take a better look at them, they actually seem like nice people.

– I apologise too – says an older looking guy with a warm smile. He places his hands on Hinata’s and a grumpy looking, black-haired boy’s shoulders. – My kids can be quite feral.

– You’re not their dad… are you? – You instantly regret asking this stupid question from a guy who’s clearly in his late high-school years but luckily he just starts laughing along with some other boys.

– Daichi-san! He really is kinda our dad at this point! – yells a very short boy with his hands on his hips.

– Dadchi-san! – adds the guy wearing no shirt next to him.

– Well, I’m the captain of the team – explains Daichi kindly. – So you could say I’m some sort of leader figure.

– Team? What team? – you ask.

– Volleyball! – shouts Hinata. This one word is enough to make him so excited that he grabs your hand and makes you stand up. He points at the other side of the beach. – We play there, in groups of four! Kageyama and Suga-san are the setters and I’m the ace of our team…

– She’s probably not interested in this – interrupts a blonde guy whose voice you remember. When your eyes were closed, he sounded salty but actually seeing him up-close makes him look at least three times saltier. A tall, green-haired boy stands next to him, nodding to his words with a sweet smile. – Just let her go back to her group already.

– Ah, you’re right, Tsukishima! – agrees Suga to his words. – So? Where’s your group? We can walk you back.

– I- I came alone.

You hate to say that out loud. Now everyone will pity you and make your loneliness a hundred times worse.

You lower your head… Only to look up again when the orange boy next to you excitedly yells.

– Oh! Then she can join us!

You stare at him in disbelief but you’re the only one who’s surprised by his words.

– Good idea, Shoyo! – shouts the other short boy, then he points at himself. – My name is Nishinoya, the libero! Great to have you in the group!

– I don’t… I don’t want to be inconvenient… – you start stuttering.

– You’re not – smiles Suga –, it’s the least we can do for you after our children attacked you.

– But I’m really…

– Come on, we need one more player anyway since someone has to be the referee.

You try to refuse again but it’s actually harder this time. The idea of playing with them seems actually nicer and nicer with every passing moment. Volleyball was always much fun and the boys seem like a good company.

– I can teach you my Rolling Thunder if you play with us – says Nishinoya but the others instantly boo him.

– That won’t make her come!

– You know your thunder is just a regular receive, right, Noya-san? – asks Tsukishima with a contemptuous smirk.

– Don’t be cocky with your elders!

You can’t help but smile at them, then finally give with a nod. Tsukishima and Noya keep on arguing but the others ignore them and ask questions about you as they lead you to the volleyball net.

Hinata explains to you how playing in the sand is so different, Suga and Daichi ask how you do in school, even the bearded man, Asahi and the shy Yamaguchi tries to get to know you.

You soon begin to play beach volleyball and it has the same effect on you as the water. You really do forget about everything and have fun with the dorky boys who are really funny and amusing, even without realizing it.

Noya really tries the so called Rolling Thunder, but only half-succeeds since he fells into a sandcastle a little kid is building. They calm him down by giving him Kageyama’s milk which the setter is not particularly happy about. Yamaguchi tries a floating serve and starts happily blushing when he succeeds, immidiately turning to Tsukishima, who nods with a hidden smile. Suga teases Asahi so much, Daichi has to cut in. When Tanaka scores, he can’t rip off his shirt since he’s already shirtless, so as a compensation, he shouts so loudly that a kid nearby starts crying. It turns out it was the same child who’s castle was ruined, but the milk isn’t enough this time, so Hinata – who’s the best with children – and you have to play with him a little in the sand. Later you go back and with the help of the aspiring ace, you score a point and everyone cheers for you.

You only realise how much time you’ve spent with them when the sun starts setting down. You only realise how much you’ve enjoyed yourself with them. And how don’t feel alone on your vacation any more.

[randomwriteronline]

"What's in here?"

Legend turns as fast as lightning and grabs the box from Skull Kid's hands before he even realizes what it is.

The little wooden arms audibly pop out of the small chest.

He quietly puts them back inside their sleeves.

"Let go of it." he orders.

The imp tilts their head: "What's in it?" they repeat, ignoring his words.

"None of your business."

"But I want to know."

He huffs: "My rings."

"The ones for the fingers?"

"Yes, the ones for the fingers."

"Can I see them?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Some of them are cursed and I wouldn't trust you with them."

"Oh." they freeze. Their mouth disappears - the lack of lips makes it melt back into their head perfectly.

They do not speak further.

Their hands still clutch the box.

"Let go of it." Legend orders again.

"It's a nice box." they murmur.

"Yes, it is. Now let go of it."

They hum.

"Do the rings possess people?" they whisper.

They seem very serious.

"No," Legend answers, "They're just your run-of-the-mill curses. Sucking your energy, weakening your body, all that."

"And they curse by touch?"

"No, no, only if you wear them."

"Oh!" they seem relieved.

"Now let go."

"Can I see them?"

Legend sighs deeply, rubbing at his eyelids.

"Fine." he conceds. "But don't touch them."

A beat of silence.

"So I can't see them?"

He gives them a look before remembering. Right. They're blind. Can't see. Right. Right.

He raises his index finger to press it to their completely flat nose: "I'll give you the not cursed ones," he states, "And you will give them back to me immediately. Deal?"

A grey wooden finger boops his own nose: "Deal!" Skull Kid grins with their sharp teeth.

The box opens with a click.

Legend rummages through the overflowing jewelry and hands them a small ring.

The imp examines it, curious: "There's a stone on it," they point out.

"Many of them have a gem," the hero replies.

"What stone is it?"

"Uh-" he snaps his fingers twice as he tries to remember: "Hydromelon tourmaline, I think this kind is called."

"Why's it called hydromelon tamaline?"

"Tourmaline - see, you know how a hydromelon looks like, right? Green outside, a bit red on the inside... This part here -" he moves their small digit to rub against part of the stone, "- This part is green, and the rest instead is this kind of reddish pink, like a hydromelon. That's why it's called like that."

"Oh... And the ta- t- tor-ma-lin part?"

"Tourmaline. That's just the kind of rock."

Skull Kid hands it back to him. He looks at them quizzically: "You don't wanna know what it does?"

"No," they answer simply, like a child, "I just want to see them. Are there any others with stones with two colors?"

Legend searches in the box and grabs a few.

"This one here -" he explains as he puts the first in their palm, "-This has an ametrine quartz. It's a mix of citrine quartz and amethyst - this part here is yellow, like the citrine, and this one is purple."

"Like the amethyst?"

"Exactly, like the amethyst. While this other one, this stone is called snowflake obsidian, and it has little white and grey dots all over."

"I think I know this one! It's black under the spots, right? It's black under it."

"Yep, yep. And this one - no wait, that's one of the cursed ones, hold on-"

Wind, Four and Hyrule return to camp first to find Legend so absolutely engrossed in the explanation of the different kinds of gems that he has not noticed how Skull Kid (who still diligently looks at every ring they are given and asks questions about them) has had their head turned towards the three man party for a while now, having sniffed them out rather easily. He is finally taken out of it when the imp waves blindly in the vague direction of the returning heroes.

"You said I couldn't even touch them!" Wind cries out, betrayed.

"They are just looking at them!" Legend replies immediately, "And they're looking at all the not cursed ones specifically!"

“That’s just blatant favoritism!”

“No it’s not!”

"They have pretty stones on top of them," Skull Kid chimes in, blissfully serene. Before the veteran hero can stop them their hand dives in the box and fishes out the first ring which was handed to them, holding it out for the young sailor to see: "Gold said this one's called hydromelon tor-ma-lin, because it's green and pink. It's nice, isn't it?"

"How did you even find it in that sea of rings?" Four asks, genuinely impressed, while Legend tries to takes the jewel back from the little wooden fingers.

"The shape and the stone are different," they explain, and to prove a point they fish out the snowflake obsidian as well, rubbing a thumb on the much smoother gem: "See? They're different! That's how I find them."

The veteran finally snatches the magical jewels: "Hey, hey! Put those back! We had a deal, the two of us."

The wooden child snickers. Four giggles a bit as well, inconspicuously going to sit next to Legend; Wind lets himself plomp down next to Skull Kid, neck stretching to better look at the rings, while Hyrule simply looks patiently at the seasoned hero as if waiting for an invitation that will have to inevitably come, because they're all terribly curious and no amount of fussing and grumbling will save Legend from the prying eyes dying to get even a glimpse of his vast collection of items this time.

Warriors returns to camp with Sky and Wild in tow, and they wave back at the little wooden hand that smelled them way before anybody could hear them. The strangeness of being presented with such a passionate gathering around a box of small jewelry does not fail to strike them - and it strikes Time and Twilight too, when they arrive soon after.

The Chosen Hero eyes curiously the clamoring group: "What are you doing?"

"None of your business!" Legend replies a bit too rudely while swatting away at Wind's hands as they reach for a cursed ring.

Hyrule smiles at them, sweetening the stress in the veteran's voice: "The little one managed to get him to share his rings!" he explains, pointing at the Skull Kid already on their feet and running to their dear friend, offering him an aventurine ring.

Warriors whistles, clearly interested.

"Forget it!" the veteran yells at him immediately, "I am not explaining all of this all over again!"

He jolts at the others, feverishly getting back all of his rings and slamming them in the box held possessively under his arm - he looks like a selfish bear stubbornly refusing to share a large bee-free beehive.

The last missing jewel he is unable to rip from the imp's little clutches.

Instead he accidentally rips their arm. Again.

The Chain freezes at the sight of the lone limb in Legend's grip.

Time laughs suddenly.

"I almost forgot you can do that," he says with disarming serenity.

Legend quickly puts the arm back where it should be; Skull Kid gives the ring back, snickering a little bit.