#I also left out of the explanations those who Lith is not that close to

[slytherinliththorne]

Lith’s relationships (as to year 5)

I have known the state of Lith’s relationships with almost every canon hp character, but I guessed that since I mainly draw Talbott and Rowan somtimes it wasn’t as obvious for everybody else. So I made a quick breakdown of the groups and people Lith hangs out with in-game, because, well, mc friends are another story. Explanation of their dynamics under the cut.

BFF Squad (Rowan+Chiara): During first year it was only Lith and Rowan, the two weird Slytherin girls who seemed like outcasts. They had encountered Chiara a few times during classes, but never got close. After the Howling Hallowe'en quest, Lith and Chiara started to be friendlier with each other. After discovering Chiara’s secret, that friendliness increased, she even trusted Chiara with her own Curse. Lith started to invite Chiara to hang out with Rowan and they quickly became a trio. The three of them are quite introverted and lonely people, but they kind of bonded over that, as all understand the importance of alone time and that you don’t need to be overly clingy to maintain a friendship. During Chiara’s transformation, Lith uses her Curse to keep her company, and Rowan prepares Jacob’s room for their return with sweets, breakfast and other things they enjoy. At first, they roamed the Forbidden Forest, but after the Forest Vault, Torvus helped them find a spot to spend the night. Their hang out spots are the Hufflepuff Common Room, near Hagrid’s Hut and the Forbidden Forest. 

Original Trio (Rowan+Ben): They were the first group of friends that Lith ever made at Hogwarts. She already had a friendship with Rowan so Ben’s addition was a surprise. Individually, Lith doesn´t really get along with Ben, they are on good terms but outside curse breaking adventures they don’t usually hang out. However, that doesn’t mean Lith doesn’t care for them, she actually has a soft spot for Ben. 

Original Curse Breakers (Rowan+Ben+Bill+Penny): They were Lith’s ideal curse breaking team and she really misses those days. Now this team barely gets together, but she knows she can count on each of them. This group is currently disbanded.

Penny: Lith and Penny sometimes talk, and ever since Bea got trapped in the portrait, Lith has tried to be more attentive to her. Lith can be comfortable with Penny, but she quickly drains out of energy around her.

Unexpected buddies (Charlie): They seem to have nothing in common to bond over, Lith doesn’t share his love for creatures or quidditch, but maybe that’s exactly why they get along. Charlie first aproached her to offer his help with the Vaults and Lith must admit she was hesitant. But after colaborating the whole year to get to the Forest Vault, they became close friends. Lith enjoys indulging Charlie in his interests and Charlie is always there to comfort her when most people seek her comfort instead. They often hang out at Care of Magical Creatures and Jacob´s room.

Chaotic with a purpose (Tulip): They also seemed like unlikely friends, but Lith discovered that Tulip’s chaos was not just to be chaotic, but actually well thought, and they became partners in crime. Lith appreciates wit and cleverness, traits that Tulip has. Tulip is the scheming mastermind while Lith is the voice of reason due to her self preservation. They usually hang out at Jacob´s room and the library.

“WDYM I’m not a Weasly?” (Charlie+Bill): Lith hangs out with Charie and Bill separately, but together is also okay. As they are both her friends, she feels comfortable with them, but when the three are together is mostly due to the Cursed Vaults or some Weasly family business. They hang out at the library or The Three Broomsticks.

Convinient allies (Jae): Same thing as Tulip, Jae is clever and maybe a little shady, but Lith likes that. She sees advantage in befriending him and is usually amused when they hang out. They are usually goofing around the Kitchens when not discussing business. They also play cards together a lot. 

Prank pals (Tulip+Tonks): Lith often hangs out with this group to get something out of it, not because she enjoys it. She doesn’t like pranking for the sake of it, so whenever Tonks is involved, it will probably be prank orientated stuff. She likes her, but not as a close friend. They are usually at Zonko’s.

Rakepick’s Curse Breakers (Ben+Merula+Bill): Out of all the groups, she feels more uncomfortable in this one. She feels like she is trapped in an awkward fusion of her group of friends. Lith will avoid being with this group as much as possible. They can be seen together with Rakepick, in the DADA classroom or the training grounds.

Soft Couple (Talbott): Their relationship started pretty similar than Chiara´s, with some differences of course. In my hc, Lith is the one to take interest in being an animagus in hopes of altering her Curse way before Talbott’s SQ. She hears about him from Penny, but is too socially anxious to approach him, so Penny does it for her. She introduces them, completely unaware of Lith’s intentions. Lith acts quite suspicious when talking about wanting to become an animagus, which causes Talbott to be mistrustful. At the end, the potion fails, but some of the painful side effects of the Curse’s transformation disappear. However, Talbott assumes that she was able to become an animagusThey get closer and Lith reveals her secret. Their tragic life, Talbott’s past and Lith’s irremediable future, helps them feel closer to each other. However, they bond over their love for the arts, specially poetry. They like being alone together, and start acting as a couple before they actually become one. They are very soft and wholesome, but their fear of losing people can spark fights. They hang out at the Owlery and the Astronomy Tower.

Art buddies (Badeea): I hc they met at Art class, both of them take it since year 1 so they know each other and greet each other in the hallways. In year 5, they formally introduce themselves and start to hang out. They usually meet up during weekends to paint and draw together in the Clock Tower Courtyard or the Astronomy Tower. They are polite with each other but not very close. They like their relationship as it is, as colleagues.

Study Buddies (Rowan+Barnaby+Tulip): How this group came to be? The Vaults probalby, but they actually enjoy to study together. Rowan tutors Barnaby while Lith and Tulip study on their own, and when they have questions they discuss them with each other. Rowan feels comfortable doing what she likes, Barnaby genuinly likes Rowan, and Tulip enjoys the dynamic of their study group, where everyone goes at their own pace but help each other when needed. They are almost always at the library.

Werewolf Support Squad (Talbott+Chiara+Jae+Rowan who I forgot to put in the image lol): Another hc and personal favorite. After sharing each other’s secrets, Chiara makes Lith realize that her Cursed is not only a burden, that she can actually use it to help. She tells her how Lupin said that his group of friends became animagus to stay with him during full moon. This is also incidentally the moment Lith learns about animagi. Lith accompanies Chiara from that moment on, whith Rowan’s blessing. By this point, Jae is already friends with Chiara, but not with Lith. After Talbott’s SQs Lith suggests the idea of having another friend joing their full moon nights, hinting that friend to be Jae. Chiara gets nervous, but Lith brings up the animagus potion. They agree to talk to Jae about it and he accepts, since being an animagus might come handy for a smuggler like him. While gathering the ingredients, Talbott gets suspicious, since Lith is “casually” asking him about the potion again. Chiara relunctantly tells Talbott the reason, much to Lith and Jae’s surprise. Talbott helps Jae finish the process and succesfully becomes an animagus (I hc he becomes a weasel). That’s how the four of them start spending full moon together. The mornings after strenghten their relationship. They all are introverted and sometimes reclusive, but their individual personality traits complement each other. They hang out in Jacob’s room at first and move to the Room or Requirement when Talbott and Jae join them.

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Beauty in the Blood - Part One

Summary: One day your friend convinces you to join a dating website that matches people based on their search histories, and when you match with Loki Odinson, a handsome, intelligent coroner who’s a fan of your murder mysteries, you’re absolutely thrilled. But there’s something off about Loki, and as your relationship progresses, you discover that his dark side is even darker than you could ever have imagined... 

Pairing: Serial Killer!Loki x Writer!Reader 

A/N: This story is based off of this post! I hope you guys enjoy; this is my first time writing Loki, and this will probably be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. Please let me know what you think as the story progresses! 

Warning: This chapter contains hints of smut and GRAPHIC descriptions of death and murder. Later on, this fic will also include rape/non con, dub con, kidnapping, yandere/obsessive elements, and even MORE graphic descriptions of death and murder. Please read at your own risk, and as usual, this is only for the eyes of those 18 and older. Thank you, and enjoy!

It was hard to find a decent guy these days. New York was the city of dreamers, artists, and absolute weirdos, and out of the three, you only seemed to attract the latter. You’d been to speed dating events and Singles Night at your local bar, but there was never a connection, never a spark, and every guy seemed to have something fundamentally wrong with him. It wasn’t that you were looking for the perfect guy, it was just that you’d met too many who were demanding, controlling, or misogynistic.  

You’d given up on finding your special someone a year after you’d moved to the city. After all, being single wasn’t too bad. You could do what you want whenever you wanted without having to think about someone else. So what if you didn’t have anyone to kiss on New Years? So what if you cried a little every now and then from feeling so alone? It was fine. It was absolutely fine, you told yourself. Fine, fine, fine…

“I’m absolutely fine, Wanda. I don’t need a boyfriend to be happy.”

You were sat across from your good friend, who was stirring her coffee with one hand while she tapped her fingers against the table with the other. She arched a skeptical eyebrow at you before taking a sip of her drink.

“You’re right; you don’t. But you’re lonely,” she pointed out. “A boyfriend would help with that.”

There was no denying that she was right. Wanda was perceptive, and she was also one of your closest friends. You’d met her during your first week of living in New York, and she’d helped you adjust to living in such a busy, fast-paced place. She probably knew you better than you knew yourself, and that was why you slumped in defeat and threw back the last gulp left of your mimosa.

“God, you’re right,” you bemoaned. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know,” she grinned. “But don’t worry; I can help.”

“Wanda, not that I don’t appreciate your effort, but the last guy you sent me out on a date with got mad that I didn’t put out after he paid for my dinner. I don’t want to go on any more blind dates.”

She winced, reaching over to pat the back of your hand.

“I had no idea Kyle was like that,” she promised you. “If I’d known he would be such an asshole you know I wouldn’t have set you up. But I wasn’t going to suggest another blind date.”

You tilted your head to the side.

“What did you have in mind, then?”

She grinned and reached into her purse, fishing around until she found her phone.

“I heard of a new dating app that made me immediately think of you,” she explained excitedly, pulling up the website and passing her device over to you. “It matches you with people in your area based on your Google searches!”

“Pfffft.” You scoffed, taking a quick glance at the screen before looking back to your friend. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard of.”

“I know, I know, it’s a strange concept. But it has one of the highest success ratings out of all the dating websites! It’s only been around for six months, but over half of its users say that they’ve found someone they can see themselves spending the rest of their lives with!”

“Statistics can be made up, you know,” you groused. “Besides, one look at my browser history would send anyone running in the opposite direction.”

“Maybe not someone who has one similar to yours,” she pointed out. “C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Wanda, you know what I do for a living, right? I could match with some kind of serial killer!”

Your friend just waved you off and ordered another coffee, picking up her phone again and stuffing it into her pocket.

“Just try it? Please?” she begged. “Just give it a shot, and if it doesn’t work out, then that’s that, right? No harm done.”

Several hours later, and you found yourself sitting on your couch, staring at the same website homepage that Wanda had shown you. You bit your lip, letting your fingers skim over your laptop’s keys, not typing anything just yet but feeling their ridges as you considered the “Join Now” button.

There wouldn’t be any harm in it, right? Just like Wanda said, if you hated the kind of people you matched with, then you could always delete your profile. And you didn’t only search things for your research, after all; you also googled recipes and cute animal videos. What if you matched with a gorgeous guy who’d also googled “Try Not To Laugh – Kitten Edition”? Hell yeah.

After taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you clicked on the button, making quick work of filling out the ‘About You’ information. Five minutes later, you’d chosen a profile picture and linked your Google account to the website, and you were ready to sift through your matches. The wheel on the screen turned slowly as your computer processed the information, and you actually jolted when it dinged with the results.

Well. Result. There was only one person who’d shown up with a similar search history as you. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding, and you almost closed your laptop and went to retreat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s from your fridge, calling it a day and forgetting the whole debacle. But then you saw his profile picture and… Holy shit.

He was lean and pale, and your eyes were immediately drawn to his long, black hair. He had it slicked back in the photo with just one strand hanging down over his left eye. In the photo, he was wearing an exquisitely tailored black suit with a black shirt and tie underneath it, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail along the lithe contours of his body. He looked as if he were carved from marble; you almost started drooling just from the sight of him.

You jumped again when your computer dinged for a second time, and your eyes widened when you saw that you had a new message in your inbox. With fingers that were just barely trembling, you opened it, skimming over the message from the man you’d paired with.

Good evening. I must admit, I was quite surprised when I got the notification that we’d matched with one another. I’ve had this profile for about four months, and I’d had yet to be paired with anyone.

So he was handsome and eloquent. You clicked on his profile and blinked when you saw his name. Loki Odinson. Wow. Even his name was refined, if not a little strange; it sounded like a name you’d give to one of the characters in your books.

Hello, Loki, you typed out. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I was pretty surprised to find someone else who has such a twisted search history. I don’t know if I should be happy or concerned.

It only took him a few moments to reply.

The feeling is mutual; I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for the morbidity, though. Mine is that I happen to be a coroner for a living. And yours is…?

I’m a writer, you explained, your interest piqued by his profession. I write murder mysteries. So, yeah… Morbidity seems like a fitting way to describe it.

A writer, you say. I happen to be quite an avid reader; would I know any of your work?

I’m not sure; have you ever heard of The Bell Ringer? That’s probably my most well-known book.

You’re kidding.

He sent you a picture, and it was of a pale hand holding a copy of The Bell Ringer, your name glistening in bold font beneath the title.

I’m a great fan of your work, as you can see. I own several of your novels.

Another photo loaded beneath the newest text, and it was of a shelf full of your books. The Shrew Woman, A Night in New Hampshire, The Hanging Woman – nine books in total. The only one that you’d written that wasn’t there was the one you’d just sent out to your publisher, and you suspected that once it was out in stores, it would be joining the ranks of Loki’s shelf.

Wow! It’s always so nice to meet a reader. I’m so glad you like my stuff!

Oh, love, you’re a huge talent. I must say, I’ve found your work rather inspiring.

That’s so kind of you to say!

I know that this is rather forward, but are you doing anything tonight?

You glanced up at the clock you had hanging on the wall – 8:13 pm. It was already pretty late; typically you’d be putting on your pajamas and curling up in bed to do some late night reading here soon. But something inside of you whispered that you should do it; you weren’t spontaneous enough. What if this was an opportunity to meet the One? At the very least, it would be cool to meet such a loyal reader.

It depends on if this guy I’m talking to online asks me out. Do you think he will?

He would have to be a fool not to. I suspect he’ll ask you if you’d like to meet at a café.

Well, then, I suspect I’ll have to say yes.

An excited grin was plastered over your lips as you bantered back and forth, and when Loki sent you an address and a message saying ‘I’ll see you there in twenty minutes’, you jumped off of your sofa and rushed to put on your shoes. You were still dressed in the leggings and oversized sweater you’d worn to brunch with Wanda, and all you had to do was straighten your hair and pull on your boots before you were out the door. The address he’d sent you was within walking distance of your apartment; in fact, you’d been there before, but never on a date.

Your heart was pounding the entire way over, and you couldn’t get over how unlike you this was. You didn’t just get up and meet guys you’d met on the internet on such short notice, much less so late at night. And yet here you were, stepping into the café fifteen minutes after receiving Loki’s message. Your eyes scanned the room, but it appeared that he wasn’t there yet. As you got in line to order, you tried to calm yourself, not wanting to look too frazzled when your date finally showed up. You tried to even your breathing, twisting the fabric of your sleeves between your nervous fingers.

He’s just a person, you told yourself. You’ve been on dates before; everything was going to be fine. Nothing bad was going to-

“Hello, there.”

You gasped and turned around, eliciting a chuckle from the man now towering over you. He was dressed in a set of black trousers with a simple white button-down tucked into them, and his hair was loose and falling around his shoulders. His grin was wide and full of teeth, with just the slightest sinister edge to it. But his eyes were warm and twinkling with excitement and just a hint of mischief. Those clear blue irises brought a smile to your own lips, and you chuckled along with him at your initial fright.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you walk in,” you explained.

“It’s quite alright,” he assured you, offering his hand. “I know you already are aware, but I’m Loki.”

You grinned and introduced yourself, going to shake his hand, but he smoothly cradled your fingers and drew them up to his lips, pressing a light kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s good to finally meet you in person,” he cooed, seemingly all too aware of how flustered you now were.

You opened your mouth to say something in return, but you couldn’t think of anything to say as silence lay heavily between the two of you. You were saved, though, when the barista called out to you, asking if she could take your order. You spun around on your heel and shot her a grateful glance before ordering your favorite menu item and reaching into your purse for your wallet.

“…And I’ll have a cup of Earl Grey,” Loki stepped in, handing her a card from his open wallet.

“Oh, I could have paid for mine,” you protested, but he waved you off.

“No, no, love. It’s my treat.”

He gave you a tight, close-lipped smile, and you didn’t protest further as he paid for your orders. He led you to a booth in the corner, sliding into the side opposite to yours gracefully. The leather squeaked against your thighs as you shuffled in, and when you were finally settled across from him you caught a flicker in his eye that sent chills up your spine.

It was gone in an instant, though, replaced by the same suave look he’d had while ordering his tea.

“So,” he began, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “As I said before, I’m a fan of your work. Truly, I have been since your very first novel.”

“’Beauty in the Blood’?” you asked incredulously. “I’m surprised; no one seems to like that one. After reading it, my mom suggested that I start going to therapy.”

Loki chuckled, licking his lips, and your eyes followed his tongue of their own accord.

“Ah, well, whether or not that’s true, it’s still my favorite of your works by far,” he continued. “The parts told by the killer’s perspective were…beautiful. You captured his mind so artfully, it was as if…”

He paused, searching your face for a moment.

“It was as if…you understood him,” he finished.

You furrowed your eyebrows, thinking over his words. He’d skipped right over the small talk you’d come to suspect on first dates, but despite how strange of a direction the conversation was taking, you were…intrigued by it.

“Well,” you started, “I feel like I did understand him.  I mean, sure, he took delight in the killing of others; he saw it as an art form. But as twisted and evil as he was, he was still a person – a person that had come from my mind. Cuz the thing is…”

You paused, gathering your thoughts and trying to find the right words to convey them.

“The thing is,” you spoke carefully, “that every storyteller uses bits and pieces of themselves to tell a story. A story is like a stained glass window – it’s made up of different pieces of an author’s mind and soul, and it comes together to create something greater than the sum of those pieces. So, yes, I think I can understand him; his darkness might be a reflection of my own – deep, deep down.”

You glanced up at him, blinking when you saw the transfixed look upon his face. His eyes were wider than they had been before, and his lips were parted as he listened.

“Sorry,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I, uh… I got a little carried away. You probably think I’m some kind of freak-“

“I think you’re beautiful.”

His words took your breath away, and when the barista set down your cups on the table, you jumped in surprise.

“Is there anything else I can get you guys?” she asked cheerfully, and a flash of annoyance crossed over Loki’s face at the interruption.

“We’re fine,” you assured her quickly, giving her a polite smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome!”

You gripped your mug tightly as she walked away, savoring its heat as it warmed up your cold hands.

“So,” you said, desperate to break the sudden silence that had fallen over the table, “you mentioned that you’re a coroner. What drew you to your profession?”

Loki sipped his tea, humming as he thought over the question.

“Well… The conversation has already veered towards the darker side of things,” he mused. “I might as well tell you the story.

“When I was twelve years old, my sister killed herself,” he began.

“Oh, Loki, I’m so sorry-“

“Oh, no, don’t be,” he interrupted. “We weren’t close at all. I was adopted at a young age, you see, and Hella never accepted me. She was cruel, and she took every opportunity she could to remind me of my inadequacies.

“But, as I said, one day she died. At first, we didn’t know how it happened; there were no marks on her body whatsoever. She just looked like she was sleeping as she lay there in bed. We called the hospital, and the police, and eventually the coroners discovered that she’d injected bleach into her arm. Later on, my mother found the syringe under her bed, and all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. We finally knew the how and the when, and I never really cared much about the why.

“…That probably makes me sound like a monster, doesn’t it?”

You sat back, swallowing a scalding-hot sip of your drink before answering.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head. “I don’t think that makes you a monster. She abused you; it’s only natural that you found some relief in her death. I would’ve probably felt the same way.”

He studied you for a moment, tracing the lip of his cup with his index finger.

“I wonder if you would have…” he murmured to himself, so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it.

“Well,” he sighed, plastering a smile on once more and straightening up, “you probably aren’t going to be very keen on a second date if I keep dragging our conversation into subjects like this. Tell me, where are you from? What made you move to the city?”

“How do you know I’m not from here?”

“Love, neither of us have the New York accent, now do we?”

You laughed, and after that the two of you fell into an easy flow; it seemed that the heavy beginning of the date made it all the easier to talk to him. You discussed what you liked about the city and what you didn’t like; you learned that Loki was originally from a small town right outside of London, and that he has an adopted brother named Thor that he was close to.

“He’s an oaf,” he’d said when you’d asked what his brother was like. “Everything about him is literally the opposite of its coinciding part of me. But…he loves me; he never thought of me as the adopted child. I was always just his brother; despite his shortcomings, I think he does mean well. Besides, his IQ level is in the single digits, so I’m afraid I must look out for him for fear of what would happen if he were left to his own devices.”

From there, you shared stories about growing up, about life and ex partners and mistakes and successes. Before you knew it, the happy barista from before was approaching your table again, this time with a nervous smile.

“Hey, guys,” she greeted. “I’m so so sorry to bother you, but we’re closing up…”

Loki glanced down at his watch as you glanced at your phone – 10:30.

“Shit,” you laughed. “I had no idea. Time flies…”

Your date shot a glare at the barista before his eyes flickered to you. He gave you a wide, close-lipped smile and straightened his collar, raising his eyebrows.

“Then I suppose it’s time for us to head out,” he murmured. “May I escort you home?”

“Oh! Of course. If it’s not too far out of your way…”

“Even if it is,” he smiled, “I still want to walk you home.”

Your heart fluttered, and you set a five dollar bill on the table as a tip before standing up. The barista scurried away, and you almost turned to apologize to her for Loki’s cold shoulder. But you didn’t know him well yet; maybe that’s just how he was. Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it.

“You guys have a good night!” she called out after you, and you smiled over your shoulder at her before reaching for the door. Loki’s hand darted out and grabbed the handle before you could, opening it for you with a slight bow.

“After you, my lady.”

“How chivalrous.”

The two of you walked side by side down the street, hands brushing as you strolled down the sidewalk. You glanced upwards, smiling at the scattering of stars overhead as your breath fogged in the chilly air. You shivered, rubbing your arms a little bit to ward off the chill. Loki evidently caught the movement, and you felt his arm drape around your shoulders. You leaned into the warmth of his body, tilting your head up to share a grin with him.

“Again – chivalrous.”

He chuckled, squeezing you for a beat.

“I try my best… It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Gorgeous. Not as gorgeous as you, but…very pretty.”

You laughed and hid your face in his neck.

“Stop… You’re too charming.”

“Oh, really? I was under the impression there was no such thing.”

The two of you fell back into a companionable silence as you guided him towards your brownstone, until he spoke up once again.

“I must say… There’s a question that I’ve been meaning to ask you that I’m just…dying to know the answer to.”

“Go ahead, Loki. I’m an open book.”

He laughed softly again, hesitating before voicing his question.

“If you were to kill someone, how would you do it?”

You paused, thinking over your response.

“Well… Why am I killing them? Is it a crime of passion or a crime of necessity? Am I killing them just for the enjoyment of it, or out of revenge, or because the person needs to die for a bigger cause?”

“That… That is actually an excellent follow-up question,” Loki mused. “Let’s say… A crime of necessity. The person needs to die for a personal reason with no anger or revenge in mind. How do you do it?”

You bit your lip, calling to mind all of your morbid Google searches that might apply.

“Um… Air shot between the toes,” you finally said. “Fill a syringe with air and inject it between their toes while they sleep. It’ll look like a heart attack that way.”

Unbeknownst to you, warmth suddenly bloomed in Loki’s chest, and you glanced up just in time to catch the fond, almost…loving gleam in his eye. He quickly looked away, tilting his head up to look at the stars, but you’d caught it. And it wasn’t that it unsettled you; you weren’t uncomfortable because of the look. You were uncomfortable because you hadn’t been upset by it. You’d felt that same flutter once again as butterflies batted around your rib cage.

Nothing more was said as you turned the corner that led to your street, and you silently ascended your home’s steps with Loki’s arm still around your shoulders. You reluctantly slid your key into the lock, only turning to him once your door was opened a crack.

“I had… A really good time with you, Loki,” you told him, craning your neck to look into his eyes. “I know that this isn’t what you’re supposed to say to a guy after a first date; I know that it might scare you away. But I want you to know that I haven’t felt this way in a long… Actually, I’ve never felt this way. And it’s really scary, but I hope… I hope we can do this again sometime soon.”

Loki’s eyes softened, and he moved his arm from around your shoulders to your cheek.

“I haven’t felt his way, either,” he murmured. “But I know that I don’t want the feeling to go away.”

He was leaning forward, his eyes closing, and your heart leapt into your throat as you met him halfway. His lips were cold, and smooth, and soft as they pressed against yours, and you leaned into his touch when he pulled you closer by your hips. A sound escaped your throat as his tongue darted out, licking past the barrier of your mouth to glide itself against yours. His hands came up to cradle your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing against your cheekbones as your lips moved against one another, and you hummed once again as your chests pressed together.

You don’t know who pulled away first, but you spent a moment just taking in one another’s essence, your foreheads pressed together as the fog of your breaths mingled. You heard Loki let out a chuckle, and you looked up curiously.

“What is it?”

“I’ve just…” He licked his lips and let out another soft laugh before pulling away.

“I’ve just never felt like this before,” he repeated.

You smiled and pressed a peck to his lips before walking towards your door again.

“Have a good night, love,” he called after you, and you paused in the doorway to blow him a kiss.

“You too, Loki.”

You shut your door, missing the way his gaze darkened as he stared at the façade of your building.

“Oh, I will, darling. I will.”

__________

Loki hummed to himself, the leather of his gloves squeaking as he clenched and unclenched his fists. The silver of the table gleamed under the fluorescent lights of his basement, and the air was musty, thick with the smell of iron…and decay. Instruments and tools were lined along the wall in front of him - knives, machetes, a hatchet… It was cliché; he knew that. But he just hadn’t been able to resist the temptation while designing this special room.

A muffled scream sounded from behind him, and he rolled his eyes before turning back to the perky little barista who was currently strapped down to another metal table he’d “borrowed” from the hospital morgue.

“Are you honestly still trying to scream for help?” he snarked, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’ve told you; you’re currently under about five feet of solid concrete. Who will hear you? Who will help you?”

The girl let out a sob, and he watched her big blue eyes flicker to the wall just over his shoulder before coming to rest on him again. They were red and swollen, and he let out a coo of false sympathy.

“Oh, don’t worry, little girl. None of these are for you.” He grinned, turning back to the table behind him. “You can thank my new lover for that. No, she inspired me to take a different direction this evening.”

A small, genuine smile came over his face as he picked up the large syringe, turning it over in his hands.

“She’s been inspiring me for a while, actually,” he mused, ignoring the screams as he sauntered over to his victim, syringe in hand. “She’s such a brilliant writer, my darling is. It truly was fate that brought us together; if I’d had known that my favorite author was a beautiful young woman who also lived in Manhattan, well… I’m sure I would have found her sooner. But I won’t dwell on lost time; I’ll just have to make up for it.”

He ran a hand over the girl’s knee, trailing it down her shin even as she struggled against the strong ropes twined around her wrists and ankles. As his hand gripped the arch of her foot in an iron-like hold, he let his eyes close. This was always his favorite part – the moments right before death. The anticipation was like foreplay; it got him just as hot and eager, and the payoff was very nearly comparable. If he were ever asked to describe the feeling of ending another person’s life, of ripping out the remaining chapters from their story before it could be written, the only thing he’d be able to compare it to was an orgasm. That white-hot pleasure that flooded his veins was addictive, as was the lead up he was experiencing right now.

“You know,” he mused, slowly drawing back the plunger of the syringe, “my girl is so smart… Not a lot of people would think to off someone like this. But it’s not as easy as you would think; you can’t just use any old syringe. It has to be big, has to be a lot of air. And you have to be careful; if you hit muscle, it won’t be fatal, and the whole endeavor would be for naught. But if you hit a vein, and if you get a big enough pocket of air…”

The duct tape on her mouth did little to quell her scream as he inserted the needle into her flesh. A novice might not be able to find a vein, especially not in a foot, but the years of medical school paid off, just as they did every day at his job. He injected the empty cartridge into her vein, groaning and letting his eyes drift shut. He was slow about removing the needle; the separation of steel from skin was slow, intimate… Gentle.

“Hush…” he whispered, drawing out the word with a hiss. “It’s done now, love. It’s done.”

He let his arm fall to the side, and he took a step back, watching the girl start to settle down as he put some distance between them. He gently set the syringe down onto the table before crossing the room to the armchair in the corner. Letting out a soft grunt, he lowered himself into the seat, crossing his legs and letting his head fall back.

“Fuck, what a day,” he sighed. “This isn’t what I was expecting when I woke up this morning.”

Loki lifted his head and gave the young girl a wry smile.

“As you may have guessed, this isn’t my first time doing something like this,” he began. “But I do try to limit myself. I may take…five victims a year. Maybe six or seven if I’m particularly stressed. My last one was on New Year’s, though. I’m not due for a killing for another few months, but… That girl really had me going.

“I was hoping that she’d invite me in tonight,” he confessed. “Though I wasn’t expecting it. It was our first date, after all. But a man can hope, can’t he? If she had invited me to stay the night, you wouldn’t be here right now. Alas, though… I had all of these pent up feelings that I had to do something with. And you were so…obnoxious back at the café. I couldn’t tell if you were being genuine with your disgusting, overbearing cheerfulness or if it was as fake as your blonde hair. But, god, did it get under my skin…”

The girl let out a sob, and he noticed that she was beginning to shake. He chuckled, feeling himself grow hard in his trousers as he thought of you. You’d come up with this idea, this beautiful, drawn-out murder. Such a sweet, innocent looking girl on the outside. But such delicious, pure wickedness within.

“Fuck,” he huffed, palming himself through his pants. “Despite the nuisance you made of yourself, today was so perfect… She’s the One, you know. The one and only girl who can ever complete me. I didn’t even believe in this sort of thing this morning, but for the first time in my life, I’m glad I was wrong.”

He forced himself to still his hand, moving it to his knee as his jaw clenched. In the past, he’d done this in front of a few of his victims; male or female, if they were pretty, young things, the act of killing them made him so hard that he had to touch himself as he watched them squirm on his table. But not tonight, not after you. That part of himself was only for you, now, and he was strong enough to resist the urge until his was the only heart beating under his roof.

And so he sat back and watched. At first, the girl only shivered, and after thirty minutes he was afraid that he hadn’t injected enough air into her. But then he noticed the way she was breathing; it was like she was a fish out of water, and the slope of her furrowed eyebrows betrayed the pain she was in.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, voice thick. At first she didn’t answer, but then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. He hummed in understanding, hiding his grin behind his hand as he scratched his chin.

“How marvelous.”

He knew she wouldn’t last long when her skin started to turn blue. After an hour, the seizures began, jolting and shaking her body as if she were a ragdoll. He watched in fascination, his cold, blue eyes never leaving her tied-up form. Soft, strained whimpers were leaving her throat, and he let out a purr as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

His joints popped as he stood up, and the heels of his shoes clicked against the concrete floor as he rounded the table, making his way to her pretty blonde head. He slowly, deliberately pulled the duct tape away from her mouth, and he chuckled at how blue her lips had become.

“This is a much better look on you,” he observed. “This is so much more real than those saccharine smiles.”  

She finally went still 84 minutes after the injection. Even after her heart stopped beating, he stood over her, watching the unnatural stillness of her chest. Despite all of the corpses he’d created over the years, and despite the years he’d spent in his profession, it was still something that he’d never gotten used to. People weren’t supposed to be that still; people were supposed to blink, and smile, and talk, and breathe, but the things they became after death did none of those things. They didn’t move, and they didn’t feel, and there was always a moment of disgust when he first laid eyes on a fresh corpse.

But it passed quickly, even quicker than normal tonight. The disgust faded away and left behind pure, unadulterated lust as his thoughts strayed once more to you. Typically, he would stay behind, lingering in the basement to dispose of the body. Sometimes, if he wasn’t too tired, he would actually drive out and deposit them in whatever spot he’d predetermined to be the one the police were to find them in.

But tonight, he left the corpse there on the table. He flicked the lights off and climbed the first, then the second set of stairs, peeling off his gloves and petting his cat on the way to his bedroom. He showered, then combed his hair, then settled down between his silk sheets completely naked. Then, and only then, did his hand travel down to his cock, and his mind once again, indubitably, trekked back to you. Your face, your voice, your beautiful fucking mind…

The thought that finally made him cum was the picture of him fucking you in a pool of blood on his basement floor, of the bright crimson painting your skin as he let his hands worship your body. The thought followed him into his dreams, ruby red and throbbing to the beat of his heart as he slept deeply into the night.

_____________

Detective Romanoff stood side by side with her partner in front of the dead body, hands planted firmly on her hips as she chewed her lip.

“How old did you say she was?” she asked the coroner, her eyes flicking down to the rope burn on the woman’s – the girl’s – wrists and ankles.

“Twenty,” was Dr. Odinson’s accented reply. He turned around, glancing between the two detectives before taking a deep breath and turning his attention back to the body. “I’m afraid that there won’t be much investigating for the two of you to do here. The cause of death was a heart attack, pure and simple.”

“A twenty year old girl having a heart attack?” Detective Rogers scoffed. “I think you got your wires crossed, there, Loki.”

Natasha watched as a muscle in the coroner’s jaw twitched, and he let out a frustrated huff as he peeled off his medical gloves.

“Detective, this sort of thing happens all the time – freak accidents that can strike even the healthiest of people. They are…unfortunate, but they’re also a fact of life.” He tossed the balled up gloves into a trash can and whisked past them, bending over to type something into the laptop resting on his desk as he continued speaking to them.

“After reviewing her medical records, I found out that her father died two years ago from a heart attack; if I were a gambling man, I would say that a bad set of genes were the only culprit here.”

“What about the marks on her wrists?” Natasha asked. “They gotta mean something, right?”

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” Loki smirked, cutting his eyes over at her before straightening up. “It probably means that little Miss…” He paused, glancing down at a paper resting beside his computer. “Miss Allison Berry was into bondage before her untimely demise.”

“A woman is lying dead, Odinson,” Rogers spat. “Show some respect.”

Loki raised his hands up in surrender as he sauntered towards them.

“I apologize if I offended you, Detective,” he replied coolly. “I meant no disrespect. But I’ve run all the tests in the book. There were no signs of sexual assault, no signs of foul play. I’ll type up a proper report for the two of you, but I’m telling you now – the girl died of a heart attack.”

Natasha and Steve shared a look before turning back to the doctor.

“Have the report ready for us before the end of the day,” she ordered, patting Steve on the shoulder and gesturing for him to follow her as she made her way out of the cold morgue.

“Whatever you say, Officer.”

Natasha froze mid-step, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck bristle as a thousand images flashed through her mind after hearing him say that word. She gulped, oblivious to the confused look Steve was giving her, and she kept walking without turning back around.

“It’s Detective, now, doctor.”

The door clicked shut behind them, cutting off Loki’s dark chuckle as he was once again was left alone with Allison Berry’s body. His smile didn’t fade as he pulled on another pair of gloves; if anything, it grew as he finished the young woman’s autopsy.

“I was being honest with them; you know that, don’t you?” He winked at the girl’s unseeing eyes, his hands moving of their own accord as he stitched up the clean line he’d cut through the skin, bone, and muscle of her chest.

“It was just a heart attack.”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Love; Lost (pt.3)

John Wick x reader (A/n- Of course, I went ahead and made things more complicated. They’ll get a bit of a break by the end of this chapter though. Also, I know that it could have ended here, but welp)

Part1  Part2  

Warnings- Angst, pregnancy.

Two days. Two days since she’d told him she was pregnant. Two days since she’d renewed his heartbreak. Two days since she’d left again.

Once again, John was growing used to the hollowness and letting go of the hope that Y/n might come back. It hurt more that time though, knowing that he was not just losing the love of his life, but his future too. Unlike before, John had called, though, Y/n never picked up. He’d thought of seeking out where she was staying; he had already summed up that since she had sold her townhouse upon moving in with him years ago, she’d probably be at Lacy’s, a friend of Y/n’s who John had only met a handful of times. If she was there, John knew that Y/n was in good hands, Lacy was a good friend.

Standing in the backyard, John threw the ball for Dog each time he brought it back. They’d been at it for almost an hour but John’s arm hadn’t grown tired yet. When his phone vibrated in his back pocket, signaling that a text had come in, he hurriedly fished it out of his pocket, frowning when he saw that it was just a notification for an open contract. It had been like that even before Y/n come over a couple nights prior; every time his phone made the slightest noise, John would hastily grab it up, a spark of hope ignited in his chest, only for it to be snuffed out when he’d realized it wasn’t her. 

Stuffing the phone back into in pocket, John tossed the little green tennis ball again, though, he was even less enthused than before, the hurt and despair swallowing him up once again. When Dog returned not too long after, even he seemed to sense John’s foul mood, hanging his head and whining. Crouching down, John sniffled and brushed under his eyes, “It’s okay boy,” he rubbed the pits head, smiling sadly when his tongue ran comfortingly up John’s cheeks, “I’ll be okay,” he tried not to sob, “One day.”

Having decided that he’d had enough of lying to himself for one day, John stood again, leading his furry friend back inside through the back screen door, sparing one last glance at the grey clouds outside before shutting it again. 

At some point, grey clouds had turned into a light drizzle, and eventually, said drizzled had morphed into a full on torrential downpour. The rain seemed to mirror her despondent mood, though Y/n figured that she deserved to feel terrible considering the way she’d left things with John a couple nights prior. Since then, she had been ignoring his calls, and there were a lot of them. 

Y/n figured that she owed John an apology, and definitely a proper explanation for her behavior. Sure, she had felt like he hurt her, but she had probably hurt him worse by letting him know that he’d was fathering a child that she was reluctantly keeping from him. When she’d returned to Lacy’s that night, Y/n couldn’t get the earlier events out of her head, how hopeful John had looked when she’d told him, how crushed he was when she pushed him away again.

Navigating through New York’s traffic only had half of Y/n’s attention as she continued her drive from her last gig back to Lacy’s place. She was on Interstate 78, on her way back from a wedding; Y/n didn’t typically take wedding jobs, but they were willing to pay well for her talents and she needed something to distract her from the mess that was her personal life. Though, in retrospect, a wedding might not have been the best place to pass her time, all it did was serve to remind her that her relationship with the only person she ever wanted to marry was ruined. 

Even thinking about it made her teary. Sucking in a breath, Y/n blinked quickly, trying to clear her clouded vision and focus on the road, which was already difficult given the downpour. Sniffling, Y/n squinted her eyes, her grip on the wheel firm and her foot a little heavier on the gas than it should have been in that weather. It was reckless, but Y/n just wanted to get back before nightfall. 

For the briefest second, Y/n glanced at the touch pad that served to control the car’s radio system, huffing in annoyance as a song she had long grown sick of started playing. Her head couldn’t have been down for longer than a couple seconds, it was impossible that it had been more, as her lithe fingers danced on the screen, adjusting a couple setting and changing the song. Though, by the time Y/n had raised her head again, the road ahead was clear for a few feet well and the traffic light was going from amber to red. Gasping, her adrenaline kicked in and before she could register it, Y/n was shifting her foot from the gas, only to slam it on the brake. But it was too late, the front of her car had already cleared the white line, though for a minute, nothing happened. Everything was fine, for all of five seconds, which ended with another speeding car slamming into the back of her Highlander. 

Y/n jerked forward, the airbag saving her from hitting her head on the steering wheel, though the seat belt definitely bruising her neck and giving her a mild case of whiplash.

She wasn’t sure who’s car was the source of a blaring horn, nor did she see a crowd gathering around them despite the rain; she was too disoriented to notice much. Too disoriented and too busy hoping that the result of her carelessness wasn’t too major.

John’s heart was going a mile a minute as he jogged in through the automatic doors of the Emergency Room in a hospital in central New York. Rushing to the front desk, he slapped his hands to the cool counter, making the nurses jump, “My um....” well, she wasn’t his girlfriend anymore, though, John guessed it didn’t really matter in that situation. Still, he was thinking too quickly and eventually just dropped the whole thing, “Her name is Y/n Y/n/n, I got a call saying that she had been brought in.”

Quickly, the nurse pulled up Y/n’s file on the computer, then offered to lead him to the room she was in, “She’s right this way Mr. Wick.”

Still barely able to speak, John just nodded, close on the older woman’s heel as they walked up a hallway, all the way to a small room. She was a room, her own room. Not in of those curtained off bays or in a tiny exam room for check-ups. A room. John didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to Y/n, but his mind had gone on without him, and already he was thinking the worst. 

When they stopped at the closed cream door, he sucked in a breath and when the nurse smiled warmly, John wondered how she could even manage it. “Right through here,” she said, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

Upon seeing her, awake and alert, some of John’s worry faded and he sighed in relief. “John?” Y/n pushed off the bed a little, trying to shake off the wire that kept her hooked up to the oxygen monitor. She seemed confused and surprised to see him, standing in the door way, hair disheveled and dressed haphazardly in a white t-shirt, jeans and his brown leather jacket. Didn’t she remember that he was still her emergency contact?

“I’ll give you two some space,” the graying woman in pale green scrubs slid out of the room behind John, pulling the door shut.

Ignoring the voice in his head that told him not to, John rushed over to Y/n’s bedside, lightly grabbing her shoulders and looking her over, as if he didn’t quite trust the doctors. She was bruised up on her face and neck, but otherwise, Y/n seemed fine, “Are you okay? What happened?”

A nervous shiver ran through her body and Y/n avoided John’s gaze, opting to look down at the blanket tossed over her lap, “I took my eyes off the road for less than five seconds and by the time I looked again, the light was changing. And then this other car....he was going probably faster than I was.....John,” she sobbed quietly, wishing more than ever that she could still be afforded the comfort of his embrace. 

Shushing her, John sat next to Y/n on the bed, pulling her into a consuming hug, pressing a lingering kiss to her hair. It took a while, but eventually, Y/n’s breathing had slowed enough for John to voice his other concerns, “Is the baby.....?”

Licking her lips, Y/n shifted uncomfortably and John took that as a signal to get off the bed and sink into the cozy chair near her bedside. Once again, they were un-touching and it was as if the past fifteen minutes hadn’t happened. “I don’t know yet, I’m waiting for the Ob-gyn.”

“Okay,” John nodded, pulling his chair closer to her. they sat in silence for a while, though, eventually the silence became too much for even John, “I’m sorry about the way things went the other night.”

Y/n nodded, her face still downcast, “So am I,” she sniffled, swiping hastily at her face, “I’m sorry about everything,” she admitted meekly.

“It’s my fault,” John dismissed. Maybe if he’d been more open, Y/n wouldn’t have left in the first place, “I hid a lot from you, and I thought I knew what was best for you, but I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that too.”

Scoffing, Y/n clenched and unclenched her jaw, “I should have tried to talk to you, instead of leaving like that. I-”

Just then, a woman in a lab coat and scrubs walked in, greeting them both cheerily as she read from her tablet, “Oh, Ms. Y/l/n, looks like you had a little accident.”

“Yeah,” Y/n breathed, disappointed that she hadn’t gotten to tell John what she had been thinking. If that experience had taught her anything, it was that she didn’t want to be without John, that she didn’t want to have to fill her day with frivolous distractions and regrets when they could just be together.

“Well,” the doctor, determined, pulling an ultrasound machine closer, “Why don’t we check on the little one?”

They went through the motions of getting everything ready, and when the doctor squeezed some clear blue gel onto Y/n’s still flat stomach, she hissed at the cold sensation. When the machine got fired up and the doctor started moving the transducer around on Y/n’s lower stomach, she instinctively reach for John’s hand, squeezing tightly, holding her breath for bad news.

John stood, one hand in Y/n’s, the other soothingly brushing through her hair. His eyes were closely trained on the monitor. He held his breath in anticipation, and for a minute, the young doctor furrowed her brows as she searched for a heartbeat. After a bit more searching and adjusting a couple pulse controls, a low throb rang through and the doctor sighed in relief. 

John smiled faintly, glancing down at Y/n who still looked to the obstetrician for confirmation, his ears being lulled by what seemed to be the sound of a steady heartbeat. “Okay,” the doctor finally chipped, “Congratulations mommy and daddy, all looks well!” She beamed and Y/n turned to John, happy tears making her eyes shine.

Y/n’s breathless laugh and her giddy smile was enough to flutter John’s heart, and when the doctor eventually turned the LCD screen towards them, his mouth dropped in awe. He couldn’t believe it, obviously, he knew how ultra sound machines worked, but seeing the little bean shaped life sitting comfortably against the static was more warming than he could have ever imagined it to be. A new swell of joy plumed in his chest, spreading out to even the tips of his fingers and all the way down to his toes. John could barely grasp it; he was a father, and he’d do everything in his power to be a good one.

“It’s too soon to tell the gender,” the doctor began again, “Unless you want to do a blood test.”

“No, we’re gonna wait a bit,” Y/n returned hastily, though, immediately after, she shifted her gaze to meets John’s eyes, Unless you don’t want too, then we can do it right now.”

Was that an olive branch?

Did that mean that even if Y/n didn’t take him back, she still wanted him involved?

John guessed it did, considering that she hadn’t kicked him out of the room yet. And she’d taken his hand, leaned into his touch the way she used to. Shaking his head, John took a chance at kissing her forehead, careful to avoid a painful blue and black bruise, and he didn’t see it, but Y/n’s eyes slipped closed in contentment just as his lips brushed her skin, his beard familiarly rough. Y/n didn’t realize how much she’d missed that.

“We can wait,” he reassured her, rubbing his thumb affectionately over hers, “It’ll be a nice surprise.”

Looking into his eyes, Y/n felt herself getting lost in them the way she used to before resentment started skewing her perception. “Yeah,” she licked her lips, desperately wishing she could kiss him, longing, just for a second, for them to be the couple that they used to be, “It will be.”

After the Ob-gyn had left them, a nurse had come in with discharge paperwork, and after an hour, Y/n was dressed and ready to go. Much to her surprise, John had stayed, and had awkwardly offered to drive her back to Lacy’s, an offer which she’d have to accept even if she didn’t want to; it was still raining and her car had been towed. 

Insisting that he wouldn’t stand for Y/n walking, even though it would just be for a few minutes, though the rain, John brought his Mustang around, stopping beneath the under-croft and even getting out to open the door for her. 

When they were safely inside, John turned the A/c on and music wafted softly from the deck. John drove slower than Y/n had, more carefully, and as he navigated New York, growing closer and closer to Lacy’s apartment building, the discomfort of the silence also grew. It was never like that; before, John and Y/n could spend hours together, perfectly comfortable with just being together, an exchange of words secondary. But that night, the tension of words unsaid hung between them, the moment at the hospital was gone and now they were just two people trying to find a way to fix their bent relationship, lost in their own thoughts. 

The red bricked building came into view soon enough, and Y/n was still debating what she should say. John pulled aside at the curb and by then the heavy rains had slowed, the shower still moderate, but not terrible. “I should go get an umbrella,” John was already undoing his seat belt, his hand closing in around the handle.

“John,” Y/n reached out for his free hand, surprising them both with the gesture. John stared down at Y/n’s small hand closed over his stocky fingers, only to raise his head and met her eyes. “I meant what I said at the hospital; I am sorry about the way things ended.”

“Do you regret it?” His voice low and gruff, tinged with emotion.

Nodding, Y/n blinked quickly, “Everyday,” she chocked up, “I know I have no right to; but I miss you John.”

Leaning over the console, John pressed his lips to Y/n’s and she responded almost immediately, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair. Y/n’s lips tasted just as sweet as John recalled and they were just as soft. “Come home,” he pleaded when they broke, still nose to nose.

“We still have a lot to work out,” Y/n argued weakly, rubbing her thumb over the top of John’s cheek. As much as she missed him, wanted him back, Y/n couldn’t go back to living the way they had before. There were so many changes that needed to made, things that needed to be talked through.

Inhaling deeply, John nodded slightly, “Just for tonight then, please, I just need to fall asleep next you tonight.”

Y/n too knew that she didn’t want to be alone, not after the day she’d had. And even if being at Lacy’s meant that she wasn’t truly alone, it wasn’t even close to being with John, to sleeping next to him, having his breath fan the back of her neck and his arm around her waist. That night, more than she had in the past six weeks, Y/n needed him. “Okay,” she submitted, “Just for tonight,” she pecked his lips again, and John wiped away a couple escaped tears from her streaked cheeks.

“Okay,” he tried to smile, “Just for tonight.”

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited  @cynic-spirit​

[shreddedparchment]

Colocataire Pt.01

The Push and Pull

06/26/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader x Steve          Word Count: 7,653

Prompt: Colocataire - Roommate

Masterpost     Warnings: Polyamory, sexual tension, fluff, smidge of angst, language, violence

A/N: This is the first of a two part series for @cametobuyplums ‘s writing challenge. I had initially intended for it to be a one shot but as always, these challenges are always demanding more attention. I hope you all like it. I had a lot of fun writing this first bit and it’ll only get better. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Edit: I can’t believe I completely forgot to credit the amazing @youngmoneymilla for reading the beginning innards of this piece for me and giving me some great input.

Several thoughts float through your mind as your apartment door shuts behind you.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and your grandma’s old warning echoes around in your brain.

“Don’t trust anyone and always be aware of your surroundings. The world is out to get you, sweetheart. Never forget it.”

You reach for your pepper spray but before you can plunge your hand into the depths of your purse, your living room light flares on.

You blink hard against the brightness, distraught. You draw in a deep breath and prepare to scream when a calming female voice interrupts you.

“Don’t yell. Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” She says.

You recognize that voice, but you’ve only ever heard it over the phone.

The first time you'd heard it you’d been a kid. Almost a baby still, only four years old, when this oddly husky voice had been slightly reedier.

She’d been young too. Older than you but still young. Malleable.

“N-Natasha?” You stutter, too startled to do more than croak at her.

“Hey, Y/N. Long time no see.” She says, a smile in her voice.

As your eyes focus, you see her clearly. She’s wearing a pair of plain light blue jeans. A light blue tank top underneath a form fitting gray leather jacket. It’s all topped with the same licorice red hair you remember her having as a child.

How it is that she can walk so silently in her sneakers when your own have a tendency to squeak against your dark chocolate wooden floor, you cannot comprehend.

“Why are you here?” You ask, forgetting your manners. “I mean, no. That’s not what I mean. Sorry, I’m just-”

“Surprised to see me?” She offers.

“Yeah.” You half-laugh. “Yes. Very. How’ve you been?”

You relax, peel off your own black jacket and hang it by the door before dropping your purse off on the small table nearby.

“Oh, you know. Living the life.” She grins, hands shoved into her pockets as she looks away from you to walk back towards the seat on your sofa she’d chosen and risen from when you walked in.

“You’re still with the Avengers.” You say, as if she doesn’t know that herself.

“I am.” She watches you with green apple eyes as you move to take a seat on the opposite end of the couch. You kick your shoes off and stretch your toes.

Wearing heels sucks but you work in a pretty nice office.

“And you’re-?”

“Still working nine to five.” You smile at her. “Boring as ever."

“Good.” And she does look happy for you.

She turns herself sideways, hiking up her knee onto the cushion while resting her right arm across the back.

Neither of you says anything for a minute and you look down at your feet, stretch out your legs and lean down to massage the red welts where your shoes had dug into the sides of your feet.

“So, what do you need? You never visit.” You’re not angry or hurt. Just knowing.

Nat had reached out one day several years ago. Checking up on the kid who’d escaped the Red Room Academy.

No ballet for you. No blood on your hands either. You’d been plucked by an angel and saved from enrollment.

Lucky.

“Sorry I didn’t message you this month.” She leans towards you, placing her hand on the center cushion.

You smile and then chuckle, amused.

“I figured you were just busy. I don’t mean to sound offended if that’s what I sounded like. I just…what do you need Nat?” The two of you had grown close over time so she doesn’t take offense with your tone.

“I’m that transparent, huh?”

“No. Not transparent, you’ve just never come to visit. Never mind letting yourself in.” You point out, glancing at the locks on your door.

If she can get in, who else can? You suddenly have the need to upgrade your locks.

“I do need a favor.” She sits back, relaxing into the arm of your sofa as you bring your attention back to her.

“Will this require a long explanation? I’m starving.”

“No, but please, make yourself some dinner. Don’t mind me.” She nods towards your kitchen, hands shoved between her knees as she lifts the other leg up onto the sofa.

“Okay.” You give her a smile then reach over to give her knee a squeeze before kicking your shoes aside.

You pull down on the zipper of your skirt and step out of it as you step into your room.

“So, what’s this favor?” You probe, slipping into a pair of ripped gray sweats.

Pulling on a simple red tank to go with it, you wander back into the living room where Nat is now laying on the sofa staring up at your ceiling. You follow her gaze and smile, stopping at the edge of the sofa by her head with your hands on your hips.

She points up at the ceiling and smiles at you, upside down.

“When’d you do that?” She asks, and you shrug your shoulders.

“Almost as soon as I moved in? They’re in every room of the house. Even the bathroom.” You admire the non-illuminated stars.

There are small ones and medium and great big ones carefully spread out along the ceiling. They’re not in any particular constellations or formations. You just filled it up until it looked like the night sky.

“I like it.” She states, gazing fondly at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars.

“What’s the favor?” You ask, chuckling lightly as you gather your hair up at the top of your head in a messy bun.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

You freeze with your hand on the fridge door and frown at her from across the room.

“It’s work related?” Her work, of course. Not yours.

“Yes. But don’t worry, you won’t need to go out into the field or anything. I just need to borrow your place, if you’ll let us use it?” She wonders, propping herself up onto her elbows to look at you.

“Us?” Nat and Clint maybe? You’d met Clint. “Why do you need my apartment?”

Nat had sent him to check up on you when you hadn’t messaged her back, but you’d only broken your phone and procrastinated on getting a new one. He’d been nice.

Hot. Married. Damn it.

“It’ll only be for a few months. There’s—well, I can’t tell you too much without breaking confidentiality but someone’s making bombs and using them all over town.” Nat begins.

“The Late-Night Bomber?!” You ask, very interested.

You’ve been terrified of being out at night thanks to this crazy idiot. Regular bombs are scary enough, but this jerk is using alien tech.

“The one all over the news?” You continue.

“Yeah.” Nat nods, getting to her feet then stretching her arms over her head.

You observe her lithe form and wish you had the dedication to make your body look like hers.

“Why here?” You wonder.

“The bombs are originating from somewhere in this neighborhood. But we don’t know exactly where.” She smacks the right corner of her lips, a look of disappointment overtaking her beautiful face.

“What?!” You squeak, even more afraid than you were before.

“Yeah. That’s why I was wondering if we could-”

“Yes!” You cut her off, charging towards her with a spatula smeared in tomato sauce. “Yes. Come! Please!”

“Okay.” Nat chuckles, finding amusement in your fear. “Great. Thanks.”

If the Late-Night Bomber is in your neighborhood, having Nat and Clint around is a must.

The heavy knock on your door startles you.

You’ve been on edge since Nat came over and told you about that psycho living in your neighborhood.

Chewing on your lower lip, pulling at the small chapped skin on the left, you put your book down and with a small gulp, move for the door.

You’re still wearing your ratty gray sweats. A white fitted tee on top.

Nat knows what you look like in those sweats and Clint is married so…you’re not trying to impress anyone.

Then you open your front door and your heart nearly hammers itself out of your chest.

You have never, in your life, had your jaw drop. You have never, in your life, felt like your heart was both exploding and burning. You have never, in your life, coveted anyone the way you are suddenly coveting the tall, wide, long haired blonde standing before you.

His wide shoulders are what you see because he’s turned around, talking to another tall blonde. This one has short hair. A neat cut. Clean shaven face.

His storm blue eyes do things to you that you have also never felt before.

Woah. Is all you can think because this much good-looking should not be in one room all at one time.

If you were more dramatic. You might have fainted.

The golden blonde with the shorter hair nudges the slightly taller dirtier blonde with his elbow and he turns.

“Hi.” The shorter blonde says. “You must be Y/N. I’m-”

“C-Captain America.” You stutter. Not cool, loser. “I mean, Steve. Rogers, right?”

“Yeah.” He says, then he gives you a stupidly cute smile. “Nice to meet you.”

You smile back, unable to help yourself. “Hi.”

Then you look up at the taller blonde but he’s staring at you with his mouth open and you’re suddenly wondering why.

You look down at yourself and feel your cheeks burn as you realize that you’re WAY underdressed to meet guys this hot.

Shit.

“Oh-I…excuse me.” You turn and hurry towards the hallway.

“Wait!” Captain America says but you don’t stop.

You move fast, rushing to be out of their sight while also grabbing your cell as you pass the chair you’d been sitting in.

Once you’re in your room, you pull open your drawers and search them one handed while you dial Natasha’s number with the other.

You sandwich the device with your left shoulder and ear while simultaneously sliding out of your ratty sweats.

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

“Come on, Nat. Pick up the damn phone.” You grumble.

Finally managing to step out of your pants, you kick them away towards your hamper as the phone clicks.

“Hey, hold on. I’ll call you back.” Nat says, the sound of gunfire in the background.

“No, Nat!” You shout but she hangs up. You grab the phone in both hands and squeeze it, trembling hands of fury as you mentally strangle her. “Fffffffuck!”

“Hey, is everything alright?” Captain America’s voice drifts in muffled through your door.

It startles you and you jump again.

“Oh, uh, yes! Yes. Everything’s fine. Just…have a seat. Make your-yourselves at home. I’ll be right out.” You turn back towards your drawers, drop your phone on top, then pull out a pair of wrinkled old jeans and slide those on.

“Okay.” Cap replies, sounding unconvinced.

Buzz! Buzz-buzz!

Your phone moves a half an inch towards you as it vibrates, and you yank it up to your ear.

“Nat!” You whisper-shout, quick glance towards your bedroom door.

“Hey. Sorry about that. You kinda caught me mid-heist. What’s up? Everything okay?” There’s still the distant sound of gunshots from her end of the line and for one moment you consider hanging up. “Y/N?”

“Why aren’t you here?” You demand as quietly as possible while you reach down to do up your zipper and button.

“Oh.” She laughs. She laughs?! “I guess the guys are there.”

“Nat, when you told me that you needed to use the apartment, you said it would be you and Clint.” You move to the edge of your bed and plop yourself down, left hand nervously gripping your knee.

“No, I didn’t.” She says, amusement still turning her voice.

“Yes. You did.”

“No. Shit. Hold on.” Four gunshots, loud. Close. A grunt. Then a deep sigh. “I never said that me and Clint were the two that would be staying.”

“Oh my God, Nat. You said, us and us has always been you and Clint.” You explain passionately.

“Us. The Avengers. That’s what I meant. I’m sorry if you misunderstood. What’s the problem? Are they being rude?” The way she asks, she makes it sound as if she’ll scold them.

“No.” You assure her, uncomfortable. Shifting from side to side on the mattress. “No. They’re not being rude. They—they haven’t even been able to speak much yet.”

“Then?” Nat waits. When a minute passes you hear her exasperated sigh. “Y/N? What’s the problem?”

“I just—I thought it was going to be you and Clint so I just kinda opened the door.” You sweep your hand as if you’re pulling the door open again. “In my sweats. My hair all…I look like…”

Nat is suddenly laughing on the other end.

“Nat.” You growl, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. Steve and Thor are not there to date. They’ll stay out of your way. You stay out of theirs. It’ll be like they’re not even there. Besides, I don’t think you’re exactly their type.”

You don’t know why but this offends you. Is she calling you ugly? You’re not…you know what you look like, but Nat had always seemed so open.

“Oh.” Your insecurity seeps through to your tone and she picks up on it quickly.

“No, Y/N. That’s not what I meant. You’re just very normal. Thor dated an astrophysicist. Steve dated an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and current C.I.A. operative. You’re just a little…?”

“Unimpressive?” You supply.

Nat sighs. “They’d be lucky to have someone like you. But as I said, they’re not there to date. They’re professionals, Y/N. They wouldn’t do that. I promise.”

Nat had been right of course. Steve and Thor were professionals.

When they were on watch.

When they weren’t, they were eating your fridge clean. Leaving their clothes all over the place. And taking up space on your couch.

“Who made coffee and didn’t clean the pot? There’s mold in here now.” You growl.

“I’m sorry. That was me. I’ll wash it now.” Thor rises to his feet, but you shoot him a glare.

“Don’t bother. I’m already doing it.” You pile the pot beside the other dirty dishes and then move towards your favorite armchair.

“Thor, is this your shirt?” Thor, who had casually laid himself back down on the sofa, looks up over the edge of the Rubik’s Cube he’s been fiddling with all week.

It’s halfway solved but he keeps messing it up.

“No. That’s Cap’s.”

“Oh.” You fold it and try not to like how soft it is or the smell of light crisp fragrance that wafts up towards you from it.

God, they both smell so damn good.

Thor’s wearing normal clothes here. You have yet to see him in his uniform since he arrived. Almost a month and he’s still wearing mostly hoodies, t-shirts, and jeans.

And he looks good. All the time.

“Why do you call him Cap? Do you always call him that?” He laughs at you, big goofy smile as his electric sapphire eyes sparkle.

“What? Of course not. I know his name. We’re friends.” He says.

“So, what is it?”

“What’s what?” He goes back to his Rubik’s cube, brow knit, smile still plastered over his ridiculous pink lips.

They peek out from his scruffy beard, begging for kisses but you shove that thought away too.

They’re your roommates for all intents and purposes and they treat you like…well, you’re not exactly sure what they treat you like. Not like someone they’re interested in. Steve hardly pays you any mind.

“His name, Thor. What’s Cap’s name?” You clarify, holding Steve’s shirt against your chest as Thor stares up at your plastic stars.

“They’re out here too?” He asks, sitting up suddenly, tossing the Rubik’s Cube aside.

“Huh?”

“The stars.” He points at them and he’s so tall he can reach up and trace one of them when you’d had to balance on a chair on your tiptoes to place them.

“Oh. Yeah.” You watch him admire the sight before he races for the light switch and turns them all off.

He then hurries to all the windows and pulls down the blinds plunging the both of you into darkness.

“Thor!” You complain, unable to see almost anything.

As your eyes adjust, you see the vague black shadow of your furniture and a much larger mass moving around the room towards you. The shadow is looking up.

You move your eyes upwards and see what he sees. Your apartment’s ceiling is suddenly the night sky and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s not real. You know it isn’t. You sometimes forget that they’re there though and when you see them again after letting them slip from your mind, they take your breath away.

“They’re beautiful. I stare up at the ones in my room before I go to sleep every night.” Thor tells you from somewhere in the darkness to your left.

You walk towards the sound of his voice but bump into the TV stand.

“Ow.”

“Careful.” He tells you from where the sofa should be. “Come over here.”

“This would be easier if the lights were on.” You mutter.

“But then we wouldn’t see the stars.” The yearning in his voice is real and you wonder what must have put it there.

“Well, I can’t see. It’s dark. I don’t have your eyes.” You complain.

“My eyes? What do my eyes have to do with anything?” His deep confusion is ridiculous. Stupid God.

“Oh, I don’t know. Can you see? Do those Godly peepers of yours let you see in the dark?”

“Peepers?” He asks, confused for a moment by the slang. “Sort of.”

“Well, I can’t see jack shit.” Dummy.

He chuckles. It’s deep and it rumbles out from his chest. You like it.

“What are you laughing at?” You whine.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you keep moving that way. Here. Follow my voice.” He coaxes you, soft and gentle.

“Can’t we just turn on the lights?” You sigh, moving towards the last spot you’d heard his deep timber.

“No. I like the stars.” And his voice is close. You adjust a little to your left.

“Watch it, the coffee table is there. Here, a little to your right. You can walk between your armchair and the table.” He says.

“This way?” You ask, looking up at the stars on the ceiling and wishing you’d laid them out in constellations so that you’d know them like a real map of the stars.

You reach out, holding your hand in front of you to see if you might hit something first but instead hot fingers intertwine with your own.

Freezing, you stop walking but try to memorize the way Thor’s fingers feel around yours. It’s not like he’s guiding you. He’s seriously just holding your hand.

Fingers laced through yours.

The tension in the room becomes so thick you could cut it. What kind of tension?

You blink, swallow, nervously as more heat finds your chest.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers, and his breath wafts down on you.

You could lean up. You know where his lips would be.

“Come.” He says, and his hand pulls you down.

You can hear him shifting and shuffling in front of you, then his hands are on your hips and you’re breathless.

“Thor?”

“Lay down with me. Let’s watch the stars.” He begs. His fingers shift over the soft, cotton dress you’d put on this morning to meet a friend from the office for lunch.

“I can’t see.” You whisper, nerves on edge and burning.

His large hands trace your hips down along the outside of your thighs until they find your knees and he pulls them towards himself.

The sensation of falling is terrifying in the pitch black, but he catches you. His arms are wrapped around you, underneath your own arms, and very slowly he lowers you until your knees are on the ground.

He’s already sitting, you realize. You shift to his left and sit down too.

“Wait.” He says, a rush of his scent washes over you, fresh rain, wet soil, clean spring air, with a bite of bitter ozone, numbing your senses to everything but him. “Here.”

He places his hands on your shoulders and very slowly leads you down onto the floor. He’s only guiding you, so you don’t get too excited.

When your head hits a pillow, you laugh. “Thanks.”

How considerate.

“You’re welcome.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he settles in beside you to your right. Your sofa on your left.

“You really like my stars that much?” You wonder, staring up at the pretty patterns.

“I do. They remind me of home. Before it was destroyed. Cap told me that they are made of plastic? With bio-luminescent paint?” He wonders, his breath wafting towards you again.

He’s so close you can feel his arm grazing against yours, his fingers probably within reach.

“Something like that. I’ve never been curious enough to really find out what they’re made of.” You look towards where his head should be. “So, are you ever going to answer my question?”

“What question?” He asks, and his hot breath is on your lips and you might just go ahead and faint.

Thor is so close that he’s whispering and still sounds as loud and clear as when he greets you everyday with a cheerful good morning despite the bird’s nest on your head and the grumpy scowl you wear until you have your coffee and breakfast.

“What’s Cap’s name?” You whisper back.

“Oh. That. Uh…well, of course, because he and I are such close friends—Stefan. Of course, I know that.” He brags so uncertain that he must know he’s wrong.

It makes you smile, and you grin up at him despite not being able to see him.

“Stefan? Are you sure you don’t mean Steven?” You ask.

“That, yes. That’s what I said.” He assures you.

“No one calls him Steven.” You whisper, desperately wanting to laugh.

“Of course not. They call him Steve.” Well, color you impressed. “Steve Dodgers.”

“What?!” You exclaim, already laughing.

“What? Is that not it?” He asks, laughing now too. It’s a low chuckle, rising in pitch at the end that tickles your belly with flutters. “Lodgers?”

You laugh harder. It makes your knees fold up as you clutch at your stomach with your left arm.

Suddenly, your right hand is wrapped in warmth and those large fingers are interlacing with yours again.

It startles your heart into a fast thrum, but your laugh dies into a chuckle as you let your fingers curl around Thor’s too.

“I’ll help you with the dishes.” He says, and that nearly makes you twist towards him. It makes you want to mount him, but you lean up towards the breath he’s breathing towards you.

“Okay.” You reply, excited and scared but oh, so eager. “Can we do it in a little bit? The dishes I mean?”

When he speaks, his voice is so close, he might as well just be speaking into your mouth. “Your wish is my command…my princess.”

Oh, God, you’re going to pounce him. He’s a goner.

As the two of you lean towards each other, the rattling of keys and the door pry the two of you apart.

You sit up, surprised by the intrusion. You’re on your feet and just before the lights flare on, you quickly shake your hand out of Thor’s.

Steve freezes with his hand still on the switch as he watches you and the awkward way you move to the side in quick small steps, back towards the armchair where you’d dropped his folded shirt.

“You’re back.” You gasp.

“Uh…yeah.” Steve says, picking up on that tense thick atmosphere you’d noticed when the lights were shut off.

“Did you find anything?” Thor asks, still sitting on the floor but leaning on top of the coffee table.

“No.” Steve sighs and shuts the door. He moves toward the kitchen counter and drops off a large brown paper bag you hadn’t noticed he was holding. “I got some stuff for dinner though. Steaks sound good?”

“Oh, Odin, bless him. He’s got meat.” Thor rattles as he gets to his feet and moves towards the kitchen.

“You just ate.” You remind him, remembering the four sandwiches he’d devoured not an hour ago.

He turns and shrugs at you, a lopsided smile on those lips that you’d nearly kissed. Fuck, that timing.

“Well, I can’t cook for shit, so unless you want blackened steaks, I suggest someone else take over.” Steve says, knowing himself well enough.

“I can-” You begin but Thor cuts you off.

“I’ve got this. You have never had steak until you have had it made by a true Asgardian chef.” Thor brags, clapping his hands and removing his hoodie.

It pulls up on his t-shirt and you see the golden glimpse of his tight back before he’s pulling his dark blue t-shirt down.

“Thor, you burned the grilled cheese.” You remind him.

He doesn’t look at you.

“Well, that was merely a mistake. I promise you, my p-” He looks up at Steve who’s staring deep into the paper bag as he pulls the groceries out, to see if he’s hearing this slip as it happens but Steve seems unaware. “-panicky friend. That will not happen again. I was distracted last time.”

Thor saves himself but your heart is pounding, and you don’t know why he’s not willing to say that again in front of Steve. Maybe because it isn’t supposed to be happening?

This sucks.

“I don’t know that I’m hungry.” You tell him, the shift of melancholy in your voice.

He notices and he turns to look at you, his blue eyes full of bright reassurance. Whether it’s for his cooking or what just happened in the dark, you’re not sure.

What you are sure of is that falling for one of these sudden roommates wasn’t something you’d been expecting.

As Thor turns back towards the counter, Steve turns to look at you. He gives you a small sheepish smile. It raises goosebumps on your skin and the flutter in your stomach from Thor’s hand rushes up to make your heart tumble.

Falling for both of your roommates? Odin help you.

“Steve, you don’t have to do that. I can manage.” The awkwardness of trying to keep your distance as he snakes your drain is palpable.

Gross. What if he pulls out a massive wad of your hair?

You wring your hands, tapping the toe of your sneaker against the light cream-colored tile of your bathroom floor.

“Steve…” You worry.

“Hold on. I’ve almost…” A grunt. “Got it.”

Okay. That’s enough. “Seriously, you should stop. I’ve been snaking my own drain for years now. I’m an expert.”

You move towards him, shoving yourself between him and the wall that he’s got his arm propped against. Your tub sits at an angle in the back corner of your bathroom and he has to lean in to get to the drain in the back center.

You reach for the snaking tool with your right hand as he adjusts his hold on the wall with his left.

“Wait, Y/N. Don’t.” He looks worried as you lean in. “It’s wet, let me just get up.”

“I got it. Just let me do it.”

“Hold on.” He says sternly.

“Steve…” You protest.

Then your hand slips against the bottom of the tub and your body falls down towards the painful ceramic.

You don’t even scream as your body is flung. You shut your eyes tight and wait for the painful stab of the tub’s edge against your ribs but instead find your chest pressed against a harder muscled one.

Arms curled in against your own, you keep your eyes closed, knowing very well that you’ve managed to damsel in distress your way into Steve’s stupidly strong embrace.

“You okay?” He asks, worry thick. “I told you to wait. Why didn’t you just wait?”

You don’t speak. You’re too embarrassed.

“Y/N?” Steve asks, more worry seeping through. “Did you hit yourself somewhere?”

“No.” You utter.

“Wha-then, are you okay?” He asks again.

“No.” You groan.

“What’s the matter?” He pulls you up, somehow getting you both on level footing again with his sheer upper body strength.

Opening your eyes, you try not to look down at the wide expanse of his chest and shoulders. They stretch the heather gray fabric of his t-shirt and you’re already battling with the urge to run your hands up along his strong pectorals on a daily basis.

“Nothing. I’m just a klutz.” You sigh.

Steve sighs too. With relief? “Oh.”

There’s a small huff of hot air. He’s laughing at you.

“I mean, I could have told you that after the first week of staying here with you. Didn’t think it would take three months being around a Super Soldier to make you realize it.” He sounds assuredly cocky, despite his usual straight-cut demeanor.

“You’re teasing me?” You demand, surprised, but pleasantly so.

“No.” He promises, shaking his head. “No. I’m just—okay, maybe I am teasing you a little.” He laughs, a real laugh.

“Jerk.” You reach out and push him, hand lingering just a bit too long against the left side of his chest.

“Sorry.” He chuckles, reaching up to take hold of your hand.

Something like electricity charges the air as his hand closes around yours, cupping the back of it when you leave it there.

“Are you?” It doesn’t sound like he’s sorry. He sounds like he’s having fun.

He shakes his head. “Not really.” And laughs again.

You renew the push to his shoulder, and he trails his hand down your forearm to your elbow, the pressure bending it so that it brings you closer.

The two of you go silent again. You stare into his storm blue gaze, trying to understand the blue-fire within them.

“You’ve been kind of on a fixing kick with all the little broken things in the apartment.” First the light in the dining room.

Then the doorbell. The window that doesn’t open in the living room. One of the coffee table legs. Testing the smoke alarms. Waxing the wooden floors. Repairing some tile on your bathroom floor and the guest bathroom. Snaking both drains. Polishing all the fixtures. What’s he doing?

“Your landlord doesn’t come by often enough.” Steve’s right too.

You’ve never once seen your landlord to fix things in the few years you’ve lived here.

“I usually do them myself.” You tell him.

“I don’t doubt that you can. I just wanted to help. I live here too, you know?” He says, tenor voice burrowing its way into your chest hollow.

“I hadn’t noticed, what with you being gone so much this month.” You’ve missed him. His presence around the apartment.

Thor has also been gone a lot this month and after that incident two months ago with your stars, Thor hasn’t shone any kind of interest. No more my princess and you’re desperate to hear it again.

Clearly whatever had happened that night had been a one-time thing. Caught up in the stars maybe because he’s shown no sign of interest since.

“I know.” Steve says, pulling you out of your thoughts of Thor. “Sorry. We’ve been tracing the bomber upstate. Then back down and back up. He’s moving but we’re not sure why.”

You don’t want to talk about the Late-Night Bomber. He’s killed so many people and the thought of him in your building or the next building or the building across the street, it drives you up the wall with worry.

Feeling safe with Steve and Thor has become somewhat of a habit and now that they’ve been spending so much time out of your apartment, your fear has rushed back to the forefront.

“What if he shows up one day?” Your intention is not to pull any sort of reaction from Steve. It’s a genuine question. “And you’re not here?”

You’re truly afraid. Helpless in a way that you’d never thought would matter.

“That won’t happen.” Steve insists, suddenly yanking you closer. His hand curves around your waist, fingers digging deep into the tissues of your back.

“You can’t be sure.” You tell him.

“Y/N…” He starts, but you don’t want to talk about the bomber!

“So, listen,” You press on, intent on forgetting the danger. “Since you’re in a handyman type of mood, do you think you could come back into my room?”

“Why?” He asks, curious but his hand gets tighter. You gasp, so quiet that no one but Steve can hear it.

He’ll probably be able to hear the pounding of your heart too. Is it giving you away?

“Do you have something in there that needs tending to?” The meaning of his words is laced with double entendre and you blink your eyes shut to focus.

You’re suddenly aching and pooling in all the right and wrong places. Damn this man and the other one too.

RING! RING-RING!

Both of you jump and Steve drops his arm. You race around him towards your bathroom counter and stare with muted aggression at the name on the screen. With a swipe of your finger, you answer the phone and press it to your ear.

“Hey, Nat.” You turn around and hop up onto the counter, crossing your legs tight and shoving your fisted hand over the crotch of your pants.

There’s nothing to see there, but you’re very aware of what’s underneath.

Steve crosses into your eye line and you stare at him as he moves to stand beside you, washing his hands in the sink. Slowly.

He’s watching you. His storm blue eyes curious and penetrating.

“Hey. You okay? You sound weird.” Stupid spy.

“Yes. I’m fine.” You assure her.

“Good. Everything going okay with tweedledee and tweedledum?”  Her voice is knowing but not in the way you’re expecting.

She sounds like she’s asking you about two mischievous boys. Young ones. Brothers. Not these two Adonis men walking around your apartment.

“Yeah. We’re good. Steve’s actually helping me out around the apartment as we speak. He just snaked my drain.” You say, fully aware of the way it sounds.

Steve’s eyebrows slowly shoot up on his forehead, hand washing forgotten.

All you can do is stare at him.

“That’s good! They’re actually helping? We can’t get them to do anything back on the compound.”

“Yeah. I’ll have to thank him for being so good to me.” You say, lowering your tone.

You’d be lying if you said that despite Thor’s reservations since the almost kiss, you and Steve haven’t been sharing lingering looks. The shy boy is endearing but it’s those long stares he gives you across the dining table or when you look up from your book while you sit in your favorite armchair and meet his eye from where he sits on the couch.

It’s inquisitive and probing. Never explicitly full of desire but sometimes there’s a lick to his lips and you have to look away or leave the room because your neck suddenly burns like lava.

Living with Steve is not easy. Living with Thor feels more and more like torture.

They’re so good to you now. They clean up after themselves when they see you come home exhausted. Thor makes breakfast almost every day. Steve brings you new books and Thor asks you endless questions about nothing and everything.

Your favorite nights—the ones that hurt but also feel so good—are the ones when you shut off the living room lights and while Steve runs his surveillance of the neighborhood through a small crack in the blinds, you lay on your sofa, Thor lays on the floor beside you. And all three of you talk and gaze at your indoor stars.

Today is much harder than any other day because as you tell Nat that you’ll have to thank your roomie, he places his hand on the inside of your left knee.

Your mouth parts, a small soundless gasp escaping as he trails that hand up along the inside of your thigh.

Where is this coming from but also, why hasn’t it happened already?!

Nat had said you weren’t their type. Maybe not Thor’s now, since he’s backed off, but Steve?

“Who are you talking to?” Clint’s voice is immediately recognizable and maybe you would have jumped at the chance to tell him hi, but right now, you’re too distracted.

Steve’s fingers tickle the exposed flesh of your leg. His tips slowly press into the bottom hem of your jean shorts.

“Y/N. Anyway,-”

“Tell her I said, hi.” Clint says.

“I’m sure she can hear you, dummy.” Nat replies.

“Hi, Y/N!”

“Hi, Clint.” You manage as Steve’s fingers push up high underneath that left short leg.

“Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll be by next month to check up on you and make sure those boys aren’t driving you crazy. Okay?”

“O-okay.” You stutter.

“Bye!” Nat finally releases you and you mumble something that sounds like ‘bye’ but then you’re putting the phone on the counter beside you.

You reach out and grab hold of Steve’s t-shirt by the neck and make to pull him towards you as his hand claws into your skin when you hear the sound of the front door.

“Hello?” Thor booms, still in the living room. “I’m home. Anyone here?”

You have a terrible, horrible, no good life.

“Yeah.” Steve says, pulling his hand back. “We’re in the bathroom.”

He moves back towards the tub and doesn’t spare you another glance as you’re left to writhe and wonder why your luck seems to run out right at this very moment.

Both damn times.

“In here?” Thor asks, as he enters your bedroom then makes for your bathroom.

When he sees you perched on the counter, he smiles, blue eyes twinkling. “Hello.”

“Hey.” You reply, wishing your heart would make up its mind.

Steve or Thor, stupid. Can’t be both.

Thor moves towards you and places both hands on the counter by your legs on either side.

He leans in and kisses your cheek, leaving a searing burn as he pulls back to look at Steve.

“What are you doing?” He asks, curious as he goes to join him.

“Snaking the drain.”

“Whating the what?” He asks, and Steve smiles.

“Snaking the drain. Here, I’ll show you.”

Left to sit on the counter, stewing in your Steve created arousal and Thor heartache, you can’t help but wonder, why not both?

“What exactly is the point of this game?” Thor wonders, setting his pair of deuces aside.

“The point is to get rid of all of your cards first. The last person to lose all of their cards loses the game.” You explain for what feels like the tenth time.

“You got any fours?” Steve asks Thor, sparing a glance out the window to his left.

Always on the watch, your Captain. Wait. My Captain?

“No.” Thor says, fiddling with his card order.

“No, Thor!” You whine, leaning over towards him with your cards held close to your chest.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Go fishing." He says it like he’s insulting Steve and it makes you chuckle.

You plop yourself down on the table, pleasantly exasperated, as Thor watches you and smiles. It’s so flirty and sweet that your heart gives a little ache.

It’s been four months since the incident in the dark and he still hasn’t done anything other than give you an occasional chaste kiss on the cheek.

“What? That’s what I say, right?” He asks, looking at Steve.

Steve is also smiling, eyes trained on his cards.

“It’s ‘go fish' not ‘go fishing'.” He explains and as you straighten up, Thor gives a small somber pout.

“Oh. Then go fish. I have no fours.” He looks up at you and smiles again, soft subtle curve to those bristling pink lips. “Do you have any threes?”

Does his beard tickle when it’s kissed?

His smile widens as he watches you stare.

Your ears burn but you smile back at him bashfully. Being caught staring at his lips is nothing new.

“Go fish.” You chuckle, bite your bottom lip then turn your eyes on Steve.

You find him watching the two of you with a small pucker between his eyes.

The look wipes away all the flirtatious flutters Thor just gave you, filling your tummy up with knots.

“Um…do you have any eights?” You ask him and Steve just stares.

When the silence becomes unbearable--Thor's eyes are glued to his cards the entire time—you breathe in slowly.

“Steve?” And release it in a nervous huff.

He opens his mouth to reply, when a loud piercing explosion shakes the room.

BOOM!

You scream, cards flying up in the air as you clamp your hands over your ears.

You’re still frozen while Steve and Thor push their chairs back away from the table, cards forgotten as Steve races for his shield by your desk. Thor holds out his hand and his axe flies towards him.

As it makes contact with his skin, his body is engulfed by harmless—to you—sizzling electricity that stands the small hairs on the back of your neck on end and bathes you in soothing heat.

“Your gun, Y/N.” Steve says sternly as he heads towards the front door. “Stay in your room.”

Despite his order, you’re still not moving. A million things could have happened to cause that explosion but something tells you that what you’ve been fearing would happen has finally happened.

The Late-Night Bomber is done with this neighborhood and is making an example of it. Maybe he caught onto Thor and Steve’s scent?

Thor’s large hand closes around your bicep and he pulls you out of your seat. He’s gentle but firm. The urgency in his movements scares you.

“Go, my princess,” He whispers, so low that Steve won’t hear him. “Find your weapon and stay out of harm’s way. We will return for you shortly. Go.”

As he pushes you towards the hallway you turn to watch him disappear through your front door behind Steve. His words had woken you back up and now more than ever you hate to see him and Steve go.

You do as you’re told.

You hurry into your bedroom and shove your hands into the space between your mattress and the box spring until they find sleek cold metal.

The gun is a small nine-millimeter Beretta and Steve chose it specifically for you because of its small size and low recoil. He’d show up one day with it nestled in a small silver metal case, kissed your head, and told you to keep it close.

“Stay safe.” He always says when he leaves. Today he forgot to say it.

Settling into the faded baby blue armchair in the corner of your room, you sit with your feet propped up on the seat. You use your knees to aim your gun at the door and urge your hands to still.

Waiting sucks. Waiting for something to happen. Anything. Waiting for your boys to come back.

Nat had sounded sisterly when she spoke of them. You see them as much more than that. Even if nothing has happened…

Please, let me get out of this so that something can happen.

If they don’t want to make the first move. You’ll have to. But who?

Your ears go into overdrive, trying to catch the sounds of the building around you.

There’s screaming, children crying. The sounds of running. You hear rumbles of thunder in the distance but you’re not sure where Thor might be. He sounds like he’s far away.

If Thor isn’t nearby, is Steve?

The sounds of sirens get closer and closer, grating your fearful nerves.

Something like acid begins to burn in your gut.

Half an hour passes and the longer you’re away from Steve and Thor, the worse this feeling gets.

An instinct pulls at you from the center of your chest. As the sounds of the world go eerily silent, no more screaming, no more sirens, no sounds of Thor, you let that instinct lead you towards the bathroom. You climb into your tub and sit yourself on the far end, facing the door with your gun once again aimed at the entrance.

The smaller confined space gives you some comfort. Not much. Some.

The floor around you begins to shake. The quaking moves the small glass jars of Q-tips and cotton swabs on your counter. Your compact slides along the surface as it rattles then falls and the mirror shatters as it pops open. The small pictures you’d had hung up in your room, the one of you Thor and Steve casually sitting on your sofa beside each other but deliberately not touching probably falls and breaks along with the others.

This mist be what a mild earthquake feels like.

The rumbling stops.

Your breathing grows ragged as your fear reaches up to choke you as that bitter instinct warns you that it’s not over.

You’re about to scream when your restroom explodes around you.

BOOM!

Everything is dust and particles, flying debris, crumbling structure, flying broken tile, smoke, and heat more terrifying than anything you’ve ever felt.

You don’t wanna die.

The ash polluted air keeps you from drawing in more than a ragged, rattling breath. The oxygen burns out of your lungs and then something heavy falls over you. You flatten yourself into your tub as best you can, but your arm is caught, and you desperately pull the memory of two pairs of eyes.

Electric and Storm blue eyes are the last thing you see as your world turns black.

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[wongxiexie]

Discard

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun x Reader Genre: Angst Word Count: 2.003 words Warnings: Just a very brief mention of sex Note: The photo’s from EXO’s website. 

His touch burns you.

The spot where he grips your wrist hurts not because of the pain from his tight hold, but from the mere contact of his skin on yours. The hands that used to bring you sparks and fireworks bring you now only pain and uncertainty, insecurity and dejection.

Once, there was a time when just a mention of his name sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach -- after all, Byun Baekhyun was that - giddiness, excitement, butterflies and rollercoasters. It used to be a good kind of nervous whenever you were around him, but now? Now you only know fright about what things you will need to question again because of his actions.

Is it your fault? Do you assume things? Are you needy? Are you unbearably clingy? Do you embarrass him? Are you together? Is he just being nice? Do you make his actions out to be something that they’re not?

If you start listing all your questions down, you will confidently bet your apartment, car, degree and life that you won’t be able to finish writing them within a day. Each question just elicits even more questions when you try to answer them and instead of reaching proper conclusions, you always end up with even worse uncertainty than before.

You were raised in a wonderful environment and you grew up knowing your own worth while still maintaining what you think is proper humility, but the years you spent fostering that right mindset all came crumbling down the instant he decided to play with you and your feelings.

… but wait, is he leading you on? Or did you just assume?

There go the questions again.

The sound of the party is becoming more and more like white noise the farther Baekhyun drags you away from the house. You want to stop and just scream at him in frustration but admittedly, there is a part of you that is a tiny bit hopeful about this concern he seems to be expressing.

When you are about two blocks away from the alcohol and music, he halts and you almost bump into him with how sudden he stopped walking, but luckily you get your wits enough at just the right time.

You want to talk, you really do. There are so many things you want to say to him and even more things you want to  ask him about but you remain silent. It’s rare for him to pull you for a private talk when there are people around, so you don’t want to scare him away with what is sure to be a nonstop barrage of queries about where you stand with him.

You just want confirmation and affirmation, is that so difficult to give?

He turns towards you and you are surprised to see the frustration that is apparent on his face. Lithe fingers run through his hair as he paces in front of you, seemingly deep in thought about how to formulate what he wants to say.

“You…” he starts, breathless and shaking his head in disbelief. He stops walking and looks at your eyes. “Just what do you think were you doing with Chanyeol?”

A gasp escapes you and you bite you lower lip to physically prevent yourself from yelling at him.

“Me?” you say with a scoff. “What did I do with Chanyeol, huh, Baekhyun?”

You raise your brows at him, challenging him to say out loud whatever stupid thing he thinks will justifiably warrant his anger.

“You were--” he gestures his hands around, clearly irritated about the whole ordeal. His brows are furrowed and his lips look almost curled to a sneer. Heaving a disbelieving sigh, he scoffs back. “He was all over you! You were practically fucking each other back there in front of all those people!”

“We were just dancing--”

“What, you’re so desperate for a fuck that you’d just whore yourself out to any guy that--”

He feels it before he can register what you did. Next thing he knows, his head is forced to the side as his left cheek throbs in pain. 

You had just slapped him, he realizes belatedly, and when he looks at you, you swear you can see that he almost wants to take his words back… Almost, because Byun Baekhyun would rather swallow glass shards than admit that he is wrong.

Hands balled into tight fists and eyes flickering in an effort to prevent tears from spilling, you are the epitome of hurt, betrayed, and belittled. Even with your attempt to not cry, a couple of stubborn tears cascade down your cheeks as you stare him down.

As much as you don’t want to admit it, in the back of your mind and in the depths of your heart, perhaps you’ve always known that he doesn’t really care much about you. But for him to actually voice out how little he thinks of you? The jealousy he’s showing might say otherwise, but you know that he’s angry solely because you embarrassed his reputation the moment you decided to go near another guy.

To an outsider, the scene might look like one straight out of a romantic movie. The two of you stand near and facing each other with the yellow glow of the lights casting a gentle glow over your forms, the moon high above and the people far away enough to leave the conversation a hushed secret only known to the two of you.

And how you wish that is true, but the fact remains that it isn’t now, and won’t be any time in the near foreseeable future.

Sniffling, you inhale deeply to try and stabilize your breathing but it seems like you aren’t having any luck with that. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a soundless form of his name.

You sniffle again and meet his gaze with your own, “I don’t need to explain myself to you, but if you must know, I was only dancing with Chanyeol, who’s a really good friend by the way,” you wipe your eyes with both hands and continue, “We weren’t doing that you thought we were doing… or what you were actually doing with that girl you’re with earlier.”

Baekhyun scoffs. “That was no one. She was clinging to me the whole night so I indulged her a bit.”

“Yeah?” you say as you let out a humorless chuckle. “Indulged her a bit? As in kiss her, tell her things that would make her feel special and have sex with her as if you’re actually making love to her?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Why are you so hung up about this anyway when you were about to do the same thing to one of my friends!”

The annoyance is clear on his face and it takes almost all of your self-restraint not to give into the urge to pull your hair in frustration.

“I told you, Chanyeol and I were just dancing!” you scream at him. “And why are you even jealous when last time I checked, we were never together, right?”

That makes him stop. You gulp and lock eyes with him, deciding to bare your emotions at last. If it’s going to end, whatever it is, you want to end it yourself and in your terms.

“When it’s just the two of us, you turn into the sweetest person,” you say with a pained smile, “It almost makes me believe like you actually feel something for me…”

“...but you never tell me anything. Whenever I try to ask you what we are, for some reason, you always evade the question.” You wipe the stray tears that drip from your eyes. “And then you go around hooking up with other women… and you don’t even try to hide or deny it…”

Closing the distance towards him, you approach him and take his hands gently in yours. “I knew how you treated women and yet I still thought I can have a relationship with you. Or is it even a relationship? I don’t know, since we never once talked about it… and I know you’re mad because you want to keep me to yourself, not because you like me, but because you’re not done playing with me yet.”

When you look at his face, your heart breaks even more upon seeing the clear discomfort painted on the features you loved so much. Seeing his desire to just flee the situation makes you want to do the same, but you decide that you need to let him know how you feel… not for his sake because who knows if he even cares, but for yours, so you can get the pain and negative emotions out of your system. You need to break it off so you can move on from him, so you can completely free yourself from him no matter how even just the thought of it already hurts.

“I won’t fool myself anymore, Baek, so just… goodbye.”

You turn around and walk away knowing full well that he won’t follow you or even try to make things right because no matter how hurtful, the truth remains that he never once cared about you, only about the idea of having one more spare notch on his belt that he can add to his brag count and play with when he gets bored.

That, you figure, is where you've done wrong.

You believed him - everything he said and everything he did, you put to heart. He always made you agree with him without being the first to suggest an arrangement. Somehow, he had the ability to make you be the one to say that you should meet up, to say that you missed him.

He made it so that you would be the first to suggest everything, but he did it in a way where you wouldn’t notice because of the excitement he gave you with his words and actions.

Manipulative. That’s what he is.

Baekhyun made you chase after him and you never suspected a thing for he was always so sweet, so thoughtful, so attentive. He was everything you wanted and more, but he made sure to always be like that with others so when the time comes when you’ll demand an explanation, it would be so easy for him to deny anything because after all, he’s like that with everyone.

But he also never said anything about a relationship. Never confirmed nor denied that there was something between you. That way, he could flirt his way with others because what then, would you say to him? He wouldn’t be cheating on you because you weren’t together, and you wouldn’t have the right to complain or be jealous because after all, he never actually told you that you were together, right?

He made it so that you would blame yourself for everything.

The worst part? He was such a good guy all throughout, that even when you got slapped with the truth - that he was nothing but a manipulative playboy - there’s a fool’s gold of a hope that has embedded itself in your heart that makes you hold onto the chance of him being a nice guy deep inside.

You’ve been trapped and even though you’ve freed yourself from him physically, you don’t know if or when your heart and mind would be free from him any time soon.

Thrown into the ocean that was him, you got sucked in and it was already too late when you realized you were already drowning. And when you tried to get out, you swim up above only to be pulled back in, deeper and deeper every time.

Today, you walk away, but tomorrow… you’ll see what will fit Baekhyun’s needs. Will he want you back again because he’s bored with his other collections, or will he finally discard you permanently because you’ve turned into one of those things that he hates - the kind that demands commitment from him?

[wildwhiskey236]

Character Interview Tag

I was tagged by @albarnesauthor!

We will be interviewing my OC’s from my NaNo WIP Embracing Shadows. (A/N- I wanna do this a little differently than what I’ve done before, so it may get long but stick with me.)

Our five assholes sit in the laughably nondescript room, scowls immediately crossing their faces, protests on their lips at the description. The author reminds them of their current behavior in their story and all protests die on their lips, several of them muttering an agreement that yeah, maybe they were assholes. 

1: What is your full name?

“Hector Greatsnarl.”

“Lauren Rosewing.”

“Lindsey Hallowedstrike.”

“Davy Evenflaw.”

“Natia Stoutblossom.”

Eyes turn to Natia, Hector and Lauren giving her a flat stare while Lindsey smirked, Davy commented, “We all know that isn’t your real name, no need to lie about it anymore.”

“Fine. My real name is Aster- but I prefer Natia.”

2: What does your full name mean?

“Well Aster means star and Natia means light, which is why I chose it.”

“Ever the romantic. Lindsey means from an island, which is appropriate I guess but I think my parents were trying to pick the least elven name possible.”

“I like your name. Davy means beloved.”

“Lauren is vaguely based off of a tree, Laurel.”

“Not surprising for a fairy. Hector means to hold fast.”

3: What are your other names/nicknames

“Most of us respond to ‘that asshole’.” Lindsey leaned back in his chair. “I call Davy my vhenan.“

“You have literally never called me that.”

“Maybe I should start. It means ‘my heart’ in elven.”

“No offense,” Lauren cut in, “But you two are about as far away from elven as I have ever seen.”

4: What’s your gender?

Everyone glanced at each other. Hector, Lindsey, and Davy were all men, built like the soldiers they were. Natia was lithe and strong like the assassin and hunter she was, but she still took hold of her own femininity. Lauren, ever the academic, was softer and had the gentler curves of someone who didn’t spend her life training and fighting with weapons. 

5: What’s your sexuality?

“In case you didn’t pick it up, I am Not Straight (TM). Men, women, elf, dwarf, fairy, human, nymph- but I’m taken.” Lindsey said, casting a soft look to Davy.

“I’m gay.” 

“I’ve never been interested in romance or sex. What the word for it? Asexual?Aromantic?  Yeah, those are me.” Lauren offered up, somewhat satisfied that she finally got to say it.

“I’m straight.” Natia said, followed by Hector’s “Me too.”

6: Where are you from?

“I’m from the Highlands, just East of Provda and Ebarria. I’m here to study human and dwarven magical practices.” Lauren perked up before quieting herself and rambling. 

“I’m from Ilseburry up north. It’s much better here in Provda.” Lindsey said.

“Natia and I are half-Provdan half-Ebarrian.” Hector offrered. 

“But you grew up in Provda and I grew up in Ebarria. They are very different places.”

“I’m also half Provdan- my mother was an elf from the Highlands, but I’ve never been there.” Davy added.

7: How old are you?

“Go ahead Lauren. Tell them hold old you are.” Natia smirked, heat rising to the fairy’s face. 

“Fairies mature slower than humans or elves. Just because I’m in my forties-”

“Really? I thought I was the oldest one at 28.” Davy signed in relief. Lindsey smirked.

“I’m 27.”

“I’m 25.” Hector said, eyes turning to Natia again, who had sunken down in her chair. 

“I didn’t realize how old all of you were.” She muttered. “I’m only 23.”

“So Lauren, how’s the baby-sitting going?”

“I’m going to outlive all you humans and elves.”

8: What is your magic form/what species are you?

“Well, I’m a fairy with a natural affinity for magic.” Lauren restated.

“I’m elven. But not a stuffy, traditional, better-than-you elf. ” Lindsey’s pointed ears twitched.

“I’m half elven. The worst kind of elven apparently.” Davy commented, a slight bitter tone tracing his words.

“Better than us humans.” Natia offered, her own tone lighter and more playful as she glanced at Hector.

9: What does your human form look like?

“I take offense at that.” Lauren joked, her long brown hair curled over her shoulder, green eyes practically sparkling with humor.

Lindsey also snorted, his own blue eyes rolling at the question. Above his brow his straight blonde hair was slicked back as he ran a hand over it, stretching out in the chair. Davy sat still beside him, brown eyes and curly brown hair speaking for themselves, his slightly pointed nose giving him an impish, elvish effect, the tips of his smaller pointed ears just visible through the curls. 

Hector also leaned back in his chair, his longer black hair curling around his neck, his deeply tanned skin and dark brown eyes speaking for themselves. Natia’s skin was darker, her long dark brown hair pulled back in a braid and lighter brown eyes watching me with an exasperated face that said, “Move on to the next questions already.”

10: What’s your aesthetic?

Natia fingered her daggers, exquisitely crafted from silver and decorated with obsidian, heavily enchanted and small diamonds inlaid to represent the gods she worshiped. 

“Beaches with gold sand and dark blue water. We didn’t have beaches like that in Ilseburry.” Lindsey said wistfully, longing to be there instead of answering more questions. 

“The forests at sunset, the dark green and golden pink skies.” Davy added quietly. 

“I miss the flowers that grew in the Highlands, with blue petals and pink centers. They were really pretty.” Lauren picked at her dress of the same colors. 

“I like when night turns into a red daybreak before a storm.” Hector said, giving no other explanation.

11: Who’s your best friend?

“Lindsey,”

“Davy,”

The two of them said together, Hector poutning. He wasn’t sure what he expected from them but he muttered, “Davy and Lindsey,” anyway, sad still that they were his best friends but he wasn’t theirs.

“My brother Zach.” Lauren said.

“...” Natia hestiated. “Probably Hector.”

The group glanced at each other and then at me, indicating that it was time to move and make a sharp change of subject.

12: Would you ever get a piercing/ tattoo?

“I’ve got a few piercings.” Natia indicated to her ears with several studs placed up an down her ears. “I was never into tattoos.”

“I’ve got a tattoo of my parents names in respect for them.” Hector indicated to his forearm where the two names were inked.

“I always thought it would be sexy if-” Lindsey started, but Davy cut him off.

“No. I said I wouldn’t do that.” Blood rushed to Davy’s face and ears. 

13: When are you happiest?

“In the tavern with my friends.” Hector was the first to speak up.

“With Lindsey, after getting back from a hunt or scouting mission and just getting to eat or fall asleep together.” Lindsey looked at Davy again with soft eyes, nodding.

“When I finally perfect a spell or potion or enchantment, seeing my effort turn into something.” Lauren continued. 

“I don’t feel like answering this question.” The others gave Natia a look. “Fine, bickering with you all, you assholes.”

They awed. 

“The baby enjoys our company.”

14: What’s your biggest secret?

Everyone looked to Natia. 

“I mean, it's not a secret anymore.” She started, sighing. “I was part of a group of assassins and my kill count is somewhere in the hundreds. I ran away, changed my name, and lied to everyone about it for two years. Anyone else got a secret?”

“My parents were killed by said assassins.” Hector said darkly. 

“This is supposed to be a light-hearted interview not couples therapy. My biggest secret is that my father was King of Ilseburry.”

“You’re just now mentioning this?!” Davy gasped, a grin breaking across Lindsey’s face.

“No, I’m just a notorious trickster. Davy’s secret is that he gets very cranky when his socks get wet.”

“It’s an unpleasant feeling!”

“Back in the Highlands, I’m actually considered to not be very pretty according to fairy standards. I’ve never told anyone that.” Lauren casually dropped, the others once again glancing to each other. Somehow that seemed unbelievable but no one knew enough about fairies to object.

15: What was your first impression of your S/O?

“What a giant dork.” Davy muttered, earning a laugh from everyone but Lindsey, who looked away, slightly embarrassed. “He was trying to flirt with me and tripped over a tree root, falling face first into thistle bush.”

“Thanks, babe. Here I was going to say you were the exact image of what I thought an elf should be- graceful, good looking, and into nature shit, if not just a little short. Are we done here yet? We have people to kill now.”

Lindsey didn’t wait before getting up and leaving the room, Davy and Hector following after him, Lauren profusely apologizing as she left, closing the door behind her.

I started gathering my notes before- hey? Where did Natia go?

“Don’t move.” I heard the voice after I felt the press of a cool blade against my neck, Natia grabbing my hair to hold my head back and expose my neck better. 

“This is a warning. You better finish this damn WIP and you better give them a good ending. If not I’ll reach through the computer screen and give you the worst writer’s block you’ve ever experienced.”

In an instant the knife was gone and I sucked in air, breathing heavy before turning around, Natia just gone.

I, uh, I’ve got work to do.

I’ll tag @weathershade, @crypticsx, @emdop, @milkyway-writes if any of you feel like doing one of these!

[magnoliasinbloom]

The Midwife

AO3 :: Previously

XIV

The Seine ran smoothly beneath the Pont Neuf. Jamie and I stood upon it, holding each other’s hands. I was still in my grubby work dress, a homespun cloak on my shoulders to ward off the chill. Jamie was much more handsomely attired, having been provided with a Fraser tartan kilt by his uncle.

Jamie’s uncle had apologized for not being able to procure a suitable dress for me to be wed in, on such short notice. He may not have approved of our hasty union, but he made clear that it had nothing to do with me personally. He had kissed my cheek and embraced me as his niece, and wished us every happiness. He was justifiably worried about our reception at Leoch as a married couple, now for my sake as much as Jamie’s. So with Jared as our witness, we exchanged vows.

“Mo nighean donn, repeat after me.” Jamie pulled a small sgian dubh from his sporran. He hesitated as he turned my arm to expose my wrist, but I nodded encouragingly. He made a small cut, and proceeded to slit his own skin open. Pressing our wrists together, Jared stepped forward to tie them with strip of linen.

Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone, I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, 'til our Life shall be Done.

My heart pounded as I said the words that bound us as husband and wife. Jamie’s gaze upon me made me forget my heartache, all my worries and cares. Gently, he untied our wrists. He pulled the silver ring from my right hand and placed it on my left with a kiss on it. “I’m sorry we canna be wed in a church proper. I wanted to do better by ye,” Jamie said softly.

“I love you, James Fraser. That’s all that matters.” He smiled, and laid his hand on my waist, tugging me closer. The wind off the river was cold, whipping our hair across our faces.

“Sassenach.” His voice was guttural with need as he gripped me with restraint. We kissed, our lips cold but our mouths warm, until we forgot where we were. I finally pulled away from him, breathless.

“You’re mine,” I whispered, my arms around his broad shoulders. Our foreheads touched; we breathed each other’s air, oblivious to the world, until Jared cleared his throat and broke through our reverie.

“Jamie, it’s time.”

The three of us made our way back to Jared’s house in his coach. Jamie and I sat in silence next to each other, holding hands. He squeezed my hand gently as I gripped his arm tightly, nerves racing through me.

To make the handfasting valid, like any other marriage, it must be consummated.

I knew the mechanics, of course. Maman had been thorough in her explanations, and as a midwife, there was little I didn’t know about. But the difference between knowing and doing was vast, a chasm I hadn’t thought about crossing—until I met Jamie.

We arrived at Jared’s beautiful house on Rue Tremoulins; I was assisted out of the carriage by Jamie and ushered past a lineup of servants who were waiting for us. The house was just as lovely on the inside, rich with brocades and glinting carved wood. I held onto Jamie’s hand as we trailed up a curved staircase to the family rooms. Jared walked before us and led us to a room just off the dark hallway.

“James…”

“Uncle, dinna fash. ‘Twill be alright.” Jamie took the wavering candelabra Jared had used to light our path. With a pat on the shoulder, Jared went off, and Jamie stepped inside the room, gesturing for me to enter as well.

The flickering candles illuminated the fine furniture and tapestries on the walls. But what occupied my thoughts first and foremost was the large canopied bed. The room was cold, but Jamie set about lighting a fire in the grate. He was skilled with a flint, and soon flames danced merrily and cast a golden glow across our faces.

We had been completely silent, offering small smiles to each other. Now Jamie approached me, rubbing my arms through the cloak.

“Are ye warm enough, mo nighean donn?”

“I suppose.” My voice quivered, and I hated myself for it. This was Jamie, my husband, my love. I wanted him, wanted this, so much. He must have noticed how nervous I was because he pulled me closer in an embrace.

“What is it, Claire?” Jamie asked.

“’Tis only… I’ve never…” A blush crept up my neck.

“Och lass, if it helps, I’ve never… either.” Jamie gave me a sheepish smile and a similar flush tinted his cheeks.

“You haven’t?” After Maman’s explanations and what I knew of the nature of men, I hadn’t expected Jamie to have remained a virgin. He was after all, a very attractive male who could probably charm the very birds from the trees. To have him be as inexperienced as me, was a revelation.

“Truly, no. I suppose neither of us kens what we’re doing. I grew up on a farm, and I know of it, of course, but I expect between a woman and a man, ‘tis rather different, no?” Jamie ruffled up the back of his hair self-consciously.

“Aye, I ken,” I replied, imitating his soft Scots burr and making him laugh; some of the tension broke. A knock at the door interrupted us, and the butler who introduced himself as Magnus, laid a tray with supper on a small side table. He let himself out with a bow, and the door clicked shut behind him with a finality that cast a shiver up my back.

“Let’s have a bite, Sassenach. We’ll no be this well-fed on our travels to Scotland.”

Delicately braised meat and vegetables, along with one of Jared’s most superb wines, made up the meal. I managed no more than a few morsels, nerves making my stomach twist. As Jamie poured the last drops of the bottle, they returned in full force.

“Here, Sassenach.” He patted his knee and I slid over to sit on his lap, draining my glass. He put his arms about my waist, fingers tapping out a quiet beat on the whalebone of my stays. “’Tis easier when we touch, no?”

The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room, except for our breathing. The staccato rhythm of Jamie’s fingers became a caress, and I tried to reciprocate, running my fingers through his red curls.

“I love your hair,” I said nonsensically, admiring the different hues of auburn and roan.

“And I love yours, lass. Like the water in a burn, the way it ruffles down the rocks…” he trailed off, his fingers now on the back of my neck. I leaned in and kissed him, tasting of the sweet wine we had shared.

Jamie returned the kiss enthusiastically, rising from the chair and setting me on my feet. I stood on my toes, striving to reach his mouth. He clasped me to him, hands bunching my dress and shift at my hips.

I broke away from Jamie, gasping for breath. “Perhaps we should go to bed.”

“To bed, or to sleep?” Jamie dropped the fabric of my clothes, also trying to control his breathing.

“Either way, I’m not likely to do it in this dress. Would you…” I placed his hands on my laces, and watched amused as he fumbled trying to untie them. He slipped the cord through the last eyelet, leaving me in my skirt and shift. I kicked off my shoes and stockings, and shimmied out of the skirt, and it lay puddled on the floor at my feet.

I had never been so undressed in front of a man before—and there was still my shift between us. Heat stained my cheeks, and I looked at my feet, embarrassed. Jamie lifted my face with a finger on my chin, and blue met amber.

“Fair’s fair, lass. Help me take off mine as well.”

The kilt and its belt slid down his legs, boots cast aside. Jamie’s shirt reached to mid-thigh, and I could not look away from the way the firelight burnished the curly hair on his thighs to pure gold. It was an odd sight, and although I had seen men completely naked as a healer, those had just been bodies that needed tending. Jamie’s body was a very different thing. Toned with muscle, lithe as a cat, brown in places and milk white in others…

“Before we—I think I should tell ye, the lashes ye healed, they… there are scars on my back.” His voice was shy and hesitant, and I reached out to touch his cheek in encouragement.

In one swift motion, Jamie pulled his shirt over his head. He stood bare before me, his eyes burning intensely. I didn’t dare look down, not quite yet. I trailed my fingertips over the raised bones of his collar, walking around him, touching the roped muscles of his shoulders. The marks on his back rose in ridges, still pink instead of the white of old wounds. Heat coursed through me in flashes of want and need.

Facing Jamie again, he reached over and took the ribbon that held my shift up. He waited until I nodded, and he undid the bow with a tug. The fabric loosened over my shoulders, slipping off. As the material pooled on my feet, I was seconds away from covering myself with my hands and turning away from Jamie, but he sensed it; he removed the pins from my hair so it fell in a mad riot framing my face.

“Ye are so beautiful.” His breathless reassurance made me smile, giving me much-needed confidence, and I stepped closer to him, enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “I want ye so much I can scarcely breathe.”

“Have you never seen a naked woman before?”

“Yes, but no so close,” Jamie smiled, his eyes raking over me with a hunger matched by my own. “And no one that’s mine.” Hesitantly, he touched my breast, kneading it gently. It was as though I felt his touch somewhere lower, tingling; I reciprocated, his pectorals shifting.

Jamie kissed me, his tongue exploring my mouth. His hands roved all over my skin, leaving fire wherever they went. Finally, he lifted me off my feet, his lips still on mine. He laid me on the bed, where I scooted back until I reached the pillows. Jamie climbed onto the bed, sidling next to me. We lay skin to skin, all wandering caresses. Timidly, I touched below his navel, fingers hesitant. Jamie made a soft noise of encouragement (or possibly excitement) and I felt the tip of his member against my fingertips. I glanced, finally, committing all of his wondrous body to memory. His cock was silky smooth, and very warm. Emboldened by the sounds emanating from Jamie’s mouth, I grasped it fully in my hand.

Jamie showed me how to move my hand, up and down, sometimes twisting slowly. His frenzied pants in my ear, I could not have predicted how much I would enjoy making him feel this way. Eventually he gripped my hand and bade me stop.

“Sassenach, wait.” I immediately released him, pressing the lines of my body urgently against his.

“Now?” I asked, my arms around his back and attempting to pull him on top of me. I trembled at the thought of him inside me, joined like infinity.

“No, mo chridhe. Not yet.” Jamie removed my hands from his back and laid them next to my head, our fingers intertwining. He kissed me deeply, thoroughly, and slowly started making his way down my body. He paid attention to my neck, with small nips that elicited sounds I’d never made before. He sucked on my breasts, teasing and licking until my nipples stood out as big as cherries. He released my hands and I immediately tangled them in his curly mop of hair, and Jamie continued his downward trajectory, tickling my ribs until he stopped, grazing my hipbones with his tongue. I squirmed beneath him, my body demanding more with a fierce ache and pulsing between my legs.

“May I touch ye? Here?” Jamie’s fingers grazed the most intimate part of me. My legs seemed to part of their own accord; almost twenty years of propriety were no match for thousands of years of instinct. He slid a finger in slowly, and I could tell I was slick with arousal. He teased and nudged further inside. I heard a low keening sound and then realized it was coming from me.

I put both my hands over my mouth as my back bowed slightly off the bed. Jamie ceased his ministrations and gently pried my hands off my face. “No, Sassenach, I want to hear ye—every sound, every cry, is mine, do ye understand?” His lips on mine swallowed another moan as he parted my thighs further, settling between them. I could feel his hard, swollen member, straining at attention. I ventured another glance downward; I didn’t think that would fit in me.

“Jamie…” I felt his heart pound through his ribcage, beating in unison with mine.

“Tell me if I’m too rough,” he whispered, “or tell me to stop altogether, if ye wish.” He kissed me deeply as he pressed forward, with unerring aim and our bodies joined. I felt a stinging pressure as he advanced, an intruder of sorts that my body resisted. I willed myself to relax, even as Jamie held me close and I felt myself being stretched wide. There was a flash of brief pain and I couldn’t help but whimper a bit. Jamie immediately stopped and soothed me with gentle Gaelic words that I couldn’t understand.

After a moment or two, I pressed my hands to his back as a sign for him to continue, the scars ridged under my fingers. His hips met mine as he buried himself to the hilt, and slowly withdrew, before sliding in again, exquisitely and unhurriedly. I knew this was for my benefit; there was a hidden urgency to his motions, a power held in check, that I imagined would be unleashed once our bodies grew more comfortable with each other.

I met his eyes, and saw nothing in them but tenderness and joy. I trailed my fingernails up his flank, hoping to leave red lines to mark him as mine. Jamie responded by gripping my buttocks and changing the angle of penetration. In an instant I felt a flare of tingling pleasure, despite the discomfort, and again and again, a feeling that slowly increased and I began to understand what all the fuss about lovemaking was about.

“Sassenach… Claire…” Jamie called out my name between breaths. “I… dinna think… I can…”

“Don’t stop,” I said, gripping his backside and striving to get even closer. I felt Jamie shudder, his hips surging against mine as he spilled himself inside me. I watched his face, his eyes screwed shut and mouth agape, until it relaxed and his eyes opened, gazing into mine with love and wonder.

“I’m sorry, mo nighean donn.” He kissed my mouth over and over, our legs untangling as he withdrew. His warm hand lay across my stomach. “Bha mi a 'smaoineachadh gu robh mo chridhe a' dol a bhriseadh.”

“What is that?”

“I said, I thought my heart was going to burst.” Jamie’s hand caressed my face. “Was it alright for ye? Did I hurt ye?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me.” I was somewhat sore, but I supposed that was to be expected for our first time. It wasn’t entirely disagreeable; it was a reminder of what had transpired between us. We were now truly husband and wife.

“I’m sorry ye didn’t—I mean, that I didn’t… well, Sassenach, was it… pleasurable, for ye?”

“A little.” I planted a kiss on his long nose, and held him close. I could feel dampness between my legs, but was too lazy and comfortable to do anything about it. “We’ll just have to practice some more.” I tugged at the eiderdown comforter, wanting to get beneath the covers. After our exertions, the chill of the room had only dissipated slightly with the fire.

Jamie wrapped his arms around me, his body cocooning mine and radiating natural warmth like a small brazier. He brushed my hair aside, placing soft kisses on the nape of my neck. “Tomorrow, Sassenach, we’ll go to l’Hôpital des Anges. I shall speak to Mother Hildegarde, while ye gather yer belongings. I apologize, mo nighean donn, from taking ye away from yer life’s work.”

“I’ll still have it, James Fraser. Wherever you are, that’s were my life will be.” I had not thought I needed to hear it, but having him speak his regrets about upending our previous plans loosened something within, a modicum of peace and reassurance settling in my chest. “About Malva—”

“Dinna be afraid, there’s the two of us now.” Jamie curled his legs behind mine, fitting perfectly like two spoons nestled in a drawer. “I will not let her harm ye, and I live.”

I still worried though, about our imminent journey and how we should be received by his family in Scotland, and about leaving the life I knew behind. But before I realized it, I fell asleep in his arms, lulled by his Gaidhlig whispers and the knowledge that we belonged irrevocably to each other.

[rwbyremnants]

WARNING: Underage character (teenage, almost 18).

NOTE: Yeah yeah, I know it’s a little off-season for this one. Sorry! At least it's going to wind up celebrating Christmas In July...?

You may have seen the first chapter of this fic elsewhere, posted there a long time ago out of convenience. This is where it belongs since it’s home to both of the original authors. If you don’t believe us, just message them haha. It's seven chapters of increasingly-smutty goodness, though nowhere near as lengthy or smutty as some of our other stuff.

Special thanks to RuBee for helping us get the full story dusted off (haha) and posted at last!

=Chapter 1

"We're making cookies, not mountains of sugar, Rubes. You're using way too much – and the Ice Queen won't have any left for her coffee!"

It was the weekend before Dustmas, and Ruby and Yang were attempting to make cookies with their dad's old recipe. Soon they would be going back home for the holiday but it seemed like a nice gesture to whip up a batch of their dad’s signature cookie recipe to distribute amongst their friends at Beacon Academy. They had always agreed in the past more sugar was needed, but the amount the red-headed girl was pouring into the mixture was ridiculous.

"Sweeter is always better, Yang!" Ruby protested as she set the bag down, frowning. "And I don't know why Weiss always likes to drink tea anyway, her company makes Ol' King Cold!" Then she wiped her face, smearing more flour across one cheek. "Can you just help me?"

"Alright alright, flour face, here." Grabbing the flour and another egg, Yang quickly poured a little more into the mixture, enough to even it out so it wasn't monstrously sweet, but also so they had some to spare. "Now we can get extra fat!"

At that comment, Ruby frowned down at her stomach before glancing back upward. "B-but I thought you said I wasn't fat, I just had chub-chub!"

"You do have chub-chub…" Yang then poked Ruby's belly, smirking as she looked back up at her. "And now you can have flub-flub! More of you to love! Alright, I think this is ready to go in the oven."

Giggling, Ruby squirmed away from the assailing finger and went back to the mixing bowl. "Are you sure we don't need to add more sugar or something? They are supposed to be sugar cookies. Y'know, for Dustmas."

"That's why we add icing on the top of them, dingus," she called from by the oven, turning it to the right temperature and allowing it to warm up. Of course, with the shared kitchen's cooker being gas rather than electric, that wouldn't take long at all. "You need a hand making the shapes from the dough? Or are you eating it raw?"

"I…" She quickly retracted her hand from the bowl. "Nooo, we're going to cook them. They are cook -ies , after all. Right?"

Her eyes filled with hope that Yang would approve of the joke she had made. The older sister paused for a moment, until smugly grinning. "Not bad, but you got a ways to go until you can make it hap-pun on my level."

Within a few minutes, the girls had placed the cookies on the tray in the various shapes for the Dustmas holidays; the two stars of Vacuo, a snowflake, a Dustmas Bush, and so on. All they needed was twenty minutes in the oven, which by now was to full heat. Just as she was about to place the tray in the oven, however, Yang's scroll vibrated in her pocket, making her place the tray back down so she could check it.

"Hmm…"

"Something wrong, Sis?" Ruby asked as she put the eggs and butter away in the refrigerator.

"Oh shoot! Weiss is gonna kill me…" She quickly shoved it into her pocket. "Sorry Rubes, I gotta dash. Promised Her Royal Frostiness that I'd train with her today, and I've let her down twice already. Gotta give her this raincheck in person or I probably won't survive."

As she was speaking, she started to undo the apron he had worn for the moment, hanging it up the side of the door. Though soon it swung open anyway.

"Oh… sorry, am I interrupting?” Blake asked, amber eyes widening when she saw her two teammates were already there. “I just wanted some milk."

"No, no!" Ruby piped up as she wiped her hands on her pants. The tall, lithe brunette was still something of a mystery to them, but Ruby had always hoped they could get along a bit better, and tried to take every opportunity she could to ingratiate herself. "Have all the milk you want! It does a body good!"

Chuckling, Yang remarked, "Kitty wants milk; I shouldn't be surprised." The two swapped places as Yang began to head out, and Blake headed to the fridge. Before leaving completely, she leaned back in from behind the doorway. "Oh, Ruby – don't start baking them 'til I'm back. You know the stove is finicky, and unlike me, you ain't fire-proof."

Ruby let out a little snicker, waving a hand at her sister. "Oh Yang, I think I can handle a sheet of cookies! What do I look like, some kind of klutz?"

"Just wait for me, okay? I'll be ten minutes, tops. But if I'm longer, call the cops." And with that little impromptu rhyme, she dashed off. All that was left in the room was a small girl with a sheet of cookie dough balls, and a feline Faunus sipping away at her carton of milk.

"Why's she in such a hurry?"

"Late for a date with Weiss." Then she started. "I m-mean, a battle date! Fighting! Umm, practice-fighting, not real fighting! Ergh…" Frowning, she turned back to the oven to open it and place the sheet of cookies inside. "Sorry, nevermind me."

"So training?" Blake asked, hoping to allow Ruby some wiggle room away from her verbal fumbles, leaning back against the counter as she was about to take another sip. Though when Ruby had opened the door to the oven, she remembered Yang's words. "H-hey, shouldn't you wait for her to get back? You know this old stove isn’t like the new electric or Dust-powered models."

"Not you, too!" Ruby pouted. "I can handle myself, I'm a big girl! This is a piece of cake for m-"

The random explosion from the inside of the oven seemed to speak to the contrary. Flailing, Ruby fell back against the floor, waving her arms around trying to put out the small fires that had caught on her sleeves.

"AAAAAAAAH! Help, it's- ow! What happened?!"

The fire wasn’t too bad, one that could easily be smothered, but for Blake this was a far more serious matter. Dropping her milk carton, she rushed to Ruby's side, taking off her scarf to quickly bat the fire on her sleeve, eventually putting it out before it had a chance to do any real damage.

"Ahhhhggghhh," Ruby groaned, staring at her ruined sleeves. "I'm gonna need a new shirt for sure! Yang's gonna kill me, we don't have a lot of money! But thanks, Blake, I really…"

However, when she looked over at Blake, she was in for a surprise. Why did the Faunus girl look so alarmed? Even once the flames were out, the girl still stared down at her team leader. Eyes wider than she had ever seen them, while her breath was short. Clearly, her mind was off somewhere else, as could be seen when her pupils flicked back and forth.

Snapping her fingers in front of Blake's eyes, she said in a softer voice, "Uhh, Remnant to Blake? You in there?"

Once blinking a couple of times, she looked back to her leader, and to her burnt sleeve. She was safe, unharmed. Not even the tiniest burn anywhere on her pale pink skin. The taller girl quickly wrapped her arms around her, cuddling her close. "You're okay, you're okay. Oh thank God, you're okay!"

Instantly, Ruby froze. This was an unexpected turn; how did the normally standoffish member of their team come to be embracing her? Why? Patting along Blake's long hair, she whispered, "Yeah, I'm okay, Blake! Honest! Are you?"

"Am I okay?! You were on fire! I should be asking you, but I… oh, Ruby!" She could only hug her teammate even harder, her hands clutching at her clothing tightly. As she held on, her eyes began to flick back and forth again. Anyone could tell her mind was elsewhere.

However, Ruby wasn’t looking because other things had distracted her. Something in the way Blake had said her name made her blush. On top of that, why was she still hugging her? It felt wonderful, though; something like when Yang held her close, but different in a very subtle way she couldn't quite place. Very hesitantly, she laid her cheek against Blake's shoulder, not sure if this was what she was supposed to do or not.

When feeling the contact from their younger leader's cheek, Blake snapped back to the present again. Or at least, back to reality. Upon realising how close they were, the hands quickly dropped away as she darted back, looking about as shocked as Ruby did. "I… uhh… I'm sorry, I don't know why I…"

"Oh!" Now Ruby looked like a small, frightened animal. "I- wh-why are you sorry, what happened? It was my fault, I wasn't paying enough attention and lit myself on fire!"

"But that was… I…" Before she could even explain herself, the Faunus girl made a dash for the door, running straight down the corridor and around Yang, who had just made her way back. There was no explanation for her sudden disappearance, and so when Yang was back in the room, she was met with a frightened looking Ruby, clouds of dissipating smoke, and cookie dough and milk covering the floor.

"…Did I miss another food fight?"

--------------------------------------------- (wtf tumblr removed the horizontal rule option)

Slow drags of boots heralded Ruby's return to the dorm room. Yes, Yang had shouted at her about nearly burning herself and helped her clean up, and they had finally finished the cookies and they were all ready for Dustmas. Alas, none of that seemed to matter when she was so worried.

Blake had looked terrified. Of what, she had no idea. Of her? Of her being hurt? They were just teammates, not even really friends beyond those bounds. Sure, if Blake were on fire she'd help put it out and ask if she was okay and everything, but that display of affection was above and beyond. It disconcerted her and made her wonder why.

When she pushed open the door, she saw Blake sitting on the windowsill in her usual black kimono, staring out into the sky. The window was shut, otherwise Ruby wouldn't have said anything; there had been enough near-death experiences for one evening.

"B-Blake?"

Blake turned in the direction of the voice. Out of all the people it could have been, this was the worst outcome. Sure, she hadn't fallen out with Ruby, but she felt she had made enough of a fool of herself for one day. Her eyes darted between her, and the door. Could she slip past her? Probably not. Might as well face the music.

“O-oh, hey, Ruby.” She hurriedly rearranged her pyjamas, to more adequately cover herself.

"Blake," Ruby repeated as her eyebrows knitted, "are… you okay? You took off like that, and I-"

"T-took off? Yeah, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" Of course she would question it; her teammate ran away without any explanation. There was no way she could escape, despite getting to her feet and readying to try.

Shrugging, Ruby dropped her eyes. "I dunno, but you seemed freaked out. Y-you don't have to tell me anything, though! Just, if you wanted to tell me, I have ears. Well, I mean I know I have them, and you know I have them, and even though you have twice as many, mine still work!" Squirming, she followed up with, "Is that species-ist? Did I say a bad thing? Oh God, I'm making this way worse, aren't I?"

"Ruby… I…" She scrunched her eyes shut, shaking her head side to side. "I did not freak out, okay? You were on fire! Of course I was worried!"

"No, but you helped put it out! I'm fine! See?" Flapping her arms up and down, she grinned at Blake. "Totally A-okay!"

"I know that now! It was just.. scary… to see you like that, that's all," she insisted, but all the while she continued to gaze back at the door. Any moment…

"But, um, we're Huntresses. Aren't we supposed to be in harm's way all the time, anyway? Why was this such a bigger deal than usual?"

"Because… I… you’re my…" She was stuttering more and more. Ruby was right, this was normal for them. In fact, such an incident was ridiculously minor. But her reaction was more suited to if a Beowulf had torn her arm off.

Unable to think of an excuse, she finally made a run for the door.

"Wait!" Before she could more properly think through her actions, Ruby dove for Blake. Being that her Semblance enabled her to pour on a burst of speed, she was able to catch the taller girl around the midsection and pin her somewhat painfully against the surface of one of their desks.

"O-oh! I- sorry, Blake, that wasn't what I meant to do, I just… panicked! Are you okay?"

Blake was more startled by the younger girl's strength than any pain that came against her back. She attempted to struggle against the grip of the younger girl, but found herself completely pinned. Though she had looked upset before, now she looked near-panic.

"R-Ruby, let, me, go!"

"Sorry!" she whispered again, backing away from the desk with a pained look on her face, again feeling odd at having been in such close contact with the Faunus. "J-just please, don't run away, I… I want to talk this out!"

"There is nothing to talk out!" she insisted, finding herself glaring down at the smaller girl below her. "What was I supposed to do? Let you burn?!"

"NO! No, I'm so thankful, seriously, b-but why are you upset? I don't understand, and I want to, really badly!" There was a hitch in her voice as she added, "Because you're my teammate and I don't like thinking about you being sad, or hurting, or anything!"

It was no use. Her leader was one of the most stubborn people she knew. There was no way she would get out of this without letting her know the truth. "Listen, I just saw your sleeve on fire and it reminded me of a horrible memory. That's all."

Like a puppy, Ruby cocked her head to one side. "It did? I… oh." Shifting from foot to foot, she glanced toward the window, then down at her boots. "Um… do you w-wanna talk about it?"

"No!" Blake snapped, managing to push Ruby back just enough so she was free to move again. "Why do you think I ran off? These are memories I want to leave behind! Memories I would rather forget forever if I could!"

"S-so that's a no?" As Blake's golden eyes blazed with indignation, she waved her hands back and forth and squeaked, "I'm sorry, it was just- look, I'm g-gonna go away now, and not be here where I'm just making a bigger mess, so um, bye!" And with that, she sped from the room, leaving a flurry of rose petals in her wake.

"W-wait! I didn't mean-" But it was no use; Ruby was gone. Once again, another silly mistake had made Blake look like a fool stuck in the past – and worse, made her team leader feel bad when she had no reason to. Heavily sighing, she returned to her spot on the windowsill, staring outward and to the people on the grounds.

Only a few minutes had passed before she saw Ruby stumbling to a halt next to tall, leaning tree and sinking to her knees in the lightly snow-dusted grass. It didn't seem as if she was crying, but she was certainly not doing her absolute best. Within her bow, Blake's ears folded downward. All Ruby wanted to know was if anything was wrong, and she'd shoved it in her face. 'What's the harm?' one part of her mind thought. The other kept shouting, 'She'll tell everyone, you can't let her know! She’ll ask too many questions!'

But there was no other way to fix the mess. And so, reluctantly, she headed for the door.

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

Out on the grounds, Ruby took deep breaths. The last thing she ever wanted on a daily basis was to inconvenience her friends in any way. Weiss and Yang, she didn't mind so much; they brought it on themselves in certain ways. But Blake? She was one of the last people she wanted to hinder in any small way, much less actually cause her heartache like this.

"I'm a jerk," she whispered to no one.

"No, I'm the jerk." The voice of the raven-haired Faunus reached her ears from the shadows. Having finally found her laying back against one of the trees, she smiled faintly as she stepped into the moonlight, then nodded to the space by Ruby's side. "This seat taken, leader?"

On instinct, Ruby scooted away. "AH! It's- hey, Blake! How ya doin'? Read any good books lately?" Clearly, she was nervous beyond all rational thought, and her fingers clenched in the frigid grass.

Blake paused for a moment. Anyone could tell she was on edge; they didn't have to have Faunus senses for that. Poor Ruby, so young and sensitive. She really was an absolute jerk to her. Head hung in shame, she sat down by her leader's side, looking over to her with a sorrowful expression.

“It’s freezing out here. You shouldn’t be outside too long or you’ll catch a cold.”

“Hah! A cold has to catch me first!” Ruby countered. When Blake only raised an eyebrow, she wilted. “Yeah, that was bad.”

“It was.” After only a breath to consider her words, she went on, "I was wrong to run off like that. You were only trying to help, and I shoved it in your face. And I'm sorry. Really sorry."

"No reason to be sorry. It's my fault; I kept needling you for more info even after I could tell you were freaking out. Why am I so dumb?" Frowning, she drew her knees up against her face and stared down at the little flecks of snow on her boots. "Sorry, I… you're in a bad place and I'm complaining about me. Talk about self-centred!"

"You're not self-centred! You were worried about a friend; that is the opposite of self-centred. And…" She paused, looking back down to the grass herself. With a deep sigh, she confessed, "And rightfully so… I did overreact. Seeing you like that, it just triggered something."

Chewing on her bottom lip for a second, Ruby finally whispered, "Blake, it's okay to be scared sometimes. Just don't forget that the rest of us are your friends. We wanna help you fight the scary stuff, not make fun of you for it or whatever."

Blake looked up at her friend. The one who she had practically pushed away completely when all she wanted to do was help. And she was still helping now. The least she deserved was an explanation for her behaviour.

"It reminded me of the protests that went bad. The ones that turned into riots. A lot of very young Faunus died in those… my friends. I know it was such a small thing but… I think of you as kind of innocent, too, and seeing someone your age like that, I just… couldn't cope."

Without hesitation, Ruby reached over to take Blake's shoulder firmly in her hand. "Hey, it's… understandable. But I'm okay, okay? Nobody burned me to the ground, nobody's dying. Plus, I’m an adult, and can take care of myself. Everything’s completely fine."

"Y-yeah… we are." She looked back to the grass again, but now there was a small smile where a haunted scowl once had been. "Thanks."

"Do you wanna check my arms to make sure?" After she said that, she looked down, a bit shy. "That probably sounds weird, but I mean, that way you can know for sure that I'm fine. Maybe that won't help…"

"N-no no it's… it's actually fine." Although pleased by the gesture, Blake too felt a little bashful. Yang and Weiss had spoken with her slightly more, but she had barely had more than a five-minute conversation with her own leader. Mainly her own fault; after all, the Faunus had always been very distant with people. Ruby included. But that was going to end, and she'd make sure of it.

Besides, how could she ignore someone being so cutely awkward?

"Just… next time your sister says 'no', please listen before I have a heart attack."

"I will, but it's really okay," Ruby laughed, rolling her sleeves all the way up to the shoulders. "Here." Then she took up one of Blake's hands and rested it on her forearm. "Totally not burned or anything at all, check for yourself!"

When her hand was taken, Blake's eyes instantly widened, but when her hand fell to the arm she found herself pleasantly surprised. Ruby's skin was so soft, despite all the battles they had been through and the recent proximity to searing heat. It was rather nice to stroke her skin, which she did so once or twice, but it was even nicer when she placed her fingers by her wrist to feel a heartbeat.

Ruby couldn't help but snicker again. "Yeah, I didn't get, um, heartburn either. Get it?"

At that, she just froze, looking up to Ruby completely silent for a moment. "…No, that was the worst one yet."

Deflating, Ruby patted the hand on her arm. "Yeah. I'm trying, though! One day maybe I can make jokes and they won't be rotten!"

"Maybe you and Yang will have a pun war…" Blake finally drew her hand away from the thin arm of her friend. Thinking back to what she had confessed earlier, she squirmed. "Y-you won't tell anyone I freaked out about the fire, right?"

"Nah. Well, I'll have to figure out something to tell Yang, since she saw the end of it and I wasn't sure what to say… shouldn't be a big deal." Dipping her head down, she gazed back into Blake's eyes to see they were still full of worry. "You sure you're okay now?"

Blake let out a huge, cleansing breath. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just glad you are."

Grinning, Ruby rolled her silvery eyes as she said, "Eh, I'm always fine. Head like a rock and body like a crash test dummy."

"Can't be anymore of a rock-head than your sister. At least you read books sometimes!" she chuckled, before finally getting to her feet again, offering a hand to her friend.

"Yep!" Without hesitation, she took the strong hand and allowed herself to be pulled upright… and found she didn’t feel like letting it go just yet. "Can I say something that might be kinda weird?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm really glad you don't hate me." Realising that didn't sound quite right, Ruby swiftly followed up, "Th-that is, after we first met and you wanted me to go away, I was worried about being on a team with you, especially you having to deal with me as leader, and… and I just really thought you were awesome and cool, and wanted you to like me a lot, and maybe that's silly but I'm so happy we're friends now, so… so yay!" Her free hand gave a feeble fist-pump to punctuate her last word.

Blake was stumped. Ruby enjoyed her company? And thought she was cool, nonetheless? Even when they didn't talk much, Ruby looked up to her in a way no one had before. Within the silver eyes of the smaller girl, she saw a past version of herself. Young, happy, full of questions… innocent. She'd fought no end of monsters and people, yet was still so naive to the world. In a way, that was heartbreaking.

Then again, that wouldn't stop her from smiling, drawing her hand away from the younger girl's. Either she was innocent and naive, or maybe she understood things that Blake had yet to grasp. Maybe it didn’t matter.

"I'm sorry I gave you that impression… but you're a good person, Ruby. And an awesome leader. I feel really lucky to be on your team."

Bouncing up and down on her heels, Ruby beamed from ear to ear. Blake had truly delighted her with such simple words. "This calls for a celebration! You, um, you want to eat some of those Dustmas cookies? We can have them with milk!"

"Oh, the milk!" She realized that in her haste, she had in fact dropped the carton on the floor, which had more or less wasted it all. "Do I have to go clean that up?"

"Nah," Ruby laughed, turning to head to the kitchen… but her feet halted a few steps along. "Um… Blake, could I go with you to get some more? Makes more sense than splitting up."

"Sure. Sounds great, actually. Let’s go." Blake locked arms with Ruby, already turning toward the main school gates. There were worse ways to celebrate a holiday.

[goron-king-darunia]

Coffee Soulmate Drabble

Based on this, but reworked to be more articulate and also to avoid piggybacking on a post. Also realized that the prompt was meant to be about what soulmates think when they see each other, not their first words to each other, so I tweaked the premise a bit to fit the reveal I wanted. *~*~*

Emil had waited what felt like eons to finally see his soul mark. Friends from school had mostly gotten theirs already. Marta and Alice got theirs during a schoolyard tussle in middle school. Other classmates had theirs appear during grocery store trips or vacations and spring break. Many more had theirs pop up while messaging someone online for the first time, or just before receiving a response to an online comment. Emil had no such luck. He was still young, of course. Some people didn’t have their soul marks show up until their forties. But he was dying to finally see his. He didn’t want to wait that long. Ever since he was a kid, he’d wanted to find his special someone. A Knight or warrior princess to sweep him off his feet and carry him far, far away from his abusive relatives. Preferably a knight or prince charming of course, but soulmates could be unexpected and Emil wasn’t picky. Alas, here he stood in the Lezareno Coffee Shop, brewing orders and making frappes and getting harangued by customers who “just wanted a plain cup of coffee” and couldn’t bother to even listen to the explanation that there are 30 different blends and they needed to pick one because the procedure is the procedure. His colleague Colette had just finished up ringing up a man with bright red hair and Emil was in awe. The guy looked to be a college student. He was dressed in a pressed white shirt with a bolo tie and some black slacks with a laptop and messenger bag and a perpetually-caffeine-deprived look on his features. Eye-bags, pursed lips, slouched shoulders, grumpy frown. Despite all this, he was a handsome man. His shiny polished loafers were the only thing that really threw Emil off. People his age usually wore tennis shoes, even in nice clothes. They were comfy and they were meant to get dirty so they didn’t require as much upkeep. Loafers were an old-people fashion in this generation. As preppy as the look was, though, his shuffle and slouch were unmistakeably characteristic of a man whose bank of “fucks I give” had basically run empty. Dude had maybe two fucks left at best. Guy clearly just wanted to be left alone to his business. Sadly, that meant that as cute as he was, Emil was going to have to refrain from asking him for his number on break.

While working on a caramel frappuccino for a lady that had just ordered, a wild-looking blond walked in, slapped a bill down on the counter and just said. “Coffee, hot, lots of it. Surprise me with the blend. Make it blonder than me and absolutely saturate that with sugar. Add two espressos shots to it. And can I get a straw?” Colette just nodded and totaled up the amount for their daily blend with a double espresso, extra cream, caramel syrup, and replaced the bill the blond had put on the counter with change and a wrapped plastic straw. “Thanks, you’re amazing.” He added the change to the tip jar and waited by the other end of the counter to pick up his drink. Emil was a bit baffled by this new guy. The boy had very similar features to himself. The exact shades of blond in both their hairs were different but without the side-by-side, you’d never tell. The customer’s eyes were more hazel than green, too, but one would have to look close to notice. Their body builds were a bit different, and this was probably the most prominent detail. Emil had a bit more muscle on him (he spent as much time running away from his home life as possible) and the customer was a bit wiry and lithe but if you really didn’t scrutinize their faces, they’d be able to switch places no problem. A heavy coat, jeans, sunglasses and they’d basically be indistinguishable. The customer’s face was sharper, a bit older looking, more masculine, while Emil’s features were a bit softer and rounder, but at a distance? Yeah. They could be twins. Except for the customer’s fashion sense. Emil, when he wore casualwear, usually wore a nice v-neck in a neutral color, a nice vest or scarf or jacket depending on the weather, and shorts or jeans in a nice cool tone. This customer was decked out in red and black, dark jeans and thigh high boots. He had a gold chain with an angel emblem on it but also a billowing white coat. Emil couldn’t tell if he was a nerd, a counterculture punk, or a dweeb attempting to be edgy. Then again, as he was also a college kid from the looks of things, he might have just thrown on whatever was clean and comfy. Emil couldn’t tell. Emil brewed up the order as Collette finished ringing up another customer. The blond barista placed the cup on the counter just as Collete tapped him on the shoulder. “Can you cover the registers for a quick minute?” Emil nodded, doing as he was told. luckily there was no one in line so he just had to keep an eye on things while he worked on other tasks and prioritize running the register if anyone did show up.

Aster, the aforementioned blond customer with weird fashion sense, was enjoying his hot cup of pure caffeine and sugar, just about to make his way out the door when he felt a faint tingle on the inside of his right wrist. He’d heard the stories. He was excited to know what the first words his soulmate would speak to him were going to be. He’d always dreamed of something like “Hey, hot stuff! Nice ass!” just so he could eternally shame his soulmate for catcalling him or something sweet like “Wow, you look really friendly! Can you help me study this week?” Some kind of college meet-cute that would lead to some wholesome stories for the kids someday. He eagerly rolled up his sleeves. Would it be funny? Heartwarming? Quirky? Flattering? He frowned when he read the small string of words, printed in a tiny serif font along his arm. “Who the hell drinks coffee with a straw?!”

Well that was simply unacceptable! Not only was his soulmate clearly a classless heathen who hated the finer things, but now he was stuck with this stupid soulmate mark! Aster turned around, leaning against the doorframe and eyeing the other patrons suspiciously, angrily sipping his coffee through his straw. As soon as his soulmate uttered those words, he was gonna kick their ass. He glared over the crowd, daring some chuckefuck to stand up and say it to his face. He was going to wreck them so hard he’d ruin the relationship eternally and blow that soulmate mark right off his arm.

Richter twitched, eyes narrowing at the blond beginning to exit and the words began forming in his mind. He didn’t even notice the blond turn to survey the rest of the patrons before he set his own coffee aside and found himself shooting up from his seat, massively offended on behalf of the rest of the sane people in this store. “WHO THE HELL DRINKS COFFEE WITH A STRAW?!” Aster’s head whipped around. You! He thought. I’ll rip you a new one right here! But before he could get the words out he softened immediately. Oh no. He’s hot.

“It’s not even iced coffee!” Richter continued, gesturing wildly at the blond’s absurd setup. “What are you even?! Wh– These cups come with lids with mouth holes you know!? So they don’t spill everywhere and so you can drink on the go!” Richter felt his own wrist tingle and paused.  He was filled with anticipation certain that the barista was going to call him out on that statement. In fact he was praying for it. Because the barista was kinda cute. But no. The words appeared on his wrist moments before they were uttered. 

“The straw cools the coffee off on its way to my mouth hole.” 

Richter cringed. Oh no. Why him? He’s cute, too but WHY HIM?! Why not that cute barista boy?! And why did it have to be these words?! Emil’s head shot up. “Oh dear.” Suddenly both his wrists were tingling. It happened sometimes when someone had two simultaneous soulmates. Some people ended up picking one and letting the other mark fade. Some picked both if they could manage it. Emil had heard stories of as many as four simultaneous soulmates and there were legends of people who’d had even more. Emil glanced around, wondering who they could be. It hit him just as the words faded in on his arms and he locked eyes with the blond customer. Aster called out. “Yo! Barista boy! You can back me up on that, right? Drinking coffee with a straw isn’t weird, yeah?” “Oh, please! For real, you can settle this right now, my friend. Drinking coffee with a straw is barbaric right? Leaving the cup open like that while walking around in public, ready to spill on everyone! The correct way to drink a hot beverage is obviously from a travel mug or ceramic!” Aster and Richter both felt their other wrists tingle and they paused their argument, smiling faintly at the words that appear. “You’re both idiots and you need to stop yelling or my boss is gonna kick you out before I get your numbers.” “Seems like you’re going to be settling more than just this argument, huh?” Richter smiled. “You haven’t even asked him out and you’re expecting him to mediate all our arguments?” Aster sassed the redhead, elbowing him in the chest. “We don’t even know each other’s names!” The three convened at the counter as Colette came back to work the register. “I’m Richter.” The redhead offered his right hand to Emil. “Emil.” The blond flashed his nametag on his apron before shaking Richter’s hand with a smile. “Aster Laker.” The other blond reached out to Emil’s still extended hand for another handshake before reluctantly taking Richters.  Richter entered their names into his phone and they exchanged contacts. “Alright, thanks for that. I’ll text you our numbers, Emil.” His phone pinged as the text was sent. “Anyway, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. You’re working after all. But before I go harass this guy about his habits, can we get your professional barista opinion?” Richter grinned. Emil chuckled. “You’re both wrong. Iced coffee is the only good coffee so drinking a hot coffee any way you want to is wrong.” Aster cackled, nearly spilling his coffee as he doubled over laughing. “I can’t tell if you’re a contrarian or just want to dodge the question. This will be an interesting relationship for sure.” Richter smiled, sipping from the mouthpiece of his cup. “What if I drink my coffee through 25 swizzle sticks glued together?” Aster cackled. “Am I valid?” Emil and Richter just stared at him. “You’re insane.” Richter murmured, though his face was glowing with amusement. “Absolutely bonkers.” Emil laughed. “I’ll let you two know when I’m off. Don’t murder each other before I’m done with my shift, okay?” “No promises.” Richter smiled, walking Aster back to his table

[bruno-in-barovia]

Session Two

Before I get into what happened in the basement, I should note that by the time we got to the stairwell down, most of us had found some kind of armor or clothing. I managed to get my hands on a full set of plate armor, which chafed a bit since I had nothing underneath but was way better than nothing. I felt a lot more prepared for whatever we would find once I had that comforting weight on me.

Anyway, we headed downstairs and started exploring this really grim catacomb beneath the house. There were cots and some other necessities in this one sparse-looking living space. We could hear faint chanting coming from deeper in the basement. I realized what we were most likely going to find there, and the notion had me on edge.

Zazear kept running ahead to explore, so Elliott volunteered to keep him in check. Opal and Lith stuck with me for the time being, and so our group split in two to keep exploring.

The three of us found a section of the basement that was more of a mausoleum, with four coffins, each labeled with the name of a member of the family that had lived here. We went upstairs to get the bones of the two kids, Rose and Thorn, and we laid them to rest. Their ghosts faded away once the coffin lids were closed. Two tallies resolved, praise Athros.

We rejoined Elliott just as Zazear came rushing back from where he had apparently been scouting the next room. His fur was all puffed out, and he announced in a furious whisper, “There’s somebody in the well!”

Naturally, we had to see for ourselves. We huddled around the edge of the well and peered in all together, and sure enough, there was a HUGE man standing in it. He and Elliott exchanged a greeting, and he seemed decent enough, so we did our best to pull him up and he managed to get over the lip of the well with our help.

He introduced himself as Haku. We all had to take a minute to take in the sight of him. He’s over seven feet tall, with bulging muscles, literally bulging, I don’t know how his skin holds it all in. Lith seemed into it. I’m not sure what that’s about.

Haku said he was looking for his brother, which is how he entered the house in the first place. Elliott got his jaw off of the floor enough to make a comment on his size—rude, Elliott, I thought you were some kind of gentleman—and Haku seemed taken aback. He gave himself a good look over, and he had no explanation for it. Apparently he only remembers being a normal sized human prior to finding himself in the well. I’m not sure what to make of that, but it reeks of dark magic. I’ll have to keep an eye on him, no matter how friendly he is.

The six of us moved on together, since Haku reasoned we were his best bet at finding his brother. We opened one door and got pounced on by a grick, so that was exciting. Lith torched it, but it got some good licks in on us before that. The next enemy was a lot worse. We somehow stumbled into a handful of ghouls and had to fight them off. That was not fun. Even with the armor, I got bit pretty bad, but thankfully Opal was ready to heal me up.

We found some chests in another living area, and there wasn’t much in them but we each took something. This place is as good as abandoned. I found a few moss agates and tucked them away for safekeeping. You never know what will come in handy when you’re stuck in unfamiliar lands and have nothing to barter with.

The next couple of rooms had some unsettling stuff in them. There was some kind of statue of a man labeled “Our Dread Lord Strahd” in one. Even if it weren’t for the skeletons chained to the walls all around it, calling somebody a “dread lord” is never a good sign. By that point I was pretty sure there was some bad necromantic juju going on in this house. And all throughout this, the chanting continued in the distant lower levels.

The statue of the dread lord guy was holding this orb thing when we first walked in. Opal started examining it right away, and then she took it down and held it. She made a face after a second and then suddenly rushed out of the room to where the others were exploring down the hall. I heard Lith’s voice and then Opal came back in without the orb. She said that she couldn’t use the orb but a sorcerer like Lith could. Elliott and Opal and I kept investigating that room for a while longer, but we didn’t find anything interesting. Then the yelling started from the others down the hall.

Our group came running, of course. What we found was... yikes. So Lith, Zazear, and Haku were in this tiny room that had a headless corpse on the floor and a headed one standing up, talking to them. She was horrible. She kept moving and talking all weird, I don’t know how to describe it, manic and syrupy and snarling in turns. Obviously I cast a sacred flame as soon as I saw her. For as freaked out as we all were, it was a relief that that thing went down as easy as it did. I burned both bodies while the others explained what had gone down before our trio rejoined them.

The undead woman was the lady of this house--the mother of those two kids, who she had locked away to die months earlier. Gods, it’s sickening. The other corpse was her husband, and he had been hanging from the ceiling when they first walked in. Then Lith had disturbed a painting on the wall and she had climbed out of it. Zazear showed us the note he had found in the husband’s pocket. Apparently he’d noticed his wife becoming... whatever she was now, and felt like he might go the same way and harm his children. Um. I have some thoughts on that logic. But yeah. So that was the last of this family, except for the missing baby that Angela was talking about earlier. Walter.

At this point, we’d been on the move for over a day without food, but we were so close to the source of the chanting. It was coming from down another flight of stairs. It took some arguing, but we resolved to scout out the next section of the basement and come back to rest if there wasn’t anything progressing. We wouldn’t be any good to the baby (who at this point I had doubts was still alive, given that the rest of the household apparently died months ago) in our current state.

The first room at the bottom of the stairs had relics all around the niches in the walls. Opal said they were fakes, but Lith didn’t believe her. She took a couple of bone daggers anyway. We looked around a bit more, and didn’t find much aside from a small dungeon (everything in it was long dead) and then a water entry of some kind with a portcullis. The chanting was coming from beyond it, but we couldn’t see anyone. The words were clear by now: “He is the Ancient, he is the Land,” over and over.

Nothing seemed to be changing, and we were all hungry and tired. Elliott didn’t want to wait before going through the portcullis and facing the (definitely necromancers). I half agreed with him, because necromancy really shouldn’t be left to its own devices any longer than necessary, but also, we weren’t at our best necromancer-fighting shape at the moment. He was outvoted, and we went back to the previous section to rest a bit.

We still hadn’t found anything by way of food, and by this point it had been more than a day and a half since we got stranded. Luckily Elliott thought to examine that grick we’d killed earlier, and trailman that he is, decided it was worth trying. Lith finished cooking it, and Elliott used a little bard magic to make it taste better. The dog he picked up, Lancelot, was perkier after getting something to eat. I’m not sure how that little guy survived for the last few months without food or water.

After sleeping, we returned to that water entry. Haku lifted up the portcullis—I guess the whole unnaturally-large muscles thing is handy—and we stepped into this big watery chamber with a stone altar on a dais in the center and a path running around the edges of the room.

It was empty at first, but then this circle of floating cloaked figures faded into view around the room. The chanting changed and became louder, insistent. “One must die. One must die. One must die.”

We stood there looking at each other. Lith made the first move, pointing at Lancelot in Elliott’s arms. “Give them the dog!” Elliott refused. Opal and Zazear seemed to agree with Lith. I was petrified. One the one hand, who knew what would happen if we didn’t do something, and it was awfully convenient that we happened to have one living thing with us that wasn’t a party member. On the other, that felt gross to even consider. And my deity wouldn’t look kindly on me for participating in a necromantic ritual as self preservation. Haku seemed a little lost, his gaze darting around the room frantically. Lith tried to take Lancelot from Elliott, and they started a tugging match. We were all arguing, shouting over each other, all while the chanting got louder and louder around us.

Haku let out this wild yell, and he charged at the altar, bringing an axe he’d grabbed earlier down on the stone with so much force that it cracked in two. I’m not sure if it was his actions or if we had just run out of time, but the chanting stopped. All the ghost cultists called out, “The end comes! Death be praised!” and faded away.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then this mound of something began to move at the other end of the chamber. As it rose above the water line, we could make out the shapes of bones and things in it. Oh gods.

We spread out around the room to fight it. At one point, it lashed out at Elliott and enveloped him. His face would poke out of the mess every once in a while and he’d try to tell us something before getting sucked back under.

Finally, the monstrosity burst apart under our attacks, leaving behind an exhausted Elliott... and a crying baby? I’m retching a little just recalling it’s face. It was crying black tears. It was obviously undead, but Opal insisted on magically checking to be sure. Yep. I started forward to burn it, and Lith and Opal stopped me, pointing out that we knew where its resting place would be. So we all headed upstairs to put the baby to rest in the crib from earlier.

As soon as the body touched the crib bottom, it faded away. There was a rumbling around us, and the house started to fall apart. We all rushed down the stairs and made it out the door just before the whole building collapsed behind us. Everything that we had picked up from the middle levels of the house—mostly armor and weapons—started to rust and disintegrated off of our bodies as we ran. Zazear and Lith were the only ones who had taken or made makeshift clothing from the decrepit upper level and the basement, so the rest of us were down to our underwear again.

In the ruins of the house, the shapes of Rose and Thorn flickered, mouthing their cries for help from earlier. But... hadn’t we put the ghosts to rest? They shifted into another person’s shape then, and then another, flickering so fast it was hard to distinguish the different people. One lingered a little longer than the rest, causing Haku to make a sharp noise in reaction. It was his brother’s shape. The visions disappeared for good once they had all been cycled through.

The house must have been drawing people in for years like a sick people-trapping death... trap. Poor Haku. He says that his brother can’t be dead, and he’s sticking with us to keep looking. It’s sad to see someone that deep in denial. 

There was a man not far from the house who we ran into after this. He introduced himself as Vasili and gave us some of his supplies, as well as directions to the closest village, Barovia, which we learned is also the name of this whole valley. We’re getting our bearings now. Who knows what we’ll find in Barovia. If this house was any sort of a sign for what’s ahead, I think I’m going to need new armor.

[chibi-chaos]

Partners in Crime

Okay sooooo... I shall commence this fanfic by explaining a few headcanons:

1. In the movie the news line during the interview with Chuck has “ Striker Eureka is the last Jaeger active among the ANZAC (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps ) Jaegers. I took this and ran wild at this being a sign that New Zealand would also have their own Jaeger. Thus my oc’s Evan Henare and Waimarie Anderson were formed - I may end up making a post explaining them more in-depth

2. I like to picture Mako and Chuck being kids of Herc and Stacker would mean that they have met a fair few times and are like a ragtag family. And with it, the two would bounce off each other with their determination to be Jaeger pilots.

3. I imagine technicians and pilots would have had a fond side for Mako and Chuck, and I made Evan and Waimarie no exception to this.

After Marshal Pentecost took Mako in, the young girl found herself spending a few summers in Australia - specifically hanging around the Sydney Shatterdome as the Marshal went about his duties in the region. Naturally, it meant that she encountered Chuck. The ways she went about describing the youngest Hansen were as follows:

Agitated cat glaring at the corner of the room. That was literally how he looked when she first saw him, sitting on a set of metal stairs, clutching a bulldog in his arms.

Mean and not someone she’d want to be friends with. That was concluded after a bit of time, and when he opened his mouth. He had made the point to state how he didn’t like her, and honestly, she couldn’t say he was on her ‘like’ list either. Though the older she got the more she suspected that that had been partly because of how Herc had warmed up to her, in essence, she probably was a rival to a thing which younger Chuck didn’t want to acknowledge he was competing for.

Alright was when Chuck had slipped an opened magazine his uncle had given him to her. He acted as if he wasn’t doing it at all, looking at Max instead, and feeding him with his other hand. The magazine had been covering some of the specs of the Jaeger’s, as was something that Mako eagerly read over and memorized.

The trade would continue where the two shared what books and magazines they could get, and over some unclear time, the two had gotten onto friendly terms with each other without even realizing it. When Jake was a little older and was following the Marshal around he too would join in on their strange reading club. Max would love every second of it cause it meant he had the attention of three children.

When the Marshal would collect Jake (due to being still too young and needing to be taken to where they current home was), Herc would usually take the two somewhere. Most of the time it was exploring the base, sometimes he managed to get them off base. But eventually, they’d be left to entertain themselves in the quarters the Hansen’s had.

Partner-in-crime was one which occurred at that point. The older they got the more daring they became, they’d sneak out of their quarters and would make their way down to the Kwoon Room to spy on the Jaeger pilots - both eager by this point to become ones as well.

2017 came around and by summer in Australia, they were doing it again, this time with a new pair to study. After several years the two had come to know most of the pilot-pairs styles, Herc and Scott’s they probably knew best. So to have a new pair was exciting in a way.

The two seemed fairly different from the other, the man had tanned skin, dark brown hair and a fairly solid build, while the female seemed at least a few years younger, brown skin, dark hair and a lithe figure. They grew even more curious to see the use of the Quarterstaffs instead of the usual hanbo, bo or hand to hand.

“Who are they?” Mako remembered whispering to Chuck quietly.

“Evan Henare and Waimarie Anderson, they’re piloting a New Zealand Mark Four Jaeger; Kraken Roun. The first in a few ways...”

His explanation though faded as Mako watched the two pilots circle each other, spinning their staffs idly as if evaluating the other before suddenly Waimarie had moved. There was a practised ease in her move, that Evan seemed to not be at yet, a surprising thing considering how she was much younger than him. But the two fighting was a sight to behold - one that they remember only being matched when their fathers had sparred, that same confidence in each other's skills that led to them not holding back.

Their spying sessions went on like that, watching Herc and Scott, watching the Pilots of Vulcan Specter, the occasional sparring session between their fathers, and the two newest pilots.

Though the two New Zealanders had caught them red-handed at one point, and that led to a twist that would lead to some of  Mako’s fondest memories. One look between Evan and Waimarie and they had changed their quarter-staffs for the standard bo staff before offering it to Mako and Chuck.

And that was how it started, the meetings in the Kwoon Room where one session Waimarie would be teaching Mako moves, and Evan teaching Chuck to the next where they swapped. Sometimes Mako found herself sparring with the teenager (it had surprised her to know how much more closer their ages were to what she had thought they were).  But those sessions were amazing with how Waimarie treated her like a serious partner, and when they spared Chuck and Evan would be sitting on the steps, the pilot pointing out some of the moves Waimarie was using. The following week it would be Chuck sparring with Waimarie and Evan point out things to Mako, and then it would be swapped, the two getting to spar with Evan while Waimarie unpacks it all. In a strange way, Waimarie seemed to assume a sort of older-sister role, and Evan a hybrid of older brother and the ‘cool cousin’ character that turned up in stories she had read a few times.

Actual Partner started this moment when Evan turned from looking at her and Chuck to Waimarie as she moved over with two hanbo. There was a smile on his face, that almost matched the look Chuck would have when he stole his father’s or his uncle’s jacket. That edge of doing something that probably could stir trouble, but despite knowing that have every intention of doing it. If it wasn’t for the fact of how she had come to know Evan. along with the fact that Waimarie was there the ground him, Mako would have been a little worried.

“Here’s an idea Wai,” Evan said, tilting his head a tiny bit at the woman.

In return Waimarie had raised an eyebrow, looking suspiciously at her co-pilot for a moment before it shifted to a small smile.

An interesting side note that Mako had picked up that this was very reminiscent of how the two piloting together worked. Silently between each other Evan could generate creative ideas, and Waimarie could translate it into action.

“Oh?”

“How about we let Chuck and Mako spar between each other?”

It was in an instant that Chuck particularly had perked up at the thought of that before looking at Waimarie and Mako, hoping they’d agree. Mako, also admittedly liking this idea, turned to look at Waimarie as well. The young New Zealander sighed almost fondly, shaking her head as she smiles.

“Alright,” She replied, moving over to hand the two staffs to Mako and Chuck as the two had scrambled to take off their shoes.

Now, now they really felt like partners. In the near future, this could become common between her and Chuck sparring. Maybe they could follow in their father-figures’ steps and become Jaeger pilots and each other’s comm-pod partner.

The moment both had their staffs, Waimarie moved to follow Evan onto the steps, standing watch on this sparring match, the tiny Max following the two to settle next to them. Though give it about ten minutes and he’d be napping for as long as the matches lasted.

“Usually Kwoon training involves various forms of fighting; What your fight style and form is will be defined usually by you and your co-pilot.,” Waimarie explained once the two were in place, “In your case, it’s defined by how you two are well versed by now on how to use the hanbo, and some hand-to-hand.”

Deciding that was enough of an explanation, Evan spoke up.

“The first to land four strikes wins,” He announced, “But the real aim really is how you two can reach each other.”

“In essence, the longer the sparring session or the more moves blocked the more chance there is of compatibility.” Waimarie concluded with a smile- pausing for a moment before speaking again, “Begin.”

It was with that Mako quickly switched her focus from listening to Waimarie and Evan to Chuck, doing so in time to block an attack he was sending her way. What followed felt like pure instinct as Mako countered Chuck’s attack – because it became clear that when sparring with any Hansen meant fighting power with power. A Hansen committed to their moves a hundred per cent, fuelled by emotions, and refined with practice.

That match came close, but Mako ended up being able to win it due to being able to anticipate the next move at the end. A small huff escaped from Chuck before he bowed, accepting her win, a bow which she returned with one of her own. Accepting his respect and giving her own.

“Can we go again?” Chuck asked, looking expectantly at their seniors.

The two pilots shared a look between each other before Evan spoke up.

“In one moment.”

With that Waimarie gestured Chuck to move to one end of the room, and Evan moved to rest a hand on Mako’s shoulder and guided to the opposite end. Once there the elder ended up sitting on the floor doing stretches, which Mako decided to copy as well – seeing out of the corner of her eye as Waimarie seemed to be going through some moves with Chuck. One was clearly how to change a move once it’s been blocked. Something that Mako wasn’t sure if Chuck would actually end up using. Her train of thought was interrupted when Evan spoke up.

“Good job on blocking Little Hansen’s moves, he definitely wasn’t holding back.”

“I wasn’t holding back either.”

Evan smiled, “I know, that was clear too. But you both need to be careful with that – commitment is good, but being able to separate yourself to assess something is good too.”

“Are you referring to how you and Anderson-San circle each other, and those times you two jump away from each other for a moment?”

“Exactly. We take a small breath, quickly working out what worked and what did, how we’re carrying each other,” Evan said with a smile and a nod, “In a Jaeger, there’s less of a chance to take time to do so, but sparring helps you to get good at it.”

Following that well enough, Mako nodded, smiling a little when Evan got up ruffling her hair a tiny bit.

“Okay, we’re good here!” He called, earning a ‘same’ from his partner.

The end of that talk marked the beginning of the next sparring match. It seemed that both of them had listened to the advice that had been given to them, and in turn seemed to make the match long a little bit longer. In the end, it seemed like neither of them were going to get that fourth hit, and it seemed like Evan and Waimarie had concluded that.

“Okay, times up,” Evan announced, wearing a proud smile as he stepped back onto the mat.

Waimarie followed, at one point having disappeared long enough to return with two bottles of water, giving it to them the moment they had put their staffs away.

“Good round,” She had said with a pleased smile, resting her hands on their backs for a moment as she looked at Evan, “Ice cream run?”

Evan chuckled, “Naturally.”

It was a fact only known by a few people, that Evan had a tendency of launching raids on certain treats. Usually, it was chocolate for Waimarie when she had those days of curling up in a ball and hiding in her bed, it extended to Mako when she began to understand why the older female felt like that.

Ice cream though. That was something he started when he and Waimarie trained with her and Chuck, after one look of horror mixed disgust when finding out that neither Mako or Chuck had really experienced ice creams during summer.

So they commenced their small walk, a New Zealander technician having been entrusted with Max for a bit. Chuck halfway through had started to engage in a conversation with Waimarie, talking about the upgrades which were being installed on Kraken.

Meanwhile, Evan had noticed Mako slowing up a little, a little sore from the match, and had knelt in front of her.

“Get on, Sapling.” He said, in that tone that Mako knew well by now meant he was smiling fondly.

The nickname was a strange one that Evan gave her when he found out what her surname meant. Where Mori meant ‘Forest’, the male had given her a nickname which meant ‘baby tree’. That aside it had grown on to her, thus why she didn’t protest at its use when she ended up climbing up for a piggyback ride.

“Sorry, kiddo should have gotten you and Chuckster to have a cool down stretch.” He said with a glance over his shoulder, “You two did go all out after all.”

“It’s fine,” Mako replied with a soft smile, one that Evan returned before looking forward once more as to see where he was going.

A small walk would lead to her having a french vanilla ice cream, Chuck having a chocolate and mint ice cream, Waimarie a strawberry one, and Evan having a straight chocolate one. They’d reach back to Max soon enough and be back at the Hansen quarters, that when the New Zealanders left and Herc returned from training with Scott the two would be finishing up their ice cream, laughing at something funny with Max snuggled up between them.

[writing-anomaly]

Torn

Fandom:  Jojolion

Summary: Yasuho’s life is tearing at the seams. The volatile Rokakaka trade is catching up to them and when Josuke unravels, Yasuho  is pushed to her limit. She’s left more vulnerable than ever as she struggles to protect two men who barely know her.

This a story in which the protected must become the protector.

Chapter 5

"Feel free to call me daddy."

"Haha, I'd rather not." Yasuho, faked her best smile.

This Kaito guy was really pushing it.

She was trying her best to be open to the situation, but it was difficult.

Yasuho had to consciously refrain from throwing scowls in her mom's direction. It had only been a few moments since the couple first dropped the news that they had eloped. Yasuho had barely been able to stop her knees from buckling under her. Autopilot was the only thing sustaining her.

Part of her felt betrayed.

Although, surprise was not a word she would use to describe her thoughts on her mother's behavior. A woman who could ditch her own child was capable of anything. The unexpected was exactly Yasuho's expectation of her mother and without any further explanation, Suzuyo pushed her and Kaito to the dining room as she rushed into the tiny kitchen in the adjacent room.

Kaito pulled out a chair from the square glass table and looked expectantly at Yasuho, a sheepish grin etched into his angular jaw. She stared at him a moment before slowly approaching him, accepting the small olive branch; Despite the situation, she didn't want to appear rude by refusing his attempt at showing goodwill.

Though she dragged her feet along the way.

After she sat down, he pushed her chair up to the table with an ease that betrayed his lithe form. It was almost as if she were the guest in her own home.

Yasuho sighed.

She imagined this was all a part of one of her mother's grand schemes to glue her makeshift "family" together. And while her mother was preparing their fantastical Italian dinner, she had been left to "bond" with her new step-father, whom she'd only known existed for the last 10 minutes.

Kaito was...friendly, to say the least.

He had taken the initiative in spurring a conversation, talking animately as he attempted to tear down the uncomfortable wall of silence that stood between.

Of course, the usual impersonal topics were checked off the list:

"How's school?"

"What's your major?"

"What are your hobbies?"

To which she replied,

"Great."

"Computer science."

"Coding."

Yada, yada.

Her lips barely parted, expression solid like a marble slab, as she mechanically responded to his questions. She hated being forced in to social situations. Yasuho trained her eyes on her view of the oak floor through the polished surface of the glass table, noting the scratch marks from where its black metal leg had been pushed to and fro.

This was not how she, wanted to spend her night.

There were so many other issues to deal with, like finding new leads on the Rokakaka, or getting more clues on Josuke's past..and her head hurt just thinking about all the homework she needed to catch up on for her discrete mathematics class! Speaking of which, she wondered what Josuke was doing at the moment..

Nodding absent-mindedly at whatever Kaito was saying, she slowly slipped her phone from the pocket of her flower covered skirt so as to avoid drawing any attention to her actions. To her delight, the message alert was present.

A smile broke through her hardened facade.

Sucking her bottom lip slightly she opened her inbox. Thankfully, her phone was already set on silent mode, curtesy of Paisely Park; She didn't have to worry about it making any unattractive sounds.

Gingerly peaking into her inbox, she nearly squealed when she saw Joshuu's name..

..and by Joshuu, she meant Josuke who had heroically liberated the communication device from his adoptive brother.

Yasuho instantly caved, opening the messages:

Josuke: Glad you're home.

Josuke: I'm gonna get you for ditching me like that Yasu-chan! Not fair :p

"As if!" Yasuho thought to herself with a grin. She still owed him for the tickle attack back at his house. There's no way she'd let him win twice in a row!

But still..

She was overwhelmingly thankful for his playful text. The weight on her chest was beginning to lift. His humor, like an eraser, wiped away the self-bashing lies and guilt that toyed with her fear of failing him.

Josuke never seemed to dwell on the bad.

No, Josuke was like a gust of wind, refreshing and strong enough to whisk her away from her self-maintained pit of quiet hopelessness. Ad she found it incredible, how adept he was to treading above water, even though his own life was flooded within a sea of misery and misfortune.

Truly, she envied his inner strength..

The glass table began to vibrate slightly, with a persistent tap that derailed her train of thought, tossing the blinding glare of the reflected chandelier light into her eyes, which she closed to stop them from stinging. Her hands, which she held beneath the table, reached for her face instinctively at a poor attempt to further shield her eyes, only to bang her phone against the underside of the glass tabletop, knocking the device from her grasp with a deafening clang. Yasuho felt an unusual draft brush against her calf as she awaited the bang of her phone hitting the ground.

But the impact never came.

"My apologies.. I'm not enough to hold your attention."

The words rang relatively close to her, reverberating within the walls of her ear canal. Yasuho's eyes shifted upward in alarm, locking with Kaito's whose face was mere inches away.

Her nostrils grazed on the earthy scent of his cologne which was sobering like the dew of morning grass, mingled with the mint of his breath. His torso leaned heavily against the glass, in a way that expressed he could sleep at any moment as he gazed up at her through half-closed eyes.

Yasuho hadn't realized when Kaito had exchanged chairs to sit beside her.

Her eyes traced along his bicep, up his forearm, to the left hand on which he rested his head. There, in his palm was a small cellular phone that seemed disturbingly familiar.

..above the glass, without a scratch on it.

Confused, Yasuho looked down through the transparent table, spreading her feet apart to check if her phone was indeed laying on the ground.

The floor was clear.

Patting her skirt didn't produce the device either.

Yasuho spared a second glance at the phone in his hand and, as if on queue, Kaito teased the power button with his thumb. It lit up, immediately displaying a lock screen of her favorite sailor boy.

How did he..?

"Yasuho-chan." Kaito looked up at her from his lounging position His eyes gleeful as he pouted, teasingly. "It's rude to play on your phone when someone's talkin' to you. I'm sure Suzuyo taught you better."

"S-sorry!" She withdrew from him immediately with a small bow.

"That's quite alright." Kaito set her phone on the table, but made no effort in returning it to her. Instead, he playfully flicked the power button again to display the lock screen of Josuke's goofy face with a mouth full of fries. A long finger trailed the outline of Josuke's form. She watched him, annoyance growing as he began to chuckle lightly. "You have interesting tastes. He's a very special looking fellow."

Yasuho's eyes narrowed slightly, not caring for the tone of his voice. "He's amazing, actually. The best man I know."

She'd had enough of Kaito's taunting.

Something about the way he gazed at Josuke, left her feeling violated, like an excavated treasure pillaged by a man with no means of proper appraisal. She possessed few things of value, but the boy on the lock screen topped them all.

Cautiously, she reached for her phone, staring down her adoptive father, challenging him. As her hand covered the hard plastic surface of her cellphone, Kaito laid his hand atop of hers. Involuntary shivers ran down her spine when his icy cool digits made contact.

Yasuho paused.

"Why don't you try asking me a few question?" Kaito did not stop her from pulling her hand out of his loose grasp, taking her cell with her. He offered a wide grin to reset the conversation.

Yasuho regarded him warily.

Sighing, she leaned against the glass table. "So, how did you two meet?"

Kaito sat up in his chair. His crisp green dress shirt wrinkled when he crossed his arms over his chest. Looking off into space with a dreamy expression, he began his tale..

"Well, I was on my way to work when I saw this gorgeous lady near the crosswalk, haggling with a food vendor about the price of her donuts. I felt drawn to her so..I slowed my stroll to indulge in your sweet mother's angelic voice as she said, "..If I have to spend 2000 yen on a dozen donuts I expect them to be lined with gold!"

Yasuho stared in disbelief.

"..and I told myself, now that's a woman I can jive with. I offered to pay, and slipped my card in the box."

He gave a boisterous laugh as he added, "I also let her know that if she wanted a little help burning those calories off she knew where to find me."

A wide grin appeared on his face as he began flexing his eyebrows suggestively.

"Kaito!" Suzuyo had returned from the kitchen, red faced.

Yasuho and Kaito both shot straight up in their chairs as she slammed a large bowl of spaghetti on the table, gritting her teeth through a smile wider than humanly possibly. It was a miracle that she hadn't cracked the glass surface.

"Honey, I think you're confused, we actually met at the bookstore, haha. Remember?" Her tone was soft as she daintily placed a hand on her cheek.

"No...I don't read books for fun.. hun." His word were slow, as if searching his memories for a forgotten file.

"Yes you do!" Suzuyo screamed.

The smack of Yasuho's palm hitting her forehead and running down her face was lost in their bickering.

Yasuho awoke the next morning tangled in a soft selection of thick aqua colored bedding. Slamming her hand down on the wailing alarm clock sitting on the night stand, she cringed as she remembered the events of the night prior. Dinner played out smoother than she anticipated after Kaito conceded to her mother's insistence that she had indeed been haggling for books on quantum physics, and not donuts.

Yasuho didn't care one way or another about what their alibi was.

She inhaled her spaghetti and chugged her water, barely sparing a good night before she escaped to her room. The activities of the day had caught up with her eternal clock by then, pushing her into a dreamless sleep nearly as soon as her body touched her western-style bed.

Groaning, Yasuho forced herself to rise. Any further attempts at sleep would be in vain. Vibrant rays of the morning sun were breaking through the blinds of her window and attacking her light sensitive eyes. So she opted to pick her outfit for the day, along with a towel and wash cloth.

Yasuho was ready to head for the bathroom shower but paused when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of her closet's sliding glass door. Her pajama shorts were comfy but a little revealing. It wouldn't be a problem if it were just her and her mother in the home, but she wasn't comfortable with Kaito's presence yet.

She decided to change into loose fitting flannels that swallowed her curves.

It would be best to avoid any potentially awkward situations.

Luckily, she was able to reach the bathroom without running into Kaito in the hallway. After a hot steamy shower she finished the rest of her hygienic routine and dressed herself in black tights underneath a pair of gold buttoned, navy blue daisy dukes, and a gold sweater with the word 'autumn' printed in black ink. A high ponytail and pair of black-heeled boots polished her attire.

Yasuho was sure she'd be able to escape the apartment without any human interaction but was disappointed when Suzuyo called her name from end of the foyer. Every fiber in Yasuho's being wanted to ignore her, but hesitation allowed her mother enough time to run up and hug her from behind.

"Good morning to you too, mother." Yasuho turned to face her.

"So, what do you think?" Suzuyo was still dressed in her usual red night gown, a flowery silk bonnet covered her hair.

"About what?" Yasuho played dumb, wanting to avoid the conversation entirely.

Suzuyo wasn't having it.

She gave her daughter a stern look, too tired to play games; She waited.

"..He's ok. I still don't know him..but you seem crazy about him so that's what matters." Yasuho noticed the fall in her mother's expression.

"He really is a great guy..kind and loyal in all the ways your father-"

"Don't!" Yasuho cut her off. Her voice erupted like a volcano from her tiny body. She turned to head for the door, finished with the conversation, only to be yanked back by the book bag she was carrying on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry! But he abandoned us both, Yasuho." Suzuyo's voice ground into her daughter's heart like a rusted knife. Her wet tears penetrated the back of Yasuho's sweater as she held tightly around her daughter's mid section.

"Are you done? I have to finish some research at the library."

"No. I need you to do something for me."

Yasuho should've expected as much.

Handing her a spare key from her pocket, Suzuyo explained, "I need you to drop this off at Kaito's workplace. He'll be staying with us for a while until we close on our new condo, in downtown Tokyo."

"Are you kidding me? I'm not even half way through the school year! We can't move."

"I said us. That doesn't have to include you."

Once again, Yasuho could feel herself being pushed to the outer edge of her mother's heart. With much effort, she smoothed the worry lines from her brow and reinforced the dam that held her tears at bay. Her bated breath was the only indication of her high emotional state.

"Why don't you take the key to him yourself?! I didn't marry him." Yasuho's words were strained. She willed her ears to close, not wanting to hear any more as Suzuyo persisted.

"I would, but he decided to treat me to a spa day. I wanted to take you with me but you seem so busy with school." Suzuyo could feel her daughter go limp in her arms. "Kaito is a good man, and he's taking his new fatherly duties seriously. I'm sure I could talk him into paying for you to stay her while you finish your studies. He loves me, which means he'll have to love you too because you're the most precious part of my life."

Yasuho looked at the silver key resting in the palm of her hand. It was attached to a red, heart shaped, key-chain her birth father had bought as a good luck charm. She was surprised her mother hadn't thrown it away as of yet.

It was a cheap trinket from her happier days as a child and prior to the ugly divorce of her parents.

It was in good condition.

The words inscribed on it were still legible:

"My Love"

Yasuho could feel the fight leaving her.

If her mother was dead set on Kaito, then so be it.

Resigned to the situation, Yasuho uttered the only words left to say. "Where does he work?"

"The University hospital off of 53rd street."

And with that, Yasuho pried her mother's arm off and slammed the front door behind her without so much as a farewell.  

To be continued...

[sugasweetsubs]

Member | faerie!jungkook x reader

Words | 1.3K

Warnings | none

Summary | a chance encounter in the woods leads to the realization that fairy tales might be more than fiction

A warm summer breeze brushes over your chilled skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The water of the spring you just left had felt wonderful in the moment--an easy way to beat the sweltering heat--but the feeling of the afternoon sun reminds you that your body is chilled to the bone as a result.

You spot a clearing up ahead, one that looks open and inviting despite a few overgrown brambles and several ragged looking tree stumps that line the edge of the space. You follow what looks to be a path of sorts; the grass is barely disturbed, but there is a distinct flattening of the vegetation leading to the clearing that could only be from human footsteps. You relish in the feeling of the soft moss on your bare feet as you are led deeper into the forest.

The full heat of the sun hits you when you step into the small field, no longer filtered out by the tall, leafy trees. You close your eyes for a moment to bask in the sensation. Your skin is already warming up, but the heat isn’t heavy and unbearable like before.

When you open your eyes, you take a moment to finally scan around the entirety of the meadow. It is a lovely spot of nearly untouched nature. The grass is tall, rustling gently with the passing breeze, and wildflowers dot the sea of green with splashes of orange and violet. You can see a few narrow deer paths leading back into the woods, and you are certain that the rounded openings in a few of the particularly dense areas of vegetation belong to rabbits--several of which are cautiously grazing on the side opposite of where you stand.

The entire scene is idyllic, setting your mind at ease and spreading a fuzzy warmth throughout your chest. However, moments later when you turn around to look back at the way you came from, you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop the startled yelp that tries to escape.

There, just a few feet away in the darkest edge of the clearing, kneels a man. His back is to you and from the way his head hangs over whatever is in front of him, you doubt that he noticed you enter. 

His hair is a soft shade of mauve and sits in wild tufts atop his head--as if he has run his fingers through it a few too many times--and his elegant black clothing hangs artfully off his lithe frame. There is something otherworldly about him, and he looks entirely out of place among the green field overflowing with life. His aura feels dark and wicked and, judging from the hunched set of his shoulders, maybe a little bit broken. A word for his appearance tickles at the back of your mind, but you dismiss it immediately as an impossibility. There’s no way you would run into one of those in this area.

You are debating whether you should make your presence known or attempt a quiet retreat, but your decision is made for you when an unconscious step backwards causes a twig to snap. The man’s head whips around to find the source of the sound and he spots you immediately. Your eyes meet his, and it takes great effort to keep from tripping over your own feet at the sight.

The whites of his eyes are reddened and the lids swollen as if he had been crying. Despite this, his eyes are beautiful in color--a warm shade of brown with flecks of gold that seem to glow even from this distance. There appears to be a deep sadness behind the intensity of his gaze that remains even as his expression shifts to suspicion at the sight of you.

“Who sent you?” Even under the harsh tone of his anger, you can tell his voice is beautiful to match the rest of him. It has a pleasant, melodic quality to it and you find yourself missing the sound of it after he asks his question.

It takes a moment for you to get past the distraction of his appearance to process what he is asking. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” you say. “No one sent me, I was just out for a walk.”

His eyes narrow at your response and he takes a step closer, watching you carefully. “You expect me to believe that? This place isn’t easy to find, you can’t tell me you just stumbled upon it.” His voice is harsh and mocking, and it leaves an uncomfortable weight in your chest. There is something intimidating about the space that surrounds him, it feels heavy and alive--like the air before a storm--and it raises a different kind of goosebumps on your skin. You suddenly want to be very far away from this clearing.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” You try to take a step back, but he matches you with another step forward. “I was swimming at a nearby spring and saw a path to this clearing on my way back.” Your head drops to examine the blades of grass clinging to your bare feet in order to avoid his gaze. You add on further explanation after a moment of hesitation, but your voice is no more than a murmur, “I just wanted to warm up in the sun.”

There is a long pause of heavy silence and you take the opportunity to look at him again. His expression is still cautious, but less hostile. You can tell he is trying to make a judgement about you and you want to shrink under the intensity of his stare. Amazingly, his eyes are even more beautiful up close. The gold specks seem to shine with a light of their own and look almost molten in the way they appear to shift and change shape.

“You need to leave,” he says finally. “This is private property and you shouldn’t be here.”

The sudden shift in his voice from harsh anger to cold professionalism is confusing, but it allows you to relax a bit. “Oh--I’m sorry I--yes, I’ll get going.” You start backing away towards the opening in the trees where you entered from, keeping your eyes on the strange man. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” you call out just before darting out onto the trail. 

You run the entire way back to the spring and take a different, well-travelled, path back to civilization. The sound of your heart pounds in your ears and you don’t spare a moment to calm down until you make it into town.

When you finally arrive at your home, you ignore the curious inquiries from your roommate about your afternoon adventure and rush to hole up in your room. Once you are safely under the warmth of your covers, you allow yourself several deep, shaky breaths until your heart is back to steadily beating at its normal pace.

You close your eyes and sigh, images of the man from the clearing flashing in your memory. There was something so incredibly other about him and you can’t seem to shake the image of his wild hair and burning eyes. The same word from earlier whispers in the back of your mind, and as much as you want to dismiss it again, you can’t help but think that it would explain him perfectly.

There have been rumors swirling for years now, traveling with merchants from the large cities near the capital, but you never thought much about them. You always assumed that something that appeared in fairy tales would never be relevant to you in such a small town on the outskirts of the kingdom.

It seemed impossible before today but, as you recall again the wicked and beautiful appearance of the man, you wonder if this means you’ll need to reevaluate your definition of impossible.

a/n | this is a very spur-of-the-moment thing!! I saw the concept photos and I all I could think of was a faerie au (especially Jungkook’s!!) I don’t have a solid direction for it yet and I’m not sure if it will be a series or just a few one shots set in the same world?? Either way there should be more soon, because I’m having fun with this. I wasn’t sure what genre to call this, but I think eventually there will be fluff and angst?? (also I wrote and edited this in the span of like two hours so I apologize for any mistakes I might have missed)

[inkedwolf-compendium]

Memories

Mac’s Writing Challenge: Memories

Share a memory, big or small, that has shaped your muse’s fears, trust, or mindset into what they are today. 

This is a small blip to a much larger scene that I’ve shared with my better half, @theruneslayer. We created a scene where Mac is using a bit of divination (Mind Magic) to share her memories in a mindscape. Below is just one of the many memories Tryndan experienced that haunt his mate’s mind. 

For so many years, she had hidden away who she truly was. Not even her children knew all that she endured. All that she had lost. So many years. So many tragedies. She relived them daily and now she was about to relive them with him standing by her side, watching the horror that was her life play out before his own inner eye.

No secrets. Not from him. Not anymore.

As they stepped through the door, there was a blinding white light and then the soft thud of the door closing behind them. The moment that quiet noise sounded, the screams began.

The vision of Macaela standing next to Tryndan paled as she heard those familiar screams. She knew what they were about to see, what scene was about to play out in her mind. Her first experience with loss.

The mindscape around them swirled, shifting into a classic Gilnean manor. The image of Macaela stood there at the foot of a grand staircase, her hand still clutching Tryn’s as her spectral form stared up at the crest hanging like a mighty banner on the wall above the stairs. The language was an ancient one, the motto standing out above all;  Je Suis Prest. Its common translation was written just below it, engraved into the aged silver.

I am ready.

Macaela stared at those words, her pale hazel eyes refusing to blink lest the tears begin to fall down her cheeks.

I am ready.

She had chanted those words to herself over and over through the years, yet every time they echoed through her mind, she knew them for the lie they truly were. She hadn't been ready. Not for this. Not for anything. Every loss, every tragedy. She was never ready. The same could be said now. She wasn’t ready for this memory to play out. Hints of her past had been given over the years, however, this was the one secret… the one loss that she hadn’t shared with anyone. Not in its entirety.

Screams echoed from above and whether she willed it or not, her feet began to carry her closer. With her fingers laced alongside Tryn’s, he was pulled along with her as she moved. Up the stairs and down a richly furnished hall towards a large door. Mac didn’t even have to reach for it, the portal swung open on its own on silent hinges.

The hall faded away behind them and all that was left was the room beyond. It was beautiful, decorated in warm honey colored woods and deep shades of green. Ivy crawled up the walls, winding itself around the wooden beams that supported the ceilings. That dark leafy foliage framed the fireplace, growing around the mantle. The hearth was nothing but ash and embers, the flames snuffed out.

Large leaded windows were left open, overlooking a balcony that overlooked the wilds of Gilneas. Plush chairs, sofas, intricately carved tables. The grand room wasn’t just some cold and common chamber, this was full of life and memories. This was where Macaela’s family resided away from the eyes of the public. They weren’t just nobles, they were a family, tightly knit and loving.

Here was where they lived. It was also where they died. As the mental image of Mac moved, she walked around the large sofa and there they were.

Her parents.

The green carpet looked black beneath them, their lifeblood pooling around them like a lake. Her father throat had been slit, his dark eyes still wide open, staring at the horror before him as his life had drained away, leaving him to watch his murderer finish the job.

Her mother’s death wasn’t so swift or clean. Her clothes were in tatters, her body bruised, broken, and in ruins. Rage was the only thing that could have caused such a violent death. What was left of her torso looked more like pulp than something that was once a body.

Emotion flooded the mindscape, a sense of loss and deep sorrow. It was muted for Tryn, however, just by the look in those hazel eyes, it would be easy to see that Macaela was taking the brunt of the emotional downpour.

“My parents.” She whispered, her voice breaking as she looked over the scene.

“It’s odd the things I remember about them.” She explained. “It was so long ago. They were from entirely different worlds. My father was a born and bred gilnean noble, high born through and through. My mother? Well, she was a witch of the old ways. Her beliefs, traditions, and very way of life were frowned upon. I never got the true story of how they met, likely a deal to be made. Nobles refuse to acknowledge the existence of our kind or did for a long time. Funny how they always came to us when they were desperate with greed.” She swallowed hard.

“What I do recall of the tale they so often spun was that my father fell hopelessly and crazy in love with my mother the first moment he saw her. He always described her like fire, he knew that she would burn him, but he wanted to be consumed by her. They loved each other with every fiber of their being. It was only fitting that they went out like they did…. Together. Slaughtered in their sleep. To this day, I still don’t know who is responsible for their deaths. I had my suspicions, but no evidence to back it. More gilnean tragedy. The start of all of mine…”

Screams sounded from nearby, a room just beyond this one. Such anguish in those cries. It wasn’t just loss, it was agony incarnate as if there was someone in their death throes. Hoarse and desperate, the screams sounded barely human. Mac started walking again and as she did, bloody footprints began to appear across the carpet ahead of them, walking towards the archway that led to the next room. One after the other, each one soaking into the floor.

“This is the day I lost half of myself.” That was the only explanation she gave as she moved to the archway. As the new room came into sight, the room with her parents vanished behind them. The screams continued, only now, their source could be seen.

It was her. Macaela.

She couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen. She was shorter than she is now, her raven colored hair in a thick braid, her body still lithe and not nearly as shapely as it was now. She was in a white shift, likely some manner of night clothes, however, her state of undress didn’t matter. What mattered was the lifeless body she held in her arms as she laid in a pool of blood, trying to rock the young man back to life. She was screaming as tears ran down her face, crying out as if her very soul had been ripped in two.

Mac couldn’t hide the emotion here. Not all of it. Although she took the majority of it, the sheer magnitude of this loss seeped through the link she shared with Tryn. He had wanted to see what she saw in the darkness. In this moment, his wish was granted. It was a swell of sorrow that tore at one’s heart. This wasn’t the loss of a lover or something so fleeting. This was deeper. This was something she had known since the beginning of her existence. As the weeping girl that she was rocked back and forth, the face of the young man in her arms became visible. The features were strikingly similar. The pale hazel eyes, the dark brow, the angular face.

“My brother,” Macaela whispered. “My twin. Malcolm.” Clearing her throat softly, she had to look away from the scene. “Mal.” She corrected softly.

[etaeternum]

Blood Magic

Mother of Griffons Blood Magic

Hale scouts for the Wardens. A new interaction with Nathaniel Howe.

Find it on AO3 or start from the beginning on Tumblr!

Tingling, her lips still felt him. The sensation reminded her of the fiery interaction she shared with the Lieutenant a few moments ago. Furious with his dismissal of her, she was determined to get away from the encampment.

Damia sat upon the layers of blankets of her bedroll and looked up from the blade she was sharpening. A sly grin found its way to her face when Hale rushed in. Damia teased. "Really? The Lieutenant was that fast?"

Hale ignored Damia and glared, grabbing her tabard from the floor and pulling it on over her tunic.

Playful taunts continued from Damia as she observed Hale buckle her belt and loop the slack around, tucking it into the strap. "Now that surprises me. Sorry excuse for a Grey Ward-"

"Wouldn't know," Hale interrupted, not looking up as she knelt to lace up her boots.

"Right," Damia continued, her grin stretched wider, head tilting to the side as she stood. "And I'm an Orlesian Comtesse. Spill it, Hale. What did you and the Lieutenant do at such a late hour?"

Armor donned, Hale reached for her bow and packed quiver- both of which rested in Damia's tent. She glanced at Damia before looking away. "Nothing." With nothing other than her curt reply, Hale took a step toward the entrance of the tent. Damia reached for her.

Brow wrinkled with worry, Damia crooned as she touched Hale's arm. "Hale, are you-"

Hale's arm lifted as she turned around to Damia. In a quick motion she shoved Damia who gasped as she staggered back, brow wrinkled, arms reaching out for balance. The crease in Hale's brow quickly changed, her eyebrows lifted apologetically. Her mouth opened, "I-" she stammered. What've I done?  "I didn't…" Seeking words that wouldn't come, she gave a frustrated sigh. "Fuckin' shite."

Grabbing her items, she pushed her way out of Damia's tent. She didn't look back.

Her mind raced, explanations of Nathaniel’s rejection swirled and contradicted themselves. He fucking liked it! Her long legs lifted, alternating in quick succession. The balls of her feet landed lightly on the soft dirt, carrying her through the dark forest. Then it's me. Her eyes peeled to adjust to the blackness. She flew, a whirlwind of speed and stamina. Arrows rattled in her quiver. I'm a fucking prat.

It may have been minutes, or maybe hours. She ran until she couldn't continue and stopped in a clearing.

Breathless, panting, she bent at her waist and rested her hands on her knees. It only took a moment for her to catch her breath. Hyper-vigilant, heart still pounding, her eyes darted around where she stood. Fireflies speckled the surrounding darkness, their light blinking in silence. Her forehead was damp from running. Shite! She cursed herself. Rash choices brought her to this place, unsure where she was, how far she was from camp. The campfire was out of sight.

Forced to improvise, she scanned the trees around her and spotted one suitable for climbing. Lithely, she lifted herself up branches and limbs. The coarse texture of the tree against her palms was soothing and familiar as she continued higher.  When she found a good place to stop, she peered around from her elevation and spotted the camp, a fair distance to the east. Light pulled her attention to look west before descending. There she saw another camp, larger and about half the distance than her own.

She also noticed a faint tickle, like a tug, buzzing in her head joined by an urge from her heart that pulled her toward the foreign encampment. She noticed blue and white regalia as she neared. So is this the bond the Bitch Queen Commander's always going on about? Strange, something about the sensation seemed wrong. Regardless of the oddness, her curiosity won out. Staying above in the trees, she lurked toward the encampment. Senses heightened, she could roughly determine people occupying the encampment standing around a fire. Sneaking even closer, her ears tuned in with subtle awareness of her own noises and greater attention to those below her. Eerily silent, large number of Grey Wardens stood. Small shifts in color passed between their hands.

"Do you feel that?" A male voice from below questioned. Hale caught her breath, concerned that the Grey Warden might feel her presence by the bond.

"No," another man replied, his voice gravelly. "Just get back to work." Both of their accents were Orlesian.

Hale released a quiet exhale. What are they working on? Eyes focused, she surveyed the encampment. It was larger than the scouting groups by four or five times. Squinting as she studied these Wardens, she saw they were dressed in light armor, barely offering any protection, and mending their staves with magic. They're all mages. Continuing her survey of the camp, she covered her mouth so as not to gasp.

Beyond the camp, a variety of demons milled either unaware or uninterested in the troop of Grey Wardens right next to them. Instincts told her to run back to her camp, to immediately warn her fellow Wardens of what she saw. But curiosity kept her there, staring at the sight before her.

Another Warden ran up to the group below. Panting, he announced. "The Inquisition army has entered Orlais. Their numbers are larger than the Elder One predicted."

The man who must have been an appointed leader, replied. His grating voice made Hale cringe. "And the Grey Wardens among them?"

"There is a significant number of them," the messenger reported. "And some of our brothers who didn’t complete the ritual are among the Ferelden Wardens."

"Wonderful," the leader croaked. "We will protect the Vessel, as ordered. Maim, harm, or debilitate the Grey Wardens. But we can’t kill them. We will continue the ritual without the magister."

Ritual? Hale's eyes widened as she listened. Cautiously, she waited, hoping that the leader would say more while desperately wanting to flee from her hideout. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt her hands shaking.

"There will be plenty of warriors to sacrifice and mages to induct," the leader gloated. "Our army against the Old Gods will be stronger than before Stroud and Clarel's betrayal."

Sacrifice? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I have to tell the Lieutenant. Stark still, she waited. Head spinning with fear, her mouth parched, she swallowed and closed her eyes. Her head rested against the tree trunk as she forced herself to wait patiently for the activity to carry on in the enemy encampment. Eventually she determined it safe to move. Light and agile, she drifted from limb to limb toward her camp with speed.

Then her hand slipped. Palms wet with sweat from her running and nerves. Her hand landed on a moss-covered branch and slid, causing her to lose her footing. She fell backwards with a whoosh. The air left her lungs when she landed hard on a bulky tree-limb and bounced off a more before she caught herself. Stabilizing on the tree, she found her breath, though painfully.

The first thing she checked was her bow. It was broken. Bollocks! Fortunately, her quiver was packed tight enough that she didn't lose any arrows but the container was cracked. Unmoving, frozen with fear, she listened for activity from the direction of the enemy camp.

The camp was unchanged, emitting the same noise as before. Safe. With a deep breath, she exhaled and inhaled again. Intense pain resonated in her side and it hurt to breathe. She picked up her leg to run, building momentum with a few steps. But the stabbing pain in her side stopped her. Pox on me! She cursed herself and stopped to try to breathe. Her hand reached around and clutched her chest. Tears of pain involuntarily welled in her eyes. Left to walk, she took her time hobbling back to camp. Fireflies lit her way and the hints of smoky roast nug teased at her nose, guiding her back to the camp.

Pride wounded, just like her ribs, she stumbled into the forward. The smell of cooked nug still lingered despite the cold fire pit. It seemed everyone was sleeping. Exhausted, and sore, Hale tiptoed through the encampment toward her tent. Curling up into a ball, symbolically licking her wounds and sleeping off the pain was tempting. But she knew she needed to tell someone what she saw, and that person was the Lieutenant. She paced in front of her tent in thought.

Mist weighted with moisture hung near the ground. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered quicker than her racing heart and contradicted the stillness of the camp.

Eventually, Hale closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked toward Nathaniel's tent, shaking her free hand as she made her way. She entered and closed her eyes again. She could feel the bond clearly now; it hummed steadily in her heart and it wasn’t strange like it had been earlier.  Now it was pure, clean and warm. The sensation was better than being drunk, better than sex. Better than hunting. Her eyes closed to revel. With her senses subtly heightened, Nathaniel's earthy scent quieted her nerves.

"What are you doing, Hale?" Nathaniel asked.

Hale yelped. Eyes wide, she froze and stammered, "I, uh, sir. Lieutenant…"

"Spit it out." She heard his body moving on his bedroll, sitting up. No, don’t do that.

Eyes closed, with a deep inhale, she turned to face the entrance of his tent. "I fled the camp after you, we, um….”

"I know," he interrupted. "What then?" She heard more movement as if he was rising from his bedroll. Don't fucking stand up.

"I ran… far, maybe half a day’s walk, and I found the rest of them crazy Warden fucks." She heard the movement of his bedroll. "Said something..." Holding tighter to her ribs, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her other hand found its way to pull on her ear to avoid from shaking. "Something about a, uh, Vessel or something… a ritual… and," she paused, biting her lip. She could hear him standing, stepping closer, breathing from behind her. "Sacrifice… of warriors."

"What?" He sounded shocked, almost angry.

"Don't know anymore," she answered, her head tilting to look over her shoulder and catching a glimpse of him in his smallclothes despite the poor lighting. His legs were just as muscular as his upper body. Hale's head snapped back to face away. "Some… something about sacrificing warriors to induct mages." The word induct was emphasized as it was one she was not sure she completely understood. It had never found its way from her mouth before.

"Turn around," Nathaniel ordered softly, his voice patient.

Hale shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. On any other day, this interaction would have been exciting, fun. She would have welcomed the challenge. But after being rejected by this particular man, stumbling across an enemy encampment, and then falling from a tree, she was not her usual brash self. Her heart still raced.

Nathaniel’s hands reached to her shoulders and applied faint pressure, nudging her to move. Hale released a whimper. Feet planted, the slight twist of her body stung.

His hands retracted instantly in response and he gave another order. "Hale, look at me."

She sighed. His voice was kind, and she wanted to hear more of it. Her feet moved to turn around. Face tilted down, she looked up to him, barely making out the lines on his face. Hale bit her lower lip, trying to ignore that he stood brazenly in his smallclothes.

He was frowning, but it was not in disappointment. The questioning wrinkle of his brow showed concern. He’s so tired he don't realize he's in his underwear? "Okay…" she broke the silence.

"Are you hurt?" He asked as his eyes scanned to her hand holding her chest before looking back at her face.

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes. "But it don't matter. We need to get out of here or we'll get sacrificed or some shite."

"Did they hear you get away?" His questions continued, eyes narrowed.

"No!" Hale huffed, shoulders slouching until she remembered her injury and whimpered again. "Damn, you got a lot of questions… sir."

Lip curled in a smile, Nathaniel's chin lifted. "We're not going anywhere. You've found exactly what we came to scout, young Warden. You did well."

Hale's mouth opened and her brow furrowed. "But…"

"No," he replied as he moved to find his breeches, pulling them on as he talked. "I'll meet with the mages to determine our next steps before we depart in the morning. Stay here. I’ll get Philippa and Aidan."

Barefoot and shirtless, he departed, leaving Hale standing in Nathaniel's tent, mouth gaping and wide-eyed. Am I dreaming? She pinched herself. Ow! The lack of anger, the absence of verbal scolding or threats of reprimand from the Lieutenant stunned her.

A few minutes later, Nathaniel returned with the mages, Philippa and Aidan. Upon entering the tent, Nathaniel lit a candle and Philippa walked to Hale. The sorceress's black hair was divided into two braids and her full lips were pulled in a tight frown in displeasure. Her forehead seemed as though it was always creased with focus and her hands rested on her hips. Aidan stood in the corner, holding a book in both hands over his legs. The man was in his early 30s, handsome. He looked noble to Hale. They all did.

"Child, what have you done to yourself?" Philippa said as she lifted Hale's arm by the wrist to examine her side. Teeth gritted, Hale hissed at the movement. "Oh, hush now. Let me see it. Remove your armor and shirt."

Hale's eyebrows wrinkled for a second, and her eyes darted to Nathaniel and Aidan who were sitting on Nate's bedroll, conversing in the corner near the candle. They seemed to reference the book that Aidan held. Hale looked back to the witch and nodded. Slowly, she unbuckled her belt and dropped it to the ground. Holding her breath, eyes closed tightly and lips puckered, she bent at her waist to pull the tabard over her head. Stop being such a baby, Hale! She didn’t want to cry in front of the Lieutenant.

Hale lifted the shirt up on one side to expose the pained area, already marked by blue and purple bruises. Philippa frowned, hands returning back to her hips. "All of it, child. And what's that blasted thing you're wearing under your tunic?" She pointed to the fabric wrapped tightly around Hale's chest over her small clothes.

Sighing, Hale pulled her shirt up and over her head with one arm, revealing the numerous other scrapes and bruises she gathered from her fall. Her eyes darted to Nathaniel, who was sitting shirtless nearby. He was already looking at her and held the gaze before lazily looking back at Aidan. She swore she saw a grin at the corner of his mouth. But the candlelight flickered in the tent now crowded with four people. Shadows played tricks inside the canvas walls.

"Dear, this is certainly making it hurt more." Philippa pulled at the wrap. "Why on earth would you hide such fine breasts under all this fabric?" Her scolding was followed by Nathaniel’s coughing, which even Hale could tell was an attempt to hide his laughter. Aidan grinned at Nathaniel's reaction. The antics between the men had no effect on Philippa who didn't blink as she continued. "Take it off, child."

Face red, her eyes widened, and she looked at Nathaniel and Aidan. They stared hard at each other, forcing their conversation to continue as if they hadn't heard what Philippa just ordered. The grins on their faces revealed their amusement.

"Come now. Time is running out, dear. Turn around if you don’t wish for these lechers to gawk at you." Philippa suggested as her head turned to face the men. "What were you gentleman saying about blood magic?"

Apparently, in her studying of Hale, Philippa had overheard the conversation between the men. Hale looked to Nathaniel, who looked back like a hawk. Empowered in spite of her blushing, the call to mischief urging her, she raised an eyebrow and untucked a corner of the wrapped fabric. Yeah. You’re not sending me away now, are you? Gaze maintained with Nathaniel, she removed a layer as Aidan replied to Philippa.

"It must be blood magic," Aidan said. "There’s no other reason to require a sacrifice for a ritual."

Hale unwrapped a few more layers, keeping eyes locked with the Lieutenant. He was looking back, eyes squinted. The shadows on his face made it hard to tell if he kept their gaze or if it wandered to her chest. With each layer removed, as there were many, she could feel the weight of her breasts shifting, relaxing. Her inhales were deeper and although the pain of her ribs wasn't as sharp, it became dull and constant.

"A sacrifice, you say?" Philippa questioned Aidan. "Of what sort?"

The Philippa woman was beautiful, Hale decided, her skin smooth and pale like porcelain; her voice and the way she spoke belied the age her appearance suggested.

"That's what I'm trying to decipher," Aidan replied.

Nearing the final layers of her wrap, a smirk pulled at Hale’s lips. She had Nathaniel's attention. For a moment, his chest didn't rise and fall. He held his breath, stare firm and intense with a brow risen in intrigue.

Aroused by his enrapture, Hale’s lips parted and just as the fabric became loose and fe away from her breasts. She turned around to face the canvas wall. Hah, take that.

"Hale said that they were planning on inducting our mages. They’re protecting a Vessel. That could require blood magic." Nathaniel offered as if Hale’s display hadn't been the slightest bit distracting from the conversation. She shook her head as she removed her bra, displeased with Nathaniel's apparent diligence. Damn it!

Philippa scoffed. "Do you literally read nothing, Nathaniel?" The pronunciation of her words was crisp and her voice sharp. Hale coughed to stifle her laugh this time. "The Vessel is in the destination. The Temple of Mythal. As for the blood, Grey Wardens already share it. That sacrifice would be useless. Blood is payment. They are buying a weapon or weapons and mixing our blood with something greater."

"I saw demons," Hale voiced without turning around. "On the other side of their camp. A whole fucking lot of them, right there, just standing."

"That's a good girl," Philippa said turning back to Hale, who cringed at the sentiment. "That's the answer.  Sounds as though they are binding themselves to demons from the Fade and depending on the derivation of the spell, that is likely the source of their pledge to Corypheus."

"The leader- ow!" Hale yelped as Philippa prodded her side.

"Hush, child. I have to examine it and then I'll use magic to heal it. I didn't just have you take your shirt off so you could tease Nathaniel." Philippa continued with the what she was doing, the faintest evidence of a grin evident in the edges of her taut frown. Hale clutched a tent pole, eyes wide and face burning red. "Continue."

Surprised that Philippa referred to the Lieutenant by his first name, Hale explained. "Least I think it was the leader said- Ow… Said they could continue the ritual without the magister."

"Hold on, dear. Last bit." Magic radiated through Hale's chest, she felt it cooling, soothing her pain. Elated, fascinated by the sensation, it complemented the strength of the bond they shared. "All right now, dress up. You can put those pert, young breasts away, dear." Hale blushed again, glad no one could see her face as she put on her bra and tunic. She left the wrap and armor off.

"So what should we do about all this?" Aidan asked Philippa for guidance.

Not waiting for her turn, or for Philippa's answer, Hale spoke up as she sat down next to Nathaniel, across from Philippa and Aidan. "Couldn't we use the magic against 'em? Without the ritual, can we make them Orlesian whoresons fight for us since we share the same blood and all?"

Philippa's tight frown curled up just a little. "Clever child," she hummed. "It is possible, but we'd have to kill the demons first." Philippa looked to Aidan. "Hand me the tome."

Hale observed curiously as Philippa took the book from Aidan and flipped to a certain page. The audience waited patiently for Philippa's next piece of information. "It would require our own blood magic," she explained. "Warden mages are entitled to such illicit dealings since it is by our very nature." Handing the book to Hale, Philippa pointed to a section within a specific page. "Read this."

With a blank stare, Hale looked at the book, then up to Philippa, then back to the book. A knot tightened in her stomach. "I can't."

"What for?" Philippa chided, her brow wrinkled as she looked down her nose at Hale. "Just read what it says."

"I can't read," Hale confessed, embarrassed, her eyes still fixed on the book.

The humans in the tent were all of noble upbringing, illiteracy a misfortune of which their privilege kept them ignorant.

The book flew from her lap as Nathaniel lifted it.

Nathaniel read for her, only after giving her a wink. She relaxed, glad all eyes were no longer on her as Nate spoke. "Tainted blood magic. The Grey Warden blood bonds all Wardens to one another. Just as Mages of the Grey use blood magic to manipulate darkspawn, so too can the magic be used to control Warden brothers in times of duress." Nathaniel stopped and looked to Philippa, one eyebrow cocked with confusion. "I would say this counts as duress… but are you sure about this, Philippa?"

"Tut, tut, Nate," Philippa remarked, her lips remained tight and her face stern. "You think so little of me. Cherish this rare moment when I humor your lawfulness. The concern is valid as blood magic incurs risks. But unless you wish to slaughter our brethren, I see no other choice."

"I see," Nathaniel frowned.

Before Nate could ask any other questions, Hale chimed in again. Her nose wrinkled as she spoke. "So, we need to kill them demons, yeah?" She repeated Philippa. "How do we do that if those arseholes are all coming at us with magic?"

"My, you are a clever child," Philippa's proud grin was unmistakable now. Hale's chest puffed up in response. "And you're right to question. Aiden and I can hold them with magic while you all destroy the demons. How many did you say there are?"

"’Bout four or five times us, I think," Hale estimated, as she looked up, scanning her memory for the images of the encampment.

"That's forty to fifty Wardens to hold, Philippa and just as many demons for the scouts to kill," Aiden worried aloud.

"And we only have light weapons among our scouts, save for Val and I don't think he's taking 50 demons head on while we offer support," Nathaniel added.

Hale sat upright, engaged in the interaction. Interested, curious even at the strategizing of the next steps of the Grey Wardens, she remained silent as they continued, only mildly aware of the Lieutenant's eyes drifting to her on occasion.

"Hm, I suppose you’re right," conceding to the men's concerns, Philippa paused.

"And I would also prefer we get this approved by the Commander before we act," Nathaniel said as Hale rolled her eyes and shot a sideways glare at him.

Really? So the leash reaches this far?

"Then it's settled. We'll scout on the morrow, gather more information about these Wardens and any others defending the Temple and take the information back to Caoilainn," Philippa announced as if she had the final say of the group's choices.

"Good," Aidan stretched his arms and yawned, rising from the bedroll and bowing to the group. "If you all wish to stay up, have at it, but I am going back to bed." He left the tent without waiting for a reply.

Hale rose from the ground, the exhaustion of the evening overtaking her. She swayed on her feet as she stood.

"Nathaniel, dear. See to it she makes it back to her tent safely. And child, get your bric-a-brac off the Lieutenant's floor." Philippa gave them both orders as she stood, turned and departed back toward her tent, leaving Nathaniel and Hale alone again.

Stooping to pick up her items, she avoided his eyes. Nathaniel took step forward and offered his arm to Hale. "Since I was ordered, I'll walk you to your tent," he smirked as he gave a mocking bow. "And I’ll carry that for you, milady." He gestured to the pile of clothes in her hands. Hale stared at him, her face illustrating her skepticism.

"What'd you call me?" She sneered and jutted her chin.

His grin spread wider as he took the clothing and weapons from her hands. Too tired to insist on carrying her own things, Hale did not fight back. Instead, she looked at Nathaniel with amused disgust, an eyebrow cocked, and her lip slightly raised.

"Milady," he repeated with more emphasis, teasing her with the word. “It’s a term of respect.”

"Well don't," Hale scoffed, though she was failing to hide the smile from curving her lips. "I'm not a lady and I’m definitely not yer lady, Lieutenant."

His grin didn't fade as he carried her items back toward her tent through the Inquisition encampment. It was nearing dawn. The mist was thicker, and the stars faded in the night sky. When they arrived, Nathaniel followed Hale into her quarters.

Heart strumming, quicker than it was before he entered, Hale bit her lip- the excitement of having the Lieutenant so close by was battling with her complete lack of energy.  She motioned for Nathaniel to drop her items on the ground which he did. Unconcerned with the mess of her tent, she plopped down on her bedroll and took off her boots.

"Thanks," she offered through a yawn, sitting cross-legged. Her eyelids were heavy, fluttering as Nathaniel looked down at her. She was too tired to appreciate the spectacle of the Lieutenant’s bare, muscled, and scarred upper body on display over her.

"My pleasure," he replied, looking to the items on the ground near him. "What’s this binding your breasts business for, anyway?" The cloth wrap she was no longer wearing sat on top of the pile of clothing.

"Really?" Her question jeered as if the answer was obvious. In her opinion, the answer was visible under her tunic. "You ever tried to draw a bowstring with yer tits in yer fucking way?" She stuck her chest out and her hands circled her ample breasts.

"Well, no. I can't say I have," he said through a laugh.

"Then don't ask dumb questions." Why is he still here? She wondered. Her heart still fluttered, and she was certain her cheeks were pink, but she couldn't seem to muster the energy to flirt.

Nathaniel squatted down on the ground to get closer to her eye level. She felt his warmth, curiosity, and caring. It differed from the tension they shared before. She wasn’t sure which she liked more. "Philippa was right, you know. You are quite clever, Hale. And rebellious. Between sneaking, stealing, and spying, you're like-"

Stretching her arms over her head, she cut him off, looking at him with one eye open. The sing-song sound of her voice carried through her yawn. "A fox. That's my name. You know Elvhen now?"

Nathaniel's brow wrinkled and his mouth curved down. "Hale is fox?"

"Aye," she responded as she laid down, unable to keep herself upright any longer. She glanced to him from where she rested. "In the clan they called me Hale'Harel. The Dread Fox. Always been a bit of a troublemaker."

The dramatic inflection she used on the title instigated a chuckle from Nathaniel. "Somehow I don’t find that hard to believe."

Eyes heavy, she couldn’t resist closing them. She yawned once more and pulled the layers of blankets over her clothed body. "Thanks again, Lieutenant."

"Call me Nate tonight," he said through a smile. He must have thought she was asleep already because he rose and turned to leave her tent.

“I felt the bond today,” she murmured in her sleepy stupor, “Lieutenant.”

Hale could feel him standing, looking down at her for a few long moments. “Sleep well, milady,” his gruff voice hummed before she heard his footsteps leave her tent. Grinning, she drifted off to sleep.

[scrafty-crafty]

After watching both HTTYD movies i’m even more inspired for an HTTYD au. Doodling Lance with some baby dragons, ahhh, maybe some other scenes within that ‘verse, too, because I love it all.

Like, I read this wonderful one shot by @ahumblenoodle and I haven’t rlly stopped thinking about it since. I don’t know exactly what else they have for their HTTYD au, but I’ve started thinking of something along the lines where Lance is both Hiccup and his mom??

Okay, this got really long so I put it under a cut. I wish i could write this in story form rather than the spark notes, but ahhh, I rarely am able to finish things I try to write these days and I really just want to share this all at once, so yay, here’s a few thousand words on what I have in mind. As I was writing all this, I decided I definitely want to do art of more scenes from this.

Also this took h o u r s to write, wow. Probably at least 5 hours. i had things to do in between, so it wasn’t consecutive, but damn. It got longggg.

Lance starts off similar to Hiccup, he is super lanky and not well built for fighting and the other kids in his class are Keith, Pidge, and Hunk, ofc and Shiro is Keith’s older brother and also the new chief of Arus after the recent and sad death of his and Keith’s parents. Before their death Shiro and Lance had already been, like, flirting, but it was nothing official and then with Shiro’s new responsibility of being the chief, they didn’t really have much time to spend with each other.

Anyways, Keith is similar to Astrid, he’s just the all around perfect viking and Lance is jealous of his abilities. He had tried to push aside those feelings because he doesn’t want to hate Shiro’s brother because he realllyyyyy likes Shiro, but Keith just brings out all his worst insecurities. I imagine Hunk to be like Fishlegs. Not really the best fighter, but he knows his dragon facts like no one’s business. Pidge is the Ruffnut to Matt’s Tuffnut.... except instead of being not so smart they are tactical geniuses and instead of being twins they’re just siblings who are a few years apart. Unlike Hiccup, even though Lance isn’t a great fighter, these guys are still all his friends

So, like, everyone in Lance’s class is super amazing at one thing or another and Lance just doesn’t feel like he’s anything special. He doesn’t even want to kill dragons! During a battle one saved his life from a collapsing structure even though he had been armed and prepared to fight it. He never had the heart to attempt to kill one after that.

So then he brings up the idea of dragons not being all that awful to the rest of the village and everyone is outraged he would suggest such a thing, especially because the previous chief and his wife (Shiro and Keith’s parents) just died in the last dragon raid on Arus and “how could you be so stupid to think that dragons have the capacity to be anything other cold blooded murderers”. Shiro and Keith shut him out and Keith’s silence doesn’t hurt nearly as much as Shiro’s, but he finds that even Keith’s reaction hurts because even if he does envy him, he is still one of his closest friends. Hunk, Pidge, and Matt don’t exactly shut him out, but they don’t support him and he notices they don’t really want to be seen with him anymore, either. 

During the next dragon raid on Arus, Lance finds the Night Fury that saved him last time and begs her to take him with her because he can’t stand this fighting anymore and no one would miss him anyways. The dragon leans down for Lance to climb on her back and she takes off.

All his friends think he was killed. They all feel bad for shutting him out, Shiro is devastated because not only is the pain of losing his parents still with him but now he just lost his love and he won’t even have the time to mourn because he’s chief now and has to put his people first, so he kind of.... shuts down emotionally.... Everyone else is a mixture of sadness and guilt and they all seethe silently as talk of “good riddance” and “serves that dragon-lover right”.

The five of them plus Lance’s family have a small memorial service just outside the village.

When Lance and the Night Fury arrive to a safe location away from Arus, the Night Fury comforts Lance and wraps herself around him and Lance feels a warmth coming from her and notices her blue glow from the fire within her. He decides to call her Blue from then on.

As years go on, Lance bonds with the dragons Blue has taken him to. He acts as their protector and guardian of the Alpha dragon that resides within the mountains of the large island and since he isn’t a lanky 15 year old anymore, he is better able to do so with the strength he attained over the years by living on an island inhabited only by dragons. His form is still lithe and he hates that he will never be able to attain a bulky, muscular build like Shiro’s, but he works with what he has and doesn’t dwell too much on it. Especially since the pain of remembering Shiro as well as his other friends still hurts.

Enter Allura and Coran who are descendants from a group of people who were dragon guardians. They are the last of their kind after a large war with a huge group of dragon hunters. Allura’s father managed to send/hide them both away safely and now they continue on their people’s legacy as nomads. When Lance is out helping dragons he comes across them and the three of them get along fantastically with one another through their love of dragons.

Back on Arus, the gang has been able to move past their grief to continue fighting dragons. They do it in honor of Lance. Shiro, however, has grown far more malicious in his killing and was never able to move past the pain of losing Lance or the guilt of how he had treated Lance leading up to his supposed death. Eventually he burns out. He loses his right arm in battle because he thought he saw Lance out of the corner of his eye, but Lance is dead and he’s not coming back. A prosthetic is quick to be made for the chief, but it’s his breaking point. He tries to run away. While doing so, he runs into this massive dragon (maybe a rogue Bewilderbeast? But I don’t think those can fly so I have no clue and Shiro would probably have a dragon with huge wings and flight abilities...) It’s black as the night and he hardly notices it at first. When he did notice him, he doesn’t even have it in him to try and kill it. He knew it was a lost cause and he had been contemplating his own death in the passing years since losing Lance and what better way than to leave himself defenseless in the face of a dragon?

Much to his surprise, the dragon doesn’t attack him. Instead it moves it’s head down and closes it’s eyes mere inches from Shiro’s face. Shiro is stunned and slowly moves his left hand up to place it on the dragon’s face. The dragon pushes against his hand lightly and opens it’s eyes. Shiro has never been so intimately close to a dragon before as he is now, but looking into it’s eyes he can feel the dragon sympathizing with him and it blows Shiro’s mind. All he can think of is Lance and how maybe he was right about dragons being kind and insanely intelligent because there’s no other explanation for why this massive creature is offering him comfort right now when Shiro and his village have all spent their entire lives fighting and killing dragons and Shiro knows the dragon must know, yet it doesn’t strike him.

Shiro returns to Arus and everyone is relieved to see him again because his departure had left Keith in charge and Hunk or Pidge is just like “Thank god, because Keith made a terrible leader! Full offense intended” and Keith can’t even deny it, he is happy Shiro is back to take over. The whole exchange causes Shiro to laugh and all his friends freeze because they haven’t heard Shiro laugh in years so it’s a very unexpected sound, but one they missed very much. They can see how much lighter Shiro is and they start to wonder where exactly Shiro went and what he did. They even accuse him of a being a clone!! And Shiro denies being a clone (Pidge: “That’s exactly what a clone would say!”) and they all continue to joke around and Shiro is surprised his friends aren’t giving him a rougher time about leaving without warning.... which they eventually do because they’re all ball busters, ya know, but in the end all is good so they aren’t really mad, especially since it seems time away really helped Shiro clear his mind.

Later that night when Keith and Shiro are home, Keith asks him where he went and what happened. It takes Shiro a while to answer because he still thinks he must have gone crazy to allow a dragon as large as the one he encountered anywhere near him without any kind of bloodshed. He does tell Keith, though. Keith listens and he is torn between believing Shiro and yelling “What were you thinking!!!” and also thinking that Shiro must have gone crazy, because there’s no way that happened. 

Then Shiro says “I think.... maybe Lance was right...” and that takes the breath out of Keith and anything he was going to say because in all the years Lance has been dead Shiro hasn’t brought him up or said his name once. So then the waterworks start and Shiro finally starts letting himself grieve and Keith sits there and comforts him and rubs his back as Shiro finally lets all his emotions out that have been built up over the years. Shiro’s grief is as if Lance had just died yesterday instead of over 4 years ago. Keith is there for him and Shiro doesn’t get any sleep until dawn.

Somehow Keith convinces everyone that even though Shiro is back, he still won’t be ready to return to his duties for another day or two so they will have to deal with his terrible leadership skills in the meantime while Shiro rests up.

His friends ask if Shiro told him what happened and Keith tells them everything.

Once Shiro is back to himself, more himself than he’s been in years, his friends ask him about the dragon (his dragon, but he vehemently rejects any affiliation he has with this dragon other than the events that had taken place). At first he isn’t so sure about taking the people he cares most about to meet this dragon. Maybe it was a fluke. What if he takes them to see this dragon and leads them all to their deaths? They eventually wear him down though and he agrees and is relieved that when they do find the dragon (after a very long search, Matt: “if this dragon is as big as you say, how come we haven’t found it yet?”) that the dragon is as non-aggressive as it was during his first encounter with it. Hunk immediately recognizes the dragon as part of the Alpha class and explains what this means.

By the next raid, Shiro and his friends have come up with a plan unlike anything they have ever attempted before. Shiro tells everyone to stay inside and the gang makes sure they do. Shiro somehow persuades/lures the dragon (with fish probably) to just outside the village as they wait for the dragons to come. Shiro has explained the plan to the dragon and as he sees the understanding on its face he has no doubts in his mind that Lance had been right about dragons. He doesn’t allow himself to think about it too much though because the dragons are coming. Black, as Shiro had taken to calling the massive dragon, uses it’s mind control to bring the dragons to a calm. 

(canon note: since Alpha class is above any other class, I think it makes sense that these dragons would obey Black instead of the queen Red Death that had been the cause of all the mayhem in the first HTTYD movie)

Anyways, part one of the plan is a success and part two is getting the village to trust the dragons just as Shiro and his friends have. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take long.

For everyone’s dragon companions I imagine Hunk with a yellow Gronkle just like Meatlug because the Hunk and Fishlegs parallels are strong. Her name is Yellow. Keith would obv have a Monsterous Nightmare he names Red. I am torn between going straight classic and giving Pidge and Matt a Zippleback named Green and Groan (or something catchy, idk) or giving Pidge a gaggle of Terrible Terrors because I can imagine them with a bunch of those little suckers and causing trouble. If I went the latter, Matt would either solo fly a Zippleback or go with a Deadly Nadder (my personal fave). This leaves Shiro. If the Black is indeed a Bewilderbeast, then he’s gonna need a transport dragon because there’s no way he’s not flying, though I guess he could hitch a ride with Keith just like Pidge would do with Matt if I did give her Terrible Terrors.... anyways...

Such is the beginning of the dragon riders of Arus and a peaceful era with no more dragon fighting, yeah, yeah.

So then the gang starts exploring the surrounding area around the island their village is on and every now and again help dragons who are in need of help. While helping some dragons who were caught in a landslide or something they are found by Allura and Coran who also were passing by and heard the cries of dragons in need. They did not expect to find a group of people already there, but they get excited regardless. After the dragons are helped, the gang and Allura and Coran properly introduce themselves to one another and Allura mentions “Oh, Lance would love to meet you all!! You must come with us to meet him” and everyone has these pained looks on their faces, but it must be a cruel coincidence, right? Because their Lance is dead. Allura notices the change in demeanor and asks “Is everything okay?” 

Surprisingly, Shiro is the one to say “Yes, it’s just... we lost someone who was close to us by the name of Lance” 

Allura’s eyes widen and she goes “Oh dear, I’m so sorry... I know what it is like to go through a great loss.... Coran and I lost our entire people to dragon hunters not too long ago. We are the last of our people.” 

Shiro asks “What about your friend?” He can’t bring himself to say his name, not when it isn’t their Lance they are talking about. 

Allura clarifies “Oh no, Lance is not Altean like us. We met him only a few months ago and have a camp set up together. Sometimes it feels like he is one of us, though... he has the kindness and affinity towards dragons of an Altean, though. He reminds us a bit of what we lost” She smiles sadly.

(And okay this is where it deviates a bit. I originally intended for it to lead right up to the beautiful scene noodle painted in their one shot, but my imagination got away from me, so it could go that way or this way...)

So then they follow Allura and Coran on their dragons and go to meet Lance. When they see him it’s almost as if the air has been taken from all their lungs because there lies Lance, their Lance, he’s alive and well and he’s rolling on the ground with baby dragons, laughing and looking so beautiful and Shiro thinks he forgets to breath because suddenly he’s gasping for air and at the sound Lance turns towards the group of newcomers and his eyes widen and his face falls. Lance isn’t sure how to feel. He suddenly has a mixture of emotions ranging from happiness to fear to sadness.... it’s all happening so much and so fast so he pushes the dragons away and gets on his feet... and it’s like he forgot how to walk, but it’s okay because Shiro is walking towards him and as happy and surprised as their friends are, they stand back and let the two have their moment, but they don’t leave.

Shiro’s walking towards him and Lance is surprised to find himself stepping back. He isn’t prepared for this, he isn’t prepared for yelling or a scolding or any “how could you do this to me?”s, but Shiro doesn’t do any of that. He just comes closer and Lance hears his name fall in a whisper from Shiro’s mouth as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.... that Lance is right here.... Lance wants to run, but before he can Shiro is right in front of him and reaching his left hand out because he needs to feel Lance otherwise he won’t believe he’s real. His hand brushes Lance’s cheek and Lance leans into the soft touch as if it were a reflex. Neither of them say anything, but suddenly Shiro pulls Lance in for a hug and Lance is quick to wrap his arms around Shiro in return. The hug is tight and desperate and so full of emotion and the waterworks start for both of them. They just hold each other and Shiro is saying Lance’s name again and in return Lance is saying “Shiro, I’m right here, Shiro, Shiro, I’m here” and he’s whispering reassurances.

After they are done everyone else gets their hugs in and they’re all sitting around a fire and Lance is so happy his friends are here. He and Shiro are sitting next to each other, hands clasped tightly as if the other could disappear at any moment.

Eventually they have to tackle the elephant in the room, though. His friends ask about what happened on that night they thought him dead. Lance has come to terms with what happened and doesn’t blame any of his friends, but as he explains what had been going through his mind and how he had begged Blue to take him away, he can see the guilt on all of their faces... especially Shiro’s and he feels Shiro’s hand tighten around his own.

So to change the subject he asks about what his friends have been up to and hopes that they will spare him of any talk of killing. What they tell him instead has him shaking his head in disbelief. They’re explaining the entirety of what happened and how they made peace with the dragons, but Lance can’t believe it. He can’t believe that the village that shunned him for believing dragons were peaceful and intelligent beings adopted those same beliefs all these years later.... he feels hurt and betrayed, but also happy. Happy knowing there’s no more fighting between the dragons and the people of Arus.

The night goes on and Shiro and Lance seclude themselves from the others. Lance shows Shiro around the island. At some point Shiro starts serenading Lance with a song of romance (maybe the same one Stoic sang, maybe not) and they sing together and dance and laugh and Shiro is so caught up in the moment and having Lance back, Lance is here, he’s not dead, that he proposes to Lance before he can even think to hold his tongue because all he knows is he never wants to lose Lance again. Lance is surprised and after the surprise wears off, his eyebrows knit together and he says “Shiro... I love you... I never stopped loving you, but marriage? Shiro, I think we have some work to do first... it’s been 5 years, let’s just... start off slow...” Lance finishes with a weary look on his face. He doesn’t want to hurt Shiro’s feelings and gods, he had thought about it so many times before, what it would be like, but before Lance left they had barely gotten serious, so it was more of a fantasy than anything.... and then everything changed... and the fantasy became an unrealistic one because right before he left Shiro had looked at him with such pain and hurt and betrayal that Lance could suggest making peace with the creatures that killed his parents. Lance never meant it that way, and deep down Shiro had known that, but the pain of losing them was still fresh at the time and it was just salt in the wound.

So Shiro smiles and agrees because he had known as soon as he asked that he had been asking a lot of Lance and Shiro doesn’t blame him for rejecting his proposal because he hadn’t even meant to ask. Not that he didn’t mean the words, but even he knows that it was too much to ask so soon. Instead Shiro asks “Will you come back to Arus with us?” Lance looks away at that moment. It had been on his mind since he saw his friends again. Surely they would want him to come back, but does he want to go back? Knowing that things are peaceful back at Arus makes the decision a bit easier.... seeing his friends and his love again makes the decision a given. He missed them all so much.

Pidge is the one to suggest to Coran and Allura that they are welcome to come back with them to Arus. The two of them are more than happy to accept that offer. As happy as they are to be around dragons, they miss the warmth that comes from having a whole village to come home to.

So they all leave. Some of the dragons they had been watching over follow them back to Arus. Most stay, though, it is their home after all. Lance promises to return to see them all again.

They go home and Lance’s family is ecstatic to see him again. They all introduce him to their dragon companions and he introduces them to Blue.... Seeing all the dragons flying around Arus brings the biggest smile to Lance’s face. As much resentment as he held for the people here, he is glad to see they have all changed for the better. He couldn’t imagine living without dragons in his life.